Tag Archives: Nursing History

An Excerpt from Spit & Polish


A little taste to encourage you to run right out and pre-purchase Spit & Polish while the ebook remains on pre-release sale. It’s available on many platforms. The paperback will be released February 29, 2024.

Nightingale Pledge, 1935

 

“I solemnly pledge myself before God and in the presence of this assembly, to pass my life in purity and to practise my profession faithfully. I will abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous, and will not take or knowingly administer any harmful drug. I will do all in my power to maintain and elevate the standard of my profession, and will hold in confidence all personal matters committed to my keeping, and all family affairs coming to my knowledge in the practice of my calling. With loyalty will I endeavour to aid the physician in his work, and as a ‘missioner of health’ I will dedicate myself to devoted service to human welfare.”

Ruth dragged her feet up the stairs of the nursing residence, almost tripping on the risers. She was so tired. A long day of classes and reception duty hit her. At least she didn’t have to ring the front doorbell—the thought of having to wake one of the housemothers terrified her. The students called them “dragons” for a reason.

Tiptoeing down the hallway, Ruth opened her door and started to undress and put away her uniform. She carefully took off her apron and cuffs, placing the cuffs on the windowsill and hanging her apron over the radiator. She had a spot on the chest of her uniform, darn it. At least the blue and white striped material seemed to wash easily. She’d have to sponge that out before class tomorrow. She was too tired to think about it now. She cringed as her warped wardrobe door shrieked. Everything else lay silent, all of her fellow students asleep or on their night shifts. It appeared both eerie and lovely at night. Her window overlooked Lake Ontario, and the water glistened, flat as glass. She laid her black stockings carefully over the chair beside her bed and gazed out at the September moonlight. 

Suddenly, her door banged open, and a terrifying shape filled it.

“What in the name of all that’s good and holy are you doing?” The apparition, a grey-haired medusa in a long flannel nightgown, waved its arms at her. “Can’t you be quieter? Some of us want to sleep!” It turned and stumbled along the hall, thumping its feet in its hard-soled slippers.

Ruth fell back on her bed, heart racing.

Her friend Betty peeked her head around the corner. She grinned. “I see you’ve met the new matron.”

Ruth pulled Betty into the room and pulled her door almost closed. “Who WAS that?”

“Shhh. She’ll hear you. That’s our new supervisor,” Betty whispered. “Her name is Mrs. Graham, but she wants us to call her Matron. Some British thing. She trained there.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “She scared me half to death! I’m trying to be so quiet!”

“I didn’t hear a thing until she stomped in. She’s afraid of prowlers or something. Ann got lambasted before you got in. She seems to have it in for first years.”

“Oh great,” moaned Ruth. “Just what I need is someone to yell at me unexpectedly. I thought I left that back at home with my father.”

Betty nodded, put her hand on Ruth’s. “It won’t be that bad, surely. After all, she can’t be everywhere, can she?”

“I hope not. That hair!” Ruth permitted herself another quiet laugh. “She looked like she’d been electrified!”

Stretching umbilical cords, or the joy/sorrow of letting kids go


I woke this morning thinking about how my kids, the hearts of my heart, are about as far away from me and each other that they can be, geographically. One is in Europe, one in Australia, one back in Kingston while I am in Vancouver. It reminded me of the imagery I tried to share with them (but of course they found repellent, because, kids) that I can almost feel the leftover umbilical threads tugging at times, especially when I am worrying about them, or when I know life is being challenging for them. It’s a weird thing.

I raised them to be independent, to question the status quo, to be unafraid of trying new things. This has resulted in them being all over the world. I miss them, still find such joy in their contact with me. I have fantasies of them all being together, chatting and laughing with each other again. I used to love listening to them talk amongst themselves. This is unlikely to happen anytime soon.

But that’s the thing – you’ve got to let those kids go. Let them vanish and like that old tiresome quote: If you love something, set it free. If it is yours, it will come back to you. It’s risky, though. They may never come back. One of mine hasn’t. Still have that psychic umbilical attachment, though, even if these days it is more of an ache.

In my upcoming book, Spit & Polish, my main character, Ruth, is dying to leave her small town and move to the slightly bigger city of Kingston, ON. She’s bored, the local boys are mean, and she dreads having nothing to do but wash diapers for her always increasing brood of siblings.

In that time period, the years after WW2, choices for single women were few. All the jobs that had opened up for women during the war were closed with a snap. Men needed the jobs, everyone thought. Women should get married and have babies. And endlessly support their husbands, no matter how unfulfilling that might be. Ruth, at her young age of 18, didn’t love that option. She wanted an alternative.

Cloyne in the 1930’s

But her parents wanted her nearby, of course. At least until she got married. Which is why Ruth was so surprised to find her mother supporting her to go away to nursing school. It meant a very real increase of work for her mother, and Ruth is frequently guilty about her escape. (Not so much that she wants to go home, though…)

While nursing might seem a stereotypical choice for women now (I beg to differ, having had a very varied and exciting career as a nurse myself), it certainly wasn’t then. Nursing was just becoming respectable, and nurses were continually being portrayed as being easy, loose, a bit tawdry. Nursing schools were incredibly strict to help control this image, and students were held to a very high standard for behaviour. Of course there were a few who snuck out after hours, misbehaved with patients, followed doctors like eager puppies. Ruth doesn’t dare. She knows she is there on a short leash from her father, and she is terrified of losing her route to what she hopes is a satisfying career.

It doesn’t help that challenges are thrown at her every time she steps just a wee bit out of line. Still, she keeps on, gradually becoming braver as she falls more in love with nursing. It gives her strength to stand up for her choice, even as another pregnancy makes her guilt about not being at home to help her mother. Fortunately, Mrs. Maclean is willing to do the letting go, to allow herself to accept the risk of losing Ruth forever.

I’ll be doing an interview about the book with OC Publishing, on their Author’s Journey sites : YouTube, and Facebook, on Tuesday February 27. I’m delighted to have a chance to visit with Anne O’Connell, who has been a tremendous supporter of writers and writing.

Spit & Polish officially launches February 29th. It’s on sale (the ebook) for pre-order until then on Kobo, Amazon, Apple Books and more. Why not grab a copy and see what happens to Ruth in this first in a series of books on Ruth, nursing education, medical care, and Kingston, ON in 1946.