Marguerite Hepton Memorial Hospital , livre ebook

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd - Cynthia Coultas

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33 pages

English

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Based on the author's own experiences, Marguerite Hepton Memorial Hospital is the story of a sixteen-year-old girl who left school and entered a world of learning and strict discipline, often headed by girls only months older than herself! There she was using equipment and procedures now long forgotten for diseases such as tuberculosis, osteomyelitis, polio and congenital conditions, all of which are now eradicated or treatable.Her book will appeal to those connected with Thorpe Arch, the hospital, as well as a wider audience of anyone interested in real life nursing and how, off duty, these young people entertained themselves and their patients.Good care, support, and camaraderie in the midst of changing attitudes, and fears of society towards illness at a time when the world was recovering from World War Two and trying to embrace new technological ideas or discovering new drugs such as antibiotics and streptomycin.This book should appeal to many people whose lives have reached a reflective stage and anyone interested in history and nursing or educationalists looking for historical facts.

Sujets

Philosophie et théologie

Memoir

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
Date de parution	06 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781398442344
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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Extrait

M arguerite H epton M emorial H ospital
Cynthia Coultas
Austin Macauley Publishers
2023-01-06
Marguerite Hepton Memorial Hospital About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Conclusion
About the Author

Cynthia Coultas was educated at Cockburn High School, Leeds, before beginning nurse training at Marguerite Hepton Memorial Hospital, Thorpe Arch, Yorkshire. She spent almost fifty years qualifying in orthopaedics, general nursing, midwifery and ophthalmic, before becoming qualified a nurse teacher. She is also a qualified Chiropodist. During this time she also graduated with a BA degree with the open university.
Her first book Good Food, Rest and Plenty of Fresh Air was a success and all remunerations went to Martin House Hospice.
Dedication
Patients, parents and staff of Thorpe Arch Hospital, and parents, patients, staff and volunteers at Martin House Hospice, Boston Spa.
The Hospice has taken over the care of children with the latest dreaded diseases such as leukaemia, cancers and congenital problems like the ever-present cerebral palsies, when Thorpe Arch Hospital closed after almost a centenary of community care.
Copyright Information ©
Cynthia Coultas 2023
The right of Cynthia Coultas to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398442337 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398442344 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Chapter 1
I was just sixteen when I entered Thorpe Arch hospital which, became known as the ‘Virgin’s Retreat’. A strange and frightening experience. Miles away from home, into a separate world. Escorted through what seemed to be endless silent corridors and wards. The wards were full of children strapped to various strange contraptions and not a sound escaped their lips. I later learned that this was because they were attending school. I would later discover the true side of their nature!
Instructed, never to run or talk too loudly whilst certainly nothing must be questioned and no answering back. Hair was to be off the shoulders and, no jewellery or wristwatches to be worn, and makeup…? What did I think I was joining!? Those already used to the strict order of things seemed particularly unfriendly and very few smiles came in my direction.
I must always remember that others came before ourselves, and bells would inform mealtimes. It went without saying there were to be no male visitors allowed at any time. Lights were put out at eleven o’clock precisely by our superior who would wake us at six am each day to give us time to prepare for roll call, breakfast and be delegated our work schedule for the day.
I began to think that maybe I had made the wrong decision. My mother had died when I was eleven years old and my father had been left with two lively children in my two-year-old brother and myself. Was it possible that here I might find myself?
Visitors were allowed once a month but restricted to two people only, over a period of two hours, after which a bell would be rung and everyone had to leave. The grounds were beautiful with a contemplative rose garden and highly productive vegetable garden. The Second World War had only been over a matter of eight years or so and many foods were still in short supply so fresh vegetables daily were a wonderful luxury.
I had noticed on the long bus ride to get here that the ‘Retreat’ was surrounded by miles of beautiful agricultural land interspersed by just a sprinkling of hamlets.
I had walked up the almost hidden drive under an archway of beautiful horse chestnut trees dragging my small case of possessions with me.
My room was white and cream, ample size for me. It came with an iron bedstead, bedside locker dressing table, cupboard, and a waste paper bin. In the corner was a washbasin with hot and cold water.
A room to myself was a luxury I had been deprived of after my father had remarried and the lady had brought her son and daughter to live with us! I had become used to many changes. Maybe I would get used to these.
It may seem surprising to find I had not taken holy orders. Having left school following our GCE. exams at the age of sixteen and too young for general nurse training I had applied to train as a nurse at an orthopaedic hospital for children.
I had been called for interview, accepted, and then had waited for several months for a vacancy to occur. It was on my first day that I had encountered the nun-like conditions described. No wonder then that generations of nurses passing through the hospital gates had named it the ‘Virgins Retreat’, it was easy to understand why.
The gates had never been closed in years and now were rendered permanently open due to arthritic nodules of rust roughly bandaged in spirals of ivy and goosegrass. They opened to an avenue of huge horse chestnut trees which provided a good supply of ‘conkers’ each Autumn, for young boys and girls alike. It was palpable as they arched there so gracefully that the trees held many decades of stories and secrets from when the hospital had taken on patients more than half a century earlier.
Long before the National Health Service had been introduced, it had been a private residence before being bought and given as a thank you gift by the grateful father for his recovering daughter. It had developed into a caring retreat.

Mr. Robert Hepton
Johnny the donkey pulled a cart with convalescing children around the country lanes. Monies had had to be donated. Ideas for money-raising events often stretched resources and were always necessary. Even royalty, Queen Mary had been approached to engender added interest to boost funds. Doctors and many others had given their services for free.
Matron, known as DAD, from her initials for Dorothy Alice Deadicoat, had been there from the early days before the NHS. She was in loco parentis and she took her responsibilities very seriously. Basically she was like cement in a wall, holding the different shapes and sizes of brick firmly in place. However, slowly the cement became chipped and the differently shaped bricks in the form of staff took on their positions.
Her private flat overlooked the main gates of the hospital and even if she sat with her back to the window her mirror on the wall in front of her acted as eyes in the back of her head. She saw anyone coming or going, and the time, which she could check with a slight movement of her eyes to the clock on the mantlepiece over the open fire, in front of which she toasted her feet.
On our first day, we probationers were treated to a get together by the ‘senior’ nurses, as a way of introducing us to a few hospital rules and how to break them effectively! In Winter we were not allowed out after eight o’clock in the evening, in Summer the time of release was extended to nine o’clock, with one late pass a month grudgingly allowed, but we still had to be back by eleven o’clock at the latest.
However, in a smoke-filled room, we were introduced to a life made more endurable by a rota, set up amongst all nurses, for someone to be on fire escape duty. This entailed once Sister Holmes, had been round, turned out our lights, and then locked the door to the retreat, the person on duty immediately opened the fire escape door so that anyone out late could come across the backfield, away from the watching eyes of DAD and into the retreat unseen.

Miss Dorothy Alice Deadicoat, Matron.
A new skill I learned quite quickly was how to stuff a bed! This was in preparation for being out when Sister Holmes did her round to put out the lights. If we weren’t in bed, she would be aware of us being out late without a pass. That usually involved being sent to ‘DAD’, and we were assured that was something we would not wish on anyone.
The ‘stuffing’, involved using the waste paper bin for body and pyjamas or other clothing for legs. Bedclothes pulled well up to cover the ‘head’.
Our uniform was explained to us with tips on how to make up our caps to look like beautiful butterflies that would remain attached to our heads. How to rub soap around the inside of the stiff white collars to soften them and how to rub our feet with methylated spirit to harden them ready for the work they would be called upon to do.
We were also warned to follow instructions given by senior nurses to the letter or take the consequences. One penalty being a cold bath fully clothed! Another, to be stripped naked and then ‘imperfections’ pointed out! We all soon learned that the senior nurses were far more severe than ‘DAD’ and all the sisters put together. The evening passed quickly and we went to our beds much chastened and very tired.
It was the following morning when Deirdre and I were first down to breakfast. Afraid of being late, we sat down at one end of the table when the door opened, and in came a nurse we hadn’t met the night before.
She had large hips supporting arms akimbo, feet at ten to two, and asked who we thought we were? Didn’t we know this was the senior table and furthermore she, Ursula Darling, was the senior nurse of the hospital? Would we remove ourselves instantly to the bot