“It’s my turn to die and go to heaven,” said Edda. “My feet are human again.”
And though the West End nurses took many months to admit that the stuck-up new-style trainees were every bit as good at old-style care as they were themselves, the malice died out of West End persecution. What was the use of malice, when its targets always managed to survive it?
“It dates back to the middle of July,” said Edda as September expired in a tossing yellow sea of daffodils. “Someone had the kindness to intervene — but who?”
Their guesses were many, and varied from Deputy Matron Anne Harding to the least offensive West Ender, Nurse Nancy Wilson; but no one, even Tufts, suspected the hand of Dr. Liam Finucan. Who sat back contentedly and watched his four protegées flourish in this happier, more rewarding atmosphere.
“The Great War brought many advances in surgery,” he said in his soft voice to his class of four, “but did far less for physical medicine. The great killers are still killing in huge numbers — pneumonia, heart disease and vascular disease. You young women represent the greatest advance in pneumonia treatment in the history of the world to date.” His brows flew up, his eyes danced. “What? Can’t see it? Because, ladies, the Powers-That-Be now understand that a properly trained and educated nurse tackles the nursing of pneumonia intelligently. Grounded in anatomy and physiology, she doesn’t limit her care to emptying the patient’s sputum mug, bed pan and urine bottle, and making his bed. No, she badgers him into constantly exercising even when confined to his bed, she makes him believe he can get better, she explains to him in simple language what the doctors never do — the nature of his ailment — and she never leaves him alone to languish like a stuffed dummy without attention, no matter how busy she is. Only one thing saves the pneumonia patient — relentless, informed nursing care.”
They listened avidly, and assimilated what Liam Finucan was not allowed to say: that only knowledge of the underlying science could push a nurse to the extra work Liam Finucan’s kind of care demanded.
“It’s what’s wrong with the West Enders,” Edda said to her sisters over sausage sandwiches in their warm kitchen. “They live at home, have all those cares and worries on their shoulders as well as here, can hardly read or write beyond the basics, and know only what medicine they can pick up on the wards. Some of them are very good nurses, but to most of them it’s just a job. If a pneumonia case needs pummelling, moving around, to be forced to cough, and have his bed changed, it depends on how busy the nurses are, what the Sister-in-Charge is like, and which West Enders are on duty. There’s no underlying foundation of knowledge.”
Grace sniffled. “That’s not likely to happen to us,” she said mournfully. “My head aches from all the terms and diseases.”
“Go on, Grace, your head aches because it’s got something to do with itself apart from swooning over Rudolph Valentino.”
“I love the tuition,” said Tufts, nose in Gray’s Anatomy.
“If you drip sausage fat on that page, Tufty, you’ll be in hot water,” said Edda, face menacing.
“When have I ever lost a drop of sausage fat?”
Their instruction went on; Dr. Finucan never flagged.
“There are no medicines or pharmaceutical techniques worth a pinch of pepper,” he said, “for any of the major killers. We know what germs are and can destroy them in our surroundings, but not once they’re inside our bodies. A bacillus infecting tissue, like pneumonia in the lungs, is untreatable. We can look at the thing under a microscope, but nothing we can administer by mouth or skin or hypodermic injection can kill it.”
For some reason his eyes went to Tufts — a perfect matron!
“As I am Corunda’s Coroner, I conduct autopsies, which are surgical dissections of the dead. The other name for autopsy is post mortem. You’ll learn your anatomy and physiology standing around the morgue table. If the dead person is an itinerant without family or friends, I’ll carve the corpse minutely to show a particular system — lymphatic, vascular, digestive, for example. We’ll have to hope that I get enough indigents, but usually I do.”
He gazed at them sternly. “Remember this, nurses, always! Our subject under the knife is one of God’s creatures, no matter how humble. What you see, what you hear, what you touch and handle is, or was, a living human being and a part of God’s grand scheme, whatever that may be. Everyone is worthy of respect, including after death. Nurse Latimer, you must remember that the patient’s wishes count as well as your own. Nurse Treadby, that not all children are angels in character or inclination, Nurse Scobie, that there are times when your most cherished systems will not work, and Nurse Faulding, that even the foulest mess a patient can produce has its place in God’s plan.” He grinned. “No, I am not religious like your father, ladies, for the God I speak of is the sum-total of everything that was, or is, or will be.”
A fine man, was Edda’s verdict, echoed by Tufts; to Kitty he was a little bit of a spoilsport, but to Grace he was the Voice of Doom reiterating the background chorus of her nursing life — messes, messes, and more messes.
Of one thing they were very glad: though Matron, Dr. Campbell and Dr. Finucan knew they were twinned sisters, no one else did. A whole world existed between St. Mark’s Rectory and Corunda Base Hospital.
Available now
Author’s Note
For the information of readers who notice that Missalonghi is spelled with an “a” rather than the “o” now commonly accepted as correct, in Australia at the time this story takes place, the old-fashioned “a” was more usual.
About this Book
The Hurlingford family have ruled the small town of Byron, nestled in the Blue Mountains, for generations. Wealthy, powerful and cruel, they get what they want, every time.
Missy Wright’s mother, a Hurlingford by birth, has been shunned by her family since marrying for love, not money. Now widowed, the women live a quiet existence in genteel poverty. Plain, thin and unforgivably single, it seems Missy’s life is destined to be dreary.
But then a stranger arrives in town. A divorcee from Sydney. And she opens Missy’s eyes to the possibility of a happy ending.
This is an endearing tale, full of wit, warmth and romance, from the bestselling author of The Thorn Birds.
Reviews
‘A towering work of Roman historical fiction. Highly entertaining and compulsive.’
Robert Fabbri
‘The Masters of Rome series is a tour de force, a brilliant recreation of the twilight of the Roman Republic as Caesar and Pompey vie for power. This is historical fiction at its finest.’
Sharon Penman
‘A powerful story told with the verve of a novelist and the commitment of a historian.’
The Sunday Times
‘Incomparable… Engrossing… Breathtakingly detailed… A triumph.’
Chicago Tribune
‘A truly astonishing work.’
Time
“An awesome and epic new work... This is an absolutely absorbing story—not simply of the military and political intrigues that went into the final days of the Republic but also of what it was like to live, love and survive at this pivotal point in our civilization... A master storyteller... A 900-plus-page novel that is every bit as hard to put down as it is to pick up.’
Los Angeles Times
“Splendid in conception... The narrative sweeps along as does the force of history... Colleen McCullough understands the undercurrents of human emotion. She reveals people as they are... Exceptional.”
