Olive's War

It is 1939 and I am working in an office in Aldgate when I thought I should do something more worthwhile at 18 years of age so I decided upon a nursing career. I left my home in Tooley Street, Deptford and enrolled as a student nurse in a LCC mental hospital at Woodford Bridge. I enjoyed the company of the other students and the work suited me.

When war was declared all we students expected bombs as the air raid siren sounded so we had to race out into the gardens to round up our patients. No sooner was this achieved safely and we had all collected into the arranged cover points then the ‘all clear’ siren went. So whether that was just a practice or a genuine raid I do not know.

After that, life went routinely for a while until the day we heard ‘planes flying over us and the sound of anti-aircraft guns. They were all making for London so we became used to this. The barrage balloons were all in situ by now so we had some protection. However before long we saw enemy planes arriving and they were dropping Molotov baskets. These baskets soon opened above us and they scattered many small incendiary bombs. We had instructions how to cope with them which was to throw a bucket of sand over them or beat them out with anything we could grab near to hand.

My ward sister once grabbed a toilet brush which did the trick but ruined the brush. She requisitioned a new one explaining that the old one ‘was destroyed by enemy action’; we had to keep a sense of humour. However it was not so funny when they fell on the hospital laundry and it was all hands to assist the doctors who had unrolled the hose for us to support. However the hose was perished at various intervals and so of course the water was shooting out at all angles. We were instructed by the firemen to “Turn the b…. water off”. Or later “Turn the b…. water on”. General panic as we were all soaking wet!

It was not a very satisfactory engagement as we ended up with our smart nursing outfits and caps coming back from the laundry with big brown edged holes all over and we looked a real mess. We were unable to save several patients’ clothes but thankfully no one was hurt that night.

Time went on and we were still studying and attending lectures. We had the very latest treatments and an extremely efficient management. The patients, who received first class attention and compassion, were mostly ‘Cockney Eastenders’ who were a joy to nurse. Claybury Hospital was the LCC flagship!!

I was 21 when I qualified as a Registered Mental Nurse (RMN) and a Royal Medico Psychological Nurse (RMPN). I wanted to go on and train in a general hospital and I was given a lot of advice and finally was accepted for training in a voluntary hospital ‘The Miller’ in Greenwich, London.

The raids became more frequent and the sirens usually sounded at about 9pm. However, when possible we would go out in our uniform with red capes shaking a tin for public contributions. The slogan was “The Ill in Miller need your Silver’ and we had posters around the district depicting an old Scotsman dancing a hornpipe.

During the day patients were evacuated to other hospitals out of the region such as Joyce Green. The Green Line coaches were altered to act as ambulances and they would discharge their patients soon after the 9pm siren.

During the day the trolleys were all made up for various procedures needed for use during the night. Not only did we have injuries we also had patients who had been dug out of their bombed houses having been buried sometimes for days until rescued by the air raid wardens. We all worked very hard and we had to do porters work as the men had been called up.

Our nurse’s home was demolished and we night staff had to sleep during the day in a Morrison shelter or dug out air raid shelters on Blackheath, then at night go down the hill to our hospital to have a meal and station ourselves beside the empty beds ready for action.

Several patients who had been rescued after a prolonged time wedged in the ruins of their houses were able to enter the ward quite ambulant and cheering and singing so happy to have been saved.
Immediately we set up for intravenous drips as they were dehydrated and unfortunately for some of them it was too late because they developed a serious condition called ‘prolonged crush syndrome’ – that is severe ureamia.

Some patients were BID. ie. Brought in Dead. These we had to lay out keeping their jewellery and clothing in a bag for the relatives who needed to them the next day to aid identification. There were no lights because of a complete blackout so another nurse and I would take the bodies on trolleys (no porters) to the mortuary. Once in the mortuary we had to feel our way along the cold toes until we found an empty slab on which to put the bodies plus their bag of belongings.

About this time the pilotless planes were sent over and our anti-aircraft guns would sound off. We weren’t aware of the fact that they were flying bombs so we were on the roof of the hospital cheering and clapping with excitement thinking a plane had been shot down. However, we soon found out that they were indeed bombs, turning off their engine and then dropping down upon innocent people.

The hospital was very short of money so we had to be very economical with dressings and instruments. If we broke a syringe or a thermometer we had to pay for them out of our low wage. We were well fed but we were observed carefully at mealtimes to be sure we were not wasteful.

When the rockets arrived they came down at an angle until they exploded on target and they sounded like express trains going past our windows.

There was a factory opposite our hospital and one day it caught fire. This was strange as they sold all the fire fighting and equipment necessities. The fire was so severe that the heat from across the road cracked the glass windows in the hospital.

One night I was waiting in the ward for an incoming patient from Blackheath. He was a very large man and I think very wealthy. He wore silk striped pyjamas and an expensive wrist watch and many gold rings. He was dead and covered in blood from head to foot. Upon this dried blood were hundreds of feathers which was a most gruesome sight. He had of course been killed in his feather bed. (tarred and feathered).

The Government decided to give us a relief after several weeks and I was sent to Tunbridge Wells. There was a big T.B. sanatorium there called Preston Hall. It was near Maidstone and a large number of pre-fabricated huts were built in the grounds to form wards and departments. However, just before I was moved there – there was a bad raid and some bombs were dropped in the vicinity of a big public house called ‘The Marquis of Granby’ which was quite near our hospital. There was
a terminal for trains there where they could have their points changed for different routes. In addition there was a large departmental shop opposite and many passengers and work people were injured.

There were so many casualties that our large out-patients department was covered entirely with patients on stretchers and all we could do was attend to them all as fast as we could with injections of morphine. It was so chaotic and unnerving.

After that, as I said, I was off to Preston Hall and had to nurse the Army in various wards. Many of them were in plaster of Paris, some in plaster beds and several were suffering from chest infections. They were a jolly crowd and always laughed and joked with the nurses. They called one ‘Poppy Poopah’ in fun as Tommy Handley was very popular on the radio.

After about six weeks I had to return to The Miller. All during my years 18 – 25 (1939 to 1945) I had to attend lectures and study as best I could to refresh my knowledge. I received my State Registered Nurse (SRN) certificate at the end of the war.

The NHS commenced 1948 and I wanted to study midwifery or join the Queen Alexander’s Nursing Service (QAS) as did some of my colleagues. I chose to apply for the pupil midwife course and snatched at the first opportunity which happened to be St. Mary’s maternity hospital in Leeds. I finally qualified in 6 months and became a Nursing Officer in Administration at Highroyds Hospital, Menston near Leeds and eventually retired there after having served for 37 years.

I have always done my best and now I am 84 and feel that I have not wasted my life.

Hoping you have found this interesting. I’m afraid my writing is not too clever and so a friend offered to type it for me.

I trust you will receive some good stories from people who lived through those 39 – 45 years.

Yours faithfully.

Olive E F Claydon
November 2003

PS.
I had one interesting experience when in Greenwich at the end of the war. Nearby was Greenwich Naval College and from time to time we were invited over there to a dinner dance. On one occasion I noticed this smart naval officer in uniform wearing an eyeglass and I said to my friend, I know that face, it’s Will Hay the comedian – so we asked him what he was doing there. He laughed and said he was a very important astronomer and he taught cadets to navigate by the stars.

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