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Joyce Watson (nee Kent), born in 1922, tells us of the time she worked in Dorset as a registered nurse, although on a couple of occasions she herself was the patient: -
During 1942, the day came for drafts to various places. A friend of mine, Audrey, went to Cerne Abbess, Somerset and I went to Sherbourne, Dorset, my original allocation.
Girls from who knows where seemed to suddenly converge on the place. We were nicely situated, not far from the station, Sherbourne Abbey, a YMCA, pubs of course and Lord Digby Mansion, used for dances to entertain the Forces. There were fields of sheep not far from the station, where the RAF used to train dogs for service work.
We were ordered, 'You and you in there, two to a cabin.' My cabin mate and I sat on our bare bed and just looked at one another. 'What's your name' I asked, 'Joyce', she replied. Laughing, I told her that that was also my name, thus breaking the ice. These cabins were brand new, the building being only one storey of bare bricks. There was only a curtain across the door space; I wondered was this so we couldn't entertain, or maybe to cut costs?
So that's when I became Joy. Joyce G, in her Devonian accent said no, but as I said, my Dad had wanted me to be Joy, but the Priest had christened me Joyce. So much for my christening cake. He made the same mistake with my sister, Betty. Dad wanted her christened Betty, but it had to be Elizabeth.
The initial introductions over, it was time for a meal. I can't remember when we started it, but we took days putting beds up with help of RNSBA's (Royal Navy Sick Berth Attendants). They were in every navy hospital and sick bay. Chief Petty Officers trained SRN and Petty Officers were trained. We made up drums and drums of dressings etc.
I became unwell during this procedure and an SBA said 'Nurse Kent, are you OK?' I replied, 'I feel I have a sore throat and a headache.' 'Here take this tonight', I was told, (Aspirin and Phenalin). I did, but was told in the morning when reporting sick, that all I needed was a salt gargle, which I then had. The day went on and I felt progressively fatigued. We worked so hard, yet I was used to working from as young as 10 years or so.
I went to my cabin, and that was all I remember until I came to in Cerne Abbess - a little mansion type hospital with some lively birds. I wondered where I was. A heron was standing on a rising bit of the grounds. Next thing my friend, Audrey, said 'Thank God, you gave us all a shock and we had to telegram your Mum.' I recovered, but apparently had had upper right lobal pneumonia, which my Miss Vyan felt guilty about for the rest of her career. She was a sister to Admiral Vyan. I think his ship was the Cossack.
I did, however, get my own back on Miss Vyan, later that year. I had weekend leave and was in agony with a huge carbuncle on my waistline. I managed to travel to Worthing, home to Cortis Avenue. I walked to the hospital early on Sunday morning before the houseman was on duty, whereupon I had the carbuncle lanced, leaving a huge hole, which they packed with ribbon gauze.
I subsequently went back by train on Monday morning, sitting sideways as I couldn't bear the huge plug pressing against the back of the seat. Miss Vyan, asking why I wasn't dressed for duty, approached me. I told her about the dressing, but she didn't believe me and asked to have a quick look. Shocked, Miss Vyan whisked me off to sick staff ward where I ended up for several weeks. This ward was not available when I got pneumonia but, as Miss Vyan had been caught out before, she was not taking any chances this time.
Back on duty, there was never a dull moment with this VAD. I am crawling around very quietly trying to see where a burning smell was coming from, only to have the Chief Petty Officer tell me, 'Kent, you've a fire.' An electric blanket had scorched the rubber mattress on the crash bed. To this day, I will not use an electric blanket. Thank God the bed was empty. The drill was to turn the blanket on at night for any accident admission.
One day we had a soldier admitted. He had a gun shot wound, the bullet passing right through his body and into his mate. He had to be told that his friend had died.
Sherbourne was originally built to treat orthopaedic cases, emergency and planned operations, but during my time there, all sorts were admitted.
In 1943 I was eventually drafted to Lord Digby Mansion for sick Officers and Wrens. The Officers were spoilt, or so I thought, until I went to Yeovilton Fleet Air Arm Station later. We never knew what to expect, we even had the birth of a little boy while there. Also there was an RAF man who used to come and play recitals for us all, a friend of one of the QANN sisters (Queen Alexandra's Naval Nursing).
My one luxury I had, was a mug of fresh cow's milk straight from the udder, lovely, thick and creamy. This cost 1d, which had to be put out on the kitchen dresser.
While in that part of Dorset I used to go horse riding, about the only sport I'd ever participated in, apart from netball and stool ball. I had my very disputable Hercules bike with me wherever I went. Dad got it for me before the War.
Johnny Fryer, whom I'd met whilst nursing at Haslar Hospital, used to visit me. He was staying in a Guesthouse and we would meet for only a couple of hours each day, whilst he was on leave from Scotland. Johnny had square rig, the suit kind of naval uniform, which he used to wear on our dates.
In 1944 Joyce was accepted by Rochford General Hospital in Southend for General State Certificate Training, after which she became an SRN
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