It Happened To Me | Thelma Cole-Bowen

Nursing Calls, A Journey of Hope

I set off to catch the train to London on a lovely spring morning. I was thankful for my father’s parting words: “You can do it, Thelma!”

Those words seemed to match the noise of the wheels on the rail track.

You can do it, you can do it, and they filled me with hope.

I glanced down at my right leg. Would a matron consider me for nurse training wearing a below-the-knee caliper? The specialist, Dr Collins, hadn’t thought so on my final visit.

“Now, Thelma, you’ve made a marvellous recovery from polio, but it has left you with a marked weakness in your right leg, which means you must continue to wear your caliper to strengthen the limb.”

I remember being close to tears when I asked, “How long will I need to wear it?”

“Difficult to say, given time the muscles may get stronger.”

“But what about my nursing career?”

Dr Collins had looked at me intently. “I’m so sorry, you know as well as I do that you must have good strong limbs for a career in nursing. Why not consider an office job?”

On the way home I reflected on Dr Collins’ words. An office job? No way. This wouldn’t stop me from doing what I’d always set my heart on.

I applied to several hospitals for an interview, but as time went on I received only polite rejections. Just as I was beginning to give up hope, a letter arrived from a large London hospital inviting me for an interview, and so began that memorable trip from Kettering to London.

During the taxi ride through London, I saw bunting being put up, evidence that preparations were well in hand for the Queen’s Coronation.

I drew a deep breath as I entered the hospital. I was immediately aware of the antiseptic atmosphere, which would be repellent to some people, but to me was a reassuring sign of cleanliness.

I remember the kind porter who directed me to the Matron’s office. The hospital was at its busiest: anxious out-patients clutched appointment cards trying to make sense of the complex signs; doctors and hospital staff hurried past, files in hand, and patients were wheeled past on trolleys. Everywhere, an intense activity flooded down the corridors like a fast-flowing river. In my heart I knew I wanted to be part of this, but would the Matron agree? In the next half hour I would have my answer.

I can recall every word of that interview. As I entered the office, the Matron was sitting at her desk making notes. She looked up. I had expected someone formidable, but her expression was kindly.

“Now, I understand that you have made a remarkable recovery from an attack of polio, but it has left you with a weakened right leg. Do you honestly think that you will be able to cope with the hard training that will be required of you?”

I tried to reply in a positive voice. “I know I can do it. I’m really very fit and I have no problem with walking.”

The Matron looked at me keenly. “Well, Miss Kendrick, you are certainly very determined. How would you feel about a three-month trial period? We will see how you cope and go on from there. The next training intake is in September. I look forward to seeing you then.”

The journey home is a distant memory. I accepted the Matron’s offer and spent the next 25 years in various nursing posts, eventually becoming a matron myself. My caliper came off after three months.