Monday, 28 April 2014
JB: What inspired you to write a book based around nurses?
DONNA: I’d love to say it was all my idea, but sadly it
wasn’t! Up until that point I’d written contemporary women’s fiction, but then
an editor suggested I might like to have a go at writing a series set in an
East End hospital. This was before Call The Midwife came out, so I had no idea
about the history of nursing or whether I’d even be able to do it. But once I
started my research I realised there were hundreds of fascinating stories just
waiting to be told – and I really wanted to tell them.
JB: Why did you choose this particular era?
DONNA: I chose the 1930s, because it was so interesting from
a medical point of view. The NHS was unheard of, so hospitals were very
different places – you’d have to be seriously ill to afford to go there,
especially in the poor East End. These days we take it for granted that modern
medicine can sort out most ailments, but in the pre-antibiotic days, something
as minor as an ear infection could kill you. So from a writer’s point of view,
there was huge potential for drama.
The nurses’ lives were very different too. When they signed
on for training at the age of 18, they were virtually signing their lives away
for three years. After preliminary training, students would spend three months
at a time on each ward, where they would learn on the job under the strict eye
of the ward sisters. And most of them were pretty terrifying! Their days were
long, exhausting and very hard work, and even the little time off they had was
supervised by the Home Sister. But in spite of it, all the nurses I’ve met say
their training was the happiest time of their life. That’s what I’ve tried to
get across in the Nightingale books – the bond of friendship between the girls,
and the fun they had.
JB: What sort of research did you have to do?
DONNA: As I said, I knew nothing about the subject, so I
pretty much had to start from scratch. There are lots of nursing biographies
around, so I started by reading those. I then got in touch with the Royal
College of Nursing, who were really helpful. They have a terrific archive of first
hand accounts from nurses dating right back to the beginning of the 20th
century, so I spent many happy hours going through those. I also interviewed as
many retired nurses as I could find, and sought out some genuine textbooks from
the period. I have quite a collection now, and it’s still growing (a friend
recently gave me a 1941 medical dictionary she found among her grandfather’s
belongings, which included instructions on how to set up a wartime gas
cleansing station – priceless information!). I get a real kick out of digging
out that little fact or detail that will bring the story to life. And I
especially like it when I get letters from nurses saying ‘That’s just how it
was’!
I wanted to get the East End right, too. That part of London
was largely destroyed during the war, so to get a feel for the way it was, I
visited the British Library and went through local newspapers from that period.
So when my characters go to the pictures, they’re watching a film that was
really showing at that time!
JB: Do you think you could’ve ever been a nurse?
DONNA: Let me think…They got up at six, were on duty by
seven, worked fourteen hour days during which time they weren’t allowed to eat,
drink or sit down except on their designated breaks (which could be cancelled on
the ward sister’s whim). They weren’t allowed to run, speak unless spoken to,
or even make eye contact with a doctor. If they had a hairclip out of place,
they could lose their half day’s holiday. And what little time off they had was
either spent in lectures or studying for their exams. Oh, and the first year of
their training they were mainly scrubbing out bedpans and sputum mugs (without
gloves, I might add). So no, I don’t think I would have made the grade back in
the 1930s! Although really, women in those days didn’t have much choice. Being
a teacher, a secretary or a nurse were the only professions considered
‘respectable’ for nice middle class girls.
JB: You were 40 years old when you published your first
novel. What did it feel like to see your book in print?
DONNA: Very exciting! I actually started writing when I was
in my early twenties. I thought it would be a doddle to write a novel and get
it published. I’d already spent my first massive advance cheque in my head when
the manuscript came winging back with a rejection slip. The next 20 years were
spent learning my craft, practising and getting it wrong. So by the time my
book came out, I felt I’d earned it.
JB: How long did it take to complete Nightingales on Call?
DONNA: I’m contracted to write two books a year, so it should
take me six months. But I like to write at least three drafts, and of course
there’s other stuff like proof reading the last book and researching the next
to do at the same time, so it’s nearly always a rush to the finish. My friends and
family are used to me disappearing for the month before deadline so I can get
it finished on time!
JB: Do you have any writing rituals?
DONNA: It’s odd, because as a former journalist I’m used to
writing in busy, noisy offices. I can still put up with a lot of hustle and
bustle when I’m writing a feature, but when I’m working on a novel I have to
work in silence. I’ve tried writing in coffee shops a la JK Rowling, but I’m
too nosey and easily distracted by what’s going on around me. My office is at
the back of the garage and really quiet, with no window for me to people watch!
I sit facing a blank wall, simply because it forces me to concentrate on my
screen. Seriously, there are prison cells more luxurious than my office! I work
best in the morning, the earlier the better. I’m pretty much useless by the
afternoon, which is when I tend to read, or research (or just watch Tipping
Point!).
JB: Do you have any advice for anyone wanting to write?
DONNA: Keep practising! Like any craft, writing takes a long
time to master. Read as widely as you can, including books on writing and
storytelling (I thoroughly recommend On Writing by Stephen King, and Save The
Cat by Blake Schneider). And write, too, of course. But don’t expect to get it
right first time. Even after a dozen books, I’m still learning. Remember, no
matter how good you feel your first (or second) draft might be, it can always
be improved. Put it away for a few weeks, then re-read it and you’ll see what I
mean!
JB: What’s next for you?
DONNA: More Nightingales books, I hope! I’m just finishing
the fifth book in the series, which is due out in November. And there are plans
for at least a couple more, which will see the hospital through the Second
World War. I’m just starting to research it now, and I can’t wait to find out
what happens next!
Thank you for having me on your blog. Your questions really
made me think!
About the Author
Donna
Douglas has always loved stories. As a child, she looked forward to her weekly
fix of the Bunty comic, with its
dramatic tales of girls achieving their dreams against the odds. Donna wanted
to be a writer, but like her favourite fictional heroines, her dream seemed to
be out of reach. Girls from the back streets of south London didn’t do that
kind of thing.
But like
those Bunty girls before her, Donna
was determined. When she was 19, she landed her dream job, writing photo love
stories for a teenage magazine. She went on to train as a ‘proper’ journalist,
and worked on several women’s magazines. But the longing to tell stories never
left her, and when she was 40 years old she published her first novel, Waiting in the Wings, which won the
Romantic Novelists Association New Writers Award.
Her first
novel in the Nightingales series, The
Nightingale Girls, was published in 2012. Since then there have been two
more, The Nightingale Sisters and The Nightingale Nurses. The next novel
in the series, Nightingales On Call,
is published in April 2014. Set in a 1930s East End hospital, The Nightingale
novels are heartwarming, emotional stories of girls battling against the odds –
just like those Bunty heroines of
old.
Donna now
lives in York with her husband. They
have a grown up daughter. When she isn’t writing, she likes walking, reading
and watching Pointless on TV.
Author links
The spring
of 1937 sees a new intake of student nurses at the Nightingale hospital in East
London. Among them is Effie O’Hara, a fun-loving country girl. She’s looking
forward to experiencing the bright lights of London. But with her older sisters watching over her,
how can she escape the confines of hospital life?
She finds an unlikely ally in Jess Jago, the new maid at the
nurses’ home. Like Effie, Jess is looking for a new start. But it isn’t long
before her past catches up with her…
Meanwhile, East End girl Dora Doyle once again finds herself
at odds with spoilt fellow student Lucy Lane. But as the girls face dark times,
they begin to realise their worst enemy can also be their best friend...
Excerpt
‘Your duties will begin at five o’clock sharp,
when you will lay the fires, draw the curtains and make sure the boiler is lit.
You will then wake me at precisely five-thirty with a cup of tea and my
breakfast. I like two boiled eggs and buttered toast. Lightly boiled, mind. I
can’t abide eggs like rubber.’
The fearsome
Home Sister glared at Jess as if she doubted she could ever be equal to such a
task. Jess smiled back, her tongue rammed in her cheek to stop herself from
speaking out of turn. She didn’t want to lose this job before she’d managed to
get it.
‘At six
o’clock you must wake the students,’ Sister Sutton went on. ‘Once they have gone,
you will clean the bathrooms, sweep, dust and polish all the halls and stairs,
and clean the students’ sitting room. The nurses are supposed to keep it tidy,
but they tend to be rather careless.’ Her bulbous nose wrinkled with distaste.
‘I will carry out my room inspection at midday, so I expect everything to be in
order by then.’ She stared at Jess, her eyes as tiny and dark as raisins in her
doughy face. ‘You have been in service, you say?’
Jess nodded.
‘Since I was thirteen.’ Although none of
the houses where she had been employed as a maid of all work were anywhere near
as big as the student nurses’ home. With its grand entrance, sweeping staircase
and long passages, it was like one of the country mansions she had read about
in her favourite Jane Austen books. Except there were no works of art on the
drab, brown-painted walls, and the floors were covered in polished lino and not
Turkish rugs. But the ornate plasterwork on the high ceilings still whispered
of the house’s elegant past.
As the Home
Sister continued to list the maid’s duties, Jess gazed up at the twisting
plaster vine leaves and carved bunches of grapes and wondered how she would
ever be able to reach up there with a duster.
‘Are you
listening to me, girl?’ Sister Sutton’s sharp voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘I hope you’re not daydreaming? I have no time for daydreamers.’
‘No, Miss.
Sorry, Miss.’
‘Please
address me as Sister.’
‘Yes, Miss –
I mean, Sister.’
Jess bobbed
her head. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but Sister Sutton seemed as imposing
as the house she presided over. She wasn’t much taller than Jess, but at least
three times as wide, her severe grey uniform stretched over her solid bulk.
Wisps of wiry hair escaped from beneath her starched white bonnet, tied in a
bow amid her quivering chins. A Jack Russell terrier pranced around her feet,
yapping up at Jess. The din filled the echoing passageway where they stood, but
Sister Sutton seemed oblivious to it.
‘It says in
your references that you’re a hard worker and quick to learn.’ The Home Sister
looked doubtful as she consulted the papers in her hand.
‘I am, Miss
– Sister.’
‘Your
previous employer seemed very satisfied with you. So why did you want to
leave?’
‘I wanted a
live-in job, Sister.’
‘Really?’
Sister Sutton’s brows rose. ‘Most young girls seem to want to live out these
days.’
Most young
girls don’t come from where I do, Jess thought. ‘I would prefer to live in,’
was all she said.
Before
Sister Sutton could ask any more, Jess turned her attention to the dog. She
bent to stroke it but it lunged forward, snapping at her outstretched fingers.
She snatched her hand back sharply.
 |
| BUY |
Jess eyed
the dog. He stared straight back at her with hostile black eyes, as if he knew
exactly who she was and where she had come from.
The front
door opened and two students came in, chattering together. As soon as they
spotted Sister Sutton they froze and fell instantly silent. They tried to slink
towards the stairs, but Sister Sutton wheeled round to confront them.
‘You two!
Where do you think you’re going?’ she demanded.
The girls
exchanged nervous glances. They weren’t much older than Jess, one pretty and
blue-eyed with dark curls, the other brown-haired and sharp-featured, her neat nose
pointing skywards.
‘Please,
Sister, it’s eleven o’clock,’ the dark-haired girl stammered. She had a lilting
Irish accent that was as sweet as her round face.
‘I can tell
the time perfectly well, thank you very much. Why aren’t you on your wards?’
‘We’ve been
sent off duty until one, Sister,’ the other student explained. Her voice was
clear and crisp, each syllable perfectly pronounced, like one of the lady
announcers on the wireless.
‘I see. Why
couldn’t you have said that, O’Hara?’ Sister Sutton swung her bulk around to
face the Irish girl again.
‘I – I –
sorry, Sister,’ she mumbled.
‘I should
think so, too. And look at the state of you. Crumpled apron, grubby collar –
and is that a pin I see sticking out of your cap?’ She drew in a sharp breath.
‘Tidy yourself up immediately or I shall cancel your half-day off.’
‘Yes,
Sister.’
Jess stared
at the Irish girl as she fumbled with her cap, a blush rising in her face,
unable to see why Sister Sutton was making so much fuss. The girl looked
immaculate to Jess, in her blue-and-white striped dress and spotless apron. But
she couldn’t imagine how thick and itchy that heavy fabric and those woollen
stockings must feel on such a warm April afternoon.
Jess caught
the brown-haired girl’s eye and gave her a sympathetic smile. The girl tossed
her head, stuck her turned-up nose even further in the air and stalked straight
past her towards the stairs, the Irish girl hurrying behind with her head down.
Charming,
Jess thought. She pulled a face at the girl’s retreating back, then quickly
stopped when she realised the Home Sister was glaring at her.
‘Are you
sure you’re capable of this kind of work?’ she said. ‘You don’t look as if you
could lift a broom.’
Jess knew
what Sister Sutton was thinking. At seventeen years old, she was still as
slight as a child.
‘I’m
stronger than I look,’ she promised, squaring her shoulders. ‘Just give me a
chance, and you’ll soon see what I can do.’
Sister
Sutton pursed her mouth. ‘You’re certainly good at speaking up for yourself, I
can see that.’
‘Sorry,
Sister.’ Jess pressed her lips together. And she’d tried to be so careful not
to put a foot wrong.
But then
Sister Sutton heaved a sigh that shook all her chins and said, ‘Very well, you
may have a trial. One month and then I shall decide whether you’re up to the
job or not.’
Jess let out
the breath she had been holding since she arrived on the doorstep of the
nurses’ home. Her fingers ached where she’d kept them twisted together for so
long. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Sister,’ Sister Sutton corrected her.
‘You must refer to me and the other nursing sisters correctly at all times. You
must also remember not to speak to anyone unless they speak to you first, and
to stand up whenever a sister enters the room. And you must keep your distance
from the other girls here. They are student nurses at the Nightingale Hospital,
and as such they are your social superiors. They must be treated with due
deference.’
Jess thought
about the sharp-featured girl, tossing her head so haughtily and walking past
Jess as if she didn’t exist. But after four years in service, she was used to
being treated like part of the furniture.
And if that
was what it took to escape from the hatcheries, then she would willingly become
invisible.
‘Now,’
Sister Sutton went on, ‘I will show you to your room.’ She bustled off down the
passageway, a bunch of keys jingling from her belt. Reaching the door at the
farthest end of the passage, she took the keys in her hand and held them close
to her face, squinting at each in turn until she selected the right one.
‘Here we
are,’ she said, unlocking the door and throwing it open. ‘The room’s small, but
perfectly adequate for your needs.’
Jess stepped
inside. Sister Sutton was right, it was
small. Scarcely bigger than a cupboard, with just enough room for a narrow bed
and a chest of drawers. But to Jess, it seemed like a palace. There was even a
small shelf above the bed where she could keep her books.
She stepped
inside, breathing in the clean smell of furniture polish and fresh linen.
Spring sunshine flooded the room, making everything bright and cheerful.
Jess went
over to the window and gazed out over the garden. It couldn’t be more different
from the hatcheries. Living here would be like living in Victoria Park, waking
up surrounded by grass and trees and flowers every day.
‘It’s
beautiful,’ she breathed.
Sister
Sutton huffed. ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘But as I said, it’s
perfectly adequate for a maid’s needs.’
Jess looked
around her again. Whatever the Home Sister might think, to her it was perfect.
Almost too perfect. Girls like Jess Jago didn’t get that kind of luck.
Perhaps 1937
was going to be the year everything changed for her, she thought.
GIVEAWAY
The
overall giveaway on tour is three paperback copies of Nightingales on Call and
is open Internationally.
Great interview ladies.
I love browsing archives and the research sounds amazing.
Thank you for supporting Donna on tour JB.
Shaz
Have to get this book!!! ��
pretty nice blog, following :)