Hetty Feather by Wilson Jacqueline

Author:Wilson, Jacqueline [Wilson, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781407048420
Publisher: RHCB
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

Polly and I even got ill together that winter. I'm not sure which of us started sniffing and sneezing first, but within a day we both had red and running noses and hacking coughs. Matron Pigface Peters gave us a rag each to wipe our noses, but they were made of harsh, hard cloth and rubbed us raw. Our heads were aching and our arms and legs hurt. All we wanted to do was lie down, but we were forced up into our everyday routine. It was especially cold and we stood shivering at playtime, barely able to stand.

'Run around, children! You need plenty of fresh air to blow those horrid colds away. Don't pull those long faces at me!' said Matron Pigface.

'But we're so cold, Matron. Mayn't we stay indoors just this once?' I snuffled.

'Cold? Of course you're cold if you loll around like that! Do some skipping! Take some exercise, you lazy little girls. And stop that shivering! You've got your good thick coats.'

We had our coats, but we had no woollen scarves or mittens. We had no underwear, so the icy wind blew straight up our skirts. We staggered miserably up and down, our faces grey, snot running freely. By bedtime we were both wheezing and dizzy with fever. I could not croak out a story for everyone. I could barely breathe. I lay there, head throbbing, while my bed seemed to rise up and down, voyaging to the ceiling and back. I lifted my head and was violently sick all over my pillow and coverlet. I crouched, shivering and sniffing, desperate to know what to do. I was sure I'd be punished for making such a terrible stinking mess. I had to try to clear it up, but I didn't know how.

'Oh, Hetty Feather, have you been sick?' Sheila called. 'I can smell it from here. How disgusting you are!'

'She couldn't help it,' said Polly. 'I feel sick too. Oh no—!' She vomited as well.

'Stop it! You're both disgusting,' said Sheila.

Some of the other girls woke too and groaned and complained.

'Ssh! I hear footsteps. It's Matron!' Monica hissed.

I started crying then, unable to lie down in my bed, terrified I might be whipped for being out of it. But it wasn't the dreaded Matron Pigface Peters. Lovely Nurse Winnie was on night duty. She came in with her lamp.

'Oh dear, oh dear, who's been sick?' she said. 'Is it you, Hetty? And poor Polly too!' She came up to me and felt my forehead. 'You have a fever, dear. You need proper nursing – and you too, Polly. Come along with me, girls.'

She ushered us out of the dormitory and down the corridor, into a room we'd never been in before, like a small dormitory with twelve beds.

'This is the infirmary, girls. Let's strip off those soiled nightgowns and get you washed and clean again, poor lambs.' She was so gentle with us that we both started crying, unused to such tenderness. When we were in

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