Blog 90 Alan’s story A nurse’s tale from days gone by

 Alan was a four year old boy who had been on the children’s ward for several weeks.        His

strength was slowly slipping away.   On his ‘good’ days, he would play with the other children, enjoying the toys and teddy bears that they invariably had – but he had not.   On his ‘bad’ days he was confined to his bed grateful to anyone who would keep him company.     There were plenty of ‘bad’ days - for Alan had leukaemia.   On visiting days, only three times a week in those days, the nurses made up for his missing family. His parents lived far away and were too upset to visit; no one sent him toys.

It was 1953 and we were about to have a coronation.  A gleaming, golden coach, made by one of the nurses’ dad stood at the ward entrance. Red white and blue flags and streamers festooned the ward as the excitement grew.   We knew what the queen looked like; the papers were full of her pictures, we saw her on newsreel at the cinema but we were going to see her for real.   A generous local firm had lent a TV for the children to watch.

Alan’s sharp ears pricked up.  ‘What’s a queen?  Is she a fairy queen?’

‘No Alan, she’s our queen, a real queen; queen to all of us in England’.

‘You mean she’s my queen?

‘Yes. Of course she’s your queen, Alan.’     These proved to be magic words!

‘My Queen; she’s MY Queen,’ Alan shouted.   He was enraptured and chanted over and over all day ‘She’s My Queen.’

On the day of the coronation, coming home after the night shift, I had a quick nap then went to my

aunt’s home where, with friends and neighbours, I crowded into the living room and watched the shadowy proceedings on the tiny goldfish bowl like box.   It was an unforgettable day.   We saw distinguished visitors from all over the world.

Many of the children were still excited after their party tea and games when I reported for night

duty but Alan was already asleep, his Union Jack still clutched tightly in his hand. Sadly he did not awaken again.   But he had seen ‘His Queen’, wearing her beautiful crown riding in her golden coach.  And she had smiled and waved especially to him.

Based on a story submitted by Eileen Bostock from Warrington. Eileen is a member of the NHS Retirement Fellowship