Sweeping, polishing, fetching and carrying, occasionally helping to move a patient, conscious or unconscious, under the sergeant-majorly supervision of Mr. Perkins, his time passed smoothly. With satisfaction he noticed himself becoming accepted and integrated into the community of the hospital, finding his place in a feudal pyramid-shaped society that brooked no vagueness as to questions of status. He found this refreshingly different from the world outside; here, there could be no false pretensions, for rank, prestige and privileges were settled automatically. At the top were the doctors: these had their own hierarchy, but it was too distant to be observed from below, and concerned no one but themselves and the few uppermost nurses—Matrons and Sisters—who shared the same status. Next came the nurses in general, again with an elaborate hierarchy from Staff Nurse to Probationer. At the bottom, the broad base of the triangle, came the cooks, technicians, clerical and domestic workers. There was, of course, a rigid line of demarcation between each trade here. Charles found his place somewhere near the bottom. As an orderly he cut rather little ice, being inexperienced and without knowledge of any technical trade: it was soon discovered that he was little use at emergency patching up of electrical equipment, plumbing, or any other deep mystery. So he was tolerated and kept busy on humble tasks; which suited him perfectly. Anonymity, obscurity, a relief from strain, the situation was exactly what he had pre­scribed for himself. Finally, he found with gratitude that hospital life, being so grotesquely unlike anything in the world outside, did not admit of any of the usual social classifications. It was not considered strange that he should be working at a manual occupation and still sounding his aitches.

Morning coffee was a great ritual on his block; convention had long since sanctioned a generous mugful for each patient, and for any of the nurses or members of the staff who could arrange to be on hand when it was being distributed. It was Charles’s one social half-hour of the day, when, having taken round trays of coffee, collected them, and washed them up, he sat down in a small room between sinks and stoves, and chatted to women with dusters round their heads as they helped themselves from a freshly made pot.