Nor did I like all my patients. Some of them just seemed so hopeless, so pathetic, particularly those advanced in years. Nothing seemed to make any difference to them, because the main thing ailing them was simply the decrepitude of old age, for which there was no treatment. It bothered me that they were taking up my time.

When I reminisce about those days I prefer to dwell upon the pleasant patients, the ones who demonstrated an appropriate degree of gratitude. I remember Arthur, a railway labourer admitted with painful legs and bleeding gums on account of the poor provisions supplied to the railway construction camps. I looked after him for some weeks, and from early in his stay I noticed how his face seemed to light up whenever I appeared on the ward. He always said his pleases and thank-yous, but more importantly, he spoke to me deferentially, as though I was a person of substance, someone who was entitled to his regard.

I was particularly diligent in my care of him and took pride in watching him recover. I recall my sadness at the prospect of losing him when the doctor pronounced him cured. I did not want Arthur to leave.

I altered the ward journal, ascribing symptoms to him that he did not have, and consequently delayed his dismissal. I was pleased with the outcome itself, but more so that I had been able to effect it so simply.

I subsequently did the same with other patients whom I found it pleasant to look after, especially when there remained the danger that the bed would otherwise be filled by some faltering ingrate who was a better fit for the cemetery.

Some of the physicians were more diligent than others, relying upon the evidence of their own observations rather than merely acting upon what was written in the journals. One such was Dr Hewitt, an ambitious and busy-minded young man who queried the accuracy of what had been recorded, noting that it bore little resemblance to what he could plainly observe. He demanded to know who had been responsible for these erroneous reports.

I lied and told him the patient had been under the charge of another nurse. It first occurred to me to blame the self-regarding Gertie, but I had learned well from Joyce back at the Institute. I had to choose my scapegoat with care. The doctor would never have believed it of Gertie, for she was fastidious in her habits and more importantly I knew she would have been vociferous in denying her involvement. Instead I blamed Nelly Campbell. I liked Nelly well enough and she me, but she was known to be clumsy, and furthermore was sufficiently timid. She meekly disputed that the patient in question was ever under her care, but was not listened to, and was summarily dismissed before the day was out.