Diary fragment · 2 min read ·
The Hour Kept by the Night Nurse
A night nurse on a children's ward records the hour each night when the ward goes quiet, and the children who have died there begin to sit up in their beds to listen to the stories she tells them.
- dated: November, the dark weeks of the winter rota
- narrator: Maggie Doyle, night nurse
- reliability: unreliable
Monday. Ward quiet, twelve beds, two empty. Gave the evening medicines and checked the monitors. Little Tessa in bed four is doing better. She asked me for a story, so I told her about the lighthouse keeper who could hear fish singing. She said she already knew it.
Tuesday. At half past two the ward went still. I have logged that hour every night since September, without knowing why. Nothing in the notes. The lights hum and then the hum stops and every child opens their eyes at once and looks toward the window.
Wednesday. Asked Tessa what she sees in that hour. She said the other children. I asked which children. She named three, all from the old ward that was closed in 1998, and said they were sitting up in their beds in the dark, and that they were waiting for the story. I asked her what story they wanted. She said they wanted mine.
Thursday. I told the story again, the one about the keeper and the singing fish. The lights came back on at four. There were thirteen children in bed. I counted twice.
Friday. Found a chart at the end of bed nine with a name I did not recognise. The record had no admission date. The last entry was in my handwriting, from a night in 1998, when I was a student nurse on this ward. I do not remember writing it. It says *Story requested by the child. Granted.*
Saturday. Went to the records office to ask about the old ward. The clerk was very kind. She said that when the ward closed, all the children had been moved to new beds in the east wing, and that every chart was transferred. She showed me the list. Each child on it had a note against their name in pencil, a single word: *Waiting*.
Sunday. Tessa was asleep when I came on shift. The other beds were full. I stood at the end of her bed and told the story very quietly, so as not to wake her. When I finished, the whole ward opened its eyes, and thirteen small voices said, in one breath, *Again*.