IN UNIFORM: STORIES OF NURSES AND THEIR CLOTHING
When visiting one of The Fitzrovia Chapel’s fascinating exhibitions, you are almost certain to bump into at least one former nurse. At its recent show about health workers’ uniforms, the nurses of course were out in force. In late November over thirty of them joined the same guided tour as I did, led by one of the curators, Freya Bently. Their contribution to the event was tremendous.
They were there because the Chapel was once part of the Middlesex Hospital. In 2008 the hospital was literally demolished around it, leaving it in isolated splendour while a new set of buildings (of questionable aesthetic and social value) was constructed on the site, incorporating what is now called Pearson Square. But we are grateful for small mercies. The Chapel is glorious, and over the years it has been transformed into an interesting arts venue.
The name of the Chapel’s new setting happily commemorates its original designer, John Loughborough Pearson, who created it in 1891-2. It was not until 1929 that work on the interior was completed, overseen by the architect’s son, Frank Loughborough Pearson. The elder Pearson was one of the brightest stars in the firmament of late Victorian Gothic Revival architecture. His son Frank, who was born and lived for a time in Marylebone, was no slouch either. He finished many of his late father’s projects, including Truro Cathedral; and designed a large number of structures himself, including the splendid Novello House on Wardour Street.
For Fitzrovians, former Middlesex Hospital Staff, and many casual visitors, the Chapel is the jewel in the crown of our local attractions. And erstwhile Middlesex and UCLH nurses did a lot more than just turn up at the exhibition: they actually helped to create it. Old uniforms were contributed, and conversations about how they were worn and received were set up by curators Bently and Jo Horton.
An excellent small catalogue which accompanied the exhibition supplies many gripping details. Here I will just outline what for me were some of the exhibition’s highlights.
“I devised this little train so that when you lean over a patient your ankles will be covered, and the students will not be able to see them”
This somewhat disingenuous remark is attributed to Godiva Marian Thorold, the Matron of the Middlesex from 1870 to 1896. Concern for the moral welfare of young working women was often displayed by the powers-that-be during the great upsurge in women’s extra-domestic employment in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This can come over as patronising and puritanical. But for me it demonstrates a proper regard for the safety of women who were leaving home to work in the public sector at a time when it was spatially and socially dominated by men. In the Middlesex Hospital, where bodily contact was an inevitable part of the job, it was particularly important.
This photo shows, from left to right, the outfit worn by Matron Godiva Marian Thorold herself in 1891; and nurses’ uniforms from the First World War, 1914-1918, and from the 1950s. Nurses’ ankles and calves are being gradually uncovered, and are being accepted as less of a danger to all concerned than was previously believed — although it must be said that the popularity of sexual fantasies involving nurses may have been fuelled in part by the emergence of their legs into the light of day. (Other people have similar fantasies about firemen. It’s the uniforms that do it).
In 1948 the National Health Service was created, and with it came a new uniform, designed by none other than Norman Hartnell, the late Queen Elizabeth’s favourite couturier. It was produced in the first place for St John’s nurses working overseas, but was approved in 1948 by the General Nursing Council as the uniform for state registered nurses employed by the new NHS. It features a lavender-coloured poplin dress with a pinched-in waist and a full skirt, a pointed white collar, and elaborate frilly cuffs. The non-nurses on our tour thought it was lovely; but the nurses who’d actually worn it pointed out that the collars were stiff and chafed their necks; and the cuffs were just “ridiculous”.
One of the joys of the exhibition was that visitors were given the opportunity to handle and even to try on some of the items which had been lent by former nurses. This 1980s dress worn in the Royal London Hospital, a practical adaptation of the original Norman Hartnell design, proved a great hit with everybody. Sadly I didn’t have time to go into the changing room with it and discover whether nursing had all along been my true vocation.
My own sartorial interests tend to focus on shoes, so I was a bit disappointed that none of these were included in the exhibition (perhaps because unlike the dresses nurses carried on wearing them after leaving the hospital, and so they wore out). But the nurses in our group reported that black or brown lace-ups were prescribed, depending on whether you were qualified or still studying. Nowadays, they told me, nurses are allowed to wear trainers provided they have laces and cover the whole of the foot. One woman had heard a story about a trainee nurse being sent home when she turned up for work in Doc Martens, despite — as we agreed — these being eminently practical. Perhaps, as was the case with school uniforms in the 1960s, the moment an item of clothing became fashionable, they banned it. Nurses’ stockings were generally beige. Later, when I tried to check online whether nurses had ever been permitted to wear black stockings, I was immediately bombarded with soft porn, so I still don’t know the answer.
I’m not a uniform person, but it’s a rather nice uniform, and it’s a uniform that I always felt very proud wearing
— Debra Kroll, Covid Story, personal unpublished account.
Nan West and the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital
A visit in December 2023
GATHERING WINTER FUEL (MY TITLE). From ‘December’, to the left of the door
IN 1927 at the age of 23 the painter Nan West received an enviable but daunting commission. She was given the task of decorating 90 square metres of wall space in the new waiting hall at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital’s outpatients department on Bolsover Street, Fitzrovia. The Hospital had grown out of ‘The Society for the Treatment, at their own homes, of Poor Persons afflicted with Diseases and Distortions of the Spine, Chest, and Hip, etc.’, established in 1836 through the efforts of Dr. Charles Verral and Mrs. Henry Ogle of Eastbourne. In 1908 the outpatients department had acquired a new building on Bolsover Street, and in 1927 this was extended. The walls of the vast room where patients waited to consult a doctor would have been bleak indeed if West, the daughter of the hospital chairman, had not been called in to enliven them.
The old Orthopaedic Hospital on Bolsover Street, 2010
Nan West was born in London in 1904. By her own account her childhood was miserable, but things improved when she started attending the Slade School of Art in Bloomsbury. There she was a contemporary of Rex Whistler, and in 1927 she was working as Whistler’s assistant on another set of murals which the pair was producing for the restaurant at the Tate Gallery. West began the hospital murals around the same time.
The Waiting Hall
Most of the murals represent the months of the year, and were originally displayed above the twelve doors leading to the clinics and offices. Painted in oils on canvas, each of the months has a garland of seasonal flowers enclosing its name. The paintings must surely have made life for its suffering occupants just a little brighter. In the early 20th century art was being created not just for prosperous drawing rooms, but also for the public spaces used by the poor and the not-so-rich.
At the far end of the Waiting Hall the largest mural, about 4 metres by 3, depicts Summer. Four people are picnicking under a striped umbrella, while two lovers lie under a cherry tree, and another couple wanders off into the countryside, where Dover Castle can be seen on a distant hill.
After her marriage, West suffered a mental breakdown, which caused her to give up painting. In her unpublished autobiography she writes, ‘Everything ceased to be interesting, and I knew I was losing the skill I had at drawing….’. In 1956 she committed suicide.
The Waiting Hall is listed (Grade II), and when a new outpatients department was built for the hospital further down the street in 2009, the old hall was incorporated into an office building created on the original site at 50 Bolsover Street.
West believed the hospital project had been too demanding for her ‘little talent’. Happily, we can judge for ourselves whether or not this was simply a case of ‘imposter syndrome’ – that is, West was underestimating her own abilities.
I suspect that you will want to disagree with West. Her paintings are quite lovely. To quote Historic England on its listing page: ‘This is one of the largest mural cycles of the time to survive in London… The austere classicism of the architecture provides an elegant framework for Nan West’s informal painted scheme; the whole being an elegant and well-conceived composition. The murals have great rarity within a type which was never numerous and especially vulnerable to change. They also are an important example of a tradition of female mural artists working in the inter-war years whose work is highly regarded ..’
The listing entry notes that West’s career flourished until 1937, and during this time she painted a Noah’s Ark scene at the Child Welfare Clinic in Chelsea, and murals for Simpson’s Tea Rooms in Piccadilly. Sadly, these no longer survive. She also wrote and illustrated ‘The Landscape Painter’s Calendar’. which was published by Methuen in 1928.
To see the National Orthopaedic Hospital Murals, contact Concord London Developments, The Listed Hall, 50 Bolsover Street, London W1W 5NG. Tel. +44 20 7307 1820.
