There is an element of a blind date to these kind of
artist in residence projects – an individual and an institution are paired
together to see what each makes of the other, choreographers sent to paint
factories, poets to airports, me to you.
In my own writing – mostly short stories and memoir – I
have been interested in the conveying of emotion and in the repression of
emotion, too. Some of the work I have done has been about making stories from
real life situations. In talking to Pam Smith and Alette Willis in the run up
to the residency, we discussed the idea that emotional empathy – the ability to
imagine yourself in the place of another was something that good nursing and
good writing had in common.
But what did I really know? I never had the impulse to be
a nurse, none of my relatives are nurses and I’ve had the luck to stay out of
hospitals and doctor’s offices for the most part.
I came to realise that, like most people, many of my ideas
about nurses and nursing were borrowed from books, films and TV, and
increasingly noticed the gap between the kind of fictional nurses that stalk
the public imagination and the complex human realities of nurses in practice.
The nurse holds a potent position in popular culture –
often as a kind of superhuman figure – an angel or a devil. As we get closer, a
number of subtypes present themselves - the scolding matron, the sex kitten,
the pliant romantic heroine. A range of types that seems to me richer than that
of any other profession. Librarians, for example, may be parodied, but always
in the same shushing, fusty way, whereas the nurse manifests herself – and it
is usually herself – across a range
of characters and female archetypes. I want to explore the development of the
image of the nurse in the popular imagination and also to think a bit about
whose version of nursing we’re consuming.
It starts in the nineteenth century, a time when nursing
moves out of the home and religious institution. Before this nurses have made
various appearances in literature, but mainly as servants, nursemaids such as
the character known only as Nurse in Romeo and Juliet, more of a nanny than
what we think of as a nurse.
Charles Dickens’ Sara Gamp from the novel Martin Chuzzlewit is a different kind of
nurse. She is a professional, but also a careless drunkard, reflecting Dickens’
own view of the hired women whose nursing work was regarded as a lowest kind of
service, with money being the prime motivator. Sara drinks and takes snuff, and
steals her patient’s pillow to make herself more comfortable through the night.
She is the first bad nurse, a comic figure that Dickens created for serious
reasons. Social reformer that he was, Sara Gamp was a way of drawing attention
to the awful level of care that the sick received under untrained women who, as
Florence Nightingale put it in 1867 “were too old, too weak, too drunken, too
dirty, too stupid or too bad to do anything else.”(1)
In an essay on nursing, Dickens claimed “We English people
have among us the best nursing for love and the worst nursing for money that
can be got in Europe, though our women are all nurses born.’(2)
This idea that nursing is a natural job for a woman recurs
again and again at this time, that to care is innately female. And because of
this, there are parallels in the way the image of women and the image of
nursing change over the years.
In the same essay, Dickens makes a very interesting point
about the word nurse. In English we
use the same word for feeding an infant as taking care of the sick. It comes
from the same roots as to nourish. In other European languages, the term is
more neutral and specific – in French the verb used – infermier – means
simply to watch over the sick, in German, the equivalent is to do your duty by
the sick. Our use of the word
nursing for two purposes suggests a link between them, that on a primal level
we see nursing as domestic, familial and female.
Dickens was a great supporter of Florence Nightingale, the
women who, more than anyone, created the idea of nursing as a proper profession
through her work in the Crimea and her establishment of the world’s first
secular nursing school. She set new standards of care and a new respectability
for the women who undertook it. Florence was, of course, not a fictional
character. Her writings were impassioned and practical and her influence and
organisational powers enormous, and yet…
It seemed that society couldn’t simply admire the
intelligence and drive of Florence Nightingale for the human qualities they
were, she had to be turned into a saint, fictionalised, as it were, as the
silent Lady with the Lamp, floating through the wards of Scutari. Painting and
etchings were made, poems were composed in which Florence is portrayed not as a
very determined woman, but as a gentle disembodied Saint.
A stanza in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem ‘Santa Filomena’ tracks the effect
of her progress through the ward:
slow, as in a dream of bliss
speechless sufferer turns to kiss
shadow, as it falls
This Florence is so elevated, so lacking in physical
reality that the patient can’t even touch her hem, but contents himself with
kissing her shadow.
Even in less reverent settings, such as this Punch
cartoon, Florence and her helpers were depicted as angels and birds –
fluttering, not quite earthly beings.
An immensely practical woman, Nightingale disliked the
sentimental reverence that her name inspired. Her nursing was admired not as a
learnt skill with a basis in science, but as an expression of elevated
femininity and almost religious compassion.
The prevalent image we have of the nurse as we move into
the 20th century is the woman by the bedside, the vertical female
and the horizontal male.
And this image prevailed throughout the century, despite
the many other places apart from hospital bedsides in which nurses worked and
continue to work - in the community, in health promotion, with people with
learning difficulties or mental health problems, as teachers.
I think this is largely because of the potency of the
image of nursing within the context of war – and the attraction of this setting
for writers and filmmakers.
Examples include Vera Brittain’s memoir Testament of Youth, made into a major
television series in the seventies, centering on her wartime nursing
experience, novels by Ernest Hemingway such as A Farewell to Arms in which the love interest is a nurse attending
to the wounded of the second world war, or more recently Michael Ondaatje’s English Patient, and Ian McEwan’s Atonement.
Keira Knightley in Atonement
The settings are full of
conflict and sacrifice, sudden death and tough moral choices - catnip for
But it‘s also the case that wartime nursing is well
represented in literature because the voluntary, short term nature of the work
brought in people who were primarily writers to nursing and could write from
the nurse’s perspective.
Louisa May Alcott, for example, author of Little Women, nursed soldiers in the American
Civil War until she herself caught typhoid pneumonia, but the experiences
formed the basis of her first book, Hospital
Sketches in 1863
And we have the poet Walt Whitman, a rare example of a
male nurse, writing about his wartime nursing experience in the American civil
war, in his classic 1900 collection, Leaves
The poem is entitled The Wound Dresser, and this is a stanza from it.
“I am faithful, I do not give out;
The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
These and more I dress with impassive hand - (yet deep in my breast a
fire, a burning flame.)”
It is the earliest expression I’ve found of
how care feels from the inside – that duality of outer calmness and competency
with interior emotion of the caregiver. Male nurses were common in these late
19th century conflicts. It has been argued that it was Florence
Nightingale with her all-women schooling and her motto “Every woman is a nurse”
who set the course for excluding men from nursing for almost a century.
It was in the first world war that we start to get a
torrent of imagery of nursing – in drawings, paintings, photographs, poetry,
silent films, diaries.
Painting by William Hatherill c IWM
The flowing robes of the red cross nurse and the VADs took
the imagery of nurse back to its convent origins with the same tones of purity
The most powerful British account of nursing in that war
was a work I’ve previously mentioned, Vera Brittain’s memoir Testament of Youth written in1933 – she
says of nursing that ‘every task had a sacred glamour’. Nursing in this context
was a sacrifice and a duty, a way of standing alongside the brothers and lovers
Yet I think there is something more interesting going on
here, less self-effacing. Sandra M Gilbert, in a provocative article about
literature and gender in the First World War, pins down a deeper power
of the nurse ultimately takes on a majesty which hints that she is mistress
rather than slave, goddess rather than supplicant. After all, when men are
immobilized and dehumanized, it is only these women who possess the old
(matriarchal) formulas for survival. Thus even while memoirists like Brittain express
“gratitude” for the “sacred glamour” of nursing, they seem to be exulting in
the expertise and knowledge which they will win from their patients.” – and she
quotes Brittain again – “Towards the men, I came to feel an almost adoring
gratitude … for the knowledge of masculine functioning which the care of them
gave me.” (3)
Gilbert goes on to talk about how this knowledge gives the
nurse authority as the male patient experiences passivity and dependency.
This increase in power is reflected in this extraordinary Red Cross poster where the injured soldier is miniaturised to baby size in the
arms of a nurse depicted as 'The Great Mother’ and that dual meaning of nursing
comes back into play.
Nurses imagined by male writers often do have a kind of
sinister power. Their knowledge, and explicitly their knowledge of the male
body has emerged ever since in stories as potentially threatening.
It was perhaps inevitable that having placed nurses on
such a lofty pedestal, a counterbalance had to emerge. You can’t have an angel
without a devil, and so the balancing image of dragon nurse emerges. Some of
this reflects the view of older women as unattractive, but there is something
specifically punitive about the harridan.
Sid James and Hattie Jacques in Carry On Nurse
She is a creature of the institution,
there to crush fun and individuality She is a complement to the young ingénue,
a kind of ying and to her yang – this is most explicit in films like the Carry On … series of the fifties and
sixties. With Hattie Jacques in the role of matron, constantly policing the
rebellious games which seem to be the main focus of ward life.
In the world of Carry
On, the harridan is not a complete monster, she is a figure of fun, a
buffoonish spinster who is nevertheless allowed her own romantic dreams.
It is in American fiction that the bad nurse becomes a
more chilling prospect.
Louise Fletcher as Nurse Ratched
Nurse Ratched from One
Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is probably the best known nurse monster, and
although Milos Forman’s film came out in 1975, her name is still invoked,
especially in the area of mental health care. In Ken Kesey’s original novel,
written in 1962, she was known as Big Nurse:
Big Nurse gets real put out if something keeps her outfit from running like a
smooth, accurate precision-made machine. The slightest thing messy or out of
kilter or in the way ties her into a little knot of tight-smiled fury. She
walks around with that same doll smile crimped between her chin and her nose
and that same calm whir coming from her eyes, but down inside her she’s tense
as steel, and she don’t relax a hair till she gets the nuisance attended to.’ (4)
Nurse Ratched is a nurse without empathy. The need for
dominance and order are all that drive her.
Kathy Bates as Annie Wilkes in Misery
In Stephen King’s Misery,
we meet retired nurse Annie Wilkes who rescues her favourite author then holds
him hostage. We have no evidence that she was a monster on the wards like Nurse
Ratched, but she is psychotic, and in a key scene, we see her use her medical
knowledge – that knowledge so dangerous in a woman’s hands – to efficiently
cripple her prisoner.
While these malevolent characters have real power and
longevity they are not as frequently encountered as the image of the sexy
nurse. An image that perhaps more annoying to real life nurses than even the
Nurse Ratched tag.
Bamforth 'seaside' postcard. 1970s
While having its heyday in the 60s and 70s, the fantasy is
still live and kicking, and any innocent google search for nurse uniforms turns
up more scanty fancy dress than practical clothing. In a novel as recent as
2006’s Christine Falls by John
Banville, writing as his pulp fiction alter ego Benjamin Black, we have the
hoary old cliché of the night nurse who can’t resist slipping into bed with the
hospitalised yet oddly irresistible narrator/hero.
In an article on the changing image of nurses in popular
culture, Phil Darbyshire and Suzanne Gordon acknowledge the complexity of the
origins of this stereotype, and the inevitable conflation of intimate body work
with a sexual interpretation for this work.
“When patients enter a hospital,” they write, “the traditional
power relations are reversed and they find themselves vulnerable and dependent
rather than strong and in control. At a societal level (for not every male
patient will see his situation in this way), one way of redressing this balance
is to metaphorically (or perhaps even practically) sexualize the encounters
between nurses and patients…The man in question may not be able to walk, or
pee, or feed himself. He may be frightened, anxious and vulnerable. But he can
pat butt or dream about it and turn the nurse who has power over him into
someone he can dominate, if not in reality, then in his fantasy.” (5)
The sexbomb nurse is a male construct, but
there is another version of the nurse I would argue is equally two-dimensional
and misguided and which is mainly created by women, for women, and that is the
romantic heroine, as she appears in traditional Mills and Boon or Harlequin
type medical romance novels.
Romance novel nurses are portrayed as ultimately
submissive women, nursing being no more than a stage on which to display their
nurturing skills to a prospective husband – usually a doctor, several salary and
social scales above them.
The career is abandoned without a second glance once the
proposal is made and the woman enters her true role of wife and mother, for
which nursing has been a rehearsal.
In fact, nurses appear in every type of novel and film,
sometimes in walk-on parts, and it wouldn’t be particularly interesting to
enumerate them all. But I want to look at one crime novel from 1971 which puts
nurses on centre stage at a time when old ideas of nursing were giving way to
PD James’s Shroud for a Nightingale is one of her
successful Adam Dalgleish detective series and is set in a nursing school. A
student is inventively poisoned during a teaching demonstration and the police
are called in. Interestingly, Baroness James, the author, worked for many years
in an administrative role in the health service, and her knowledge of
underlying health policy informs the setting. This is a mealtime exchange amongst three nurse teachers about a fictional policy initiative:
“And now we have the
Salmon Report with all its talk of first, second and third tiers of management.
Management for what? There’s too much technical jargon. Ask yourself what is
the function of a nurse today. What exactly are we trying to teach these girls?
Brunfett said: ‘To obey orders implicity and be loyal to their superiors.
Obedience and loyalty. Teach the students those and you’ve got a good nurse.’ She
sliced a potato in two with such viciousness that the knife rasped the plate.
Sister Gearing laughed.
twenty years out of date, Brunfett. That was good enough for your generation,
but these kids ask whether the orders are reasonable before they start obeying
and what their superiors have done to deserve their respect. A good thing too
on the whole. How on earth do you expect to attract intelligent girls into
nursing if you treat them like morons? We ought to encourage them to question
established procedures, even to answer back occasionally.” (6)
Despite these new winds blowing through the health
service, the novel’s nurses’ home is a claustrophobic single-sex environment,
and while the characters are better drawn than in a Mills and Boon, each has
their neurotic fixation, and in one case – minor spoiler alert - a nazi past.
It is a fascinating book in terms of nursing imagery, but not exactly
Angels, BBC television, 1975
As we move into an age dominated by television, there is
no shortage of nurses as characters in hospital soaps and dramas. However, it’s
arguable that we don’t really learn much about the job of nursing through these
programmes as the setting is there to service us with stories about characters
and relationships. The doctors and surgeons are the chief movers, and the
patients a revolving door of plot devices. Even a drama as masterly and
seemingly well-researched as ER attracted
protests from the Baltimore based Center for Nursing Advocacy.
Maura Tierney as Abby Lockhart in ER
Their objections were multiple, and could easily be
applied to a wide range of similar programmes. One was that the role of the
nurses was often reduced to ‘gurney pushing’ and attracting the attention of
doctors to emergencies, while the doctors spent an unrealistic amount of time
by their patients’ sides, undertaking tasks more usually done by nurses.
Another interesting point they made was that when the nurse characters became
frustrated with the limitations of their nursing role, they never considered
advancement within their profession, say, by taking a masters or training in a
specialism, no – the only place for an ambitious nurse was in medical school,
as happened with the character Abby Lockhart. Smart nurses become doctors was
the clear message to millions of viewers.
Rene Zellweger as Nurse Betty
An interesting twist on the
prevalence of medical soaps was the 2000 film Nurse Betty starring Rene Zellweger. Traumatised by witnessing her
husband’s murder, Betty believes she is the nurse heroine in a TV soap opera,
and manages to get hired as a nursing assistant after saving someone’s life
using knowledge she gained from watching television. It’s dangerous territory,
but resonant too. I have to admit that somewhere in my head, I do believe that
given the opportunity and a suitable biro casing, I too could have a go at a
tracheostomy. How hard can it be?
Derek Thompson as Charlie Fairhead, Casualty
It was in the 1980s that the
male nurse started to re-appear, though usually in a supporting role. The
standard image of the male nurse is someone with plenty of integrity, but who
doesn’t enjoy high status with other men. He is a girl’s best friend rather than
the romantic lead.
Ben Stiller as Gaylord Focker, Meet the Parents
In the recent Meet the Parents films, accident-prone
hero, Gaylord Focker is a nurse. There is no plot reason for him to be a nurse,
it’s simply, and tellingly, a comic device, a handicap to overcome, like his name.
But even in comedy his integrity wins through, whereas a doctor character is
revealed as an unfaithful snake.
This American poster campaign is an
interesting reflection of the attempt to ‘butch up’ the image of the male
nurse, but I think succeeds only in pushing it towards a more banal kind of
Which brings me to the most
recent depiction of nursing in a major series, Nurse Jackie, starring Edie Falco. I would argue that Nurse Jackie
is a new type of fictional nurse, a maverick. Jackie is the centre of the
action. She is highly skilled, and is deferred to by fellow nurses, students
and doctors. She has importance in her department in a way no previous
fictional nurse has had. She plays the role of maverick in that she has her own
moral code, rules are often broken for what Jackie deems a higher good.
She flushes away the severed ear
of an unrepentant man who has attacked a woman with a knife. In another
programme she and her fellow nurses assist the dying of a former colleague with
terminal cancer who has come to them to ask for this favour.
There is also the unfortunate
matter of her addiction to prescription drugs and what she does to get these,
but on the whole I would say Nurse Jackie is a cheering advance in the long
history of nurse representations, because she is an autonomous being. She is
smart and respected, she possesses earned knowledge and she makes decisions
within her field. And I like the way they have used and subverted the imagery
of the sainted nurse in this publicity still.
I think America has been more forward looking than Britain
both in terms of the images they produce and the vocal way in which nurse
organisations such as The Truth about Nursing lobby for more accurate
representation of nurses in the media.
In one recent posting, the website analysed the imagery of
kitsch ornaments designed as gifts for grateful patients to buy.
Aside from the crime against good taste and the
environment that these geegaws represent, the writer presents an acute analysis
of what is wrong with the underlying premise:
“Although the Truth appreciates
positive comments about nurses, we believe that the image of the
"angel" or "saint" is generally unhelpful. It fails to
convey the college-level knowledge base, critical thinking skills, and hard
work required to be a nurse.
And it may suggest
that nurses are supernatural beings who do not require decent working
conditions, adequate staffing, or a significant role in health care
decision-making or policy. If nurses are angels, then perhaps they can care for
an unlimited number of patients and still deliver top-quality care.
To the extent nurses
do seem to suffer in such working conditions, it may be viewed as merely
evidence of their angelic virtue, not a reason to alter the conditions.”
Call the Midwife, BBC 2012
Here in Britain we seem to enjoy looking backwards as much
as forwards. The recent BBC series Call
the Midwife was a huge hit with its nostalgic, hovis-tinted view of life in
the east end of London. A scene
sticks with me in which Chummy, the new midwife brilliantly played by Miranda
Hart, calms a nervous patient, telling her that all she has to do is trust the
doctor. The patient immediately relaxes into submissiveness and the doctor
praises Chummy in high terms for this, saying she has the true makings of a
nurse. What harm, you might think? But this representation of the nurse or
midwife as handmaiden of the doctor’s will, I’m sure carries over in people’s
heads into the real world and to their encounters with real nurses.
Outdated imagery of nursing overlaps and obscures a clear
picture of todays’ nurses. Even in the Olympics opening ceremony, a thrilling
assertion if ever there was one of the centrality of nursing in British
culture. Look at the costumes. I know there was a little bit of a Peter Pan
theme going on, but still. The men get to wear contemporary looks, but we
prefer female nurses in aprons, big hats and full skirts. In the public imagination,
that’s what a nurse is.
And even though nurses have not worn caps in the NHS for
many years, the symbol on the bedside call button is a nurses cap. That is the
visual shorthand for nurse. You might consider that a trivial detail, but I
think it all points to a slippage between who nurses are and who the public
think they are.
I used to think that the phrase ‘Reality TV’ was a
pejorative term, but I would argue that the most true and useful depictions of
nurses in mainstream media are through documentaries such Channel 4’s 24 Hours in A&E where we see nurses
absorbed in a wide range of tasks, part of a team, juggling diplomatic people
skills with dextrous clinical care . They are three dimensional human beings
and highly skilled in what the do, and very committed, you can see it. And when
the camera turns to them they have interesting things to say.
Nurses from King's Hospital, London in 24 Hours in A&E
There is also the brilliant but not widely watched Getting On on BBC 4, about to go into a
third series. Created by former psychiatric nurse Jo Brand, it shows life in
what she terms an NHS ‘backwater’ – the geriatric ward – and is a deliberate
attempt to get away from the more hackneyed stereotypes. ''I wanted to do
something that was funny and sad; not glamorous with a load of young people in
it,'' Brand said. In its emphasis
on the frustrations of hierarchies and bureaucracy, it is more like The Office than Holby City, and feels closer to life. I doubt if it would attract
anyone into the profession, however.
Getting On, BBC 4, 2011
In the promotion blurb for this talk I included a
provocation – that I’d look at how far nurses might be complicit in their own
stereotyping. Well, with the exception of the last two examples, hardly any of
this imagery has been created by nurses, it has been created around them or
projected on to them.
On the RCN website on international nurses day their home
page displayed a quote from a patient’s viewpoint, describing the wonderfulness
of his nurse and ending, inevitably. ‘She’s an angel.’
In her 1983 book The
Politics of Nursing Jane Salvage argued that sometimes nurses collude in sustaining the selfless angel stereotype while
professing to scorn it. She writes, “The trouble is we are secretly flattered
by the myths, especially those emphasizing dedication and high-minded
1983 was decades ago, yet it seems that in
cases like the RCN website, things have not moved on that much, and that
laudable initiatives like International Nurses day can easily become bogged
down in sentimentality and cliché, in things that are said about nurses rather
than in what nurses have to say.
There is a long list of doctors who have turned their
experiences into compelling stories – Anton Chekhov, Arthur Conan Doyle,
thriller writer Micheal Crichton, Khaled Hosseini, or someone like Jed
Mercurio, who went straight from being a junior hospital doctor to writing the
ground-breaking series CardiacArrest. There is no equivalent roster of
nursing writers, though there are a few recent exceptions such as Christie
Watson, a pediatrics nurse who last year won the Costa prize for her first
novel, or Americans Cortney Davis and Jeanne Bryner who have established
reputations as poets and encouraged other nurses to write, publishing
anthologies of nurses’ writing such as this one:
I don’t know why more nurses don’t write. Are nurses
ambivalent about writing? Are they too self effacing? Too busy?
Elsie Stevenson, the first director of nursing here at
Edinburgh, travelled through Europe during the second world war and its
aftermath and no doubt had many unforgettable experiences. She kept a diary
during this time. Here are two excerpts:
Egypt 10th May 1944 "Up all night. 15,000 more refugees – 24 admitted to hospital. Very
Germany 26th November 1945 "Snowing. really taking hold – untold problems. Worked hard all day. To
bed late. very tired.”
I sympathise with Elsie’s tiredness, of course I do, but I
can’t help wanting to know more. There wasn’t time to say it in the heat of the
moment, I realise, but perhaps afterwards? Elsie Stevenson described the role
of a nurse as ‘A listener, a doer.’ Not a speaker, a reflector, a thinker.
When I can persuade nurses away from their occupations to
talk to me, they tell me fascinating things. Their private rituals, the way
they handle emotion, the way they carry the stories of the people they have
nursed with them. The times their endurance has been tested or broken. We talk
of the emotional labour of nursing, have learned to define the work in those
terms as well as in terms of the practical and technical skills – but what is
the cost of this emotional labour? Only nurses reflecting on their own
experiences can tell us.
Early on in the residency, I came across this poem by
Cortney Davis, What the Nurse Likes –
here is a short extract.
the Nurse Likes
like looking into patient's ears and seeing what they can never see. It's
like owning them. I
like patient's honesty-- they trust me with simple things: They
wake at night and count heartbeats. They
search for lumps.
am also afraid.
like the way women look at me
I lean across them
they smell my perfume.
like the way men become shy. Even angry men bow their heads when they are
like lifting a woman's hair
place stethoscope to skin,
way everyone breathes differently--
way men make suggestive groans when I listen to their hearts.
like eccentric patients:
women who wear purple knit hats and black eyeliner.
who put makeup over their age spots.
Reading it for the first time was like discovering a new
viewpoint on the world of care. It was fresh, human and unsanitised. It was
news from a place I hadn’t been before.
There is a saying in creative writing classes, to give new
writers courage. They say Who is going to
tell your story if you don’t?
And so I urge the nurses among you to tell your stories in
any way that appeals, through dairies, poems, on blogs. Discover your own
thoughts about what you do.
Nurses know nursing in a way that no one else does, and
yet the reflections you have, though often well meant, are created by others. In an address to students at Columbia University, New York in 1991, the writer Salman Rushdie emphasised the importance of articulating your own experience.
who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, the power to
retell it, rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times
change, truly are powerless, because they cannot think new thoughts."
I would add in conclusion that’s it’s not only about thinking new thoughts but also creating a
truer picture for others. And if it means taking a step down from a pedestal
to do it, the price is well worth it.
from Florence Nightingale to Sir Thomas Watson, Bart, London dated 19 Jan 1867
(2)Charles Dickens, “The Nurse in Leading Strings”, Household Words17, 1858
(3)Sandra M Gilbert "Soldier's Heart: Literary Men,
Literary Women and the Great War." in Connecting Spheres: Women in
the Western World, 1500 to the Present, ed. Marilyn Boxer and Jean
Quartaert, Oxford University Press, 1987.
(4)Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Methuen and Co.,1962
(5)Phil Darbyshire and Suzanne Gordon,“Exploring Popular Images and Representations of
Nurses and Nursing” in Professional Nursing: Concepts, Issues, and Challenges, Springer Publishing Company, 2005
Shroud for a Nightingale, Faber & Faber, 1971