Where has all the starch gone? Why to the uniform room in the sky with capes, caps, collars, aprons and tiepins, brass studs and cloth-covered buttons.
Oh so much to learn, don’t sit on your apron girl, that was the call. A fob watch, no jewels only scissors, notebook, pen. No more in your pocket, there are the rules then. Don’t run, don’t skip, is someone bleeding to death or is there a fire raging and roaring ahead?
The stripes on your cap, years one, two or three. No hair on the collar dear or you will be seen at matron’s office door in low esteem. Fold your cap properly get it in to shape, white grips only to hold it in place.
The midnight feast, the wake up call the maids who cleaned your room. A late night pass, lets have a laugh Dear Home Sister, please. Oh please
The night shifts, the day shifts, the precious day off in mufti. You go home, where the heart is where Mum always knows best. Returning with cakes and the rest.
The prelims, the practicals, the Sister Tutors too. The finals before us and split duties to do. But then we progress to lavender blue silver buckles too.
One day you’ll be blued my dear and join the others too in ancient grand dining, silver cutlery too. Where gleaming white table clothes were stiffened with starch.
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