Free Growing Into Medicine by Ruth Skrine

mountain village or by a river, became my vision of the ideal holiday.
    In my first year at Bristol the syllabus was less demanding than the one I had already worked through at school, giving me plenty of time to adjust to a different world. My first friend was a miner’s daughter from Abertillery who was experienced in the art of makeup and dealing with boys. She took me to buy lipstick and stood by while I smeared it round my mouth. We went together to dances at the Victoria rooms, now the department of music but then the student union. We girls did not dance with each other but sat around the walls until the boys had boosted their courage with enough beer to ask us to dance. Recently I met a man who had been in my year.He told me that with a friend he devised a system whereby they could capture the prettiest girls. They would stand by the door watching as we came in, simpering and preening. Having made their choice they would rush to the bar, down a pint or two for courage and then descend on their chosen prey.
    The best dance was the Paul Jones where the girls circled one way, the boys in an outside ring going in the opposite direction. When the music stopped you were expected to dance with the person opposite. If he was nice, one hoped he would ask for the next dance. If he was odious I would shoot away, often taking refuge in the ladies’ room to titivate my hair yet again. I still felt intimidated by the array of powder and paint used by my neighbours with such skill.
    For my first two years I lived in Clifton Hill House, one of the halls of residence. The house is at the top of a steep hill. By the time we had walked up and down twice during the day we were ravenous. Bread was rationed until 25 July 1948 so my memory of eating a small brown loaf at one sitting, from the crust at one end to the very last crumb of crust at the other, must come from that year.
    Men were not allowed in the women’s halls, certainly not during the evenings. Couples outside the front door, often three or four, would stand clinched for ages while those of us embarrassingly single would sprint past into the safety of the house, hoping not to meet a mouse or a rat. In retrospect the rodent that I encountered on the stairs has grown in size and ferocity. Its eyes glinted at me for what seemed to be several minutes but could have been all of ten seconds before it retreated. The only other rat I saw was trapped in one of the early washing-up machines. The shrieks of a maid drew me to the kitchens where I found it circling, frantic to get out. I calmed the frightened woman and turned on the machine, drowning it as quickly as possible. The memory of the kittens drowned at home helped my determination to do what I thought was the kindest thing.
    Several young men showed some interest in me but I had no idea how to behave. My friend offered much good advice. Although I was flattered and excited by the hand holding and surreptitiouskisses I soon tired of them all. I continued to yearn after Richard until he let drop the remark that he would never marry a professional woman. When he and his second wife asked me to lunch recently I found a man who was still totally charming, but who firmly denied that he had ever said such a thing.
    During the Easter vacation I hitch-hiked to Scotland and back with another girl. Many people had journeyed ‘on their thumbs’ during the war, especially service men and women going to and from home leave. It was considered bad form to drive past without stopping. We had little difficulty getting lifts, for the habit of picking up those without other means of transport was still ingrained in those lucky enough to have petrol.
    I revelled in the mix of people we met. On one occasion we climbed down from the back of a lorry, windswept and covered in dust. We just had time to buy two buns and start to eat them when a luxurious car, it might have been a Bentley, swept past. It came to a stop with a squeal of brakes and