a young city, still developing in many ways. You’re not going to find the shops and fashions like you see in London. The variety of food and available supplies for your family may be quite different, as well as medical resources and information. You have to realize you’ll be stepping into a completely new situation.”
“In spite of all that, Tom and I could cope with Elsie’s condition,” Ethel argued.
“I don’t doubt that for a minute, luv, but you have to get used to the fact that Edmonton won’t be like here. You’ll see lots of poverty, sickness and violence over there.”
“I’ve seen all that here, Mum. Goodness, I’ve worked in both the hospital and street clinic. I’ve walked around. I’ve been in London. I’ve seen the worst side of life.”
“But there’s a difference. We have more support here to match the difficulties we encounter.”
“Not always, Mum.” Ethel remembered patients who had left the clinic clutching fevered children, heading for cold flats. “Anyway, from everything I’ve read, Canada is very inviting. You make it sound depressing.”
“Reality is what I’m suggesting. And there’s something else you should think about besides facilities and professions. Attitudes can be very different. I’ve read where women are encouraged to stay at home and look after their husband and family. We do that too, but it’s more acceptable here for our class of women to work outside the home.”
“What are you saying, Mum? That I won’t be able to nurse?”
Mum cleared her throat. “I’m not saying that, dear. But I do know that attitudes will be different. A woman might be expected to encourage her man and work alongside him; certainly in the country I would think that’d be the case. You have to remember, here in England we can’t even vote or own property. And if that isn’t enough, the government can’t quite decide if we’ve got a mind. I hear they’re going to vote if we’re even persons, and that probably won’t happen for decades.”
“How could that be? Women are women wherever they are. A country can’t dictate a person’s worth or declare how a woman should live her life. Surely, women’s needs are the same, regardless of where they live.” Uncertainty crept through Ethel like a cold chill. She wished she’d thought about these things before, yet still hoping she could share her opinions openly in Canada. Contradictory understandings about issues affecting the home and community had never limited her voice, and she didn’t want it to begin now.
“I have my nursing certificate, and I’ve worked alongside the best.” Ethel centred a wooden bowl on the table, running her fingers over her father’s carefully hand-hewn edges. “I remember hearing about England’s Midwives Act of 1902, long before I thought it possible for me to train as a practical nurse. Surely there’ll be something in Canada by now.”
“I’m only telling you what I read about the West, right in their posters and advertisements.” Mum tapped a flyer lying on the table. “Nursing has definitely taken great strides, but you have to remember it’s only been the last few years that nurses could care for men, look after them, and that’s thanks to Miss Nightingale.”
“I know, Mum, but it’s different now. This is the 1900s.” Ethel sighed. Her immediate concerns were for Elsie and Tom, but she also wanted to nurse in the future. All through the planning with Tom, the conversations at the clinic and with the doctor, Ethel had never thought once that attitudes towards women might be different in Canada. In London, women had a voice, although not a terribly strong one. Still, they did speak out.
Several days later, Ethel set out to talk to the doctor again. She boarded the train to London, flopped onto a seat and rested her head against the back. The noise of the great iron beast filled her senses, and the clanging and banging echoed her confused feelings. Engine fumes saturated the air, leaving a putrid taste in her mouth, reminding her that some things in life aren’t pleasant. She sighed and wondered about the advertisements for Canadian domestic servants. She’d worked in a big house caring for three children after grade school. No! She was a practical nurse. It was her calling.
Doctor Austin welcomed Ethel on her arrival to his office and invited her to sit. He promptly asked if she were there to talk further about Elsie.
“I am beginning to come to terms with your instruction, Doctor, although I think it will be the most difficult experience I will ever have in my entire life.”
“I do not doubt that, Miss Kemp. I do hope it will not be for long.”
Doctor Austin responded to Ethel’s questions about Canadian employment and attitude by reminding her of Alberta’s recently formed Canadian National Association of Trained Nurses, suggesting she find out about it and register with them.
She would have liked to obtain her British midwifery registration before leaving England, but that opportunity wouldn’t happen for another year.
“Do you think the medical association will license midwives in Canada too?” Ethel asked.
The doctor responded, “Licensing is needed, as it regulates the practice and makes the midwives more accountable to a governing body beyond themselves.” Straightening his tie, he appeared certain. “The other side of that argument is that it limits the freedom midwives have to help other women.”
Ethel knew there were many women that shouldn’t be attending births. Midwifery was such an old art—handed down from one generation to another.
“In the beginning,” the doctor continued, “it was the most natural and expected service: women helping women. Over time, the church tried to take charge, and then the civil authorities.”
“Midwives encourage women to labour more openly, don’t you think? As their bodies demand, you know. And many doctors, like yourself, have learned the value in that,” Ethel said without waiting for the doctor to respond. Shifting her position and raising her eyebrows, she continued rather boldly, “In the future, midwifery will be a natural part of nursing—without additional training. They should go hand in hand. It’s just instinct. Even in the time of Moses, God commended the midwives. I think this age or place is no different—just the laws and some countries. One day, nurses will be midwives with pride, and again, God—and country—will commend them. It’s just a matter of time. I hope I’m around to see it.”
Doctor Austin laughed, appearing to enjoy her forthrightness and wit. “I hope so too. You just keep that grit and vigour. It’ll fit in fine over there. They need your kind in the cities and on the prairies. You’ll see.” He lifted his hand to shake hers. “I believe in you, Miss Kemp. You’ll probably change some attitudes. You know, women have been doing that a lot lately, both here and in Canada. When you get over there, listen hard. Keep in line with what’s expected of you, but look for opportunities to speak your mind. You’ll be fine.”
Later in the afternoon, the train moved out of the station, hissing and chugging, giving Ethel an exceptionally rough ride home. She settled into the corner of the seat, hoping to brace her body for the jolting. Women came to her mind who had fostered her independent spirit, ones who had answered needs in communities by founding private nursing homes and opening clinics. She wanted that kind of opportunity too. She wanted to help other women labour, raise their children, make decisions and provide good homes. Someday she’d have her own clinic in Canada. When she arrived, she’d see about her nursing status as soon as possible, find other work in the meantime and take one day at a time.
For now, Ethel vowed to spend extra time with Elsie and explain that the doctor wanted
