It was a long, long way from Tipperary
But their story was ‘old hat’ to a certain group of feisty young women who paved the way for them in the ‘50s.
In February 1957, young nurse Celia Greene arrived in Cleveland, Ohio, to work at Mount Sinai Hospital. She was alone and didn’t know another soul, but that was all part of the adventure for this woman who had grown up on a farm in Co Tipperary, the youngest of six children. As her older siblings had flown the nest, Celia had been left at home with her elderly parents, until, following the death of her father and the return to the farm of two brothers, she went to train as a nurse in London.
Among the first people Celia met in Cleveland were Gwenda Brady and Pat Beadle, two nurses from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and the three became good friends. Pat and Gwenda had bought an old Ford, nicknamed Flatus, and towards the end of the year, they invited Celia to join them on a drive to Florida, together with fellow nurse Joan, breaking the journey at cheap motels. Celia and Joan would hide among the luggage on the backseat so Gwenda could register a room for just two people.
“It wasn’t that difficult because we all wore jeans and navy tops to travel in, but we did worry that we might give the game away by flushing the lavatory so many times,” Gwenda recalls.
In Miami, the four women booked into a beachfront hotel and spent a few days sightseeing before blowing their remaining money on a flight to Havana, Cuba, where their hotel was directly opposite the presidential palace, its ground-floor windows barred following a recent assassination attempt on the president. They visited the factory that supplied Churchill with his cigars, the Trocadero rum distillery — after free cherry, coffee and banana liqueurs, they were swapping addresses with the other visitors — and the famous Tropicana nightclub.
It was a timely visit. “Fidel Castro was in the hills,” says Celia, “and just over a year later, Batista was overthrown in the revolution and he came to power.”
While that holiday put another 2,500 miles on Flatus’s clock, it was nothing compared to the journey that lay ahead of them, and which is the subject of a new book.
Bedpans & Bobby Socks tells how, after spending a year in Cleveland, Celia, Gwenda, Pat and two new friends — Molly from Glasgow and Maureen from London — embarked on an epic road trip across the US. It follows them as they head west to Denver, Colorado, north through the national parks of Wyoming and into Montana, then on into Canada until the road finally runs out in Alaska. From there they head back via the west coast states, settling for a while in Los Angeles before an equally ambitious journey back to Cleveland via Mexico.
During that time they worked as waitresses, gas station attendants, short-order chefs, babysitters and Bible saleswomen — as well as nurses. They hiked the Grand Canyon, climbed the Grand Teton National Park and sailed a rubber dinghy down the Colorado river.
But it’s a wonder, really, that the book ever got published. I’m Gwenda’s daughter, and, while visiting her a few years ago, I happened to pick up some pages lying beside the computer. She had decided to type up the letters she wrote home to her parents during that time to show her grandchildren as her own children (yes, I’m ashamed to admit that includes me) hadn’t shown much interest in her tales. I started reading and begged her to print out the rest. As I read, I , too, was plunged into the thrilling and modern world of late 1950s America — a world where hospital staff socialised without caring about hierarchy, where people ate pancakes and maple syrup for breakfast in kitchens with gadgets that could only be dreamed of back home, where gunshots sometimes rang out in the night.
I announced to my mother that it would make a great book. She laughed, and said nobody other than immediate family would want to read it. I felt that she was wrong, and thankfully, I persevered.
Gwenda’s and Pat’s letters provided my main resource, while Celia and Molly contributed many of their memories in letters and phone calls. Sadly, Maureen died in 1999.
The trip was supposed to last for only a few months, but when new opportunities arose, the intrepid crew grabbed them with both hands — or four wheels — and it turned into a year-and-a-half. On their own they might have been more cautious, but together they were brave, foolhardy and full of optimism, which can be the only reason they set off up the 1,500-mile dirt track otherwise known as the Alaska Highway. Perhaps it’s not surprising that this journey provides material for one of the book’s most dramatic chapters, punctuated by breakdowns, meetings with chivalrous hunters, dates with the US army and that spell as gas station attendants.
The kindness of strangers is something else that sticks in the mind of all the travellers. “When we arrived in Denver, we slept in the car outside a fire station,” recalls Celia. “In the morning we were greeted by the firemen who invited us in for a coffee and scones. They wanted us to stay there while we looked for work but we refused, fearing it would get them into trouble.”
Other new friends loaned them camping equipment, fed them, housed them and helped them find jobs.
It’s no wonder they attracted attention. The sight of five young women driving into town in a clapped-out old car, its roof rack piled precariously high and a pair of antlers attached to the front (a gift from a patient) was unusual to say the least, and the crew made headlines in local papers all over.
Celia laughs. “Oh yes, Flatus caused the biggest sensation as we travelled along. Every inch of space was utilised, even the back window had all sorts of things wedged in there, including the toilet rolls — which served many purposes. Why the police never stopped us because of the overloading — not to mention the fact that the doors were held closed by twines — I’ll never know. We couldn’t fall out as we were too well packed in.”
Celia chose to stay in the US after the trip and returned to nurse in Los Angeles for three years before returning to Ireland. In 1966, after her mother’s death, she married Michael Griffin, and the couple — now both in their 80s — run a farm in Co Kilkenny, not far from where she grew up.
“The trip was a real insight. I can safely say that if it wasn’t for Gwenda and Pat I would not have seen such wonderful places. For me, it was a case of tagging very happily along for the ride.”
And what a ride.
Bedpans & Bobby Socks by Barbara Fox and Gwenda Gofton (Little, Brown) is available on Kindle and audio book [latter from August 4] on iTunes and audible.co.uk. See bedpansandbobbysocks.com
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