Home Fires and Spitfires

by Daisy Styles

  ‘And this one too!’ Zelda chuckled. ‘Right where it hurts the most.’

  ‘Take care, dear. Don’t go overdoing it,’ Diana warned. ‘You’ve not got long to go now.’

  Zelda supported her burgeoning tummy. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she promised.

  After putting on her coat, Zelda hurried to her shed, where she collected the basket that she kept for gathering herbs. Feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t informed Diana that she was going for a walk in the woods, where she hoped to find the freshest stinging nettles for her tonic brew, Zelda set off down the back lane. It was a cold, bright clear morning, with perfect views of the surrounding fells. Feeling energized by the low-lying sun, Zelda lengthened her steps as she considered what other fresh herbs she might find in the nearby woods and meadows. Though the hedges were stark and bare at this time of the year, Zelda knew they would soon be teeming with primroses and snowdrops, and she had been told by Ada that the woods in the springtime were an ocean of shimmering bluebells.

  Reaching the woods just under the shadow of Cartmel Fell, Zelda cautiously made her way along the winding pathways to a particular patch of comfrey, or knitbone, as the locals called it, which grew in abundance throughout the winter months and was marvellous for the treatment of burns, scalds and bruises. After snipping off a large number of comfrey stalks with her scissors, Zelda moved on along the path. Progressing beneath a canopy of majestic chestnut and oak trees, the shade from which made the narrow path slippery wet at this time of the year, Zelda carefully balanced her basket against her big tummy. Plodding on, determined to get to a bed of nettles that grew just further up the path, Zelda suddenly felt a little light-headed. Stumbling awkwardly, her foot slipped on a tree root and she tumbled to the ground.

  ‘ZUT!’ she exclaimed.

  After getting to her feet, Zelda felt even more light-headed, and, chiding herself for overdoing it, she decided she would return another day to collect the nettles; but, as she turned to retrace her steps, a gush of warm water ran down her legs.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Zelda cried in horror.

  Knowing she was a long way from the road and even further away from Mary Vale filled Zelda with alarm.

  ‘I have to get back,’ she frantically muttered as she hurried as fast as she could back up the path. ‘Oh, why did I come here in the first place?’ she raged at herself.

  For months she had done her best to keep her baby safe, and now with only days to go before her due date she had decided to go for a long walk alone.

  ‘Stupid! Stupid!’ she scolded herself, stopping dead in her tracks as a pain in the small of her back literally took her breath away.

  Unable to stand upright, she crouched low on the ground, waiting for the pain to pass; then, hardly daring to breathe, she rose and very cautiously set off again. She had gone no more than a few feet when another pain shot through her belly. Now truly terrified, Zelda placed herself firmly against the vast trunk of an ancient oak tree, which she pressed against as the pain surged through her pelvic region.

  ‘ARGGGHHH!’ she groaned.

  Not daring to move, Zelda stayed exactly where she was.

  ‘What on earth am I going to do?’ she said out loud.

  It was clear that walking increased the probability of starting off the pains, so, cautiously sliding down the tree trunk, she sat at its base and desperately tried to compose herself.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned.

  Even if she yelled for help nobody would hear her here in this wild wood.

  Though she was panicking, Zelda took deep breaths to steady her nerves; then, feeling a little calmer, she slowly rose to her feet and almost crawled along the path. Just when she thought she might make it to the edge of the wood, another pain seized her, and this time she knew that she could simply go no further. An animal instinct gripped Zelda; casting her eyes frantically about, she spotted two huge oaks under which was a heap of dry autumn leaves. Feeling hot and starting to sweat, Zelda dragged herself to the spot and unbuttoned her winter coat, which she laid loosely over herself. Lying back looking up at the winter sky through the filigree of remaining leaves fluttering in the treetops, Zelda was startled by the flight of a Great Spotted Woodpecker, which flashed its bright red feathers at her before landing on a bough just above her head. Listening to the rhythmic tapping of the bird’s pointed beak, Zelda was gripped by another contraction that caused her to cry out. ‘ARGHHH! Help me!’ she wailed. ‘Please help me!’

  With Sister Mary Paul’s measurements for this year’s Christmas tree clearly written down, Frank Arkwright attached Captain to the old farm cart and set off at a slow pace along the road that led to the forest. Frank smiled to himself as he recalled the old nun’s description of a perfect Christmas tree. ‘It mustn’t be too tall, or it will catch the ceiling, and it mustn’t block the front door, and cut it fresh so I don’t have to sweep up pine needles every five minutes. Oh, and it must have enough space around the base for all our presents.’

  ‘I’ll do mi best, Sister,’ Frank had good-naturedly promised.

  Enjoying the clear bright winter day and the nearby smell of a bonfire burning damp leaves, Frank felt a pang of guilt. He knew he had done his bit for the war effort when on active service: nobody could have been more committed than him and his unit. He had lost an eye serving his country, but he was always haunted by the thought that he should (even now) be fighting at the Front, something he had confessed to his commanding officer before he was discharged.

  ‘I don’t think so, son, not with only one good eye,’ the officer had barked.

  His answer may have been brutal in its delivery, but Frank knew that the officer was right – his eyesight wasn’t good enough to aim a rifle and kill a man – nevertheless guilt was always there.

  ‘Looking on the bright side,’ he thought to himself, ‘thanks to the talents of clever little Zelda I look a damn sight better than I used to.’

  The lass had come up with an amazing ointment that had slowly healed his inflamed skin, and to this day Frank could never understand why she had gone to so much trouble for him. Over time, as their friendship grew, Zelda had blushingly admitted to Frank that she had initially been petrified of him.

  ‘So why put yourself out to help a miserable bugger like me?’ he had teased.

  ‘I have the knowledge right here,’ she had exclaimed as she tapped her head. ‘So why not use it? Also,’ she had added guiltily, ‘somebody in my country caused you this terrible injury. If I can change things for the better, then I will feel less responsible.’

  Seeing her bright, little earnest face aflame with emotion had touched Frank deeply.

  ‘I think you’ve got a heart of gold,’ he had told her gruffly. ‘A right proper little Florence Nightingale!’

  As old Captain clip-clopped down the lane, Frank lit one of his roll-up cigarettes; then, just as he was settling himself more comfortably on the wooden seat, he heard a high-pitched cry that caused Captain to shy and shake his harness. Clicking the horse into a trot, Frank wondered if the sound was that of an animal in pain.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a hare caught in a trap,’ he wondered.

  Another loud cry coming from the nearby woods convinced him it was not an animal but a person in trouble.

  ‘Eh up, boy,’ Frank urged the horse, which responded to its master and trotted on even more quickly.

  When Frank reached the forest, which he had explored daily as a boy and knew like the back of his hand, he tethered the horse to a tree before setting out along the forest path that Zelda had taken less than two hours earlier.

  Meanwhile poor Zelda, half crazed with pain, was lying on a soft bed of leaves, gasping for breath. When another contraction engulfed her, she simply hadn’t the energy to scream any more; instead she rolled on to her side and grunted like an animal. And that’s how Frank found her.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ he cried, as he rushed towards her writhing body.

  ‘The baby’s coming,’ Zelda gasped.
‘Help me, please help me, Frank.’

  The sight of her small pale face and her enormous dark eyes full of pain brought tears to Frank’s manly heart. Leaning down, he gently stroked her damp, tangled red curls.

  ‘Don’t you go fretting yourself, lass, I’ll have you back home in no time,’ he soothed.

  ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘The baby’s coming now, you’ve got to help me,’ she implored.

  Frank gazed at her in horror. He was a soldier and a farmer; how could he deliver a baby in the forest all on his own?

  ‘I’d be better off facing a shooting squad,’ he thought grimly.

  As Zelda stiffened and her back arched to ride the pain, Frank gripped her hand in his; barely noticing the blood she had drawn with her fingernails, he smiled and said, ‘You’re a natural. Almost as good as my best ewe.’

  Zelda smiled weakly. ‘I’ve never been compared to a sheep before.’

  ‘You’re bonnier,’ he said kindly.

  In the brief time they had before another contraction consumed her, Zelda asked Frank to lay her coat underneath her body so that she didn’t give birth in a bed of leaves. As he tenderly arranged the coat, Zelda gripped his hand hard.

  ‘Do you think you can do this, Frank?’

  Looking her straight in the eye, Frank didn’t flinch as he spoke the honest truth. ‘I’ve delivered puppies, kittens, a couple of foals and about a hundred lambs. I can do this, lass, I promise.’

  Seeing his steady gaze and trusting completely in him, Zelda lay back and for the first time relaxed; if she were going to give birth in a forest with Frank Arkwright acting as midwife, then so be it, she thought to herself. Less than an hour later Zelda, under Frank’s vigilant care, pushed her baby into a world loud with the call of woodpeckers and blackbirds. Gathering the little wet bundle into his arms, Frank almost wept with relief when the baby flailed its tiny arms in the air and wailed.

  ‘A girl!’ he sobbed as he handed her to Zelda.

  ‘A little girl,’ Zelda sobbed too. ‘Izaak’s beautiful daughter.’

  26. Baby’s First Gift

  Having successfully delivered Zelda’s daughter, Frank now had to make sure that he got both mother and baby safely back to Mary Vale, and as quickly as possible. Shrugging off his old work jacket, he removed his jumper, which smelt of sheep’s wool and tobacco, and tenderly wrapped the new-born in it.

  ‘I’m going to take the little ’un to the cart I left tethered by the wood,’ he told Zelda, who struggled to sit upright.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ she cried.

  ‘You can’t walk in your condition,’ Frank answered gruffly.

  Gazing down at her sprawled legs smeared with blood, Zelda hadn’t the strength to argue.

  ‘I’ll get the little lass settled and come back for you.’

  Looking alarmed, Zelda cried, ‘Why can’t you take us both? I can hold her.’

  ‘You’re weak, woman, and the path’s narrow and slippery with mud. I’m not taking any chances,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s safer to take you one at a time.’

  Having just given birth to the most precious thing in her life, Zelda was almost hysterical at the thought of parting with her. Seeing the look of sheer panic on her face, Frank took control of the situation and without further ado he lifted the baby from Zelda’s arms.

  ‘Don’t fret – I’ll be back in a tick.’

  Before Zelda could protest, he carefully descended on to the track and then, when he was under cover of the trees and well out of Zelda’s sight, he ran as fast as he could, bearing the little bundle in his arms. When he reached the road where he had left Captain tied up, the old horse neighed shrilly and impatiently stamped his feet.

  ‘All right, lad,’ Frank said softly.

  Fortunately, the base of the cart was scattered with hay, the remnants of a bale Frank had fed the sheep that morning. Scooping the hay into a cosy bundle, he gently laid the little girl, who was now gazing in wide-eyed wonder at the arching blue sky overhead, on to it.

  ‘Now, listen, lassie, stay right where you are.’ Frank spoke to her as if he were talking to one of his collie dogs. ‘I’ll be back before you know it with your mam.’

  When the baby made weak little mewling noises like a kitten, Captain started and whinnied as he turned to peer at her.

  ‘And you, mate,’ Frank said firmly to the patient animal, ‘stay right where you are too!’

  With his heart pounding in his chest, Frank raced back to Zelda, who, though weak and feeble, was desperately trying to clean the blood left by the afterbirth off her thighs. Feeling dizzy with the effort, she cried out with relief when she saw Frank. Without any preamble he spoke quickly. ‘Come on, put your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you.’

  Zelda protested.

  ‘But … I’m covered in blood.’

  ‘So am I,’ Frank said bluntly as he lifted her into his arms.

  Carefully negotiating the muddy patches on the path, Frank cautiously made his way back to the road, where Captain, who had not budged an inch from the spot, was patiently waiting for him.

  Frank gently laid Zelda in the cart beside her daughter.

  ‘Liebling, meine Liebe,’ Zelda murmured as she cuddled her baby, who lay like the Infant Jesus on a bed of sweet-smelling hay.

  With his cargo safely stored, Frank untethered the horse’s reins, then leapt on to the driver’s seat.

  ‘Giddy up, lad,’ he called.

  The old horse, eager for his warm stable, set off at a brisk trot. Though desperate to get mother and child safely home, Frank resisted the temptation to whip Captain into a gallop. He knew from experience that the rutted road would cause the cart to bounce, which might disturb the baby and alarm the mother. Reining in the horse, Frank kept up a smooth, steady pace that belied the state of his jangling nerves. When Frank arrived at Mary Vale, he drove the cart right up to the front door and frantically rang the bell.

  ‘Hello!’ he yelled.

  The welcoming smile on Sister Mary Paul’s face fell when she saw Frank Arkwright standing on the doorstep with his clothes stained with blood and flecks of hay in his dark hair.

  ‘Frank!’ she cried. ‘What’s happened to you?’ Then, looking at the empty cart, she exclaimed, ‘Where’s our Christmas tree?’

  ‘There’s summat else in the cart,’ Frank said abruptly. ‘Take a look.’

  The old nun flew to the back of the cart, which she had to grasp in order to support herself when she saw Zelda lying there with a baby in her arms.

  ‘Glory be to God and all the angels in heaven!’ gasped Sister Mary Paul.

  Leaving her to deal with Zelda, Frank ran into the Home, then headed for the hospital area.

  ‘SISTER ADA!’ he bellowed.

  Hearing his cry, Ada rushed out of the ward where she had been busy making beds.

  ‘You’re wanted – urgently. Come quickly!’

  Breaking into a run, Ada followed Frank outside, where they found Sister Mary Paul clutching Zelda’s baby.

  ‘Zelda’s daughter,’ she said with tears in her eyes.

  Looking thoroughly alarmed, Ada looked around for Zelda. Frank pointed to the girl struggling to sit up in the back of the cart. Seeing her deathly white face and wildly dishevelled hair, Ada cried out in alarm, ‘Don’t move – we’ll carry you indoors.’

  ‘I’ll take her,’ Frank said, as he tenderly lifted Zelda once more into his strong arms.

  ‘Where do you want her, Sister?’

  ‘The post-natal ward,’ Ada answered.

  Seeing Frank’s blank expression, Ada hid a smile: how silly of her to assume that Frank Arkwright would know where the post-natal ward was.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll lead the way.’

  With her head cradled against Frank’s warm shoulder, weary Zelda was taken on to the ward, where she was laid on a hospital bed. Knowing she was now in safe hands, Frank gave a brief backward glance at mother and daughter, then fled.

  Driv
ing back in the crisp, cold winter twilight, Frank reran the dramatic events of the day as he smoked one roll-up cigarette after another. Captain, keen to get back to a warm stable and a manger full of hay, trotted briskly towards the farm, where lights shone out of the kitchen window.

  ‘Thank God we’re home, lad,’ Frank fervently said, as they entered the farmyard, before adding even more fervently, ‘And thank God I’m not a woman!’

  On the post-natal ward Zelda, now bathed and wearing a warm nightdress, sat with her back against a bank of pillows, gratefully sipping a cup of hot sweet tea that Ada had just brought to her. Her tired face lit up when she saw Dora approaching with a tiny bundle in her arms.

  ‘She’s all cleaned up and tidy,’ Dora told the radiant mother. ‘I weighed her too: six pounds, a little ’un but tough, I’d say.’

  Zelda gazed in wonder at her daughter, now wearing one of Mary Vale’s pretty little nighties and tiny white woolly bootees. Quickly laying aside her teacup, Zelda held out her arms.

  ‘Let me hold her,’ she begged.

  ‘That Frank Arkwright,’ Dora declared. ‘He’s a natural-born midwife – I couldn’t have done a better job myself.’

  ‘She’s a little beauty,’ Ada cooed as she too fussed over the baby.

  ‘Even if she was born under a bush,’ Dora chuckled.

  Zelda smiled as she corrected her: ‘Actually, she was born under an oak tree.’

  Returning her gaze to her daughter, Zelda closely scrutinized her little face and tiny hands. ‘She’s perfect,’ she sighed.

  ‘And I think she may be hungry,’ Ada said knowingly.

  Zelda quickly undid the buttons on the bodice of her nightie so she could place the baby on her breast.

  ‘Is this right?’ she anxiously asked the nurses.

  ‘She might take a moment or two,’ Ada replied, as she keenly observed the baby’s response. ‘Help her find her way to the nipple,’ she suggested.

  Gently supporting the baby’s little wobbly head in her hand, Zelda steered her daughter’s sweet, rose-bud pink mouth towards her nipple.