But no sooner was Alice released from the daily irritation of Albert’s jeering and mimicking of what he called her fancy ways, than an unpleasant incident occurred with Miss Chatt.
The first Mabel knew that something was wrong was when Alice rushed in from work, brushed past her mother and flew straight upstairs to the room she shared with Mabel.
‘What’s up with her?’ asked George, but Mabel decided to leave her sister undisturbed for a while, until she was ready to face them all. The two sisters had never been particularly close and Mabel hesitated to intrude on the fourteen-year-old girl whose dreams of a business career were not likely to materialise for some time.
‘We’re nearly ready to dish up, Mabel,’ said Annie with a worried look. ‘I don’t know if yer father’s in tonight, but one of us ought to go up and have a word with her. I don’t like her being upset – d’you think it’s something to do with that Mr Munday? I’m not sure that I trust him.’
‘I’ll take her up a cup of tea and see if she’s ready for some supper,’ said Mabel, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Tea’s always a good idea.’
With cup and saucer in hand she knocked softly at the bedroom door. A muffled sound was heard and the bed creaked. ‘Alice? I’ve got a cuppa here for yer. Can I come in?’
‘I don’t want anything,’ came the mumbled reply. ‘Just want to be left alone.’
‘It’s my room, too, dear,’ said Mabel gently. ‘Let me come in, there’s a good girl.’
There was no lock on the door and Mabel entered, setting down the cup on the chest of drawers and closing the door behind her.
Alice was lying on the bed and had obviously been crying. She sat up and dabbed her face with a handkerchief, avoiding Mabel’s eyes.
‘Come on, Alice, what’s the matter? Yer can tell yer big sister.’ Mabel sat down on the side of their shared bed and took the girl’s hand in hers. ‘Which one’s upset yer, Miss Chatt or Mr Munday? Or was it a customer?’
Alice sniffed. ‘It certainly wasn’t a customer. She says they complain about my attitude, but they don’t. Most of them like me, an’ stop to pass the time o’ day if they’re not in a hurry.’
‘Ah! And maybe Miss Chatt thinks they should stop and talk to her instead,’ said Mabel with a teasing smile.
‘She told me I was pert,’ said Alice, ‘and when I asked her to name just one customer who’d said so, she lost her temper and went for me like a wildcat, claws out—’
‘Did yer pull her tail?’ asked Mabel.
‘It wasn’t funny!’ retorted Alice. ‘That was when she started saying the most awful, wicked things – oh, Mabel—’
‘What sort o’ things, dear? What did she say?’ Mabel began to feel apprehensive.
‘They were things about . . . about Dad.’
Mabel’s smile disappeared in an instant. ‘Oh, my poor Alice. What did she say about him? Tell me, dear, yer mustn’t keep it to yerself.’
‘She said everybody knows how he carries on, sittin’ in the Falcon of an evenin’, makin’ up to . . . to hussies young enough to be his daughters—’
‘Oh, Alice. Oh, yer poor little dear. I understand now.’ Mabel frowned and shook her head, knowing that of all the Court children it was Alice who had always been closest to her father.
‘And she said he visits a woman in Landseer Road who everybody knows has a reputation, and in broad daylight, as bold as brass, a cryin’ scandal,’ sobbed Alice. ‘And she said to me, “Don’t come here with yer cheeky tongue, little Miss Know-all, ’cause I won’t have it, not from a flibbertigibbety somethin’ or other from a family like that!” Oh, Mabel, I hate her, I do!’
‘Sh, sh, Alice, Mabel’s here, don’t cry,’ said her sister, stroking the dark hair that hung down over Alice’s eyes. She felt deeply concerned for her sister, indignant with Miss Chatt and even more so with their father. What she had heard was no real surprise, but what should she tell Alice? How should the girl react to such taunts? At this moment Mabel was at a loss. ‘And where was Mr Munday when all this was going on?’ she asked at length.
‘That was just it, he came out of his little office all of a sudden – I didn’t know he was there and neither did she – but he must have heard it all, ’cause he was really angry an’ told her off, even though there were customers in and they heard him – oh, Mabel!’
‘Serve her right. What did he say?’
‘That was the trouble, he said it wasn’t my fault and she’d no right to take it out on me just ’cause o’ my father,’ said Alice with another burst of tears. ‘He called me Miss Court and said I was a good little worker, and he wouldn’t have me upset by spiteful talk.’
‘Good for him – and what did she say to that?’
‘She started snivelling behind her post office counter, and never said another word. But don’t yer see, Mabel, he made it worse,’ said poor Alice, lifting up her red and swollen eyes. ‘He was nice to me, but he didn’t deny the awful things she said – he didn’t say it wasn’t true, he only said I wasn’t to blame for what my father did. Everybody’s talkin’ about us, Mabel, and we’ve never known about it!’
‘And our mum must never know, Alice, whatever happens,’ said Mabel solemnly. ‘I’m very sorry ye’ve been so upset, but I doubt it’ll happen again, after what Mr Munday said to the woman – but when yer hear anythin’ like this, Alice, yer best way is to say nothin’ at all. Be dignified, d’ye understand that, dear? Don’t let people see that they’ve hurt yer and then they’ll shut up. D’ye know what I mean?’
Alice sat up and brushed her hair back from her face with her hand. ‘Yer mean ye’ve known about this, Mabel?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Yes, dear, for some time. So did Albert and it made him very angry, so it’s just as well he’s not here. The one person who doesn’t know is our poor mum – and the children, o’ course – and yer must never say anything about this in front o’ her or them. I’ll tell her that yer got ticked off by silly old Miss Chatt and that Mr Munday stood up for yer. That’s all she needs to know.’
Alice stared dolefully out of the window. ‘But everybody else knows, don’t they, Mabel? So why do we have to pretend?’
Mabel considered for a moment. It was not possible to explain the importance of preserving the illusion of respectability that meant so much to poor, tired, anaemic Annie Court after eighteen years of being married to Jack. ‘Sometimes it’s best to look the other way and not to say anything, dear, not when it’ll cause trouble to somebody we love very much – like Mum.’
But Alice looked doubtful and Mabel realised that the girl was deeply disillusioned. And with both parents.
September gave way to October and the hot summer of 1911 passed into the records. Albert sent a postcard from the Warspite saying that he was doing well as a sea cadet and Mabel showed it to Harry. She was becoming increasingly bored and unsatisfied with life as a domestic at everybody’s beck and call, but her meetings with Harry were a great consolation. He always gave her new hope and warmed her heart with his unfailing devotion. On Saturday evenings they went to the Citadel and for a walk in one or other of the London parks in midweek, though the evenings were rapidly drawing in and Annie objected to Mabel being out after dark; in any case she had to be up early to get to the Polytechnic for six.
‘I wouldn’t mind how early I had to get up, Harry, if only I was going to look after somebody who really needed me!’ she said, knowing that with his own call to service he understood exactly what she meant; he had gone back to the railways after the strike and found the work more irksome than formerly, with a great deal of bad feeling among the men.
‘I keep prayin’ about both of us, dearest Mabel, and I know that it’s all goin’ to work out for the best in the end. We just got to be patient, my love.’
She would not have dreamed of arguing with him, but sometimes she felt a chill of doubt. All her hopes and plans to be a children’s nurse seemed to have come to a standstill.
Then one d
ay, as suddenly and unexpectedly as her dismissal from the Anti-Viv, came one of those chance occurrences that can change the course of a life. It was a Friday and Mabel had a half-day from the Polytechnic; she was on her way home at half past one, approaching the network of residential streets in her own part of north Battersea. Turning a corner, her sombre thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a woman screaming. It came from the upper window of the end terrace where their neighbours the Cluttons lived. ‘Mabel! Mabel! Come to me mum, she’s hollerin’ summat terrible, and Mrs Lowe ain’t nowhere to be found!’
Twelve-year-old Essie Clutton was clearly scared out of her wits, not being the brightest of girls, and two younger children were crying when Mabel hurried through the front door, not knowing what she would find but unable to pass by a cry for help. All other matters were forgotten as she rushed up the stairs and entered the front bedroom.
Mrs Clutton was writhing on the bed, clutching at her belly. ‘Mabel Court – oh, fank Gawd, a gal wiv a bit o’ sense! Me waters broke in the kitchen, don’t know ’ow I got up the stairs, but me baby box is under the bed – aaah! Oh, me Gawd, it’s comin’, I reckon – ’elp me, gal, ’elp me—’
She gave a shriek of pain and fear, and Mabel knew that she must keep a cool head whatever happened. ‘All right, Mrs Clutton, all right, sh, sh – let’s get these off, shall we?’ she said, her natural instinct prompting her to pull the woman’s drawers down her legs. ‘That’s the way – now we can see what we’re doin’ – have yer got any newspapers? Whoops!’
And it was all over within the next half-minute. Between the woman’s spread thighs lay a red-faced, squalling infant, still attached to the mother by the umbilical cord.
‘Oh, Mrs Clutton, ye’ve got a little girl!’ marvelled Mabel, putting her hands protectively round the slippery little body and wiping it dry with a fold of the sheet.
‘Omigawd, annuver gal –’e won’t ’alf carry on – is it all right, Mabel?’
Mabel had to raise her voice to be heard above the baby’s piercing, non-stop yells. ‘Yes, she’s fine, Mrs Clutton, just listen to her! Have yer got a towel or somethin’ handy? Somethin’ to wrap her in?’
‘The baby box is under the bed, gal, everythin’s in it, towels, clean sheets, ball o’ string – the scissors are in the drawer, get Essie to find ’em for yer – napkins an’ tie-up gowns, they’re all in the box.’
Two neighbours drawn by the noise now rushed in through the back door and up the stairs. They stood open-mouthed at the scene before them. Mrs Clutton lay in a pool of blood and water, the smell reminding Mabel of the emergency room at St Katharine’s Infirmary.
‘But yer wasn’t due till December, Mary! Is it a little ’un?’ asked one of them.
‘It’s a gal, not all that little, is she, Mabel? Mabel Court’s ’ad to do everythin’ for me.’
‘Nuffin’ wrong wiv ’er lungs, anyway. ’Ere, give ’er to me, Mabel,’ said the other neighbour, wielding the scissors and string. ‘Let’s get this tied orf – any sign o’ the afterbirf?’
‘I’ll go down an’ put the kettle on,’ said the first woman. ‘See what them kids are up to, an’ all. Essie! Essie, where are yer?’
In another minute Mrs Lowe hurtled in through the open front door and shot up the stairs, hatless and out of breath. ‘Is it born? Oh, well done, a fine little girl. And who was here for her? What about the afterbirth, is it still in? Right, soon have it out now, dear.’
‘It’s young Mabel Court she’s got to thank. Where was you?’ demanded the woman attending to the baby’s cord.
‘Up at the Institute off Lavender Hill – you know, the Women’s Rescue,’ explained the midwife, putting down her bag and feeling Mary Clutton’s abdomen. ‘D’ye feel yer could give another little push, dear? Did yer know that one o’ those poor young creatures died last week? There’s a midwife been dismissed over it because no doctor was called. That’s right, dear, give another little push, that’s right, good girl – an’ one o’ the domestics has been bringing drink into the place – I ask you, that’s not right, is it? Oh, well done, Mrs Clutton, here it comes, nice and easy – yes, that’s the afterbirth – is there a bucket handy? Oh, thanks, Mabel. Anyway, as I was saying, what that place needs is a decent, reliable body to help out, somebody with a bit o’ common sense an’ the right attitude t’wards those poor unfortunates, kind but not too easygoing, if yer see what I mean, an’ a cool head on her shoulders. Can you think of anybody, Mabel?’
Mabel’s eyes lit up with joy: she most certainly could!
‘What? I can’t believe I’m hearing you right, Mabel. You, a respectable girl, only seventeen and no experience of . . . of that side of life, are you seriously suggesting that you go and work in a home for fallen women?’ Annie Court was horrified.
‘I’d be a nursery maid, Mum, and help look after the little babies – oh, I’d be so happy to give ’em a little bit o’ love, the poor mites! An’ Miss Carter thinks it’s a good idea as well, and says she’ll give me a recommendation again – oh, Mum, I must do it, can’t yer see? No more sweeping and dusting up at the Technical College, I’ll be doing something really useful – and necessary!’
Annie Court could not argue, so certain was Mabel that this work was meant for her. And to Annie’s surprise Dr Knowles thought so too. ‘She’s just the right sort of person for that place, Mrs Court,’ he said seriously. ‘There’s been a new Matron appointed and she needs new, trustworthy staff. Your Mabel would be ideal as a nursery assistant.’ And she’d have a genuinely compassionate attitude towards those poor young mothers, he added to himself.
Nobody could now remember the founder of the Agnes Nuttall Institute for the Rescue of Women, locally known as the Rescue. Mrs Nuttall had been a clergyman’s widow who had bequeathed her solidly built mansion as a refuge for unmarried mothers and their babies. For years Mabel had passed it on her way to and from school and the Babies Mission, never dreaming that one day she would be on its staff.
Recent untoward events at the Rescue had led to reforms, and as a result of an inquiry there had been staff changes and a general review of rules and procedures. Mabel was duly recommended and interviewed by Mrs James, the new Matron, for the post of nursery maid, and could have danced for joy when she was accepted; her prospects were bright again and although the wages were about the same as for cleaning the Polytechnic, the work was indescribably more rewarding. ‘Dearest Harry, yer said it’d all turn out for the best and so it has!’ she cried, throwing her arms round his neck and kissing him with an enthusiasm which took him quite by surprise – and a very pleasant surprise at that.
‘Yer look so beautiful when ye’re happy like this, Mabel,’ he told her, marvelling all over again that this lovely girl was in love with him and had promised to marry him one day, however long they had to wait. And he believed it would happen, in spite of the doubts and fears that sometimes plagued him, a sense of foreboding that all was not well in Mabel’s home; he longed to protect her from the lurking shadows.
But for now she was jubilant at beginning her new job, and even her mother had to admit that Mabel was happier than she’d been for months.
At least she would still be living at home and not going to that woman at Tooting . . .
Chapter Eight
HAPPY AND EXCITED as she was to take up her new appointment, Mabel did not take long to discover that the Rescue was a place of sorrow. And that she would have to share in it.
On her first day she was taken into the nursery by Mrs James herself and the strict routine was explained to her. The fifteen babies who lay in their canvas cots had to be taken every four hours to be fed by their mothers. ‘You have to change the ones whose mothers are still in the lying-in ward and carry them out in your arms,’ said Mrs James. ‘The other mothers have to come to the Agnes Nuttall room where they must change their own babies before and after feeding them. On no account are they to enter the nursery. That is the rule and must be kept.’
Mabe
l realised that Mrs James was a conscientious woman who did not intend to be unkind: her first thought was for the safety of the babies. They were fed at six, ten, two, six and ten o’clock on the dot, and whether Mabel was on the early or late shift this was her prime responsibility. All babies were breastfed; the boat-shaped glass bottles with their thick rubber teats were only used after the mothers had been discharged, when the infants were transferred to the babies’ home at Merton. Those who cried between feeds were sometimes offered sweetened water on a teaspoon and at night were taken to their mothers at the discretion of the staff on duty. From her first day the sound of a crying baby touched Mabel’s tender heart and she could never ignore it; she would lift the child out of its cot and either cuddle it on her lap or walk the bare boards of the nursery with the helpless little creature held against her shoulder. ‘Sh, sh, little love, Mabel’s here, never fear,’ she would croon, stroking and kissing the downy head. ‘Sh-sh-sh.’
At feeding times the girls – for they were mostly young – would reach out eagerly to take their babies from her arms. Sister Barratt who was in charge of the lying-in ward gave advice and assistance with breastfeeding, and Mabel soon picked up the essential points to remember: a comfortable position with the baby’s head supported, its body firmly wrapped in a cot sheet, its mouth in contact with the nipple. She marvelled at this beautiful, natural bond between mother and child, the flowing out of love and nourishment in one mysterious stream. It was a new experience for each of these women and girls, and one they would always remember, thought Mabel pityingly, no matter what else happened to them later in life. For how could a mother forget her sucking child?
As time went by her thoughts often followed the babies to Merton, where arrangements were made for adoptions where possible; those with any kind of physical defect would go to children’s homes. Mabel’s distant dream sprang to life again, getting nearer, taking shape and substance: she saw herself, the future Mrs Drover, trained and experienced in nursing, pouring out love and care upon unwanted, unloved children in a Salvation Army refuge. This sad situation at the Rescue was another step on the journey towards her goal – and there was such a lot for her to learn.
A Child's Voice Calling Page 16
