A Christmas Wish for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘I’ll take this side,’ Helen said, as Bel took hold of Polly’s right arm. They both tried to heave Polly onto the table, but she was a ton weight.

  ‘Martha?’ Helen suggested.

  ‘Good idea,’ Bel agreed, letting go of her sister-in-law’s hand and hurrying off.

  Seeing Bel go, Polly panicked. She desperately wanted to shout for her to come back. But she didn’t. She thought of Tommy. She had to be brave.

  ‘The baby’s coming!’ Bel shouted at the top of her lungs. The sound of her voice seemed to get lost in the hammering of metal and the pneumatic thumping of the rivet guns.

  The women saw her before they heard her.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ Dorothy said, pushing up her mask. She nudged Angie, who was concentrating on a vertical weld. Turning and seeing Bel, she tugged hard on Martha’s sleeve.

  ‘It’s Polly!’ Bel shouted as she finally reached them. ‘She’s gone into labour!’

  ‘What? She’s having the baby? Here?’ Gloria said.

  Bel nodded. She felt as though she had just ripped a few vocal cords.

  ‘Martha …’ She stepped across a welding machine to get to the group’s gentle giant. ‘They need you up there to help move Pol,’ she shouted into her ear.

  Martha immediately dumped her rod and mask on the ground with a clatter, and without a second glance she strode off across the yard, breaking into a lumbering jog so she wouldn’t have to wait for a crane to pass.

  ‘Can we do anything?’ Gloria shouted.

  Bel nodded again.

  ‘The ambulance,’ she hollered. ‘Meet it at the gates – tell the driver where to go.’

  Rosie, Dorothy and Angie did exactly as Martha had just done; they downed their tools and masks and made a beeline across the yard.

  Polly watched as Dr Parker spoke a few words to Helen before shaking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. She saw Helen take the coat and gently squeeze his arm before hurrying off and out of her line of vision.

  She heard the door crash open and Martha appeared. Her face was serious. Martha disappeared from view again and then she felt herself being gently lifted onto the table.

  She turned her face and saw that Helen had brought Dr Parker a bowl of water and a bar of soap. They were talking quietly. Dr Parker seemed to be reassuring Helen, whose face was tense and angst-ridden. She passed him some paper towels and he dried his hands quickly, chucking them on the floor.

  For a split second Polly thought she was in the hospital – before she heard the klaxon sound out.

  End of shift.

  Dr Parker suddenly came into view.

  ‘I’m going to give you a very quick examination.’

  Polly craned her head up and nodded her acquiescence before being hit by another contraction.

  Dr Parker looked at Helen, who hurried to her side and took Polly’s hand.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Helen said, trying her hardest to sound reassuring before turning to look at Marie-Anne.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ she shouted.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t think so?’ Helen yelled, anger replacing anxiety.

  ‘I can’t see!’ Marie-Anne shouted in return.

  The pain ebbed and Polly again craned her neck. Marie-Anne had half her body hanging out the window; one slight push and she’d be gone.

  ‘The entrance’s blocked!’ she turned back and shouted over at Helen.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Helen hissed through clenched teeth.

  Polly caught the look of despair Helen threw Dr Parker, who was now back in her line of vision.

  ‘What? The ambulance can’t get in?’ Polly asked, looking from Helen to Dr Parker.

  The doors suddenly banged open.

  It was Bel. She hurried over to Polly. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Like I’m dying,’ Polly spluttered. Another contraction.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bel said in earnest. ‘That’s totally normal.’

  Polly spluttered, laughed, then cried out in agony. It was the first time she had vocalised her pain.

  ‘It’ll be worth it,’ Bel assured.

  Polly caught sight of Dr Parker at the end of the table. He had blood on him.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she gasped.

  ‘Remember, the same happened with Gloria …’

  Polly heard Martha’s reassuring voice behind her.

  ‘It’s fine, Polly. Everything is going exactly as it should. All of this is perfectly normal,’ Dr Parker said with the utmost authority.

  Polly suddenly exploded into semi-hysterical laughter.

  Having her baby on the sorting table in the admin department of Thompson’s shipyard was not what she would call ‘perfectly normal’.

  ‘I want to go to hospital!’ she demanded. ‘I want Dr Billingham!’ Polly glowered at Dr Parker.

  ‘I don’t think this baby’s going to wait,’ Helen said, throwing Dr Parker another worried look.

  ‘But—’ Another contraction stopped Polly from saying any more.

  ‘Are you all right giving me a hand?’ Dr Parker asked Helen.

  Polly heard Helen’s heels clip-clopping on the vinyl flooring before she appeared next to Dr Parker.

  ‘Pol,’ Bel said, drawing her attention away from Helen and John, who had started to talk in hushed tones, ‘just keep a hold of my hand.’

  Polly turned her head to see her sister-in-law.

  ‘And mine.’

  She turned her head a hundred and eighty degrees to see Martha, who was now where Helen had been.

  She grabbed both their hands as though her life depended on it.

  Rosie, Gloria, Dorothy and Angie were halfway across the yard when the klaxon blared out. In total synchronicity, the workforce stopped dead. It had been another hot day. Most had been counting the minutes until the end of the shift. Now it was a race to either the pub or home.

  All of a sudden, the women found themselves in a tide of bodies, their progress slowed down as everyone headed for the gates, creating the usual bottleneck at the timekeeper’s cabin.

  ‘Move!’ Angie bellowed at the top of her lungs. She was at the front of the women’s vanguard.

  ‘Fire!’ Dorothy screeched. She had heard that if you needed people to move, you had to pretend there was a fire; apparently, people then scattered like rats. She had been falsely informed. A few of the men turned their heads, but seeing it was Dorothy, returned to their chatter.

  ‘Davey!’ Rosie shouted over to the young lad, but he couldn’t hear. His little face flushed as he grabbed the clocking-off cards that were being waved up at him impatiently.

  Finally, they made it to the main gates. Rosie stood on her tiptoes, straining to see if the ambulance was anywhere in sight.

  ‘There it is!’ she shouted.

  But any joy immediately died when she saw that its progress was even slower than their own.

  Ten minutes later, Marie-Anne swung her head round.

  ‘It’s here! It’s here!’ she screamed. ‘The ambulance is coming through the gates!’

  ‘Too late,’ Dr Parker said. ‘The baby’s coming.’

  As if on cue, Polly suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to push.

  After the ambulance finally made it through the throng of workers to the main gates, Rosie jumped into the passenger seat, squashed herself up against the nurse and directed the driver to the outside of the admin building.

  ‘A woman called Polly Watts has gone into labour,’ Rosie explained, trying to stay calm and convey as much information as possible in the shortest time possible.

  ‘She’s not due for another two weeks and she’s had some sort of stitch put in her cervix because she nearly lost the baby when she was about three months gone.’

  Rosie looked at the nurse’s face; she clearly had no idea what she was talking about. She also looked very worried.

  ‘Luckily, there’s a doctor with her,’ Rosie said. ‘Dr Parker.’


  The nurse’s face instantly showed relief.

  The driver pulled over and Rosie opened the door and jumped out.

  The young nurse grabbed her bag and followed.

  ‘This way!’

  It was Gloria.

  She took the nurse to the entrance, where Dorothy was holding open the door.

  As the nurse followed Gloria up the stairs, Dorothy saw Angie coming out of the drawing office with Hannah and Olly.

  ‘Come on! Hurry up!’ she shouted across, waving her free hand at them before screeching in excitement at the top of her lungs.

  ‘Polly’s having her baby!’

  For the next twenty-five minutes, Polly’s world became a blur of faces, noises and voices.

  The nurse who had arrived with the ambulance looked terrified as she hurried to and fro, carrying towels or bowls of water. Polly was glad that Helen had remained second in command to Dr Parker.

  She listened as John told her very matter-of-factly that her baby was in the right position, ‘head down and face towards the spine’. The stitch had worked its way loose.

  This, he explained, was excellent news and meant the birth shouldn’t take long – or be too painful.

  Polly wanted to scream that it was already too painful, but the words never made it out of her mouth as another contraction again took away her ability to sound anywhere near coherent.

  Bel and Martha stayed exactly where they were. They had no choice. Polly’s grip was like a vice.

  Polly was vaguely aware of what was happening around her. She caught glimpses of Marie-Anne bobbing in and out of the admin doors, but it was only when she heard Dorothy shriek that she realised the women welders were waiting at the top of the steps outside the entrance to the office.

  She tried hard to obey Dr Parker’s commands, reiterated by Helen, telling her to push or to stop pushing.

  But then Dr Parker gave her the go-ahead for one last almighty effort.

  ‘Do it!’ Helen commanded.

  The pain was off the Richter scale. There were a few seconds of silence. And then she heard her baby cry. And she, too, started crying.

  ‘It’s a boy!’ Dr Parker declared.

  ‘You’ve got a baby boy!’ Helen said, her voice choked.

  Polly watched through a blur of tears as Dr Parker cut the cord and brought her baby straight to her.

  And that’s when she fell in love for the second time in her life.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dorothy and Angie had their faces pressed up against the window of the double doors that led into the office-cum-delivery-ward. Both were giving running commentaries on what they could and could not see. Both were thankful that Dr Parker was obscuring their view so that they didn’t have to witness all the blood and gore, as they had at Hope’s birth.

  Marie-Anne was coming and going, giving updates.

  After what felt like an age, she opened the door with tears in her eyes and a big smile on her face and declared:

  ‘It’s a boy! And mother and baby are fine.’

  Rosie, Gloria, Dorothy, Angie, Hannah and Olly all cheered, then laughed and cried, all breathing the biggest sighs of relief that Polly and the baby were alive and well.

  Now in full Irish brogue, Marie-Anne said they’d be allowed to see ‘mammy and the bab’ in a few minutes, but as Dr Parker wanted them taken to the hospital ‘post-haste’, they had to be quick.

  While they were waiting impatiently to be given the green light, Charlotte came rushing up the stairs and, like Dorothy, jumped for joy on hearing the news.

  She was immediately dispatched by Rosie to go and tell Agnes she was now a grandmother to a beautiful baby boy and that she should go to the Royal.

  Dr Parker stood back and let the women crowd around Polly and her new baby.

  Helen moved out of the way too. She looked at him and smiled. For a moment he was back in his dream. Only this wasn’t a dream. This was reality. Her emerald eyes locked on to his own.

  ‘Helen,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper as she moved closer.

  She was going to kiss him!

  Suddenly, he felt someone bump into him from behind.

  ‘Oh, so sorry, old chap!’

  He turned around.

  It was Matthew bloody Royce.

  Matthew ignored him; he only had eyes for Helen.

  ‘There you are!’ He nudged his way past Dr Parker so that he was facing Helen. Dr Parker noticed he was carrying a bunch of flowers. ‘Thank God you’re all right! I saw the ambulance and naturally thought the worst.’

  Dr Parker watched as the man Helen had referred to as ‘a charmer and a chancer’ kissed her on both cheeks.

  Dr Parker now stood looking at Matthew’s back. He fought the urge to lamp him one.

  ‘Polly went into labour …’ he heard Helen explain.

  ‘And had the little bugger, by the looks of it!’ Matthew let out a huge guffaw. He held the flowers out for Helen. ‘These were meant for you, my dear, but I’m guessing it would now be more appropriate to give them to the new mother.’

  Helen laughed. ‘I’m guessing you would be right.’

  She touched Matthew’s arm to stop him charging over to Polly with the bouquet.

  ‘Matthew, meet John … Dr John Parker.’

  Matthew spun round, a surprised expression on his face, as though he had just noticed him for the first time.

  ‘Hello, old boy!’ Matthew stuck out his hand.

  Dr Parker put both blood-smeared hands up in front of him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve not had a chance to clean up.’

  Matthew glanced down and grimaced.

  ‘Not a problem, old chap. Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  Dr Parker looked at Helen.

  ‘Oh, John, sorry, this is Matthew. Matthew Royce. He’s the new manager at Pickersgill’s.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ Dr Parker said, as if he didn’t know.

  ‘Ha! Didn’t expect to find the office had transformed itself into a maternity ward,’ Matthew exclaimed.

  Dr Parker forced a smile.

  ‘And by the looks of you, my dear Helen,’ Matthew said, ‘it would appear that you too have been helping the good doctor with bringing life into this world.’

  ‘Well—’ Helen started to speak.

  ‘I’d better get Polly to the hospital,’ Dr Parker interrupted. ‘She might need a little patching up.’ He looked over at one of the phones. ‘Is it all right to call the hospital, so they can get a message to Dr Billingham?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll get Polly down to the ambulance.’

  If Dr Parker had stayed just a few minutes longer, he would have realised that the reason Matthew had brought flowers for Helen was by way of an apology, for he had made a rather crass attempt at kissing her after the launch at Doxford’s the other day.

  He hadn’t known what had come over him. One minute Helen was standing in his office chatting to him about a new commission from the Ministry of War Transport, and the next he was bending his head to kiss her – and would have succeeded if she hadn’t snapped her head away from him just as their lips were about to touch.

  Helen had been very forgiving about the whole episode; she had laughed it off, which was a little disconcerting, acting as though it was nothing, which it probably was for her. She must have men falling at her feet every time she stepped out of her front door. Like that Dr Parker. He was clearly still hoping he was in with a chance. Miriam had been right. The look he’d given him when they’d been introduced had said it all.

  After his clumsy faux pas, bringing Helen flowers today was his way of redeeming himself. And he did intend to redeem himself. He mightn’t have succeeded in his first attempt to woo Helen, but that didn’t mean he’d given up. Far from it.

  He’d decided that this woman was going to be his wife. It might take time, but he had plenty of that.

  Helen looked around, but John
had gone.

  Damn it. She’d wanted to speak to him. Wanted to celebrate little Arthur’s birth, and the fact that Polly had asked her to be his godmother – along with Bel. It wasn’t every day you helped bring life into the world. They had just shared something momentous – didn’t he want to chat about it and relive the drama of it all over a drink in the Admiral?

  She suddenly felt as though she’d just had the wind taken out of her sails.

  She hardly saw John at all these days. She’d rung him a couple of times, but he hadn’t returned her calls. Too busy with Dr Perfect, no doubt.

  ‘I think we should all go and wet the baby’s head!’

  Matthew’s loud voice broke her out of her reverie.

  There was cheer of agreement from the women and a smile from Olly, who had been helping Hannah to clear up the mess and now looked several shades paler than he did normally – and he was pale at the best of times.

  ‘And the drinks are on me,’ Matthew added.

  Helen looked at them all and smiled.

  She wondered why John had dropped by in the first place; probably just popped in for a quick cuppa after a consultation at the Monkwearmouth.

  ‘All right, why not?’ she agreed. ‘But I must insist that the drinks are on me.’

  Matthew sighed. He had his work cut out with Helen, there was no doubt about that – but he had a feeling he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

  As Dr Parker made his way back to Ryhope on the train, he felt consumed by the biggest and darkest cloud imaginable.

  Helen and Matthew were clearly an item. They’d been pictured together just recently; he’d been a fool not to realise. Of course, they were. It was a perfect match. They were both managers of shipyards, both from shipbuilding families. God, they even looked similar – both dark and strikingly good-looking.

  Dr Parker looked out the window. It was just starting to get dark. He closed his eyes in frustration.

  How could he have been so stupid? To keep hope alive – all because of a dream? For the rest of the thirty-minute journey, he berated himself. He had a good mind to check himself into the asylum. And thoughts of the mental hospital made him think about Claire. Was he mad? Did he have some kind of death wish for his love life? Claire was lovely – she was ideal for him.