War Babies

by Annie Murray

  ‘It made me feel quite queer seeing her,’ Rachel said as they sat around the table. ‘I keep thinking mine’s starting – sort of in sympathy, like!’ Then she giggled. ‘You should’ve seen that Mrs Brown’s face. She looked as if she’d walked into – I don’t know what – a witch’s den! What with all Netta’s mom’s statues and that.’

  Gladys cleared her throat. ‘It’s not everyone holds with all that sort of thing,’ she said stiffly. She held out a little white bag. ‘Anyone for a mint?’ She put her head on one side. ‘You all right?’ A pain had clenched through Rachel’s belly and she was gasping. ‘You look flushed. You’re not coming on as well, are you?’

  ‘I don’t think so – it’s a bit early,’ Rachel breathed, as the wave receded. ‘I overdid it today though – carrying Melly and everything.’

  By the small hours the pains were coming hard and regular, and there was no mistaking the fact that her own labour had begun. Rachel tossed and turned in bed as the pains became so intense she had to make a huge effort not to scream. The room was very dark and she did not like it, being lost and alone with the contractions, unable to see anything. It was frightening and miserable. Between one pain and another she got up and lit the stub of a candle and that made her feel a little bit better. She knew Melanie would not wake. The child slept very soundly once she was off to sleep on the other side of the bed.

  She knew she could stand it for a while. After all, she had done this before. But eventually the pain reached such a peak that she could not help crying out, trying to muffle her mouth with the bedclothes. Despite herself, she let out a thin, high shriek and after a few moments she heard Gladys moving about. A wavering light appeared at the bottom of the attic stairs.

  ‘Rach?’ Gladys’s voice came up to her. ‘What’s going on – are you having it?’

  ‘Yes – get help, Auntie,’ Rachel cried. ‘It’s coming. I must’ve set it off, carting Melly about like that . . .’

  ‘Right.’ Gladys came upstairs and put her candle down. ‘Let’s get this one out of the way – I’ll put her in my bed.’ She disappeared with a soundly sleeping Melanie in her arms. It crossed Rachel’s mind that she had never seen the room where Melanie was about to be put to bed again. Shortly Gladys came back up.

  ‘I’ve got Ernie to run for the midwife,’ she said. Ernie Morrison, the eldest boy, was now fourteen and just out at work. ‘I told him to stay with her and bring her – they can never find these houses.’

  In the candlelit room, Rachel sank into herself, barely aware of anything else that was going on around her. Time passed, during which she was dimly aware of Gladys organizing things, shifting her over to lay newspaper on the bed, coming up and down the stairs. But the pains were getting closer and the crushing clench of it became her whole awareness. She crouched forward, face turned sideways on the pillow, and she dozed during the short lulls between each contraction and the next, wishing she could just go to sleep and then wake and it would all be over. She felt tired to her bones, and the idea of trying to birth a baby was utterly exhausting.

  ‘You all right, Rach?’ Gladys’s voice came to her from time to time. She could hear her trying to sound in command, when she was nervous and wishing the midwife would get here.

  ‘Ummm,’ she managed in reply. And, as the pain grew again, ‘I want Danny . . .’ In her mind she fixed an image of his face, smiling at her, urging her on.

  Then there was someone else in the room – sounds of activity. ‘Well, hello – here we are again!’ she heard. ‘Now you look as if you’re doing very well.’

  With pleasure she recognized the voice. Looking up, she saw the dark curly hair and competent figure of Nurse Biggins, the same young midwife who had delivered Melly.

  ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’ she heard her say. ‘Well, you’re a nice healthy young thing. It was a little lady we delivered last time, wasn’t it?’

  ‘She’s asleep downstairs,’ Gladys said. ‘Bonny little thing she is.’

  ‘Well, she’s got a nice healthy-looking mother.’ In a lull between the pains, she added, ‘I’ll examine you now, Rachel, while we have the chance. You’re an old hand at this, aren’t you, young lady? Could you just roll over for me?’

  Rachel smiled vaguely. It was nice to be thought a woman of the world. She endured the examination and the midwife said, ‘Very good – you’re more than halfway there already.’

  And then everything stopped. Rachel did not notice at first. She sank into a doze, waking with a start and no idea how long she had been asleep. She saw Gladys across the room and the midwife who was sitting beside her, sipping from a cup.

  ‘Are we off again?’ she said, putting the cup down in an expectant way. ‘It’s been a while since the last one.’

  ‘No,’ Rachel said muzzily. ‘How long’ve I been asleep?’

  The midwife glanced at the little watch pinned to her uniform. ‘About ten minutes.’ She frowned, then brightened. ‘I expect there’ll be another one along in a minute. You’ve probably reached the “rest and be thankful” stage. It happens, dear. I should make the most of it while you can. The pains will be back sure enough.’

  Reassured, Rachel dozed. Everything went very quiet. The she became aware of voices, low and urgent. She heard the word ‘doctor’ more than once.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She was wide awake suddenly, gripped by panic at the hushed, worried tones.

  ‘It’s all right, dear.’ The midwife hurried across to her. ‘We were just wondering if you needed helping along a little bit. I tell you what –’ She looked across at Gladys. ‘We’ll try something first. That baby seems to be having a bit of a rest and we need to get him moving again.’

  Though she spoke cheerfully, Rachel could hear a tremor in her voice. She sat up, her hair tumbling about her face. The bedclothes felt like hot ropes around her legs and she kicked them off. ‘There’s something wrong. Don’t hide things from me!’

  ‘We’re not, bab,’ Gladys said, though she sounded even more worried than the midwife.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Nurse Biggins said. ‘This does happen sometimes for a while. But it’s getting a bit of a long time now. Can you get up and walk about with me a bit and see if that does it?’

  Rachel struggled to stand upright. Her bare feet reached the rug by the bed, then the dusty floorboards as she began to shuffle along, holding Nurse Biggins’s arm. Back and forth they paced, the words of encouragement becoming more desperate as time went by.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rachel was tearful now. ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Oh, Auntie . . . Oh, I want Danny . . .’ She started to sob.

  ‘Now, now – don’t get all in a state,’ Nurse Biggins was saying, when, with no warning, a tearing pain began and Rachel headed for the bed, yowling with pain.

  ‘Here we go,’ the midwife said, a great rush of relief in her voice. ‘That’s woken him up again, hasn’t it?’

  After that the pains intensified and came so thick and fast that Rachel scarcely had time to recover from one before another was upon her. On and on it went until at last, propped on the bed, the pain tearing at her, she pushed the baby out.

  ‘Oh,’ she heard Gladys say emotionally, as the child’s limbs slithered from her. ‘Oh, thank God!’

  Rachel raised her head, desperate to see.

  ‘It’s a lovely little boy,’ the midwife told her. ‘And a good size by the look of him!’ A moment later the little lad was wrapped and lying in her arms, and she could feel the solid, convincing weight of his body.

  ‘A boy!’ Rachel said, hearing the joy in her own voice. ‘Hello, little one! Hello, Tommy! Oh, Danny’ll love having a boy!’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘You’ve got a lad then – let’s have a look!’ Rachel could hear the envy in Irene Sutton’s voice as she waddled over towards her.

  It was the second day after she had had the baby and she ventured out with him in the corner of the yard to catch the late-afternoon sun. Me
lly was out there playing with Rita and Shirley. She was very interested in her baby brother but disappointed that he did not quite seem disposed to run around with her yet.

  Rachel felt sore all over, and light-headed with weariness. But it was over at last and she had her little boy. As soon as she sat down, Irene had appeared out of her house, now hugely pregnant, the lump of the baby seeming to move under her sack of a dress almost with a life of its own. She came and leaned over, peering at the baby, and Rachel saw that her fleshy pink-and-white face was swollen.

  ‘What’s ’is name then?’

  ‘Thomas,’ Rachel said proudly. ‘Thomas Harold – the Harold’s after my father. I just liked Thomas – I want him to be Tommy. He was six pound eight,’ she said. ‘He came on a bit early.’

  ‘I wish this flaming thing’d come on early,’ Irene said, straightening up. She reached for a packet of Woodbines in her pocket and lit up, pushing one hand into the small of her back. ‘Look at the state of me!’ She indicated her ankles which were puffy and distended as well. ‘God, it’d better be over soon. I cor stand waiting much longer. Was it bad?’

  ‘Well, you know.’ Rachel grinned. ‘Bad enough.’

  Irene laughed knowingly. ‘I’m all right with that – having ’em, I mean. Just seem to pop ’em out. It’s bringing the brats up after that does me. Shirl!’ she bawled suddenly. ‘Stop messing with that tap!’

  ‘Have you heard about Netta?’ Rachel said. ‘She started the day before me and they took her to the hospital . . .’

  ‘No.’ Irene shrugged, her ample breasts lifting. ‘I dunno where she lives.’

  ‘I must go and see them,’ Rachel said. ‘I hope to God she’s all right.’ So much had happened in the meantime that it felt as if Netta going into labour had been weeks ago instead of just a couple of days.

  Irene leaned over the baby once more. ‘’E looks nice, he does. Bonny. I hope mine’s like that. Any road, better go and get Ray’s dinner.’

  Just as she was turning to go they heard the usual whistling and Ray Sutton himself appeared along the entry. He seemed in a good mood, swaggering along with a smile playing around his lips, his cap at a jaunty angle on his black hair.

  ‘Afternoon, ladies!’ He stopped as if taken aback at the sight of them and gave a theatrical bow. ‘What have we here? The new arrival?’

  Rachel shrank away as Ray Sutton came and peered down at Tommy. Close up she could see the five o’clock shadow on his chin and smell sweat and Brylcreem. She didn’t like his coming up close to her, uncomfortable with the sort of crude man he was and his fake charm.

  ‘What is it then – a lad?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, holding Tommy closer to her.

  ‘That’s the spirit – lads, that’s what you want, not all these flaming wenches!’ He started to move away towards the lavatories at the end of the yard. ‘’Scuse me, ladies – call of nature.’

  Irene rolled her eyes. ‘Making room for the next pint.’ But Rachel saw her stare after her husband with a longing look in her eyes. ‘That bitch still ay had hers yet,’ she said in a low, bitter voice. ‘It’d better be a girl – if it’s a lad I’ll go round and scratch her eyes out.’

  ‘I wonder you don’t go and scratch them out anyway,’ Rachel said. ‘If it was Danny I would.’ Would she? she wondered, despite her brave talk. If Danny was carrying on like that with another woman? She could scarcely imagine it. It would feel as if her world had ended.

  ‘He’d kill me,’ Irene said. She looked down, seeming shamefaced. ‘’E would. ’E’s like that.’ Her chin came up, defiant. ‘Any road, sod ’im. I’m gonna go and do the spuds.’

  Rachel waited until Tommy was asleep and left him with Gladys. She hurried round to Netta’s house. She was longing to show Tommy off to people but she was worried in case Netta’s birth had once again ended in tragedy.

  It was not comfortable to walk. Her legs felt wobbly and the bloody rags were like a lump between her legs. Thank heavens they did not live far away. As she drew closer to Mrs O’Shaughnessy’s yard she felt herself tense up, worried for Netta.

  Outside the house everything seemed deathly quiet. Her sense of foreboding deepened. Was it a house of death and grief she was coming to? Not wanting to delay – she felt tied to Tommy by a tight string – she tapped on the door. There was a pause before the door opened with creaking slowness, like that of a haunted castle. She almost expected to see some aged crone peering out from behind it. Instead, she saw Netta’s brother Eamonn, vacant looking as ever. When he saw her he pulled the door open and just stared.

  ‘Hello,’ Rachel said.

  ‘I want to marry you,’ Eamonn announced.

  Rachel laughed, taken aback. ‘Well, that’s nice – but I’m married already, Eamonn.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked down at his feet, on which there were grey socks with potato holes in them.

  To Rachel’s relief she heard more footsteps across the yard and she turned to see Mrs O’Shaughnessy.

  ‘Oh – Rachel. Hello, darlin’!’ she called. A tired smile lifted her face.

  ‘Is she all right? What happened?’ Rachel cried, hurrying to meet her.

  ‘She’s doing well, praise God,’ Mrs O’Shaughnessy said and a laugh of happiness escaped her, followed by tears. She wiped her eyes with her forearms. ‘Oh, I can hardly believe it. You should see him – a fine little feller. Netta had a long, hard time of it, but it’s all over now and she’s happy as a bird. He’s a proper lad – she’s calling him Patrick. We sent a wire to Francis – he’s over the moon, so he is!’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness. I’m so glad!’ Rachel said, tearful with relief. It would have been unbearable to hear more bad news from Netta.

  ‘She’ll be home with him in a couple of days,’ Mrs O’Shaughnessy said, pausing at the door of the house. ‘What’re you doing hanging about there, Eamonn? I’ve told you about staring at people. Now will you come in for a cup of tea, Rachel?’

  ‘Oh – no, ta, Mrs O’Shaughnessy,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll need to be getting back to my own little one before he wakes.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Mrs O’Shaughnessy’s hands went to her cheeks. ‘You’ve not had yours already!’ She eyed Rachel’s waistline. ‘So you have now! And you’ve a boy as well?’ She smiled back at Rachel’s beaming face. ‘Oh, what a lovely thing – the two’ll be playmates. I’m happy for you, darlin’. And how’s your little girl liking him?’

  ‘Oh, she likes being the big sister. Give my love to Netta, won’t you? I’ll see her in a few days.’

  She walked home with a big smile on her face. There was just Irene’s baby now. And what they needed was a hat-trick of boys.

  A couple of nights later, after dark, shouting broke out from across the yard.

  Gladys rolled her eyes. ‘Just when you’ve got them both off to sleep, Rach,’ she complained. ‘I s’pose the pubs’ve come out.’

  The shouting and the sound of things crashing to the floor at number four went on for some time, despite Dolly standing at her door and yelling across the yard, ‘Pack it in, will yer? Some of us are trying to sleep.’

  Rachel carried her sleeping son up to bed and slipped in with him. He was milky and contented and she felt very weary, but the sounds from the neighbouring house grated on her nerves. What was going on? She lay with her arm crooked around Tommy, hearing his little breaths. Melly was asleep close by as well. Rachel wanted to lie and dream of Danny, that he was here beside her. She imagined him walking in, his first sight of his son. But the shouts and bangs would not let her slip away into her dream world. She thought she could hear Irene sobbing. God, what a pair, she thought.

  The next morning it was raining. She saw Irene come out to fetch a bucket of water, head down, her hair loose and hanging around her face. She seemed very subdued – upset or sulky or both. She was so heavily pregnant now that she rocked from side to side as she walked. She waited for the bucket to fill, not once raising her head and apparently oblivious to the falling
rain, before going slowly back inside.

  Later though, there was a knock at the door. Gladys was out and Rachel, holding Tommy, opened up to find Irene outside with Rita and Shirley. The two little girls looked very downcast and Irene had an angry red mark on her already swollen cheek.

  ‘Can we come in?’ she said, advancing in anyway. ‘Siddown, you two,’ she snapped at the girls, who slunk onto the mat by the range like mice. They looked around the room, seeming amazed, and Melanie stared at them, unsure what to do.

  ‘Melly, you play with Rita and Shirley,’ Rachel said. Melanie followed them onto the mat and for a while they all sat very quiet and cowed. Before long though they were nudging each other and giggling. Melly went and fetched her peg dolls and they all started on a game.

  Irene sat herself down at the table, legs splayed. She looked grubby and unkempt, her crumpled dress all stains down the front.

  ‘You heard us, I s’pose?’ She spoke aggressively.

  ‘Course. The whole flaming neighbourhood heard you, I should think,’ Rachel said, irritable with lack of sleep. Tommy had been up feeding. He did not feed well, not like Melanie. He didn’t seem to be able to suck strongly as she had. It was starting to prey on her mind. Was he getting enough to eat?

  ‘That ho’s had her brat,’ Irene said. Her voice broke then. ‘It’s a boy.’ Sobbing, she gave an imitation of Ray’s view of things. ‘’E’s been on about it all night – “I’ve got a son now, a lad. What’re yow gonna do if you cor give me a son? . . . I don’t want a house full of women – there’s too many in this place already. Your job is to give me a lad . . . A proper woman would have lads . . .”’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Rachel said, putting a cup of tea in front of her, so weak it looked almost like milk and water.

  ‘He’s gonna leave me and go to her,’ Irene sobbed. ‘What if I don’t have a boy?’

  Rachel wished that Gladys was here. She’d have something to say about it all. For herself – what could she say? She had no time at all for Ray Sutton and his oily charm. He was just a revolting bully, she thought. But he was Irene’s husband so what was she to do?