Song of Songs

by Beverley Hughesdon

  I smiled at him. ‘I’m fine, Ben – just something I must have eaten.’ I sat down and eased my aching back.

  We started getting ready for bed before eight – the knocker-up would be coming to rouse Ben at four the next morning. As I stood up to make my final visit out to the back I felt an odd slipperiness between my legs; I moved as quickly as I could out into the yard. In the dim light of the lantern hanging close to the lagged pipe I saw the soft mass on my drawers – like reddish-purple jelly – it was my show. I crouched in the small cold closet and felt the excitement course through me; pressing my hand to my swollen belly, I whispered, ‘Not long now, little one – not long now.’ But back in the warm bright kitchen I saw my husband’s face turn to me, drawn with anxiety – so I smiled my reassurance and said nothing.

  Upstairs Ben had lit a fire in the grate so I undressed completely and washed myself all over, very thoroughly, then pulled the flannel nightdress over my ungainly body. Hearing Ben’s step on the stairs I whispered to the child, ‘We must say nothing, my son, for your father will worry.’

  When Ben slid into the bed I held my arms out to him, as I always did, and he held me as close as he could, just as he always did. We kissed, then he murmured, ‘Sleep well, sweet Helena,’ and turned and slept; and I slept too, while there was yet time. I would need all my strength tomorrow.

  But my son was impatient, he would not wait. I woke to feel the first cramp beginning – but it was slight yet, so I lay still and breathed slowly until it finished. Then I heaved myself over against Ben’s warm body and began to drift into sleep again – as the church clock struck once. I dozed and woke again as my womb tightened, then dropped off once more. By the time I heard the clock strike three the pains were coming closer – but not very close yet. I breathed carefully and evenly, as Elsa Gehring had taught me to do, so many years go – I was not singing now, but it helped. I was very moist between the legs where my body was making itself slippery to help the child out – but I worried a little: had my waters broken so soon? I eased myself off the mattress and sat over the chamber, and found to my relief that I was only damp, not dripping. Ben stirred and spoke, ‘Art thi all right, Helena?’

  ‘Yes Ben, I’m fine – I’m not due till next week, remember.’

  ‘Aye – that’s true.’ He helped me back into the bed again and turned over. I hoped the knocker-up would be early this morning – I wanted to move around now.

  The bang at the door came before the clock struck again, and Ben eased himself out and opened the window softly to wave down to the lad below – trying not to disturb me. I whispered, ‘It’s all right, Ben – I’m awake.’ He came back and leant over me and kissed my cheek – but I turned my lips to find his mouth, and then told him, ‘I love you, Ben – I love you.’

  He paused. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, lass?’ His voice was a little suspicious.

  ‘Of course I am, Ben – I feel fine. Go on, or you’ll be late.’

  When he was dressed he kissed me again. ‘I love you, Helena.’ Then I heard him plodding down the stairs. I breathed more heavily, waiting impatiently for the front door to close. As soon as his boots clattered off along the street I hauled myself out of bed and began to dress; it was cold in the room now. I climbed carefully downstairs, clinging to the bannister.

  The kindling was ready beside the range, so I riddled the ashes and laid the fire, then set match to the paper at once – we would be needing plenty of hot water today. As I leant back from the grate the pain caught me, hard – my womb was beginning to open. I began to walk slowly round the small kitchen and then through into the parlour, backwards and forwards – helping my body with its work. Several times I pulled Ivy’s shawl more tightly about me and trekked out into the back yard; my bladder was pressing now.

  Soon after six there was a tap at the door; on the step was the be-shawled figure of Mrs Ingham. ‘I saw your gas on, lass – have you started?’ I nodded. ‘I’ll rouse our Sammy and send him for midwife, then make us both a cup of tea.’

  I held the door wider. ‘Not yet, thank you – let her have her breakfast first – but I’d like some tea.’

  When it was made I paced backwards and forwards with my cup while Mrs Ingham gossiped placidly; I was glad of her company, as the pains were coming closer together now. As I put the second cup down I clutched at my belly. Mrs Ingham glanced at the clock and stood up. ‘You’d best let me send our Sammy, then I’ll pop upstairs and light fire in front bedroom.’

  When she came down she filled the saucepans and set them on the range ready, then there was a rat-tat at the door; the midwife had come. ‘Morning, Mrs Ingham.’

  ‘Morning, Nurse Fletcher – she’s in kitchen.’

  She came through, her face red and glowing from the cold, and set her bag down square on the table. ‘Still on your feet, lass? Good, keep moving. Have you had a show?’

  ‘Yes, yesterday evening – then the pains started in the night.’

  ‘How often are they coming now?’

  Mrs Ingham told her, ‘Every three minutes by the clock.’

  ‘Any sign of the waters?’

  I shook my head, gasping as the next pain caught me. The midwife went out to the scullery, and as she washed her hands she called, ‘You get upstairs now, lass, and into your nightie, so’s I can see where you’re at.’

  I lay on the bed with my knees apart while she washed me thoroughly, then waited for the next pain to conduct her examination; her fingers were deft and sure. ‘You’ve a while to go, you’re only dilated half-a-crown yet – plenty of time for an enema – over on your side, then.’ As she unpacked her bag she told me, ‘We’ve got a nice presentation there, head well down – Doctor’ll be pleased. I’ll just shout Mrs Ingham to send her Sammy to phone, then we’ll get your bowels emptied.’ I lay still while the syringe was inserted – it was uncomfortable lying down, but she was quick and confident, and I had soon been cleansed again and set free. ‘There, you’ll feel easier now – up you get. Soon as I’ve emptied this I’ll get room ready.’

  I roamed restlessly up and down in front of the hearth while she drew the sheets off the bed, unrolled the long length of mackintosh and spread out the thick squares of cotton wool. The bedside rugs were rolled up and taken away and paper put down instead. Blankets were folded ready and towels set to warm by the fire. ‘Have you a good thick shawl, lass?’

  I gestured to Ivy’s gift, hanging behind the door. ‘But I’m quite warm enough.’

  She smiled. ‘Aye, there’s nowt like work of labour for warming you up – but you’ll need it when you’ve finished.’

  As the next pain started I slipped my hand up inside my nightdress, and put it over my bare skin – I felt my womb harden and rise up and panted faster and faster until it began to soften and sink back to rest in my belly again. I rested with it, waiting.

  The front door opened and there was a cheerful call of welcome; it was Dr Hartley. I heard her bounding up the stairs, then she came into the small bedroom, bag in hand. ‘How are you, Helena – bearing up?’ I gasped and panted my greeting and she laughed. ‘Bearing down, more like!’

  The midwife shook her head. ‘Not yet, Doctor – she’s still in first stage – but not for much longer, I reckon.’

  They spoke quietly to each other, then Dr Hardey swung round to me. ‘You’re doing very nicely, Helena – when exactly did the pains start?’

  ‘At one – I heard the clock strike one.’

  ‘Good. Now you’d best have another cup of tea while there’s time – Mabel, pop down and ask Mrs Ingham if she’ll brew up for us.’

  Mrs Ingham came back with the tray almost at once – she had obviously been ready and waiting. As we sipped our tea Dr Hartley said, ‘Where’s Ben, Helena? Already at work?’

  ‘Yes – he’s on early, so he went at four.’

  She smiled sympathetically. ‘He’s best out of the way – but the poor man won’t have any peace today.’

  I gasped and pante
d, then told her, as my womb relaxed again, ‘He doesn’t know – I didn’t tell him.’

  We smiled at each other, all women together. Mrs Ingham said firmly, ‘He’s best out of road,’ and picked up the tray to take it back downstairs. Soon after I heard Mary Grimshaw’s voice; it must be nine o’clock already.

  The tea made me queasy, and as the bile rose in my throat I reached for the basin and retched over it, until it all came up again. ‘We only just got that down you in time,’ I heard the midwife saying as she wiped my forehead, ‘You don’t want to have to do that on an empty stomach.’

  Dr Hartley’s voice, clear and sympathetic, explained, ‘The first stage is nearly over, Helena, the sickness is a sure sign – don’t worry, it’ll soon pass.’

  She was right – and as the nausea receded I felt a warm gushing between my legs – my waters had broken.

  I staggered back to the fire while the midwife picked up the sopping paper and replaced it with fresh – and then the pain caught me harder than ever. And this time I felt him – he was pushing his way out. He drove me down to squat on the hearthrug, to push with him. Beside me Dr Hartley ordered, ‘Ease him down, Helena, ease him down – there’s no hurry, you’re both doing very well.’

  That pain passed, I squatted on – waiting for the next. It came, and with it the doctor’s voice: ‘Pant now, pant like a dog.’ I panted and pushed, and felt him pushing with me – he was sturdy and vigorous and eager to come – and as the pain passed and I rested, I laughed aloud with excitement and longing.

  The doctor bent over me. ‘You’d best get up on the bed now, my girl – I don’t want to deliver the baby on the hearthrug.’

  Looking up into her smiling face I gasped, ‘Why not? He was probably begotten on one!’ and heard her shout of laughter as she helped me on to the bed.

  The midwife said, ‘She’s not reached the Ainsclough stage yet, has she, Doctor?’ She winked at me, and I looked back, puzzled.

  Dr Hartley smiled. ‘That’s what Mabel and I call the stage when a woman starts cursing her husband – the language we’ve heard sometimes!’

  I began to smile, then stopped to push again. As I came round from the pain I knew I would never curse Ben – but I was glad he was not here – it was the women I needed now. Dr Hardey washed her hands and examined me again. ‘Splendid, Helena, splendid! At this rate I’ll be home in time for my morning visits.’ My answering smile turned to a grimace as I pushed again – it was hurting more now; I tried to gather my strength between each cramp. ‘I’ve got the chloroform in case you need it, but I’m sure you won’t – it’s a textbook delivery so far.’

  I was so hot – the folds of my nightgown were smothering me – I began to tear at it and Dr Hartley said, ‘Take it off if you want to, Helena – we’re all girls together.’ She helped me pull it over my head, and then I was crouching naked to bear my son, on that very bed where I had so often come naked to his father – but the child was stretching me wider than ever his father had done.

  I felt Dr Hartley’s hand on my shoulder, and her clear command: ‘Stop pushing now, Helena – breathe him out, breathe him out, and I felt the heat and surge as he came and I panted and panted. ‘Wait for the next one, wait.’ And I waited and my body moved and felt him slide out and he cried aloud and I cried back to him – my son, my son!

  I reached out: ‘Give him to me, give him to me!’ Then I felt the heavy warmth of him on my belly and my hands were exploring under the warm towel and he was soft and silky to my touch – my son, my son. And as I looked down his eyes opened and gazed up into mine and I called to him. From far away I heard Dr Hartley’s voice. ‘You were right, Helena – it is a boy,’ but I was watching his mouth opening and closing, opening again – wanting me. I bent over him, so that my breast touched his cheek, and he quivered – his head darted quickly round, searching for my nipple. When he found it I saw his small tongue reach out and felt it lick me, his mouth opened wide and I slipped myself in – and he began to suck, vigorously. I heard Dr Hartley’s pleased: ‘Good – he’ll bring out the afterbirth,’ but I had eyes for nothing but the crumpled red face of my son. My son whom I had put to my breast, just as once I had put his father to it; and both had gained life from me. The baby’s blue eyes gazed up into mine as he suckled and I cried out, ‘Isn’t he like Ben – look, doesn’t he take after Ben!’

  I heard Dr Hartley’s laugh as the midwife said, ‘The little monkey certainly knows what he wants.’ Just like his father did – and they would both want me now. I laughed with joy.

  But as he suckled I felt the pain rise once more and gasped – the midwife reached out for him, but I held him tightly to me as I reared back and panted – then felt the soft slippery mass slide down and out – and the last rush of blood that followed – and knew it was over. The midwife was mopping me up, Dr Hartley’s head was bent as she made her inspection, then she announced, ‘All there, Helena, well done. We can cut the cord now, and wash you and the little lad.’ This time the midwife made me give him up, as Dr Hartley ordered, ‘On your side, my girl, I want a good look.’ I felt her hands examining me.

  When she stood up straight again she was smiling. ‘That’s fine, Helena – you did very well, very well indeed – and you’ve been a lucky girl, there’s no tears.’

  The midwife spoke briskly. ‘It’s more ’an luck, Doctor – you and me, we don’t often tear, not even first-timers.’

  I murmured, ‘Thank you, thank you,’ but my eyes were on my baby.

  I watched anxiously as she worked over my son: ‘Who’s a nice little baby boy, then?’ I glared at her; he was my baby.

  I heard the amusement in Dr Hartley’s voice as she cleansed me. ‘You’d better be quick, Mabel, or she’ll be out of this bed and snatching him off you.’ She addressed me directly: ‘You’re as bad as my little tabby cat, Helena, with her new kittens.’

  I craned my neck. ‘He does look like Ben, doesn’t he?’

  She was still amused. ‘Perhaps – but his shape is your shape, Helena, that’s why he gave you such an easy time.’

  I exclaimed, ‘Easy! He hurt me!’

  ‘Easier, then – a nice narrow head and narrow shoulders, a long thin baby – but he’s sturdy.’

  At last the midwife tied his bonnet ribbons, bundled him up and deposited him in my outstretched arms. I lay holding him to me while they put the ready-scorched pads between my legs and slipped the fold of the binder under me; the doctor pressed down on my belly and fastened it securely round. ‘There, that’ll make you feel comfortable for the first few days.’ The baby stirred in my arms – ‘Put him to the breast again, it’ll help bring your milk in’ – but I was already easing my nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, and I felt my womb contract in reply, and laughed again. ‘How about a slice of toast – you must be hungry?’

  I was. I ate and drank and cuddled my son – he was becoming drowsy now. Dr Hartley stayed with me, checking my pulse and feeling my womb until she was satisfied, then left to attend to her patients. The midwife sat with me a little longer, then told me she would be back again in the evening; and taking my baby from me, put him in his cradle. But as soon as I heard the front door close behind her I heaved myself to the edge of the bed and took him out again. As I was settling him against my breast I heard the church clock begin to strike – I counted, and there were twelve chimes – Ben would be home before long.

  Mary came up with another cup of tea. ‘I always used to get so thirsty, after I’d been delivered.’ She set the tray down on the bedside cupboard, saying, ‘It’s warm enough in here – now she’s gone let’s unwrap him and have a look.’ I grinned at her, and we giggled like a pair of naughty schoolgirls. When he was naked we both gazed at the strong rounded limbs – and the red maleness between his legs; he was perfect. ‘Aye, a proper lad – best wrap him up again now.’ We drank our tea together, then she tucked my shawl more securely round us and went back downstairs. Drowsily I lay there, with my baby’s cheek resting on my
breast, waiting for Ben.

  The clock chimed, a single stroke – he would not be long now. Then I heard a young boy’s voice calling out in the street, ‘Ey up, Mr ’Olden – midwife’s bin at your ’ouse!’ and there was a sudden heavy clatter of boots on the cobbles. I heard the front door slam open and Mary’s voice saying, ‘She’s fine, Ben – it’s all over –’ but he was already thundering up the stairs. The door burst open and he stood at the foot of the bed, red-faced and panting, his forehead glistening with sweat, his overalls streaked with coal and grime. His eyes searched my face desperately. ‘Lass – are you all right, lass?’

  ‘I’m fine Ben – I feel fine.’

  He closed the door and came towards me; he was shaking. ‘Lass – that were quick.’ Then his expression changed as he watched my eyes. ‘You started last night, didn’t you? I knew there were summat up – and you didn’t tell me.’

  I smiled up at him. ‘I didn’t want to worry you, Ben.’

  His face softened. ‘Aye – you’re a lovely lass, a lovely lass – and I love you, I love you.’ He bent and kissed my mouth, very gently, then looked down at my breast, saying, ‘And what have you got for me there?’

  I lifted the warm, breathing bundle and held it out to him.

  ‘Your son, Ben.’

  2 January 1922

  First published in Great Britain in 1988 by Century

  This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © Beverley Hughesdon, 1988

  The moral right of Beverley Hughesdon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.