The Wartime Midwives

by Daisy Styles

  Seeing Gloria struggling with a small boy and two suitcases, the porter hurried forward to relieve her of the cases, while she held tightly on to Robin. As the train moved off on its way to Barrow-in-Furness, where the Royal Train regularly delivered the King and Queen to the famous shipyard to launch the latest battleship, she thanked the helpful porter.

  ‘Do you know where we can find Mary Vale Hall?’

  ‘Aye, lass, reet there,’ he replied in a thick Northern accent. ‘Straight through yon gate, it’s that big owd house yonder.’

  Gloria gazed at the big, redbrick, multi-gabled house that was just about visible through tall beeches and holly bushes.

  ‘Follow me, Mummy,’ Robin called out, as he skipped along the narrow path that the porter had pointed out.

  Staggering under the weight of the cases, Gloria arrived out of breath at the front door. Robin was already knocking on it, but, before she could tell her son to wait, it was flung open by a vastly pregnant girl, who smiled when she saw a small boy standing on the doorstep.

  ‘I’m Robin,’ he announced. ‘And my mummy’s here to have a baby!’

  Blushing crimson with embarrassment, Gloria quickly held out her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Gloria Baxter and this is my son, Robin. I think we’re expected.’

  ‘Come in,’ boomed the cheerful girl. ‘I’m Daphne. I’ll get Sister Ada for you.’

  Ada was, in fact, busy in the sluice room, so Sister Ann welcomed the newcomers, whom she took into the sitting room, where Shirley and Sister Mary Paul brought them tea. When the old nun laid eyes on cherubic Robin with his rosy-red cheeks, green eyes and a front tooth missing, she all but dropped the tray in delight.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting a fine young man,’ she said, as she set the tray down and ran her hands through Robin’s silky dark curls.

  ‘I’m staying here to look after my mummy,’ he told Sister Mary Paul.

  ‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it,’ the old nun said. ‘A big boy like you will be very welcome,’ she told him. ‘Now, I’ve forgotten to bring the biscuits – will you come and help me find them?’

  Skipping after the old nun, Robin chirped, ‘Why are all you ladies wearing nighties?’

  When they’d left the room, Shirley and Sister Ann burst out laughing.

  ‘Little monkey!’ Shirley giggled.

  Sister Ann smiled in delight. ‘He’s a sweetheart,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’m sorry, he never stops talking,’ embarrassed Gloria apologized. ‘It’s been a long journey too, which he’ll be full of,’ she added.

  ‘I’m sure you’re exhausted,’ Sister Ann sympathized. ‘After you’ve had your cup of tea, I’ll show you to your room, where you can rest, and then later on, at tea-time you can meet the other ladies.’

  ‘Is Robin the only child on the premises?’ Gloria inquired.

  ‘For now, yes,’ Sister Ann told her. ‘But, with the number of evacuees increasing, we might get more mothers arriving with their offspring. It will certainly change the nature of the Home,’ she added thoughtfully.

  ‘I hope Robin won’t be too disruptive,’ Gloria fretted. ‘Once we’re settled, I intend to teach him every morning. I’m an infant teacher,’ she added. ‘If other children should turn up here, I’d happily teach them too – the more the better,’ she smiled. ‘I had forty-two children in my class in Battersea, so I’d welcome more; it would be company for Robin too.’

  Robin came bursting back into the room clutching a plate of Sister Mary Paul’s biscuits. ‘The smiley lady in the nightie is making apple pie for tea!’ he announced as he bit into a crumbly biscuit.

  Thinking she’d better get things clear from the start, Gloria hunkered down and explained the status quo to her son. ‘Sweetheart, the smiley lady is Sister Mary Paul, and this is Sister Ann. They’re not wearing nighties, they’re wearing habits, that’s what nuns wear.’

  ‘What’s a nun?’

  ‘A lady who belongs to God,’ Sister Ann chipped in.

  ‘I’m baptized,’ the boy proudly informed her. ‘I belong to God too, but I wear pyjamas!’

  Sister Mary Paul patted Robin on the head. ‘I can see we’re going to have hours of fun with this little chap, aren’t we, Shirley?’

  Shirley nodded and smiled at Robin, who was now frantically hopping from one foot to the other.

  ‘Mummy!’ he cried. ‘I need a wee-wee!’

  The newcomers were given a large corner room on the first floor that gave them views of the sea and the sandy bay one way and the garden of Mary Vale the other way. There were two narrow single beds; a wardrobe, dressing table and sink were in the room too. Across the hallway were shared toilets and a bathroom. Before they went down for tea, Gloria insisted that Robin wash his face and comb his hair, which always sprang back into tight curls. She too washed her face and brushed her long, dark hair before taking a deep breath and descending the stairs to meet the women she would be spending quite some time with.

  Matron had kept to her office, even though she’d been informed by one of the kitchen staff that the new woman – an evacuee along with her son, newcomers Matron certainly had no time for – had arrived.

  Right now, with so many other things on her mind, two evacuees were not at the top of Matron’s priority list. True, she was concerned about how many other pregnant evacuees, plus their screaming, snotty-nosed brats, might turn up at the Home, but her overriding concern at the moment was establishing a secret suite at Crow Thorn Grange where the ‘special babies’ would be – albeit briefly – privately nursed until the adoptive parents discreetly arrived to pick them up.

  Sir Percival had been surprised when she’d made her request. ‘Why Crow Thorn?’ he’d demanded. ‘You already have a post-natal ward at Mary Vale. Why complicate matters, Maud?’

  Matron sometimes had her doubts about her business partner, who seemed to see no further than the end of his rather large nose.

  Taking a deep breath, she patiently pointed out the obvious. ‘We need to keep our babies separate from the rest in order to allow prospective parents to visit them in private. We don’t want every resident in the Home overhearing our arrangements, do we? It would cause a riot if the girls were to see some babies being given preferential treatment, don’t you see?’

  Percival nodded. He could see Matron’s reasoning, but it was nevertheless rather awkward keeping this secret with his wife on the premises. Matron had shrugged dismissively when he’d mention Lady Percival – surely a man like Archibald could handle a pathetic milksop such as her?

  ‘I could allocate a couple of rooms at the back of the Grange,’ he suggested. ‘And I’d ensure that we have exclusive use of the back door.’

  ‘I’ll provide a cot and some bedding, and equipment to make up feeds,’ she added.

  ‘Who will nurse the children?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll supervise the nursing initially,’ she replied. ‘But I can’t be there all of the time; we’ll have to employ somebody.’

  ‘That would cost money,’ Percival complained, before adding, ‘What if the minder’s a big mouth and gossips about what goes on at the Grange?’

  ‘I have my eye on somebody who’ll keep her mouth shut for a price,’ she assured him.

  ‘When might we expect our first “visitor”?’ he asked coyly.

  ‘The way the Wallace girl is thundering about the place, her waters could break any minute,’ Matron declared.

  Cringing at Matron’s graphic detail, Percival moved swiftly on. ‘Leave the equipment you need near the toolshed at the back of the Home. I’ll send my gardener down with a truck; he can load it up and bring it all back here.’

  ‘Can you make sure the rooms are thoroughly cleaned and aired?’ Matron bossed. ‘Hygiene with a new-born is vital.’

  Percival nodded; suddenly, after what seemed like weeks of discussion, reality was beginning to kick in.

  ‘The Bennetts are foaming at the bit to pay a visit,’ he told Matron.

  ‘They’ll h
ave to curb their impatience,’ Matron retorted sharply. ‘Daphne needs to give birth first – hopefully to a strong, healthy boy. And, if not, let’s hope Isla will produce the goods, and soon.’

  Robin did indeed take the dining room by storm. At first he was shy – hiding behind his mother’s skirts, he peeped out when they entered the room, then darted back behind Gloria (who was feeling quite nervous herself) when he saw so many people staring at him. But at the sight of Sister Mary Paul bustling in with a plate of bread and butter, Robin, who only came up to her waist, dashed forward and hugged her. The delighted nun went pink with pleasure and took the boy by the hand.

  ‘You’re just the man I’m looking for!’ she announced. ‘Will you help me bring out the pasties and the apple pies?’

  With a bit of a swagger, Robin trotted after the nun, leaving Gloria wondering where she should sit at the big communal table.

  ‘Sit anywhere – don’t stand on custom,’ Daphne said, as she waved Gloria towards a chair beside Nancy and Emily, who moved up so that there would be enough room for Robin to sit down too.

  Over cups of strong tea and good wholesome food, Gloria chatted to the women around her, who were intrigued by the fact that she’d just been evacuated from London. Shirley, who was wiping down the tabletops with a damp cloth, was fascinated too, moving closer to the group to listen intently to what Gloria had to say.

  ‘The government thinks that the city’s not a fit place for women and children; there are over a million people on the move right now,’ Gloria told them.

  Surprised at what she’d just overheard, Shirley gasped, ‘I never imagined evacuees would be sent this far north.’

  ‘They’re being sent everywhere,’ Gloria told Shirley. ‘Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, Devon, the Midlands – even this far north,’ she joked.

  ‘You were sensible to leave London as soon as you did,’ Daphne commented.

  ‘I didn’t have much choice!’ Gloria laughed. ‘My husband insisted that we go after he was called up.’

  Greatly amused, Daphne hooted loudly, ‘Husbands! They’re as rare as hens’ teeth round here!’

  After the laughter had subsided, irrepressible Daphne continued, ‘God knows what snooty Matron would do if evacuees were to arrive en masse. Especially if they looked … poor!’

  Shirley couldn’t stop herself from bursting into laughter. ‘She’d run for the hills!’

  Laughing too, Emily agreed. ‘You’re dead right there, Shirley.’

  Emboldened by the women’s camaraderie. Shirley dared to add a cheeky comment. ‘Or maybe she’d run to Crow Thorn Grange; she’s got a soft spot for the big fella who lives up there.’

  Daphne all but fell off her chair. ‘You are joking!’ she cried. ‘Who in the world of God would fancy Percival? He’s an absolute cad!’

  Her remark caused even more raucous laughter, which assailed Sister Ada, who had just walked into the dining room in search of a cuppa. Seeing the bright, happy faces of her patients, she smiled.

  ‘What’s making you all so lively?’

  ‘Shhh!’ Emily hissed melodramatically. ‘We’re talking about you-know-who.’

  By this time Shirley, who loved to hear naughty gossip about Matron, was bent over double with laughter.

  ‘Matron!’ Daphne hissed. ‘And her love of the poor and downtrodden.’

  ‘Starting with me!’ Shirley tittered.

  ‘And me!’ Nancy cried, as she clutched her tummy. ‘Please stop, it hurts to laugh.’

  Ada filled up a mug with hot tea, then sat down with her patients, who had fast become her friends.

  ‘You’d better be careful, ladies,’ she warned with a wink. ‘If you-know-who catches you taking the mickey, you could get put on nappy duties and be locked in the sluice room for a week!’

  Listening to the happy, relaxed women chatting easily around her, Gloria began to relax too; it was going to be all right; she was among good people and she had her son safely with her. She was lucky. Nevertheless, her thoughts flew to Stan. Was he driving his truck (loaded with food, ammunition, uniforms and medicine) aiding the British Expeditionary Force, which had been moved across the Channel and was concentrated as part of the Allied line in the area around Lille and Arras? She and thousands of others had been moved out of London to avoid German bombing-raids, but, in the months after war had been declared and men were called up, there’d been no military action; people were even referring to the state of affairs as a ‘Phoney War’. Why had things gone so eerily quiet after Neville Chamberlain had made his sombre announcement?

  A great wave of tiredness suddenly descended on Gloria; it had been a long, long day and her back ached after their journey. Ada noticed the new arrival trying to smother a yawn.

  ‘You need to get some rest,’ she advised. ‘When you’re feeling less tired, let’s have a chat, Gloria, and maybe I could examine you and see how Baby’s progressing?’ Ada suggested.

  ‘Yes. I’d like that, thank you.’ Rising to her feet, Gloria added, ‘Meanwhile, I must find that boy of mine. It’s way past his bed-time.’

  Saying goodbye to her new friends, Gloria followed Shirley into the kitchen, where she found Robin digging into his second helping of apple pie.

  ‘Say night night to Shirley and Sister Mary Paul,’ Gloria told her son, as she wiped crumbs off his face.

  ‘Night night, Merry Paul!’ he said simply, which made the nun smile indulgently.

  ‘Night night, Robin, see you in the morning,’ she replied, as she gave Robin a gentle pat on the back.

  Watching mother and son leave the warm kitchen hand in hand, Shirley called after them, ‘Sleep well, God bless.’

  After a quick bath in rather tepid water, Gloria settled her yawning son on his narrow bed, then curled up beside him. In no time at all she could hear his gentle snores as he drifted off to sleep. Lying still and peaceful, Gloria listened to the new sounds around her: the clatter of footsteps on the stairs; the clink of crockery as the dining room was cleared; girls calling to each other in the garden; and, through the open window, the steady, relentless lapping of water as the tide went out and the moon came up over Morecambe Bay.

  20. Births

  Daphne and Nancy went into labour within twenty-four hours of each other. Daphne’s waters broke just as she was filling up two buckets of coal in the shed with Gloria giving a helping hand.

  ‘Take it easy, Daphne,’ Gloria cried, as Daphne heaved a load of coal into one of the buckets. ‘You’re not mucking out stables – that’s heavy stuff.’

  ‘Good exercise!’ Daphne replied robustly, as she continued shovelling. ‘Exercise, that’s what we’re all short of in this place.’ She stopped suddenly and her face contorted with pain. ‘Dammit,’ she groaned. ‘Think I’ve got a touch of wind, must be that wretched porridge that the nuns slop up every morning.’

  Seeing the colour drain from Daphne’s normally rosy-red face, Gloria quickly removed the shovel from her hand. ‘Describe the pain to me,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Sharp, stabbing, in the small of the back,’ Daphne said. ‘Ouch!’ she yelped. ‘There’s another one.’

  Gloria guided Daphne out of the coal shed and into the garden.

  ‘That’s not wind, sweetheart,’ she smiled. ‘You’re going into labour.’

  ‘Labour!’ Daphne cried in genuine astonishment. ‘Now?’

  ‘Well, it is nearly your time,’ Gloria said with a wry smile. ‘Let’s get you into the house.’

  ‘No, wait – here comes another.’ Daphne protested as she bent over double and held the small of her back. ‘OWW! It bloody well hurts.’

  Gloria waited for the contraction to pass, then tried to move Daphne on before another one kicked in, but halfway up the path Daphne’s waters broke; Daphne, a woman very rarely lost for words, stared in horror at the amniotic fluid dripping down her legs.

  ‘Is that what I think it is or have I just peed myself?’ she gasped.

  ‘You’re not imagining anything
,’ Gloria assured her. ‘That’s your waters breaking,’ she said, steering Daphne through the back door.

  ‘I feel like I’m wearing wellies,’ Daphne cried, with the fluid squelching in her shoes.

  ‘Be serious,’ Gloria implored.

  ‘It’s hard to be serious when you’ve got wet knickers!’ irrepressible Daphne replied.

  On the ward, Gloria was immensely relieved when she found Ada bagging up laundry.

  ‘Sister Ada!’ Gloria, still supporting Daphne, called out. ‘You have a patient in need of your attention.’

  Ada turned and smiled when she saw Daphne hobbling towards her, grimacing.

  ‘OUCH! And buggeration! Hope you have a spare bed handy, Sister, looks like the little blighter’s on its way.’

  Sister Ada abandoned the laundry bag and took hold of Daphne by the arm.

  ‘She started with back pains about quarter of an hour ago, lugging buckets of coal,’ Gloria explained with a smile.

  Ada grinned. ‘Typical of our invincible Daphne.’

  ‘I don’t feel invincible at the moment,’ Daphne admitted. ‘In fact, I’d quite like to lie down.’

  ‘This way,’ Ada said, and she led her patient to a freshly made-up bed, then drew the curtains around her.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Gloria whispered through the curtains.

  Ada popped her head around the curtains to whisper back, ‘It’s Sister Ann’s day off, so I’m in charge of the ship. You have experience of childbirth – you know what it’s all about. It would be really useful if you could stay with Daphne, hold her hand and chat to her while I get a few things sorted out, then I’ll take over.’

  Gloria’s big, dark eyes widened. ‘You won’t leave me for long?’ she asked. ‘The hand-holding and chatting I can manage, but not the rest.’

  Ada gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry, I won’t. I just need to get rid of this dirty laundry and check up on the girls in the nursery, then I’ll be back. Okay?’