The Wartime Midwives

by Daisy Styles

  Feeling calmer, Gloria nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll stay.’

  ‘If you can get her into a clean nightie and back into bed, that would help,’ Ada said, as she turned to go. ‘I’ll have somebody fetch you both a cup of tea soon. See you shortly.’

  ‘So this is what it’s like,’ Daphne joked. ‘I would have brought War and Peace to while away the hours if I knew I was going to be flat on my back all day.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself,’ Gloria replied with a knowing smile. ‘Believe me, you won’t have time for reading.’

  She was right too; going by the clock on the wall, Gloria guessed Daphne’s contractions were coming every four minutes already. ‘Eleven o’clock now,’ she thought to herself. ‘If she’s lucky, Daphne might well have had her baby by supper-time.’

  She was astonished, and so was Daphne, when Matron suddenly dropped by to check on the patient’s progress. Seeing Gloria at the bedside, Matron snapped, ‘What are you doing here? Where’s the ward sister?’

  Bristling with indignation at the woman’s appalling rudeness, Gloria coldly answered her question. ‘She’s just clearing away the dirty laundry; she’ll be back soon.’

  Knowing that Daphne was more than likely to give Matron (whom she loathed) a mouthful, Gloria quickly added, ‘Daphne’s doing a great job.’

  Though Matron smiled at Daphne, she didn’t get a smile back from the glowering girl.

  ‘Right-i-o,’ she said breezily, as she went on her way. ‘Well done.’

  Daphne scowled at her departing figure. ‘Stupid bitch!’ she seethed; then, forgetting Matron, she grabbed Gloria’s arm. ‘I need to lean against something,’ she gasped, struggling to her feet. ‘I need to be upright.’

  ‘You don’t have to stay lying down; you can walk, squat, bend, do what makes you comfortable.’ Supporting Daphne’s bulky body, Gloria did her best to help her friend. ‘Lean across the bed, see if that helps.’

  It did help. Daphne grunted her way through the quickening contractions, taking sips of water in between while steadying her breathing in readiness for the next onslaught. Genuinely impressed, Gloria praised her friend. ‘You’re doing really well – sure you haven’t done this before?’ she teased.

  ‘No, but I’ve seen plenty of mares give birth: they’re usually calm, taking things as they come,’ Daphne responded. ‘Nature’s way.’

  When Ada returned, Gloria left her to examine Daphne while she brewed more tea in the kitchen just off the ward. Gloria’s thoughts drifted back to the wonderful day when her son was born in Battersea General Hospital, or the ‘Old Anti’, as it was commonly known in the parish, nearly six years ago. Robin had become such a powerful force in her life she couldn’t imagine life without him. Smoothing her hand over her tummy, Gloria wondered what it would be like to have a second child, another boy or a little girl. Before he’d left, Stan had expressed a yearning for a daughter, but she didn’t really mind at all. What she most wanted in all the world was her family to be reunited and a happy little unit again, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, she thought, as she poured hot water on to the tea leaves in the pot. When Robin had been born, Stan had rushed on to the ward as soon as visiting time allowed, but when would he see his second child? How old would he or she be before they were held in their father’s arms?

  ‘Oh, Stan,’ she murmured, tears threatening to engulf her. Picking up the tray, she told herself firmly: ‘Concentrate on Daphne for the moment; she’ll need your help.’

  When she returned to her friend’s bedside, Gloria was amazed to find Daphne nearing the last stages of labour. Quickly abandoning the tea, she helped Ada to move Daphne into the delivery room. Impressed by her strength and determination, Ada praised her warmly. ‘You’re doing so well – not long now before we see that baby of yours.’

  Even Daphne, as tough as old boots, was feeling the strain. ‘God! This is so much tougher than I ever imagined.’

  ‘It’ll soon be over, darling,’ Ada assured her when they reached the delivery room and Daphne was settled on the bed.

  Daphne suddenly reared up. ‘Oh-o!’ she cried. ‘I want to push – I need to push!’

  Ada gave her a reassuring pat on the back. ‘Then go ahead and push,’ she advised. ‘Push as hard as you can.’

  Gloria, who’d stayed by her friend’s side, gripped her hand tightly. ‘Push until you feel like your eyes will pop!’

  With Sister Ada on one side of her and Gloria on the other, Daphne pushed hard.

  ‘Excellent!’ Ada exclaimed. ‘You’re a model patient. Nearly there – one more push should do it.’

  Gloria was quite right in her calculation; by supper-time Daphne had produced a big, bouncing baby boy with a bellowing voice that easily equalled his mother’s.

  ‘Fine set of lungs,’ Ada said, as she held the screaming baby up for Daphne to see. ‘Heavy too, nearly ten pounds,’ she added.

  ‘Jesus!’ Daphne laughed. ‘That’s two large bags of spuds!’

  ‘You’re lucky you didn’t tear,’ Ada said, gently cleaning down her patient with warm, soapy water.

  Gloria, who’d stayed throughout the entire delivery, smiled at Daphne. Completely exhausted by her ordeal, the girl was now lying back against her bed pillows.

  ‘Clever girl, you were brilliant,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Daphne said feebly.

  Ada looked up from her work. ‘Would you be an angel, Gloria, and fetch us all a strong cup of tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Gloria replied as she got to her feet.

  ‘Slip a double brandy in mine,’ Daphne said in all seriousness. ‘I feel like the world has just dropped out of my bottom!’

  After settling Daphne, Ada turned her attention to Daphne’s son, whose vitals she expertly checked. ‘You’re a strong little fella,’ she murmured examining his squirming body. ‘A big strong lad.’

  ‘Just like his bally father, built like a gable end,’ Daphne, already back on form, joked from her bed.

  Their intimate conversation stopped abruptly as Matron breezed into the delivery room.

  ‘What have we got here?’ she asked.

  Irritated by her untimely intrusion, Ada’s reply was clipped. ‘A boy,’ she replied. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Matron, I need to attend to my patient.’

  Matron peered over Ada’s shoulder. ‘Hah! He looks like a fine, healthy boy too!’ she exclaimed; then, after a few more checks, which Ada was more than capable of doing herself, she turned and left the room, leaving Daphne scowling.

  ‘I wish she’d bugger off!’

  Unknown either to Daphne or to Ada, Matron virtually ran back to her office where, after shutting the door, she immediately phoned Sir Percival at Crow Thorn Grange.

  ‘He’s a strong fellow,’ she announced with as much pride and emotion as if she herself had just given birth.

  ‘A boy!’ Sir Percival exclaimed in delight. ‘How long till we get him?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘Post-natal patients can stay up until six weeks,’ Matron started to explain but was interrupted by Percival’s reaction.

  ‘Christ! That long?’

  ‘I’ve told you all this before,’ Matron said snippily.

  ‘Is there any way you can hasten her departure?’ Percival rudely inquired.

  ‘I won’t have to do that,’ Matron said with a smile. ‘Daphne will leave here just as soon as she can walk. To quote the dreadful woman – she’s dying to get back in the saddle!’

  On the other end of the phone Percival gave a long, slow smile. ‘Excellent,’ he murmured. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘By the way,’ Matron added before she put down the phone, ‘she’s called him Bertie!’

  With Sister Ann absent, Ada’s feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. While keeping an eye on sleeping Daphne and her baby, now in the nursery, she also had to check up on the other new mothers and oversee the feeding rotas and sterilize the instruments she’d used in the delivery room. When Gloria turned up on
the ward, Ada assumed she’d popped by to say goodnight to Daphne, so she was stunned by her announcement.

  ‘Nancy’s started –’

  ‘What? Nancy too?’ Ada stopped in her tracks and, looking at Gloria, she gasped, ‘Can you believe it? Two births on Sister Ann’s day off!’

  Gloria nodded sympathetically. ‘Is she not back?’

  ‘No, she’s visiting family; she might not be back till the morning,’ Ada sighed. ‘Never mind, needs must, babies choose their own time to be born and there’s nothing you can do about it. Is she coping so far?’

  Gloria shook her head grimly. ‘Panicking something awful.’

  ‘I see. Let’s get her down here,’ Ada said quickly. ‘Gloria, I hate to ask, but you were so good with Daphne – I don’t suppose you’d help me out again, would you?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Gloria said truthfully, ‘but I need to check on Robin. I haven’t seen him all day and I suspect he’s driving Sister Mary Paul round the bend by now. Maybe I can come back when I’ve got him to bed?’

  Shirley, who’d been quietly mopping the ward floor, startled them both when she chirped up: ‘Don’t worry, Gloria, you see to Robin; I’ll stay on and help Sister.’

  Ada did a double-take. Shirley helped out everywhere in the Home, but she’d always sensed that Shirley actively avoided the delivery room. Though Shirley’s offer of help was most welcome, Ada was nevertheless a little anxious about anything that might set Shirley back when she’d been doing so well.

  ‘Are you quite sure, Shirley?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘Quite sure,’ the girl replied confidently. ‘I used to be squeamish about going anywhere near babies being born, but I’m long past that. Life goes on,’ she added sweetly. ‘Just let me get rid of the mop and bucket and I’ll be with you, Sister.’

  Ada gave her a quick, grateful smile. ‘You’ll have to swab up and wash your hands thoroughly,’ she instructed.

  ‘I know: I’ve seen you and Sister Ann do it a hundred times,’ Shirley replied with a knowing smile.

  Shirley turned out to be a good nurse; it was as if everything she’d witnessed on the wards over the last few months had been absorbed into her memory bank and she automatically knew what to do. If Ada hadn’t been so busy attending to Nancy, she would have been astonished by the young girl’s skilful insight. After a long, hard labour, Nancy finally gave birth and her son was delivered by Ada and Shirley as dawn broke over the Irish Sea.

  No two boys born within twenty-four hours of each other could have looked more different: Daphne’s big, bouncing Bertie, with his flailing arms and kicking legs, and Nancy’s wailing boy, Tom, who, at six pounds and twelve ounces, was much slighter.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Nancy groaned when she first laid eyes on her son. ‘He looks like his dad.’

  ‘Babies quickly change,’ Ada assured Nancy, who displayed little interest in the new-born. ‘Do you want to hold him for a minute?’

  Ada was saddened by Nancy’s highly emotional reaction. ‘NO! I don’t want to hold him,’ she cried. ‘I just want my mam!’

  Ada quickly handed the baby over to Shirley, who swaddled him in a warm shawl before taking him off to the nursery.

  ‘I’ve missed Mam so much all the time I’ve been here, but now I miss her more than ever,’ Nancy wailed. ‘She’s the only person who understands me.’

  Feeling sorry for the poor girl, Ada kindly asked, ‘Does she have a telephone? I could phone her with the news?’

  Nancy shook her head.

  ‘Not to worry; I’ll drop her a line as soon as I’m off-duty,’ Ada promised. ‘I’m sure she’ll be longing to see you. Will that make you feel better?’

  Nancy nodded. ‘Thank you, Sister, mi mam will want to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Now, sweetheart,’ Ada continued, ‘I really do have to tidy up a bit.’

  ‘Stay right where you are, lovie,’ Shirley added. ‘While Sister’s seeing to you, I’ll go and make us all a fresh brew.’

  Nancy smiled weakly. ‘Believe me, Shirley, the way I’m feeling, I’m not going anywhere!’

  Sister Ann couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the two new babies in the nursery on her return.

  ‘Glory be to God!’ she exclaimed, looking from one to the other. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘God arranged for me to do all the work while you swanned off to see your family!’ Ada teased. ‘I was worried about how I’d cope without you, but Gloria was such a help with Daphne, and then, believe it or not, Shirley assisted with Nancy. She was marvellous!’

  ‘Shirley!’ the nun cried. ‘Well, well,’ she mused. ‘God really does move in mysterious ways.’

  After checking the babies, she came back to join Ada. ‘How are the new mothers coping?’

  ‘Daphne’s fighting fit and ready to walk out of the Home if we’d let her, while Nancy’s wailing for her mam,’ Ada replied with a yawn.

  ‘Go on – off with you,’ Sister Ann said firmly. ‘I can manage on my own while you get some rest.’

  ‘Really?’ Ada asked yearningly.

  ‘Go!’ Sister Ann cried with mock severity.

  Ada nodded obediently and left the ward, but before she went to her room she managed to scribble a note to Nancy’s mum in Bolton and even popped out to post it in the hope that it might arrive at its destination within the next day or two.

  Over the next few days nobody could fail to notice how very different the new mothers were with their babies: Daphne handled Bertie like a chubby puppy, feeding him and winding him and changing his nappy with some amusement as she joked about his genitalia – ‘He’s certainly a big boy, just like his father!’ she chuckled – while Nancy was all thumbs when it came to anything to do with her son, who seemed to sense he wasn’t wanted and wailed piteously most of the time.

  ‘He might be small but he’s pretty vocal,’ Isla commented, when she popped in with Gloria and Emily to see their friends on the post-natal ward.

  Nancy blushed in embarrassment. ‘He keeps waking up the other babies.’

  ‘He’ll be fine once he gets into a good feeding regime,’ Gloria assured her nervous friend, who still couldn’t walk without wincing, whereas Daphne was up and about, striding around with her characteristic vigour, as if nothing had happened.

  Nancy didn’t look convinced. ‘I don’t feel anything for him,’ she whispered miserably. ‘I just wish the adoption was over and done with and he’d been taken away from Mary Vale.’

  Ada tried not to worry about the girl she’d come to care for over the course of her long stay at Mary Vale. She told herself it was a good thing for her not to bond with her son if he were adopted, but she couldn’t help wishing Nancy looked happier.

  So she was relieved a few days later when she spotted a slight woman walk on to the ward who turned out to be the spitting image of Nancy. Thrilled that her efforts had been rewarded, she approached the woman.

  ‘Hello,’ she said warmly. ‘I think I can guess whose mother you are.’

  ‘I’ve come to visit my Nancy,’ the woman announced shyly.

  ‘Of course, she’ll be thrilled to see you,’ Ada assured Mrs Wheelan. ‘Nancy’s just over there,’ she said, pointing towards a bed by the window.

  When Nancy caught sight of her mother walking nervously towards her, she all but fell out of bed. ‘MAM!’ she cried, as she clung on to her tightly.

  ‘Nance, darlin’, how are you, lovie?’

  ‘Oh, so much better for seeing you, Mam,’ Nancy sobbed, and tears poured down her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she whispered, and gripped her mother’s hand.

  ‘The ward sister kindly sent me a letter telling me you’d had the baby,’ Mrs Wheelan explained. ‘When your dad left for work this morning, I hopped on a train and here I am,’ she said, looking very pleased with herself.

  Nancy’s face fell. ‘Was Dad angry?’

  ‘Aye, but when is he not?’ her mother replied. ‘Anyway, let’s not spoil our time togeth
er talking about him; I’ve come to hear about you, my sweetheart.’

  Sitting as close to her mother as she could get, and still holding her by the hand, Nancy told her about the birth. ‘It bloody hurt, Mam!’

  ‘You do surprise me,’ her mother said knowingly. ‘Where is the little lad?’

  ‘Over there,’ Nancy replied, and nodded in the direction of the little cots lined up at the end of the ward. ‘He looks like his dad,’ she said in disgust.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame the kid for that,’ her mother protested.

  After she’d inspected her grandson with only a little more enthusiasm than her daughter, Mrs Wheelan returned to Nancy’s bedside. ‘Well, the good news is, the lad that got you in the family way has signed up and buggered off to France, they say,’ her mother said with genuine relish. ‘So you won’t have to see him for a while.’

  Nancy’s face grew pink with relief. ‘Oh, well, that’s something.’

  ‘Eh, and I’ve got summat for you, lass,’ Mrs Wheelan said, as she rummaged in her old shopping bag and produced a package, which Nancy eagerly opened.

  ‘Oven bottoms!’ she exclaimed in delight.

  ‘Spread thick with best butter and a bit of Lancashire cheese, the creamy sort that you like,’ her mother added with a grin.

  In between mouthfuls of the fresh oven bottoms, Nancy told her mother in whispers what her thoughts for the future were.

  ‘I’ll never go with another man,’ she declared passionately. ‘I hated it and I hated the outcome,’ she confessed. ‘I’ll get a job as soon as I get back home and I’ll save every penny I earn, I promise, Mam.’

  ‘There’s plenty of work going for lasses now that all the men are off to war,’ her mother informed her cheerfully. ‘They say that owd mill, the Phoenix out on’t moors, is being set up as a munitions factory.’ Mrs Wheelen leant in closer to add, ‘Folks says it’s as big as a village, with living accommodation for hundreds of workers; indoor lavvies and posh bath tubs with running hot and cold water. They say there’s nurseries for the kiddies and a bar, even a picture house!’

  Nancy’s eyes grew wide with amazement. ‘One of my friends here, Isla, she’s right clever, reads all’t time, she went to university,’ she said with a swagger, as if Isla’s knowledge had rubbed off on her. ‘She’s been saying that they’ll be calling up lasses to do fellas’ work, Mam,’ she said with an excited gleam in her eyes. ‘I’d love to work for my country,’ she announced.