The Clippie Girls Read online

  Joe applied the brakes and skidded to a halt at the side of Tom. Panting hard, he shook his head and his words came in gasps. ‘Doctor’s – out – too.’

  Tom jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Reckon that poor lass is going through it.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t reckon her chances – or the bairn’s – at this rate.’

  Just when the situation looked desperate and the two men were giving up hope of any help arriving in time to save Peggy and her child, they heard the sound of a tinkling bicycle bell. Pedalling up the road came a shadowy figure in a dark uniform. The woman braked sharply as she saw them standing by the side of the road. ‘Is this where there’s a baby coming?’

  ‘Aye, it is, Nurse, and you’d best hurry. Lass is obviously in trouble.’

  Now they all heard a piercing scream that rent the night air and then an unexpected and ominous silence.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Tom muttered, his face bleak.

  The nurse leaned her bicycle against the wall, unclipped her bag and hurried inside. Nurse Catchpole was a middle-aged woman, with a calm and reassuring manner, and yet she wouldn’t stand any nonsense. She’d heard the screaming when she’d arrived and as she climbed the stairs and walked into the bedroom, she was opening her mouth to say, ‘Now, you can stop that noise. You’re not the first to have a baby and you won’t be the last.’

  But in the silence three pairs of frightened eyes filled with relief when they saw who had entered the room. Only the young mother lay with her head turned away, quiet and still now.

  ‘Mrs Bradshaw – fancy seeing you here,’ Nurse Catchpole said with a hint of sarcasm. ‘Have you delivered Baby?’

  Letty moved out of the way as the midwife took her place at the side of the bed.

  ‘No, actually, it was this young lass, here. The bairn wasn’t breathing, but Myrtle picked him up and give him a couple of smacks and he cried.’

  Nurse Catchpole glanced across the bed at Myrtle. ‘Well done, my dear. You’ve probably saved the little man’s life.’

  ‘She needn’t have bothered,’ Peggy muttered morosely.

  ‘Now, now, Mother, we won’t have any of that talk,’ the midwife said briskly and turned her attention to cutting the cord and encouraging Peggy to cough to expel the afterbirth. She wrapped the child in a towel and handed him to his mother, but Peggy turned her head away, refusing to take him or even to look at him.

  ‘Here, let me,’ Myrtle said. ‘Please.’

  With a sigh, not liking the way the baby’s mother was behaving, Nurse Catchpole had no choice – for the moment – to do anything but hand the baby boy to his young aunt. Then she turned to Mary and Letty. ‘Now downstairs with you and bring me plenty of hot water and clean towels.’

  More than a little thankful, both women left the room, knowing that both Peggy and the baby were in safe hands.

  ‘Normally,’ Nurse Catchpole said quietly, when the two women had gone, ‘I’d ask the grandmother to stay, but it seems you’re the capable one, my dear. Now, when I’ve washed Mother, I’ll show you how to bath Baby. Have you any clothes for him? What’s his name, by the way?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Myrtle glanced at Peggy, but the girl, now freed from the terrible racking pain, was lying with her eyes closed, deliberately taking no part in the proceedings.

  Nurse Catchpole raised her eyebrows and asked no more questions.

  When Peggy had been attended to, the afterbirth having come away cleanly, and she was washed and lying sleepily in clean sheets, the nurse bathed the baby tenderly, giving Myrtle clear instructions how to hold him.

  ‘Tiny babies need to be kept warm – they don’t generate their own heat for some weeks.’

  Myrtle nodded. ‘I read that.’

  Nurse Catchpole’s eyes twinkled. ‘You seem to have done a lot of reading, my dear.

  Was it because you sister was expecting?’

  ‘Partly, but I do human biology at school.’ She wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully. ‘I think it’s my favourite subject. That and English literature. I love reading.’

  ‘Well, both those subjects would be useful if you wanted to become a nurse.’

  ‘Do you think I could?’

  ‘It’s a vocation, Myrtle. You have to really want to do it. It’s hard work – but very rewarding.’

  ‘I’d never thought about nursing,’ Myrtle said, taking the tiny baby, now washed and wrapped warmly in little baby clothes and a shawl which Peggy had knitted during her lonely hours in the front room. Myrtle held the baby gently, feeling the new life moving against her. ‘They all think I should try for university.’

  ‘No reason why not. With a degree you’d be certain to get into nurse’s training.’

  Myrtle was gazing down at her nephew in wonderment, a tender smile on her mouth. The midwife watched her for a moment, wishing that the infant’s mother would take such a loving interest in her newborn baby.

  ‘Now, if you’re ready, we can let the grandmother come back. Is there anyone else? What about the father? Is he – here?’ Sarah Catchpole hesitated. There were so many times nowadays when the father was away fighting the war, or had been wounded or even killed. The nurse had to be very careful how she phrased her questions these days.

  Myrtle raised her head slowly. There was no point in trying to deceive the nurse; she’d find out soon enough.

  ‘There is no father.’ Myrtle gave a wry smile. ‘Well, of course there is. Somewhere. What I mean is – ’ she took a deep breath – ‘my sister isn’t married.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Sarah’s tone was full of understanding. Sadly she recognized the circumstances only too well. Just recently, she seemed to have been delivering more illegitimate babies into the world than legitimate ones. She blamed the war. It had always happened, of course, and always would, but just now the number of unmarried mothers had definitely increased. Now she understood Peggy’s reaction to her child. No doubt the poor girl had suffered untold accusations from her family.

  ‘So,’ Sarah went on in her matter-of-fact manner, ‘who else is there downstairs?’

  ‘Mam’ll come up and,’ Myrtle added, ‘Mrs Bradshaw.’ They exchanged a smile, but the amusement died as Myrtle went on. ‘But I don’t think my gran or my other sister, Rose, will take any notice of the baby. They haven’t been speaking to Peggy since they found out. They’ve made her live in the front room or up here in her bedroom. It’s my gran’s house, you see. She rules the roost. We’re here on sufferance.’

  ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘He died when I was a baby. He was wounded in the Great War and we’ve always lived with Mam’s mother.’

  The midwife sighed. The complications in this household were worse than she had thought. Far worse.

  ‘I’ll come back in a little while to get him to the breast.’ Sarah smiled down at Myrtle. ‘I can see the little chap is in good hands.’

  ‘He’s so tiny,’ Myrtle said. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s fine – thanks to you. If he’d been left much longer not breathing, we might have had trouble. You did very well, dear.’

  Myrtle blushed a little and felt a glow of pride. It was the very first time she’d ever been praised for doing something useful. The family encouraged her with her studies, but never let her do anything practical. For the first time Myrtle felt needed and it was a lovely feeling.

  As the nurse put on her coat and picked up her bag, she said, ‘I’ll see the others as I go out. Tell them they can come up now – if they want to.’ She glanced at Peggy. ‘Let her sleep. She’s had a difficult time. Hopefully, she’ll feel differently when she wakes up.’

  Then nurse ran lightly down the stairs and into the living room. She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. An elderly woman sat in her chair near the range, reading a newspaper. At the table, a girl – presumably the other sister of whom Myrtle had spoken – also sat reading. Only Mary and Letty Bradshaw looked at her and got slowly to their feet.

/>   ‘Are they – all right?’ Mary asked tentatively.

  ‘They’re both fine. She has a fine, healthy baby boy.’

  The woman sitting near the fire slowly raised her head and met the eyes of the midwife. ‘A boy, you say? It’s a boy?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘It is. A strong, lusty baby – thanks to your youngest granddaughter, who probably saved his life.’

  She glanced at Mary. It seemed that neither she nor Letty Bradshaw had said a word to the other two women in the room. They hadn’t even told them what sex the baby was. Sarah sighed inwardly. She felt for the young mother upstairs. The girl had made a mistake, yes, as many before had done and many more after her would do. Nothing shocked the midwife, but she was saddened when a new life was not treated with joy and welcoming arms.

  ‘Myrtle?’ Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘What did she do? Talk it into taking its first breath.’

  ‘She did exactly what the book says. She held it up and smacked it sharply. It shocks Baby into breathing. Now I must go. I’ve two other calls to make, but I’ll be back later to see if we can get him put to the breast.’

  As she turned to leave, Sarah noticed the girl sitting at the table shudder with revulsion, but the great-grandmother was still staring, as if mesmerized, at her.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

  Mary followed her. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  ‘No need,’ Sarah said cheerily. ‘You’d do better to go back upstairs and help that young lass. And,’ she paused with her hand on the door knob, ‘you’ll need to persuade your eldest daughter to take notice of her baby – or we’re going to have trouble.’

  ‘I’ll – try,’ Mary said weakly.

  ‘You’ll do more than try, Grandma,’ the midwife said sternly. ‘That little life depends on his mother.’

  As the front door closed behind the midwife, Letty said, ‘I’ll be getting off, too, if you’re sure there’s nothing else I can do to help you.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘You’ve been very good. Thank you.’

  Despite the fact that she knew the whole street would shortly be regaled with the goings-on at the Booths’ house, she was grateful to Letty and more especially to her husband.

  ‘Please thank Tom for me, won’t you? I don’t know what we’d have done without him – without you both.’

  Letty smiled. ‘That’s all right, love. I’ll see you later. I’ll go out t’back way.’

  I’m sure we will, Mary thought wryly as she closed the door behind the second visitor to leave. As she returned to the living room, she was surprised to see Grace levering herself up out of her chair. ‘Are you going to bed, Mother? I’ll bring you some hot milk.’

  ‘No need just yet. I’m going to see my great-grandson.’

  Mary’s mouth dropped open and it fell even wider when Grace turned and said, ‘Come along now, Rose. You’re to come as well.’

  ‘I don’t want to—’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told. Mary, lead the way.’

  A few moments later, Mary quietly opened the bedroom door, followed in by Grace and a very reluctant Rose. Myrtle was still cuddling the baby rocking him gently as she talked softly to him, her head bent over him.

  Peggy appeared to be still asleep.

  Grace moved towards Myrtle and stood looking down at her great-grandson for what seemed to the others to be an age, in which no one spoke and the only sound in the room was the baby’s snuffling.

  Then Grace pulled up another chair and sat down in front of Myrtle. ‘Let me hold him.’

  Myrtle stared at her and then, with obvious reluctance and not without a little trepidation, she handed the baby into Grace’s arms.

  There was a long silence in the room and then, to the amazement of them all, Grace began to smile.

  ‘A boy! It’s a boy!’ she murmured with wonderment and incredulity in her tone.

  ‘Mother?’ Mary said tentatively, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.

  Grace glanced up briefly but then her gaze was fixed once more on the tiny infant in her arms. For the first time ever, Mary had seen tears in her mother’s eyes. She had never seen Grace cry before; not at her father’s funeral nor at Ted’s. She had not shed a tear at any of the births of her three granddaughters. She had merely regarded them steadily, sniffed and turned away. But now a smile trembled on her mouth, tears brimmed in her eyes and her voice was husky as she said yet again, ‘It’s a boy,’ as if that explained everything.

  Mary’s puzzled frown faded as understanding dawned. ‘Oh, after all the girls, you mean?’

  Grace nodded, but her gaze never left the tiny infant lying in her arms.

  ‘We’ve never had a boy in the family – not for years. Not on my side of the family. My mother only had two girls and my sister died when I was little. Diphtheria, I think it was. I don’t even remember her.’

  With her gaze still firmly fixed on the mite, she asked, ‘What are you going to call him, Peggy?’

  ‘Mm?’ Peggy roused herself. She was so very tired and wished they’d all go away and leave her alone. And they could take the baby with them too.

  ‘What are you going to call him?’ Grace persisted. ‘He must have a name.’

  Peggy closed her eyes. ‘Call him what you like. I don’t really care.’

  ‘Peggy, how can you talk like that?’ Mary was devastated to hear the callousness in her daughter’s tone. She had always been ecstatic at the birth of all three of her daughters, even though it had been yet another mouth to feed in an already stretched household. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She shook her head in disbelief. Peggy was rejecting her son and yet Grace was cuddling the little chap in her arms and demanding that he be given a name. Was there no end to the surprises this day was bringing? Firstly, the help of their neighbours, which had been most welcome but totally unexpected, and then Myrtle. Who would have expected Myrtle, of all of them, to take command of such a difficult situation? Young though she was, there was a self-confidence about Myrtle that none of the others possessed.

  Mary’s wandering thoughts were brought back to the present by her mother’s voice. ‘Then he’ll be called Frederick after my father.’

  Mary’s eyes widened as she stared at her mother. ‘But you – you said you didn’t want anything to do with him.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘You said—’

  ‘I know what I said, but it’s different now the little chap’s here. And maybe,’ Grace went on, analysing her feelings, ‘it’s because he is a boy. I don’t know, but all I know is that he’s brought the love with him. He’s my great-grandson and – ’ her head shot up and her gaze met Mary’s squarely – ‘even if he is a bastard – ’ Mary flinched at the cruel word, but the sting was taken away by her mother’s final words – ‘he’s ours. You hear me? He’s ours.’

  Peggy groaned and turned over. The decision had been made, taken out of her hands by, of all people, her grandmother. She’d fully expected Mary would try to persuade her to keep the child, but she’d never in a million years have expected that Grace would be the one to do so.

  Rose was still standing uncertainly in the doorway. She had only come up here because her grandmother had demanded it. Now she turned away, muttering, ‘I’ll make us all a drink.’ She was shocked by Grace’s sudden capitulation. They were all in there now, almost drooling over the baby. Myrtle had a silly, smug look on her face as if she’d delivered the child single-handedly. And with everyone – including the midwife – telling her that she had saved the baby’s life, she’d become even more conceited and unbearable. Rose almost stamped down the stairs. Well, she wasn’t going to give in, she wasn’t going to take any notice of the child. He was still a bastard and had brought shame and disgrace to their home.

  And to make matters even worse, there was still no word from Bob.

  Thirty-Five

  When Hester Deeton opened the door to her knock, Rose saw at once the anxious frown on the woman’s
face. Hester looked worried most of the time, but this was something more serious. Rose’s heart leapt in fear.

  ‘What is it? Has – has something happened?’

  ‘He’s been wounded,’ Hester said, as Rose stepped inside and they moved through to the back room, talking as they went.

  Rose gasped and felt the colour drain from her face. Wounded, Hester had said, not killed. ‘How – bad?’

  ‘In his leg. He’s being sent home – back to England. Seems he was abroad after all.’

  ‘But he’ll be all right? He’ll recover?’

  ‘Sit down, Rose. Here – read his letter. You’ll know what he says then.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Rose asked, not wanting to seem impolite, but her hand was already reaching eagerly for the envelope Hester held.

  Dear Mam, the letter read,

  I hope this finds you better than I am at the moment. Now you’re not to worry. I’ve got a small wound in my left leg, but it’s not serious. Anyway, it’ll take a while to heal so they’re sending me back to Blighty as the lads out here still call home. Of course, I can’t tell you where I am but it’s a bit like Blackpool beach in summer. I should be back home soon and I’ll let you know then where I am. I’ll send some money for you to come and see me . . .

  The letter ended with affectionate instructions for her to ‘take care of herself’ and ‘I’ll see you soon’.

  ‘His wound doesn’t sound too serious,’ Rose said.

  ‘No, but I know my Bob. He always makes light of things. The thing is I know he’s doing it, so I worry all the more about what he might not be telling me.’

  Hester Deeton would fret whatever anyone said, Rose thought. A born worrier always found something to be anxious about, even when there was nothing. But now there was plenty. Even Rose, who normally sailed blithely through life, had turned into a worrier these days. Hadn’t they all, with this dreadful war darkening their waking hours and disturbing their sleep?

  ‘Where do you think he is? Blackpool beach in summer? Hot and sandy, I think he’s trying to tell us.’ Rose said. ‘Do you think he’s in the desert? Gran’s been reading bits out of the newspapers about Libya and Egypt.’