by Leah Fleming
She found a gap in the defences and stepped over on to the tufts and sand dunes. ‘Let’s see if Mother’s here, waiting for us. She’ll know what to do next.’ Netta’s eyes searched the beach but it was deserted now. ‘Oh, I remember, she’s gone on before to another place. Shall we follow her then? It might be best.’
Netta edged forward to the water. It was cold and grey and at her foot lay a dead bird with broken wings, its feathers stiff with oil, body twisted and barnacled, head half-detached. The sea was throwing up its dead so she knelt down to finger the salty creature. There’re so many of them down there: sailors, fishermen, gunners, submariners; so many of them waiting offshore to lure landlubbers into their lonely caves. ‘We won’t let them trawl us in, will we, Bump?’ she cried, clutching him tightly, and began to shiver, backing away from the bird of death. The tide would suck it back in anger and the mermen would throw it back again further down the coast.
Suddenly she felt cold and wet, awake as if from a strange dream. What was she doing on the sand dunes? There were no shadows to read the time by but it was late and Bump was crying as he snorted for the breast. Netta felt a let down rush of milk. Her bone-weary limbs ached with cold. A man was walking down the shoreline, smiling. He waved and Netta waved back. It was Rae come to collect them at long last. He had not let them down after all. She rushed towards him eagerly. Rae would know what to do.
*
‘We found her by the beach, poor lassie, all done in.’ Dr Begg sat with them all, sipping his hot tea with relish while the drugged patient drifted away from them on the bed. ‘The bairn’s fine, no harm done this time, but we cannae have any more of these carryings on. It’s no fair on Nurse Plenderleith or her staff. When they get like this they have to be contained for their own good, made to rest in bed. She’ll be off to hospital as soon as I can call an ambulance. They’ll keep her under observation night and day. The next few days are critical, I’m afraid. She’ll either sleep it off and be as right as rain in no time or… What a pity. Such a fine lass for this to happen to. You never can tell with mothers how a birth will take them.’
‘What doctor is saying is, some mothers harm their babies when they get in one of these states. Do you understand?’
‘You’re telling me I’ve got a daughter off her head?’ Angus muttered. ‘Running off with her bairn half-naked for all the world to see.’
‘She wouldn’t know a thing about it, couldn’t help herself, a temporary lapse. There’s a big name for it but little else. Just one of those things.’
‘What happens to the bairn?’ asked Peg, trying to grasp all that had happened. ‘You must do what is best for her, Doctor. I’m sorry we’ve had to bring all this on you, Sadie. I don’t know what to think but I don’t want it all round the district. Katy Beattie has a tongue on her the size of an ox!’
‘She’ll no say a word, I promise.’ The nurse smiled. ‘No one need be any the wiser. Normally it would be called childbed fever but I’ve always prided myself on having no such infections here.’
‘I wouldn’t ask you to lie, of course.’ Peg folded her arms and sighed. ‘Could we just say she’s gone into the maternity hospital for special care? We’ve never had such a to do in our family before. It takes a bit of stomaching, her running off like that. I suppose we’ll have to bring his lordship back with us now?’
‘Not now, he can stay here tonight. Baby’s had enough movement for one day. I’ll prepare his clothing and a bassinet for you, and a timetable for his routine. After such a start in life he’s going to need strict handling, four feeds and no fussing in between, plenty of fresh air and a chance to exercise his lungs out of earshot. Just see his bottom is well oiled and his head out of the sun. Drop the night feed as soon as you can, for your own sakes, you need your sleep too. I can get the district nurse to call in and advise you. Think of it as a Christian act, holding the fort until Mother comes home. A wee chance to get to know your grandchild, Angus. By the way, she’s calling him Raeburn and Angus after you. You’ll have to register him for her.’
‘Come on, woman, time to be seeing to my cows. We’ll send round for him in the morning. Just a temporary arrangement then?’
The nurse patted Peg’s arm. Dr Begg averted his eyes from them, looking back at his patient with concern. Poor Netta Nichol was away with the fairies, not to the Maternity in Dumfries but to Park Royal, the mental hospital. Only they would know how to bring her back from the fantasies of her dreamworld.
May 1949, Friday at Noon
‘I can’t breathe,’ Netta gasped in panic, feeling the attic walls and the clutter of years closing in on her. There were too many reminders of unspeakable times lying all around her. She could not wait for Gus to bring her the milk. She must clear her head and escape, take the farm dogs for a romp in the fields and get on with her packing.
It was time to check the radiator and tyres and ask Father to look at the oil before her long journey south: back to workaday Griseley and her business. The mission had begun with such icy courage and resolve but was quickly melting away again. How could you, after all those years of experience, behave like some tweeny of thirteen around your parents? Must she meekly beat the usual retreat once more from all her past mistakes? For all her business success far from this place Netta, the prodigal, was given the fatted calf here – but it was always dished out cold.
*
Peg struggled up the ladder and through the hatch, trying not to spill the milk. No whip cut so hard as the lash o’ conscience and she was feeling guilty that she had let the girl struggle to find Jeanie’s albums. There had been grim satisfaction at first in letting her loose to root in vain for her photographs when they were all neatly parcelled up on top of the bedroom wardrobe. Now it felt mean and callous to withhold them.
Netta’s presence brought out a bad side in Peg. The young woman fair turned over her stomach, like a dose of Epsom salts. Peg’s exertions went unrewarded for there was no one in the loft to greet her. She peered from the dusty gable window to watch Gus and the dogs chasing a ball and Netta trying to take a snap of them all. One more day and she would be out of their hair until Hogmanay. Twice a year: that was the unspoken agreement. Peg reckoned it had worked out for the best over the years.
She noticed the open leather case and the boxes, the clutter of years. What a sort out this place needed! One of these springs she would come up here and give the corners a fright, make a good bonfire of all this rubbish. Her eye fell on a tent-shaped object covered with an old sheet. Peg picked her way gingerly over to see what was underneath.
The black oak carved cradle rocked gently at her touch. This was an heirloom for Gus whose own children might one day be soothed by its gentle rocking. She could recall every detail of the time when it was brought down and polished up proudly for their own use: a day Peg had never believed would come. She smiled to herself. How merciful were the ways of the Lord…
Park Royal, Spring 1945
Peg made the trek with the leather suitcase from Stratharvar to Park Royal Hospital by train into Dumfries and then bus, leaving Angus and the one remaining Land Army girl to see that baby’s bottles were made up to her instructions on the stove.
The bairn did not settle to this change of routine, fussing and screaming all night long. Peg could not believe a tiny baby could make such a din and turn the quiet regime of Brigg Farm upside down. All Leithy’s instructions went by the board. She found herself pacing the linoleum in the dead of night, clasping the red-faced nuisance to her chest, patting his back in desperation. He was searching for a teat so she shoved her pinkie in his mouth. He sucked furiously and hard but the moment the baby dozed off and she tried to put him down, his blue eyes would open suspiciously and he’d start bawling all over again. Round one to baby.
Peg began to wonder if this little mite knew that his life had changed forever. Trust Angus to toss and grunt but offer no help. Next morning, however, he climbed up into the loft and fetched out a dusty rocking cradle, black
with age. Peg scrubbed it clean and polished it to glass, stuffed a mattress of towels and old sheeting inside and plonked his lordship in it in the middle of the stone-flagged kitchen by the mending basket. Every so often she kicked the rockers and the exhausted infant drifted off at last. Round two to Peg.
Angus went about his farm chores, organising the yard boy and Land Army girl, saw to his beasts, but each time he returned to the kitchen he, too, would put his boot to the cradle. A man could shut out the wailing, Peg thought to herself as she peeled the tatties for the hash, but now and then she caught Angus glancing in under the earned oak hood to see the pink face and black hair, now rubbing off on to the sheets. ‘This one’ll be bald as a coot afore long. His eyes aren’t Nichol blue, more like you see at the swimming baths. Must be the father’s?’
Neither of them could bring themselves to call the child Raeburn. Perhaps he would grow into that name when he grew whiskers, thought Peg, but now it was such a mouthful for a wee mite. ‘Raeburn Angus, while you’re in this house we’ll call you “bairn” for short. It’s to the point, there’s no fancy fol-de-rols in that handle – and that reminds me, you must away down the Register Office, Angus, and get this wean registered,’ ordered Peg.
*
She had always hated hospital visiting despite her brief training. This place was better than most: set in beautiful grounds, high up overlooking the Nith Valley. It was a palatial estate of gracious buildings dominated by a huge cathedral of a kirk at its centre. Inside, however, the wide corridors of the building, decorated with panels of carved woodwork and plasterwork ceilings, were more in keeping with a baronial mansion than an asylum but it still felt like a long dark tunnel to her.
She sat on the bench waiting for the visitors’ bell. Someone must have spent a bonny penny on this place, sure enough. Netta was to have the best they could afford. She was not to go in the ordinary wards but in the rate-aided department where she would be allowed to share a room and wear her own clothes.
The bell rang and there was a thud of feet down yet more corridors. No matter how many bowls of flowers were arranged to adorn the place, Peg could still detect that hospital pong.
What a carry on this was, with the mother in one town and the baby in another, she thought. It seemed all wrong to her. Yet someone must do their Christian duty to bring the patient her clothes and find out just what was the matter with her. Surely once Netta heard the good news that Hitler was on the run, that the war was almost over and Stratharvar would soon be lighting a bonfire and ringing the kirk bell, she would pull herself together for the Victory celebrations. It was good to have no more blackouts and travel restrictions; the seaports round Stranraer would be cleared of landing gear, the last of the evacuees had long since been sent packing. The Nichol family had so much to look forward to when the world got back to normal again.
The ward door was locked and Peg pressed the buzzer. A young nurse in starched cap and apron asked her name and ushered her inside quickly, past a line of sleepwalking shufflers eyeing her curiously with blank stares. ‘This is a secure ward, Mrs Nichol. We have to keep everything locked, I’m afraid.’ The nurse smiled politely but Peg was terrified when the door clanged behind them. ‘I take it you’re Mrs Hunter’s mother?’
‘Her stepmother,’ Peg replied sharply. She did not want anyone to think any of these shenanigans came from her side of the family.
‘I see. Well, no matter. We must take a full history from you. It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Sister will explain. You’ll see a marked change in the girl. Don’t be shocked, it won’t last. These things have to take their course. Visiting will have to be strictly limited, just a few minutes today. In future, better to write for permission to visit just in case the patient is having treatments. I expect it’s been a long journey for you from down the coast.
‘Here, she’s in the side room on her own for the moment. We’ve had to keep her separate, she’s been a bit noisy… you’ll see. I’ll fetch Sister to see you.’
Peg was not prepared for the sight of Netta, sitting on the edge of her bed dressed in an old nightie. She was rocking back and forth like some strange creature. Her red hair was unkempt, standing out all over her head like Madge Wildfire, the beautiful tresses matted and dull. Her tongue was hanging out as if she was panting. Netta looked up at her but the eyes did not register the visitor. Such glassy eyes, heavy with drugs.
The Sister bustled in briskly. ‘Now, Jeanette, look who’s come to see you all the way from Stratharvar.’
‘Where’s my baby?’ was the only response Netta could make to her.
‘He’s fine.’ Peg felt a lump choking in her throat.
‘I want my baby!’ She kept on hugging herself, rocking back and forth. Peg tried to make chit-chat. ‘Look I’ve brought you some flowers from the garden and your summer frock. The bairn’s fine,’ she replied, shocked by how much the girl had deteriorated. It would break Angus’s heart to see the state of her thin body with legs like spurtles.
‘How long’s she going to be in this state?’ Peg whispered to the sister. ‘I was no prepared for this.’
‘She’s being assessed and is under careful observation. Puerperal dementia is a very serious condition. We take no risks. Mother has to be separated from baby, of course. For everyone’s benefit, you understand.’
‘And it’s us left holding the poor wee soul. For how long, do you think?’
‘We really can’t dictate how long the course of the illness lasts. It generally responds to medication and other methods if need be… A few weeks perhaps. I can’t speculate, Mrs Nichol.’
‘A few weeks! I can’t keep traipsing up here every day…’
‘And we wouldn’t recommend you to either. It serves no purpose, only upsets the patient. See how she’s getting agitated now. Time to go, Mrs Nichol. Better leave her alone for a few weeks. We’ll keep your doctor informed if there’s any change. Don’t look so worried. It can happen to the very best of mothers, we don’t understand it but they do usually get better…’
‘This “purple demention” is a funny disease. I’ve not had one straight answer since it happened. How can she be right in her head one minute and mad as a hatter the next?’
‘She’s not insane, just mentally disturbed by all the changes in her body after childbirth. It may be due to fever in her milk. You see we’ve bound her breasts with sticky tape and given her drugs to take the milk away? That will ease things, I’m sure.’
‘I told her not to do the breast feeding. Look what it’s gone and done!’ Peg exclaimed as she made for the door, not looking back. It felt dreadful to be leaving the girl alone in here but she couldn’t wait to get out of the door.
‘We think it best that new babies get a natural start, Mrs Nichol. Nature knows best.’
‘Not in this case it appears.’ Peg had firm opinions on that score. She paused and turned to wave a false ‘cheery bye’. Netta was watching with a wild look in her eye, like a tiger pacing its cage in the zoo. She jumped up and leaped forward but the nurse was quick to restrain her.
‘That’s enough, Jeanette! Calm down. Say goodbye to your visitor, that’s a good girl.’
‘She stole my necklace, my Freya’s necklace! Stole all the colours of the rainbow and my jewels. She’s got them!’
Peg shook her head, backing away in alarm at the sound of such ravings. She was never coming back to this madhouse with its smell of drugs and despair. Angus could do his own visiting.
The sister escorted her back to the outer door. ‘Not to worry, Mrs Nichol. First visits are always a shock. It won’t be long until Mrs Hunter’s restored, wait and see.’
Peg was not listening to her. There was one thought only in her mind and that was how to escape from this gilded prison and get the first train home.
*
Netta searched and searched but couldn’t find her baby anywhere. She knew there was once one inside her for there were loose folds on her stomach and pains in her leaking breas
ts. He must be under the bed. Bump was hiding, she thought, pacing around the tiny room. ‘Nurse! Where’s my baby? He was here a minute ago in the cot by the bed.’ Who was that woman who had disturbed her searching?
Braeside had changed. The fiery curtains were gone and the seaview so she banged her head on the walls, flung herself on the floor and battered the tiles. The nurses went about their business calmly, peering in from time to time, ignoring her demands. The thick walls kept the noise insulated from the rest of the ward. Why were they hiding her baby? All night Netta paced the room, screaming and crying, terrible curses and foul oaths pouring out of her mouth like bile. That was the only ammunition she had left to hurl at these cruel women, these kidnappers who had stolen her baby. She wanted to kill them all.
After the ravings came black nights of tears when she cried for Rae to take her home. When her wildness was out of control a jacket was tied around her and she was strapped into bed but Netta couldn’t understand why this was happening to her and the fear overwhelmed her. Nobody visited after that first week and she felt utterly abandoned with only Peg’s accusations ringing in her ears.
‘How they stomach this sort of job is beyond my ken, your nurses must be saints to put up with such carryings ons! Poor lost souls wandering up and down like ghosts in a kirkyard. You’re in the best place so pull yersel together and hurry home to yer bairn… Oh, dearie me! We didn’t deserve this shame. What would have become of the bairn? Just think if we had not come to yer aid what might have happened to the laddie, stuck in some home for waifs and strays or sent out to strangers. He’s better off with his family. Ma hand tae God so he is!’
*
When Peg reached the haven of Brigg Farm, feeling such relief to be away from that sad place, she sat down and began to unravel some old wool, found a pair of needles from the mending basket, looked out a pattern and cast on the stitches, smiling. No more lacy bonnets for the lad, he was going to have a proper blue tammy with a bobble on the top with ear flaps tied under his chin to keep out the chill April wind. Thank goodness Netta had made such thorough preparations. She would ask around the district for the loan of a decent pram which she would put under the apple tree in the spring shade.