But would she ever forget him? ‘Oh, Harry, Harry, I’m doing this for your good,’ she whispered into her pillow when she could not sleep and saw his pitying face in her mind’s eye.
More letters followed as the July days passed. ‘My dear Mabel,’ wrote Aunt Nell.
Your Uncle Thomas and I thank you for your letter. We are very shocked to hear of poor little George’s departure to Canada and sorry that we were given no opportunity to discuss the matter with you. We could have offered help, both practical and financial, and there is plenty of work for young boys on farms around Belhampton. We could hardly believe that he has gone so far away with those poor orphaned Barnardo boys, and only twelve years old.
I am sorry to say that Daisy has been badly affected by this news and we have been at our wits’ end to deal with her. She was sent home from school for her behaviour and was very rude to our rector when he came to talk with her. We can only hope that the passing of time will have its healing effect on her. I am thankful to say that Alice has accepted the news and borne it well, though she too was sorry and surprised to hear about her brother . . .
Mabel laid the letter aside, longing to hold her poor little sister in her arms. As it was, she could only write to her, sending loving messages in which she hoped that Daisy would be a good girl even though she felt sad. She told her sisters about Davy, ’a very strong and handsome boy’ who had promised to take care of George on the voyage. What more could she say? Only to hope and pray that Davy would honour the trust she had thrust upon him.
Then came a very surprising letter from her friend Ada. ‘Dear Mabel,’ she wrote.
This has been a summer of sorrow and disappointment. My poor Arthur has been very ill, in fact his life was feared of, and I have been sick myself with worry for him. He started with a sore throat and his glans swole up with the Mumps, but the doctor said the rash was Scarlet Fever and wanted to send him to Tooting Grove Fever Hospittal, but his Mother said she would nurse him at home and keep all visiters away, even me, which you can gess nearly broke my heart and his too.
Now thank God my dear future husband is much improvd, but looks pale and has lost a lot of wait. We hope to be joined together in Matrimony on 17 September when I hope you can come. He will be well recoverd by then I hope, for I woud only wish for death if I was to loose my beloved Arthur.
What is this about your brother George going on a ship to Canada, I can not belive you would let him do such a foolhardy thing, my father says, and him only twelve, poor boy.
When I called at 12 Sorrel Street Mrs Bull told me you live with your grandmother at Tooting, I thoght you did not get on.
With love from your afectonate friend,
Ada, sadly still Clay
Oh, poor Ada! Mabel had completely forgotten about her wedding, but this postponement meant that she could attend it after all, if Mimi had no objection. But oh, the endlessly repeated expressions of surprise and disapproval over George’s emigration, every one of which Mabel took as a personal reproach to herself. Her aunts, her friend Ada, even Harry – and poor little Daisy. Only her grandmother had not offered a comment, and Mabel had the uneasy feeling that Mimi suspected some kind of cover-up and was glad to have George out of the way. At least she did not add to the chorus of shocked dismay.
And neither did somebody else. ‘Oh, er, excuse me, Mabel, if you’re feeling well enough, there’s a young lady to see you,’ announced Miss Lawton one afternoon when Mimi was away on one of her private visits to a special client.
Mabel jumped up from the sofa. Who could this be? When she saw the smiling, saucy face at the door she literally wept with emotion, holding out her arms.
‘’Ere, that ain’t no way to greet an ol’ pal – hey, Mabel, what’s all this abaht, eh?’
‘Oh, Maudie, I never was so glad to see anybody in me life!’ And Mabel frankly gave way to sobs while Miss Lawton fussed around them.
‘W-would you like to sit in the garden where the maids can’t, er, hear you, and I’ll make some tea for you both,’ she offered.
‘Fanks, Miss, er, that sahnds like a good idea. ’Ere, come on, Mabel, wipe yer eyes an’ tell me all abaht it. Ada Clay tol’ me yer was ’ere, an’ ’ow ye’d lorst bofe yer muvver an’ farver. Gawd, I’m sorry, Mabel.’
On the wooden garden bench Mabel clung to her old friend and it was some time before she could bring herself to speak of her mother.
Maudie groaned. ‘Christ, Mabel, yer poor muvver. Fought she ’ad a growf, did she? So many poor souls get pulled aht o’—’ She checked herself from saying the river and simply shook her head, truly shocked at what she had heard.
Mabel then told her of Jack’s death, the accepted version from the inquest, and how the aunts from Hampshire had turned up and taken Alice and Daisy, and of Albert’s return to the merchant service after the funeral.
‘Well, did yer ever? An what abaht young George? Nice little chap, couple o’ years older ’n Teddy, ain’t ’e? ‘As ’e gorn wiv ’is sisters?’
Somehow it was harder to tell Maudie about George than it was about the deaths of her parents. Mabel prepared herself to hear the expected wail at the way he had been packed off to Canada with a shipload of Barnardo boys, straight after his father’s funeral. ‘He had to get away, y’see, Maudie, out o’ that house after what he’d seen. I didn’t want him to go, but I knew it was best for him – and there was this older boy who said he’d look after him. Oh, Maudie, I didn’t send him away, though everybody thinks I shouldn’t’ve let him go.’
Mabel wept afresh, and Maudie held her close as they sat in the sunshine. ‘Don’t mind what ovver people say, Mabel. Yer know fings abaht yer own bruvver that they don’t. Same wiv me an’ Teddy, after all what we’ve been frough. Only we don’t look back, an’ neiver must you, darlin’.’
She kissed her friend’s cheek, and Mabel was overcome with sheer gratitude for her understanding. They sat in silence for several minutes while Maud considered what she had been told. She knew plenty about domestic violence and last straws, and she suspected that Mabel had not told her all. Poor Georgie, she thought, shouldn’t wonder if he’d been sent off to get him out of the way and shut him up, poor little bugger. Mabel had been lucky with that old doctor, anyway, and Maud wondered which one of them had chucked the bastard downstairs. ‘So what’re yer doin’ ’ere, then?’ she asked, thinking a change of subject was called for. ‘Never thought yer liked yer grandmuvver.’
‘I didn’t think I’d fit in at Belhampton, somehow, Maudie, and she’s goin’ to teach me to be a midwife while I’m waitin’ to get into a Poor Law infirmary to train as a nurse – if they’ll have me,’ replied Mabel dully. ‘There are plenty o’ worse places than this.’
‘That’s what I fought – looks all right to me.’ Maud looked round appraisingly. ‘Where’s Mrs Court now – out on a baby case, is she?’
‘Er, yes, in a manner o’ speakin’.’ Mabel hesitated because Mimi was visiting a wealthy woman who required another service than midwifery. ‘Oh, I’m that glad to see yer, Maudie! It’s time yer told me somethin’ about yerself now.’
For the rest of the visit they talked of Maud’s life at Bryanston Square and Ada’s postponed wedding to which they had both been invited. Maud longed to ask about Harry Drover, but sensed that the subject would be distressing to Mabel, and there had been sufficient tears for one afternoon. There would be time enough to talk at the wedding, which was something to look forward to, like a treat in store.
‘Well, what d’ye think of it, Mabel?’
Mabel stared in wide-eyed wonder at the most expensive present she had ever been given: a brand-new bicycle from Jewell’s cycle shop in Tooting High Street. ‘Oh, Grandmother – I’ve always wanted to ride one.’ She could not believe that this smart black-and-white machine was truly hers alone.
‘Yes, well, ye’d better learn to ride it, then. I can’t take yer to every case in a cab.’
Mimi spoke briskly, but was obviously pleased by Ma
bel’s reaction; and within the next two days the bicycle was being successfully ridden by its first owner who pedalled vigorously up and down the asphalt surface of Macaulay Road and out into Church Lane, still an unmade-up dirt road where she promptly caught the front wheel in a rut, wobbled out of control and lost her balance: over went the cycle and down went Mabel with it.
Mimi tut-tutted when she saw the grazed knee and torn stocking. ‘That’ll teach yer to look where ye’re going,’ she observed, though Mabel was far more concerned about the machine. It was well supplied with accessories, including a wicker basket attached to the handlebars in front, and a toolbox behind the saddle. It also had a metal bracket at the back to which a small wooden box could be attached for carrying equipment.
For this bicycle was for work rather than pleasure, though Mabel loved the sense of freedom it gave her as she pedalled around the neighbourhood, pushing the machine up steep inclines and freewheeling down the other side. It was for visiting the homes of local women to attend them in labour under her grandmother’s supervision. Mimi would go on the first visit when called out, travelling in the cab of a local driver she used, while Mabel followed on her bicycle. When the necessary preparations had been made and if labour was at an early stage, Mimi would return home, leaving Mabel with the woman. Hours of sitting with girls at the Rescue had given her good insight into the process and, when she judged the delivery to be near, she sent the husband or a neighbour to fetch Mrs Court whom she would then assist. Mimi’s reasoning was that if labour was quick the delivery would be easy enough for Mabel to cope with on her own, and if it was longer and more difficult, there was time enough to send for herself and possibly a doctor if need be. Mimi was on familiar terms with the local general practitioners, private and panel, and whatever they thought of her, it did not take long for them all to appreciate Mabel; the women also liked her and trusted themselves to her care, even though she was not on the midwives’ register.
‘A couple o’ years with me and ye’ll go in front o’ the board for registration, twice as good as them hospital know-alls,’ said Mimi, well pleased with her assistant, though Mrs Taylor, another local midwife and deadly rival of Mrs Court, was loud in her condemnation of such use of a young unregistered girl.
‘There’ll be big trouble one o’ these days,’ she predicted grimly. ‘Just you wait an’ see!’
By the end of July Mabel was reasonably settled into the day-to-day life at 23 Macaulay Road with Mimi and Miss Lawton. There was also Elsie, now nearly forty and taciturn as ever, who occupied a special position in the household as Mimi’s assistant with her other work, as Mabel mentally referred to it. When certain female clients arrived at the house, Elsie made up the bed in the small back room, usually only for a day, though they occasionally stayed overnight. Only Elsie waited upon them, taking up drinks and refreshments on a tray, and staying closeted with them after Mimi had carried out the treatment they had come to receive. Once Mabel met Elsie on the stairs carrying an enamel can with a red rubber tube attached to it which had a bulb on the end, like the ‘soap syringe’ used for giving enemas to women in early labour to empty the bowel. Elsie whipped the apparatus out of sight, but Mimi was heard berating her behind closed doors: ‘Why the ’ell don’t yer put a cloth over it, yer fool?’
Mabel glanced questioningly at Miss Lawton as they sat in the living room. As always, the lady was unwilling to comment, but Mabel felt sure that she must know what was going on.
‘Th-they have these little upsets, Mabel, it’s no business of ours. Don’t take any notice.’
When Elsie was heard clattering down the stairs and Mabel rose to go and speak to her, Miss Lawton intervened with uncharacteristic firmness. ‘No, Mabel, keep out of it – keep out of it, for God’s sake – oh, I, er, beg your pardon, but it’s best to let Elsie get on with her, er, work.’
Mabel turned to face her and asked a direct question. ‘Why d’ye stay here, Miss Lawton: Why d’ye let my grandmother treat yer the way she does?’
The lady looked terrified. ‘Oh, I assure you, my – Mrs Court treats me very well, she’s been most generous to me and . . . and poor mother w-when she was alive. I don’t have anything to do with . . . with what she does and I . . . I hope you never do, Mabel. I . . . I’d better go to my room.’
‘Please don’t trouble yerself, Miss Lawton,’ said Mabel gently. ‘Sit down and wait till it’s clear up there. I shan’t ask yer any more questions, don’t worry.’
Mabel soon found out that in addition to local confinements and the women who came to the house there was a third group of clients, like the one Mimi had been visiting on the day that Maudie called. These lived at some distance, often at prestigious addresses, never in Tooting, and although Mabel was told nothing about them, she gradually learned that this group accounted for the greater part of Mimi Court’s income; in return for her services they paid for the daily running of the household, including the expense of keeping Miss Lawton and Mabel.
It was a tolerable life, and Mabel began to enjoy her work with the mothers and newborn babies; it was a long way from the hopes and dreams she had shared with Harry, but she believed that the Lord had given her useful work to occupy her hands and mind, and prevent her from dwelling on dreams that could now never be fulfilled.
But Mimi’s secret activities troubled her; what she did was both wicked and criminal, and although Mabel played no part in it, she was always aware of the shadow that hung over the house, darkening all their lives.
And then – oh, then, on the very last day of July came the message that Mabel had been waiting and hoping and praying for: a letter from George! It was short but she kissed it and wept over it in her room. ‘Dear Mabel,’ he had written.
We docked at Halifax after two weeks on bord the city of York. And then it seemd like another week on a train but it must of been 3 or 4 days. We got to a place caled Calgary and a distribushon center. Was very hard for some yong boys but Davy Hoek says he wont go to Macbanes Farm if I dont go so the man took me on and we both go now. I hope you get this. God bless you Mabel and love from
your Brother George Court.
I will write to you again from Farm. It is McBanes, Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Davy’s father was dutch sailor but drownd at sea, name of Hoek.
Mabel knelt down by her bed to give thanks, tucking the precious envelope inside her liberty bodice, for she could not bear to be separated from it. Her heart overflowed with thankfulness, because he sounded happy enough, certainly not homesick. Though the whole world might disapprove of what she had agreed to, she now felt that she – and Albert and Dr Knowles – had been right. She must send the doctor a note. And she could write to George at this farm, and to Davy, whom she wanted to thank in person. In fact, she longed to share the news with the world.
On her way out of the house to visit a couple of delivered mothers she met Miss Lawton, also on her way out to play the piano for the old people at the Tooting home in Church Lane. She turned round in nervous haste when Mabel called after her with shining eyes. ‘Oh, Miss Lawton! I’ve heard from my brother George, he’s got safely to Canada and he’s working on a farm with his friend Davy Hoek!’
‘What? Oh, yes, of course, little Georgie – oh, I’m so happy for you, my dear! I . . . I’ve known how sad you’ve been about him – how anxious – yes, oh yes. Thank God, Mabel!’
And there at the gate they embraced in spontaneous joy at the news. Mabel caught the smell of lavender and camphor balls, and felt a wave of affection towards this lonely spinster. ‘Thank yer, dear Miss Lawton, thank yer,’ she whispered.
Neither of them noticed Mimi at the door, a look of scornful incredulity on her face. ‘What in the name o’ God’s goin’ on out here? Actin’ like a couple o’ maidservants ’oo’ve been at the gin – I’m surprised at yer, Mabel, and as for you, Ruth, yer might as well stay at the Tootin’ home when ye’ve finished strummin’ – ye’re ready to join ’em!’
Mabel opened her mouth to protest at
such unkindness, but Miss Lawton, blushing and stammering, answered for herself. ‘Th-there are worse places I could go, M-Mrs Court. Mabel was only telling me about her brother George who . . . who’s reached Canada—’
‘All right, all right, spare me the details and get goin’, both o’ yer.’
Even her grandmother’s venom could not touch Mabel today; she smiled at Miss Lawton and mounted her bicycle, touching her bodice where the letter reposed.
‘There y’are, Mrs Hollis, she’s all dressed up an’ ready for her first breakfast!’
It was a happy morning at the Hollis household in Furzedown Road, and the August sunshine streamed in at the bedroom window as Mabel packed away her scissors, cotton wool, cord powder and methylated spirit. The delivery of the third Hollis baby could not have been smoother. Mabel had arrived just after four and the child had been born at half past six. The husband’s mother had been an able assistant, keeping the fire burning and the kettle boiling; baby gowns and clean towels were warming on the fireguard, and a delicious aroma of frying bacon drifted up the stairs. The Hollises were full of praise for Mabel and she was included in the happy circle that surrounded the mother sitting up in bed with the new baby. Mr Hollis smiled down on them and the two little boys in their nightshirts sitting on the bed and gazing open-mouthed at the new arrival who was to be called Anna.
‘And what about a second name?’ asked the father. ‘Something to go between Anna and Hollis. Has anybody got a suggestion?’
‘What’s your Christian name, Nurse Court?’ asked Mrs Hollis.
‘Mabel’ met with general approval and so it was decided that the baby would be called Anna Mabel, and the young midwife was invited to come to the christening.
Mabel had to make and effort to blink away tears, even though she was glowing with pride at this joyful outcome of the mother’s pain. Her pride in the chorus of praise gave her a feeling very close to happiness again, something she had not felt for so long. A sense of renewed vocation sprang up like a green leaf in a desert and she foresaw a time when she might practise as a midwife independently of her grandmother, away from the secret shadows of Macaulay Road. If only all newborn babies could be as lucky as little Anna Mabel Hollis, compared with the poor mites born at the Rescue! Once again Mabel’s tender heart longed to care for all unwanted, unfortunate children, and her dream of running a refuge on behalf of the Salvation Army – but she must not think about that. Not any more.
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