Homecoming

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Mrs Wilson sighed. ‘I might have known after all that. I was hoping for a girl this time.’

  Danuta wrapped the bawling baby in the clean sheet. ‘He is very beautiful,’ she said, hoping this would encourage the mother to take interest in him.

  Mrs Wilson grinned. ‘He’s certainly got a good pair of lungs on him. Give him here, Sister, and let me see who he takes after.’

  Danuta carefully transferred the squalling infant into his mother’s arms, then went to wash her hands in the rapidly cooling water.

  ‘Gawd help me, he’s the image of Fred’s dad,’ chuckled Mrs Wilson. ‘Poor little soul; what a way to start out in life, eh? No wonder he’s making such a racket.’ Despite her complaining, she crooned over him and soothed his cries by letting him suckle.

  As Mrs Wilson seemed to have got over her initial disappointment, and was now happily feeding her baby, Danuta went to the door. ‘I will ask your husband for more hot water,’ she said.

  She opened the door to find him and the small boys on the landing. ‘It is another boy,’ she said delightedly. ‘Please get me more water – lots of it this time.’

  ‘Can we come in?’ asked Mr Wilson.

  ‘Not yet. I will tell you when she is ready for visitors,’ Danuta replied, closing the door firmly.

  ‘Oh, my Gawd,’ yelled Mrs Wilson, almost dropping the baby as she grabbed her stomach. ‘It’s started again. What’s happening, Sister?’

  Danuta quickly took the furiously protesting baby from her, laid him in the cot and hurriedly examined her. ‘Mrs Wilson, I am thinking there is another baby.’

  ‘No! There can’t be!’ she yelled. ‘No one said nothing about two of them and—’ Her protests were cut short by a piercing shriek as she was assailed by a strong labour pain. ‘Oh, Gawd,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t flaming believe this.’

  Mr Wilson chose that moment to knock on the door and open it a crack. ‘I’ve got the water. What’s happening? Is Kate all right?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just fine and dandy,’ yelled Mrs Wilson. ‘What you flaming think’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know. How can I if you won’t let me in?’ he shouted back.

  Danuta saw a grey, worried face staring wide-eyed round the door. ‘Leave the bowl on the floor,’ she ordered, ‘and then leave. I cannot have you fainting.’

  The bowl was placed on the floor by the bed, and with one terrified glance at his wife, Mr Wilson shot back out of the room and shut the door.

  Danuta eyed the bowl, noting there was no steam rising from it. She quickly dipped her finger in and gave a cluck of annoyance. Mr Wilson had clearly needed to be told it should be warm water, for it was stone cold, and of no use at all.

  She returned her attention to Mrs Wilson. ‘Now, you know the drill, Mrs Wilson,’ she said above the sound of the bawling baby in the cot. ‘Relax, relax and pant, don’t push. This one isn’t going to wait.’

  With much yelling, swearing and groaning from Mrs Wilson, and to the accompaniment of the first baby’s demanding wails, the second baby’s head was crowned.

  ‘Stop pushing,’ ordered Danuta sharply. ‘The cord is round the neck.’

  ‘But it’ll be all right, won’t it?’

  Danuta didn’t reply for she was concentrating on getting her fingers between the fragile neck and the pulsating cord. ‘Do not push,’ she said firmly. ‘You must just keep panting no matter how strong the urge is to push this baby out.’

  Mrs Wilson sobbed and panted, the baby boy roared his displeasure from the cot, and Danuta fought to get purchase on the slippery cord which kept eluding her grip. Her pulse was racing and sweat was stinging her eyes as she finally managed to hook the cord over the baby’s head and away from danger. She searched for a pulse in the baby’s neck and felt nothing – it was in trouble.

  ‘Push now, Mrs Wilson. Push as hard as you like,’ she said quietly and with far more calm than she actually felt.

  The underweight baby girl slid from her mother into Danuta’s hands and lay there as limp and waxen as a rag doll.

  Danuta swiftly cleared the baby’s nose and mouth and tied off the cord, then began to rub the inert little body with a towel.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ screamed Mrs Wilson. ‘Why isn’t it crying?’

  Danuta massaged the tiny chest, her heart thudding with dread as it remained lifeless. She held the baby up by the feet and slapped its bottom, but still there was no response.

  With Mr Wilson yelling from the hall, the baby boy howling in the cot, and Mrs Wilson in hysterics it was hard to concentrate. But Danuta shut out everything as she determinedly tried to bring life to the little one she’d just delivered.

  However, long moments passed, and the massage clearly wasn’t working. There had been no response to the second slap – and even several puffs of oxygen into that tiny mouth had done no good. And then her gaze fell on the bowl of cold water and she realised there was one other thing she could try. It was unorthodox, but she’d seen it work before, and this tiny scrap deserved her very best efforts.

  She picked up the baby and knelt on the floor to immerse her frail body in the cold water. There was no reaction, so she lifted her out, rubbed her roughly dry, and tried again. ‘Come on, little one. Come on, breathe,’ she whispered urgently.

  ‘What you doing?’ screamed Mrs Wilson who was now leaning over the side of the bed and watching in horror. ‘Are you trying to drown my baby?’

  ‘No. I am trying to get her to breathe,’ said Danuta, once more plunging the tiny girl into the icy water and praying she was doing the right thing.

  This time, baby’s chest heaved at the shock and her frail arms and legs stiffened as she took her first breath and weakly began to cry. On the brink of tears, Danuta swiftly wrapped her in a clean towel, and got to her feet.

  ‘I make shock to help her breathe,’ she said, her legs trembling with relief as she laid the baby in Mrs Wilson’s arms. ‘You have your daughter, Mrs Wilson, but now your husband must telephone for ambulance.’

  Mrs Wilson burst into noisy tears as she cradled her tiny baby. ‘She’s so small. Will she pull through all right?’ she asked fearfully.

  ‘We must get her to hospital,’ said Danuta, unwilling to promise anything in the circumstances. She opened the door to once again find an ashen-faced Mr Wilson standing there. ‘You must telephone for ambulance immediately,’ she ordered, cutting off his questions.

  He shot off down the stairs and Danuta turned back to Mrs Wilson. ‘She is very small, which is why no one realised she was there behind her big brother,’ she explained calmly to the distraught mother. ‘But she is now breathing, and that is good. The hospital will look after you all.’

  Leaving the newborn in her mother’s arms, Danuta quickly cleaned up the baby boy with the tepid water in the bowl on the bedside table, and dressed him in the hand-knitted layette that had been stacked in the cot. Then she delivered Mrs Wilson’s afterbirth, gave her a good wash, changed her into a clean nightdress and brushed her hair. She’d just finished cleaning the tiny girl when she heard the urgent clanging of the ambulance bell.

  Mrs Wilson pointed her in the direction of the drawer holding more baby clothes, and Danuta dressed the underweight baby which was now mewling to be fed, and wrapped her snugly into a blanket.

  ‘There we are,’ she crooned. ‘All lovely and cosy.’ Handing her to Mrs Wilson, who immediately put her to her breast, she smiled. ‘Well done, Mrs Wilson. It’s been a bit of an ordeal, I know, but they’ll look after you and the babies in the hospital.’

  ‘What about Fred and the kids?’ she fretted as the heavy footsteps of the ambulancemen approached up the stairs. ‘He won’t be able to cope on his own.’

  ‘He will manage because he will have to,’ soothed Danuta. ‘I will see that the boys have eaten and explain everything to your husband, so please don’t worry about anything.’

  Tears shone in Mrs Wilson’s eyes as she reached for Danuta’s hand.
‘Thanks ever so,’ she breathed. ‘I dunno what we’d have done without you.’

  The ambulance took Mrs Wilson and her two babies off to hospital, leaving Mr Wilson dithering anxiously on the doorstep.

  ‘Come along,’ said Danuta, rounding up the two children and steering them towards what she guessed would be the kitchen. ‘Mummy will be back in a couple of days, so Daddy and I will write list for shopping and then get you ready for bed.’

  Having done the list and organised Mr Wilson into clearing up the tea things and preparing the boys for bed, Danuta went back upstairs to clean and tidy the bedroom. She put clean sheets on the bed, changed the damp pillowcases and remade the cot. Then she packed her bag, wrapped the afterbirth in newspaper and carried the dirty laundry downstairs.

  Placing the newspaper parcel in the dustbin outside, and the laundry beside the sink in the outhouse, she returned to find Mr Wilson settling into a kitchen fireside chair with a picture book and both little boys on his lap in their pyjamas.

  ‘As you will see, I have put the dirty bed linen in the sink outside, and have tidied your bedroom. Mrs Wilson has done you proud today, giving you another son and a little daughter, so it is now time for me to go home.’

  He looked up from the book and smiled shyly. ‘Thanks for all you done,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the shopping first thing and see to these two.’ His worried gaze settled on her. ‘Kate and the babies will be all right, won’t they?’

  ‘I do believe they will,’ she said firmly. ‘Mrs Wilson and your new son are most robust. But your little girl is very small and weak, so it could be some time before she is able to come home.’

  ‘Will you stay for a cuppa? It’s the least I can offer after all you’ve done tonight.’

  Danuta caught sight of herself in the mirror above the hearth and noted that it was now almost ten o’clock. She couldn’t possibly turn up at the Grove looking like this, even if Stanislaw had waited for her as he’d promised – and even if she went home to change, the place would have closed by the time she got back there.

  ‘Thank you. A cup of tea would be most welcome,’ she sighed, sinking gratefully into a chair.

  The cup of tea had revived her somewhat, and out of curiosity she’d cycled past the Grove on the way back to the clinic. It was all in darkness and the street was deserted. Stanislaw had clearly not waited, but then she could hardly have expected him to hang about in his condition.

  Danuta sorted out her instruments, restocked her bag and stuffed her dirty apron in the laundry basket. She took off her cap, brushed out her hair and headed back outside to her bicycle. Smothering a vast yawn, she slowly pedalled home, still a little shaken by the traumatic events of the evening.

  Parking her bicycle alongside the deckchairs beneath the sheet of tarpaulin, she trudged into the basement of Beach View and up the steps to the kitchen.

  ‘There you are at last,’ said Peggy brightly. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to.’

  ‘I say to Peggy she not worry. You working and something important must have happened to keep you so late.’ Stanislaw struggled to his feet from the fireside chair.

  Shocked to see him in Peggy’s kitchen, Danuta’s fogged and weary mind couldn’t form a reply and she just stared at him.

  ‘I did wait for you as I promised,’ he said. ‘But they close early on Sundays, so I had to leave. I hope you are not angry that I come here?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ she stammered. ‘Just a bit surprised.’ She dumped her medical bag on the table and took off her coat. ‘I’m sorry if I appear rude, but it’s been a difficult night.’

  ‘You haven’t eaten either,’ said Peggy. She quickly uncovered the plate on the table to reveal ham, potatoes and salad. ‘Mary brought the ham and the pickles,’ she explained, placing jars and a plate of bread and margarine on the table. ‘Now sit down and enjoy all that while I make another pot of tea.’

  Stanislaw seemed to sense she would feel awkward eating in front of him, and reached for his coat and hat. ‘Now that you are home safely, I will leave you to relax and enjoy your supper,’ he murmured.

  Danuta instantly felt guilty. ‘You don’t have to go,’ she said.

  ‘But I must.’ He smiled down at her and reached for her hand. ‘You are tired and hungry, little one. I shall telephone tomorrow, if I may, and arrange another outing.’

  ‘But how will you get back to Cliffe?’

  ‘Ron has very kindly offered to take me. He will be waiting outside now, I think, as he said he would be here at this time.’

  Danuta smiled up at him. ‘I’m sorry all your plans were spoiled, but babies come when they are ready regardless of how inconvenient it might be.’

  He kissed her hand. ‘To see you smile is worth the wait.’ He turned to Peggy and kissed her cheeks. ‘We will meet again, beautiful lady,’ he murmured before turning away and slowly walking into the hall with Peggy fluttering nervously behind him in case he should trip or fall.

  Danuta watched as Ron leapt out of Rosie’s car to help him down the steps, and once he was settled in the passenger seat, Stanislaw waved to her and Peggy, and Ron drove away.

  Peggy closed the front door and grinned. ‘Well, well, Danuta. You are a dark horse, aren’t you?’

  Danuta blushed. ‘I don’t know what this dark horse means,’ she muttered.

  ‘It means you kept your date with Stanislaw a secret, you naughty girl.’

  ‘Was not a date,’ she said. ‘It was just for dinner.’

  ‘You can call it what you like,’ said Peggy on a chuckle. ‘But that man is smitten with you, and I get the feeling you’re not exactly immune to him.’

  ‘You are too romantic, Mama Peggy,’ she replied, heading for the kitchen. ‘You see things that are not there.’ She sat down at the table and tucked into the ham salad. ‘Thank you for keeping this for me. I am very hungry.’

  Peggy refreshed the teapot and put a cosy over it. ‘So what happened tonight to keep you so late?’ she asked.

  As she ate, Danuta explained about the twins and the heart-stopping moment when she’d thought the little girl wouldn’t survive. ‘All is well now, I think. She should thrive in the hospital incubator, and Mr Wilson will find he can cope with the boys if he doesn’t panic like he did earlier.’

  ‘They’re a lovely couple,’ said Peggy. ‘Kate wears the trousers, though, because Fred can be a bit dithery and needs a strong woman to guide him in the right direction. He’ll be lost without her. Perhaps I should pop in tomorrow evening with a bit of that ham and some pickle, and make sure he’s coping.’

  ‘I’m sure he will be most grateful,’ said Danuta. She smiled fondly at Peggy. ‘You are very kind to everyone, Mama Peggy, and thank you for looking after Stanislaw this evening.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ she replied, lighting a cigarette. ‘He’s a really intelligent, interesting man when he’s not trying to charm the pants off everyone.’ She took a puff of her cigarette and then her expression became solemn. ‘He told me how dangerous it would be for you and Solly to try to go back to Poland, and begged me to dissuade you both.’

  ‘I have listened and will try to find out more before I decide,’ Danuta told her.

  ‘Solly isn’t a well man, Danuta, and no matter how urgently he needs to find the surviving members of his family, it’s not wise to risk his life – or yours, for that matter. Have you discussed the dangers with him?’

  ‘I have been very busy all day and not had the chance, but I will see him tomorrow to talk it over.’ Danuta finished the cup of tea and went to the sink to wash her supper dishes. ‘We all want to go back, Mama Peggy. Poland is in our hearts, no matter how happy we have found it here.’

  ‘Of course I understand the pull of one’s country. I’m sure I’d feel the same if I was forced to live in exile. But you’ve been through enough, Danuta, and the thought of you endangering your life again fills me with dread.’

  Danuta dried her hands and put her arms gently round Peggy’s
neck to kiss her cheek. ‘I will of course think very long and hard before I decide what is best,’ she murmured. ‘Now, I must go to bed. I am tired.’

  Despite the bone-aching weariness that consumed her, Danuta lay awake long after the house had settled for the night, the heartbreaking images of the people and places she’d left behind etched in her mind. Her home had been bombed, the pleasant, wealthy neighbourhood she’d grown up in utterly destroyed, the residents scattered.

  She and the remnants of her family had been forced to rent a cold-water flat in Warsaw where they were subjected to frequent searches by the Gestapo, and had to witness many of their neighbours being rounded up and loaded into trucks, never to be seen again. The bitter winter combined with starvation and disease had taken its toll, and Danuta had buried her loved ones in the iron-hard ground before leaving to fight with the resistance. She’d continued to work with them, learning skills that would prove useful much later.

  And then she’d helplessly witnessed the Germans slaughter her comrades and her lover, Jean-Luc. She’d escaped the same fate merely by chance, and knowing she was carrying Jean-Luc’s baby, she’d taken the long, perilous journey through Europe to find sanctuary with her brother in England.

  It had been to no avail, for her baby and her brother now lay at rest in St Cuthbert’s churchyard.

  She reached for the gold medallion Aleksy had given her and, clutching it to her heart, she rolled onto her side to look at the faded photographs that had survived her escape from Poland. Her family had been destroyed by this war and she was the only one left to remember them. If she went home and fell into Russian hands, they would soon discover that she’d been sought by the Germans for her work with the resistance, and death would follow – if she was lucky. Once she was gone, their family with its long history would be obliterated from memory.

  Danuta gave a soft, tremulous sigh. She’d fought hard all through the war for the right to be free, and knew better than most how precious that freedom was, and how tenuous life could be. To disregard those precious gifts and endanger everything she’d striven for since leaving home would be an insult to those who’d perished. Her war was over, her fighting done.