Young May Moon

by Sheila Newberry

  ‘I wish you had said! I’m so sorry to have been such a burden!’

  ‘You’ve never been that, May, believe me. It’s just that things seem to have escalated beyond my control.’

  ‘It’s not too late, is it, to accept the college offer?’

  ‘I have until the end of next week to make up my mind.’

  ‘Then do it! Go! With my blessing. Does the bank know?’

  ‘They actually offered to support me – they said they appreciated my loyalty and hard work over the last decade.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? I’ll send a telegram to Paddy, talk to Mum, and then work out how to deal with the rest of it!’

  When Pomona heard about the changes ahead, she spoke first to Terence, then confided in Emma and Osmund, while Bella was out of earshot.

  Emma said immediately, ‘You must think of this as your home from home now, Pomona, just as Bea’s Danny does. You and Terence will eventually settle down together, then we’ll have another daughter, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say …’ Pomona cleared her throat. ‘But – what about Bella?’

  ‘We’ll take her on, won’t we, Ossie?’ Emma said to her husband. ‘When she asked if she could call me Nana, I knew she wanted to stay. She’s a little country girl, after all, used to living with older people, but here, there’s a good mix, with Selina’s lot. Bella’s very attached to you, too, Pomona. She can go to school here in September.’

  ‘That’s wonderful! I hope Carmen will agree.’

  ‘I’ll write to her myself, and I’m sure she will!’ Emma said.

  ‘And I’ll phone her soon,’ Pomona decided.

  May’s telegram to Paddy, bore just three words: YES YES YES. When she returned from the Worple Road post office, early the following morning, she busied herself while waiting for her mother to come downstairs at 11 a.m. with her imperious demand of: ‘Where is the coffee?’ At least, she thought wryly, Henry and I had breakfast in peace together.

  Carmen had bathed, but appeared wearing her robe, with her black hair bundled on top of her head. However, she’d applied the usual scarlet lipstick. The sight made May wince, for the imprint those lips left on the cups was difficult to shift. As Carmen opened her mouth to repeat the irritating words, May indicated the steaming cup of coffee on the table and the plate of assorted biscuits. She sat down beside her mother and sipped her own lemon tea. This was a taste she’d acquired at Tatiana’s.

  Carmen looked at her daughter. ‘Well, aren’t you trying to tell me something? I have something to say to you, too. You, first.’

  ‘Mum, you have to make other living arrangements. Henry is giving up the house, and I am joining Paddy. We will be married now, before the baby arrives.’

  Carmen set down her cup in the saucer with a clatter. ‘You cast your mother out? Let me tell you, I am going, anyway. Since I became so successful teaching flamenco, and Carlos is returned as my partner with his music, my fame has spread. A father of one of the young ladies has booked us to perform at his daughter’s coming of age party. Evegenia agrees to let us go, as this has led to more such invitations. We will be able to afford to stay in hotels, as in the past, and soon, I think, we will be in cabaret; there are many clubs in London, and word spreads of our talent.’

  ‘You are back together then, you and Carlos, as a couple, as well as dance partners?’ May could hardly believe her ears.

  ‘He knows his place. Not yet in my bed. I have him under the finger—’

  ‘Under the thumb!’ May couldn’t resist the correction.

  ‘So you see, you tell me to go, but, no matter. I am a survivor.’

  You are also my mother, May thought. Pomona and I have dealt with this problem most of our lives. We don’t need you now, but, ‘What about Bella?’ she asked.

  ‘Pomona telephoned me late last night, after you were in bed. The child wishes to stay with your friends at Kettle Row. She is not attached to me. Yes, I admit it is my fault, Carlos is guilty, too, but I cannot play the role of mother. I was unready for that when I married your father, and now I accept that I am too busy to deal with a child.’

  ‘You will, I hope, keep in touch with all of us,’ May said.

  ‘You must not expect too much—’

  ‘We don’t. But you are still our mother.’

  ‘You will shortly find out for yourself what that means. However, you are Jim’s daughter and you follow his ideals.’ Carmen rose. ‘I shall begin my packing.’

  ‘Mum, d’you remember the present you gave me, when you left West Wick?’

  ‘You still have it? My first flamenco dress?’

  ‘Yes. I wore it several times. Would you mind if I passed it on now to Bella?’

  ‘I would like that very much. It may not seem so, but I love you all, my daughters,’ Carmen said.

  It was time to say goodbye to Tatiana. May was taken into the studio to see her friend’s latest work, and was presented with a cup, plate and bowl for the ‘baby’s bottom drawer’.

  ‘These are lovely!’ May exclaimed. ‘I didn’t expect you to paint Mr Punch. He looks benevolent, which is good.’

  ‘I don’t want to frighten your baby, just make him smile.’

  ‘Oh, you think it’s a boy, too! Actually we don’t mind if the baby is a girl.’

  ‘I will miss you, my dear May. I haven’t found the right young lady to replace you, yet. You will write to me, I hope?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Now, I have another small gift for you. Please do not refuse.’ She handed May a sealed envelope. ‘Wait until you are home, to open.’

  ‘Will you stand there, in your doorway, while I take your photograph. It’s an old camera, but it still works.’

  When developed, the snap was naturally in black and white, but when May looked at it, as she did often, she could picture it in colour, matching Tatiana’s lively personality. She would miss her friend, too.

  One last shopping trip down the Worple Road; the car was loaded with provisions, and Henry was the only one to wave them off and wish them all the luck in the world. That merited another snapshot. With Henry about to leave the place himself, May thought, there will be no reason to return.

  A few days later, Paddy and May were married in a register office in Southampton. It was a quiet wedding, with no family able to be present, and the witnesses were unknown to them: strangers passing by in the street. The bride and groom wore their best clothes, and each had a buttonhole flower. No music, no hymns, just the solemn vows and a kindly registrar, who shook their hands warmly and wished them luck.

  They had opened Tatiana’s envelope and discovered ten five-pound notes. This would enable them to have a brief honeymoon, a night in a hotel. Their new home was an upstairs apartment in a red-brick block of flats.

  That evening they stood looking out over the harbour, at the lights blazing on the great liners. The steam tug Calshot was busy, carrying passengers to one of the liners. ‘Maybe movie stars,’ Paddy murmured. He hugged her close to his side, it was a cool evening. ‘You are my star. I’m the happiest man in the world tonight.’

  Thirty-Six

  November 1936.

  MAY WAS OUT of puff when she arrived at the door of the apartment. One of those days, she thought, as she put down her shopping, eased off her shoes and reached for her slippers. Damp and murky, no doubt foggy over the water. She’d caught the bus into the city because the estate had only a couple of shops, a newsagent and a general stores. She’d lugged home two heavy bags of provisions – for it was possible the baby might arrive soon, and she wanted to stock the larder. Paddy had insisted he would do the shopping at the weekend, and she knew he would be cross that she hadn’t stayed at home, with her feet up.

  Still restless, she went into the spare bedroom and checked the baby toiletries packed into the chipwood basket she’d been given by the local shop. It still had a faint smell of apples, although she’d covered it with blue sateen after padding over the
wood. She murmured aloud: ‘Vinolia soap and powder, roll of cotton wool, zinc and castor-oil ointment, card of nappy pins, bath sponge, muslin nappies to line the terry ones, baby hairbrush, and gripewater.’ The crib, which Paddy had brought with him when he collected her from Raynes Park, was the one he and his brother had used as babies and which in turn had been handed down to Cluny. May, being superstitious, hadn’t made it up yet, but there was a neat pile of blankets and baby clothes on the spare bed. Satisfied, she closed the door and went into the kitchen to start cooking Paddy’s evening meal.

  She experienced that little niggle low in her abdomen again. The baby had been quiet for the past few days, which the midwife said meant it was almost time for the birth. ‘The fluttering,’ she advised, ‘is perfectly normal. Carry on as usual. You’ll know when to stop.’

  May peeled potatoes, lit the gas and set them to boil. She shredded cabbage, scored the fat on plump lamb chump chops and heated them gently in the frying pan. Paddy didn’t like them cooked in lard; he said they didn’t need it.

  I need to sit down, May told herself. She’d suffered from backache this last month. Paddy worked a long shift on Fridays; he wouldn’t be home until around seven. She was making a favourite supper, because it was also pay-day. She turned the gas low. No need to hurry the cooking.

  She shouldn’t have sat in the easy chair, because once she relaxed she drifted off to sleep. She woke to darkness, because she hadn’t turned the light on in the living room. The cabbage had boiled dry, she realized instantly. A horrible smell. Even as she heaved herself out of the chair she was aware of a strong contraction, which made her gasp and clutch her middle. When the pang subsided she went unsteadily to the switch and the room was flooded with light. The fire was burning low, but her first priority was to rescue Paddy’s dinner.

  The plump chops had shrivelled to half their size, the fat from them spat in the pan. She rescued the potatoes and turned off the gas rings. The cabbage was scraped into the bin, and the pan put to soak. May mopped her forehead with the tea towel; she was sweating profusely, but at the same time she felt very cold.

  Another contraction; she held on tight to the kitchen table. There was the sound of Paddy turning the key in the lock, and the next moment he was beside her, supporting her and helping her towards the bedroom. ‘Stay there! I’ll have to go downstairs to ring the hospital from the hall telephone.’ He fetched a spare blanket from the airing cupboard and covered her with it on the bed, as she lay on top of the eiderdown, too exhausted to crawl under it.

  ‘Your dinner …’ she managed.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I can heat it up later. Your bag is packed isn’t it? I expect they’ll want you in hospital right away.’

  ‘But you don’t have a first baby that quickly. The midwife said—’

  ‘Shush, darling. Save your breath. Try to relax between the pains. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  It was a short drive to the hospital, but not a comfortable ride for May, cramped in the passenger seat, hanging grimly on to her bag in her lap.

  ‘You must be hungry.’ She was concerned that he hadn’t eaten.

  ‘Please don’t worry about me.’

  They were met at the hospital entrance by a porter with a trolley accompanied by a nurse. May was pushed away down a long corridor to the maternity ward, while Paddy answered the queries at the reception desk.

  ‘Yes, you can stay with your wife until the birth is imminent,’ he was told, ‘then fathers are banished to the waiting room until it’s all over. The nurses can’t be doing with strong men passing out on the delivery room floor. Good luck,’ the receptionist added with a smile.

  May was in the bed nearest the ward door; there were rows of beds and all were occupied. She was aware of a constant groaning and bells ringing, as patients reached for the pull cord above their heads. Nurses swished by, and there was a strong smell of antiseptic, which was a reminder of where she was. Paddy was at her bedside, rubbing her back, as instructed by the midwife, who told him that May was almost at the third stage, when she would be removed to the delivery room next door.

  May was trying to tell him something. He listened intently. ‘Paddy – when they – brought me here – I thought – I was in the trap – going to West Wick….’

  ‘Shush,’ he said. ‘It won’t be long now.’ He prayed he was right.

  The rubber mask went over her nose and mouth. ‘Breathe deeply,’ a man’s voice said. The doctor had been called. Despite all her efforts, the baby was not yet born.

  May seemed to float off into space. Through the haze she heard the echo of old Mr Punch: ‘That’s the way to do it!’ as James Patrick O’Flaherty, Young Jim, came, with a loud cry, into the world.

  Paddy, wearing a white gown over his clothes, held the baby in his arms. There were tear stains on his face, for he had wept as he paced up and down in the waiting room. He’d waited a long time because there had been an emergency after the birth; May had lost a lot of blood and needed a transfusion. She was the medical team’s main concern: the baby was wrapped in a blanket and left to cry lustily, which was a good sign. Now, both he and his mother had been washed, but they remained in a side room, until May was stable enough to be moved back into the ward.

  May had not yet regained enough strength to sit up, but she was smiling and talking. ‘What do you think of your son, Paddy?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s a champion. Did they tell you he weighs almost nine pounds?’

  ‘Yes. He’s dark-haired, like both of us, but maybe he’ll have curly hair like you.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she countered. ‘You need to go home, eat your dinner, and then go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, and you can ring the hospital tomorrow morning. I need a good night’s sleep too.’ She yawned. ‘Phone home, and tell Cluny she has a little brother, and that we love her very much.’

  ‘I will. What about the others – Carmen, Pomona, Bella, Tatiana – Henry?’

  ‘Send telegrams in the morning.’

  ‘What shall I say?’

  ‘Young Jim arrived safely. All’s well, love from …’ her voice faded away. Her eyes closed. She was asleep.

  ‘Young May Moon and Paddy,’ he whispered.

  May arrived home with her baby on 8 December, a fortnight after the birth. Two days later, on Thursday the tenth, the newspaper headlines were stark and sombre. The King was to make a statement which would be read in the Commons and the Lords that afternoon. General business was first discussed, and then Mr Baldwin, the Prime Minister, presented a document to the Speaker, declaring it to be a message from His Majesty.

  The Speaker read the handwritten document aloud to the hushed Commons. The King had abdicated, and his brother, the unassuming, hard-working Duke of York, would succeed to the throne.

  Prince Edward, as he was now to be known again, made a farewell broadcast to the nation on 11 December, he spoke warmly of his brother and the fact that the new King George was a happily married man, with a family. He ended his speech with ‘God Save the King!’

  That same night the Prince left Windsor Castle and went into exile.

  Young Jim spent his first Christmas with his parents in Buckinghamshire, with his greatgrandpa, and his grandparents, Brendan and Brigid. Cluny was entranced by her baby brother, and rushed to comfort him whenever he cried for attention. Dog Toby took to sitting by the pram in the garden, or lying across May’s feet, while she fed the baby. There were other visitors over the Christmas weekend: Pomona and Terence arrived on their motor cycle, and Bea and Danny, who’d been at Kettle Row, came by excursion train. They were about to begin rehearsing for a new production in January. There was another celebration meal, with a capon and a Christmas pudding saved for the occasion.

  It was a time of laughter and love, May thought, and she found herself the centre of attraction, with Young Jim in her arms. The anxiety over the abdication had evaporated, and the new
King and Queen were already assured of a firm place in the affections of the people, not only in the United Kingdom, but throughout the Empire.

  Then it was back to work for most of the company, while May and the baby established a new routine at home in Southampton.

  May told Jim little stories when she was bathing him, or settling him down to sleep in his crib. He appeared to be listening, with a solemn gaze; but sometimes he would gurgle, and she’d mop his dribbles with a muslin piece and ask: ‘What’s the joke, Jim?’ When she mixed his baby gruel and he opened his mouth like a baby bird, she scraped the bowl with the spoon and told him that Mr Punch was pleased he’d left a clean plate. She played ridiculous games, which made Paddy laugh when he caught her unawares, as she powdered the baby’s bottom while he wriggled on his tummy, on her lap, with a cry of: ‘Flour the pastry – roll it over!’ She sang, too: Bye Baby Bunting and Lu-la bye byes, when she was trying to get him to sleep.

  Paddy was worried that she might feel lonely while he was a work, but she assured him: ‘How can I be lonely, when I have Young Jim?’

  Thirty-Seven

  Coronation Year, 1937

  THE INVITATION ARRIVED out of the blue. May recognized the thick manila envelope, having typed many addresses on these when she worked for the estate agents. She studied it for a few moments before opening it. Paddy was taking his turn with giving Young Jim his breakfast, before leaving for work. ‘Who is that from?’ he enquired, adjusting Jim’s bib to catch the spills.

  ‘Um – from my old office, the new secretary hasn’t cleaned the typewriter keys, all the “e’s” are clogged up. I’ll read it to you:

  Dear Miss Jolley, or rather, Mrs O’Flaherty,

  We were all surprised to hear your good news. Congratulations on the birth of your son and heir! We raised a glass to you in the Kettle Drum. I meant to write before, but now seems a good time, because I am enclosing an invitation sent to your old address (the farm), which was forwarded to the Kettle Row house where you lived with your aunt, and thence to us, as the agents for the property. I’m sure you will find it of interest.