Around the same time I received a phone call that saddened me to the core. It was my friend Mary, who I had to thank for introducing me to Bill.
Nothing had happened between Bill and me, but I had so enjoyed that wonderful day in Cambridge.
“Did you know Bill has decided to become celibate?” she asked.
She paused and her words hung in the air.
I felt my heart sink like a stone in water. “Celibate?” I choked. “N-no,” I stuttered. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yes,” she went on. “Apparently he has decided to give himself to the Lord completely.”
She carried on talking but I had stopped listening. I found I had a sudden lump in my throat. Despair engulfed me. I had thought so fondly of Bill, had even half hoped I might fit into his future plans somewhere.
Now it seemed only one person featured in his life—Jesus!
First Henry and his betrayal and now this. I wasn’t having much luck with men.
Fortunately, my job meant that I was so busy I didn’t have much time to think about Bill.
The twins were coming up to a year old now and were toddling all over the place, their toothy little grins enchanting me every time I looked at them.
I had seen every stage of their life so far, and what changes indeed! From newborns who cried, slept, and ate on demand to five-month-olds who suddenly seemed to wake up to the world, charming me with dreamy smiles, frantically kicking little legs, and curious deep blue eyes that never left mine.
Those smiling mouths were set in total determination when they reached ten months or so and realized that those same pudgy legs that are so perfect for kicking were actually quite good for standing up on, too.
Each month brought its own set of challenges, from colic to teething to the joy of discovering they could crawl and then walk.
Of course, all children change and evolve all the time and at their own rates, but there seem to be more miracles to savor in the first year of a child’s life than at any other stage. That is the wonder of children. I urge people to remember that when they are despairing over a child who won’t sleep or who is cutting her first painful tooth. Everything is just a stage and it won’t last long. Try not to despair or wish it away, as something else is always waiting round the corner to whip the rug from under your feet or charm you senseless. We can never freeze time, but we should appreciate every delicious moment of a child’s life, for as we all know, they grow up so fast.
All mothers are privileged to go on that journey with their child in that first precious year. Every time I have a tiny baby in my care I consider that journey to be an absolute honor. I’ve been asked so many times over the years what my favorite age is and I always say the same thing.
The tiny helpless newborn infant.
There really is nothing so awe-inspiring as holding a fresh young life in your arms.
How lucky I was back then to have added twins to my experience of care. Double the work, it’s true, but also double the fun! Seeing the world through their excitable eyes was enormously satisfying.
“You clever things,” I said, grinning, one morning in the nursery when they pointed jubilantly with pudgy little fingers to the open window.
“Brr … brr,” squealed Violet, jumping up and down on her bottom in excitement.
“Yes, poppet, a bird.” I smiled. “Shall we look at the birdies outside the window? There’s blackbirds and blue ti …”
As I gazed out the window, my voice trailed off.
“What on earth?” I gasped.
There, crawling through the rhododendron bush, were three of the most suspicious-looking youths I had ever seen.
They wore trilbies pulled down firmly over their faces, and, what’s more, they were crawling straight to the front door.
“Mrs. Sacks,” I shrieked, “come and look at this.”
She rushed in, took one look out the window, and paled.
From downstairs we heard the sharp rap of the front door knocker and froze like startled rabbits.
“I don’t like the look of that one little bit,” I whispered.
“It’s all right, Nurse Ashford,” she said. “I’ll go.”
She rushed downstairs, and I realized my heart was thundering in my chest.
“Stay here, children,” I said, softly shutting the door and straining over the banister to listen.
“Does Bob live here?” said a gruff voice. I could tell by Mrs. Sacks’s voice she was scared.
“Yes,” she said. “He lives over the garage but we haven’t seen him around for weeks.”
With that she shut the door with a bang and hurried back up the stairs.
From my vantage point I could see the men scurry back onto the path, furtively glancing this way and that.
“Well, what on earth was that about?” I gasped.
Carolyn shrugged, mystified.
Nothing that happened round these parts surprised me anymore.
An hour later the door knocker went again, and Mrs. Sacks answered.
This time it was two policemen.
“We are looking for three youths who have absconded from a remand home,” said one, looking past Carolyn into the hallway.
“They raided the warden’s office and stole a sum of money from him. We have reason to believe they may have come to this address. They are friends with a former resident, a man who goes by the name of Bob. Do you know him?”
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. This was getting worse by the moment.
Carolyn ushered them into the living room and softly closed the door. I heard a muffled exchange of voices and a short while later she came out.
“Nurse Ashford,” she said, “they are looking for people who saw anything to give a statement.” Enough was enough.
“I am not getting involved,” I replied firmly. “What would the Norland say? I am horrified at the thought of getting embroiled in a police investigation. The scandal, imagine?” I blustered.
“Of course,” she soothed, returning to the policemen. “Don’t worry, I understand.”
By the time the local constables had taken their leave, I had already made up my mind. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sacks,” I said, “but I can’t continue to work here any longer and I am handing in my notice.”
Bombs, disease, rockets, evacuees, and East End mothers I could handle. But this? Shady goings-on, men crawling about in bushes, and musicians in medallions?
Far too much scandal for my stomach, thank you very much.
And so with a heavy heart and a cuddle for Violet and Peter I took my leave.
I was twenty-five and, thanks to Bill’s newfound celibacy, no closer to finding love and starting my own family; but thanks to this large and hectic household, my confidence as a child carer, and in my calling, was now absolute.
I may not have had the love of a man, but I had the love of many children to warm the recesses of my soul.
Of course I was disheartened to have lost out on the potential of a relationship with Bill, sadder even than I’d been when I discovered that Henry, a man I actually was in a relationship with, had cheated on me. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and it was time for me to move on to new pastures.
If this was how postwar England was shaping up to be, it had seemed, perhaps not safer, but at least more normal during wartime!
Dramatic changes were sweeping the whole world and it was not a place I recognized anymore.
Bikinis went on sale in Paris and the seeds of rock and roll were being sown in America.
Women’s lives had radically altered even in the time I had been with the Sackses.
Women were increasingly being employed in what were once men’s jobs, not just in manual labor but in skilled positions, and the Trade Union Congress pledged itself to equal pay as a principle.
Women were drafted into work in key jobs in nursing, civil defense, government departments, and transport, and at the same time hundreds of nurseries were being established. The Post
Office and Civil Service had scrapped the marriage bar, meaning that they would employ married women for the first time. Female teachers were no longer banned from marrying and universities increasingly became open to women.
Women’s talents were being recognized at last, and they were entering the Royal Society as female fellows, starting their own organizations, and opening doors that were previously shut to them. They were taking on men at their own game!
Thanks to all this out on the streets I saw more and more women wearing trousers. Even the Church of England was relaxing its dress code and no longer required women to wear hats to attend services. In 1946 the BBC first broadcast Woman’s Hour, and women marched about in stark utility-style clothes.
I never frowned on any of these dramatic changes; rather I looked on them like a bewildered bystander. As a Norland trained nurse I was ahead of the game in some respects, though, and at long last child care methods were coming into line with my own outlook.
In 1946 United States pediatrician Dr. Benjamin Spock published Baby and Child Care. This book was a bestseller in the United States and Britain and was hugely influential in changing attitudes to parenting. It challenged methods based on strict discipline and replaced spanking with communication and respect for children: a way I had been working for the past seven years, of course in my own quiet fashion. It was a huge step forward for children and their future care.
But the big question remained: with the world changing at such a rapid and bewildering pace, could I change with it?
TESTIMONIAL
Nurse Brenda has carried her responsibility with the highest degree of skill and devotion to which the remarkable progress and robust health of her charges now bears testimony.
It is with deep and profound regret that we now release her to return to her own home. Her generous and invaluable service is sincerely appreciated and her cheerful presence in the household will be greatly missed by all.
—MRS. SACKS
Nanny’s Wisdom
TAKE TIME TO CHEER PEOPLE UP.
As a nanny I didn’t just regard child care as my sole duty. I am a human being first and a nanny second. When Mrs. Sacks was terribly down and suffering with baby blues, I made time to treat her kindly and attempt to cheer her up. I do so wish people would take the time to look around them at the people in their lives and see who could do with cheering up. Throughout my career I have always advised parents and children to pick a little bunch of flowers or make a card for a friend, partner, mother, or for anyone in their life whom they love and who is troubled by something. It’s the little things that count in life; and for many people, just to know they are in someone’s thoughts will cheer them up no end. Giving is infinitely more rewarding than receiving.
PREPARE THE QUEENS PUDDING.
All my charges, the Sacks’s children included, loved it when I cooked my mother’s recipe for the Queens Pudding. I adored it as a child and I still cook it today. It’s very cheap to make but a real treat and smells delicious when it’s cooking. Nothing says I love you like warm meringue and jam. Serves four to six people.
1¾ cups fresh white bread crumbs
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1½ cups milk
2 tablespoons butter
2 egg yolks
2 tablespoons apricot jam (but you can use any other flavor)
MERINGUE TOPPING
Four egg whites
⅔ cup sugar
Preheat oven to 320°F.
Put bread crumbs, sugar, and lemon zest in a bowl and toss lightly together to mix.
Pour milk into a saucepan, then add the butter. Gently heat until butter melts.
Pour milk mixture onto the bread crumbs, stir well, and leave to stand for 30 minutes.
Beat the egg yolks until fluffy. Stir into the bread crumb mixture.
Spread the mixture into a well-greased medium-sized ovenproof dish.
Bake in the middle of the oven for 30 minutes, or until firm and set.
Remove dish from the oven. Leave to cool for ten to fifteen minutes, then while bread crumb base is still warm, spread your favorite flavor jam evenly over the top.
Make the meringue topping. Using an electric hand mixer, beat the egg whites. Gradually add the sugar, beating until the whites form nice stiff peaks.
Cover the bread crumb base with swirls of meringue, then sprinkle with more sugar. Return to the oven and bake for a further 20 minutes until the top is pale gold.
Serve pudding warm with cream.
CHAPTER 11
THE CIRCLE OF LIFE
THE BARCLAY RESIDENCE
HERTFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND
[1947, AGE TWENTY-SIX]
Itsy Bitsy spider climbing up the spout.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.
Now Itsy Bitsy spider went up the spout again!
—NURSERY RHYME
Schedule
7:00 AM: Washed and dressed myself before waking the three girls.
7:30 AM: Assisted in washing and dressing the girls.
8:00 AM: Breakfast.
8:30 AM: Took two older girls to school.
9:00 AM: Home and played with Pippa in nursery.
10:00 AM: Down to the farm with Pippa. Collected eggs and helped milk Buttercup.
10:30 AM: Made butter with Pippa.
11:00 AM: Pippa down for nap before lunch. Cleaned nurseries and did washing, ironing, and sewing.
12:00 PM: Lunch with Pippa and then quiet reading time.
2:00 PM: Washed her hands, took her to toilet, and then out for walk in fresh air. Picked flowers and talked about nature. Took dogs to barn to catch rats.
3:00 PM: Collected girls from school. Gave them snacks of fresh fruit and milk and oversaw homework.
5:00 PM: Took girls down to the farm and walked the dogs, collected eggs, and visited horses. Fed Mr. Wiggles, the goldfish.
5:30 PM: Light tea of bread and homemade butter.
6:30 PM: Bath and teeth cleaning for girls, then read them a story.
7:30 PM: Girls bedtime.
7:30 PM TO 10:00 PM: Sewed, washed, darned, read, or attended dance class and then bedtime.
THE CONTRACTIONS WERE COMING hard and fast, and by the way missus had clenched her eyes shut and was gripping the bedsheets for dear life, another one was on its way.
The sound, almost feral, was terrifying. “Get. The. Doctor. Nowwwwww,” she howled.
The contraction exploded within her, and the pain almost seemed to lift her clean off the bed.
The scream was so loud, I swear cows in the neighboring field stopped chewing and stared, puzzled, at the window.
“This baby is coming,” she hollered, her eyes bulging as she clutched my hand like a vise.
“We’ve called the doctor out, Mrs. Barclay,” blustered the elderly maternity nurse, feverishly wringing a towel in her chubby hands. “He’s on his way.”
The nurse looked at the door, then shot me a worried look. I knew just what she was thinking: Would he get here in time?
He’d only come out to examine her not half an hour ago and, as nothing was happening, he’d gone off to have his lunch. What’s more, he hadn’t seemed best pleased to be called out again so soon.
“Aaaarrrrghhhh,” she screamed again.
“Hang in there, Mrs. Barclay,” I said more calmly than I felt. “You’re doing absolutely marvelously.”
Her face screwed up in pain, and I felt so helpless as she collapsed back, exhausted, on the pillow.
“That’s it,” I soothed. “Gather your strength for the next one.”
Looking at her face now, I was in no doubt. This baby was coming, doctor or no doctor!
When I’d started here two weeks previously, I hadn’t planned on actually witnessing the birth. The lady of the house should have given birth by now and by rights I should have been nursing a little baby, not mopping the fevere
d brow of a laboring woman. But then life has a funny way of turning out how you least expect, doesn’t it?
Jean and Percival Barclay were wealthy pillars of the community here in their home in a pretty village in Hertfordshire. They had two children, Jane, six, and Penny, three.
Their sprawling farmhouse was set in acres of beautiful grounds. As Jean was mad keen on animals, they owned horses, pigs, and cows galore.
After the chaos of the Sackses’ household and conmen crawling through the bushes, I found the peace and quiet of this tranquil countryside most welcoming.
Percival Barclay was a reticent but terribly clever chap. We didn’t see him for much of the week, as he had a very important job as chairman of a newspaper group in London.
Percival was typical of the men of his era. It was 1947 and he seemed to live in a pin-striped suit. Weekends were spent with his golfing buddies or locked away in his study. Even now, at the moment of his third child’s arrival into the world, he sat downstairs, puffing on a pipe and doing the Times crossword. He would no more dream of being in this room than he would walk to the moon. It simply wasn’t done. Men weren’t to be subjected to the gruesome realities of childbirth.
In 1947, though just around the corner, the NHS hadn’t even been formed, so it was left to a maternity nurse and doctor to ensure that everything ran smoothly. An emergency C-section simply wasn’t an option.
Just then the door burst open and in bowled a frightfully put-out doctor. His mustache was quivering with rage as he dumped his black leather bag by the bed.
“What do you mean by calling me out again, nurse?” he bristled. “I was in the middle of my lunch.”
“We hate to disturb your lunch, Doctor,” I said smoothly, “but it would appear Mrs. Barclay’s baby is unconcerned at whether you’ve eaten. She’s coming now, you see.”
The red-faced doctor looked from me to Mrs. Barclay, who was bearing down with a dogged determination and starting to push.
“Aaah, okay,” he blustered. “Right, you,” he said, pointing to me, “fetch me some hot water and towels.”
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