by Tina McGuff
‘That’s a lady giving birth,’ she said slowly, as if to a very dumb child. I shrugged – perhaps the woman had a low pain threshold and was overreacting?
A few hours later, the contractions started and I put myself in the bath with my lavender oils, thinking this would do the trick. But as each minute passed, the pains came on, stronger and harder. By the second hour of this, I was on my knees, doubled over in agony.
‘Oh, Jesus!’ I gasped, reaching out towards the nurse. ‘Please give me some bloody pain relief – I can’t handle this!’
‘Darling, you’re not even dilated yet. This is still the early stages of labour,’ the midwife replied nonchalantly. How could she be so damn cruel, I thought. I’m dying here!
‘Oh, Christ!’ I screamed as another contraction drove hard against my stomach. ‘There’s no flipping way I’m having a damn water birth!’ I exploded. ‘And you can throw this crap away, too!’ Picking up the Bach flower remedies, I flung them in the bin. I was furious – why didn’t anyone tell me it was going to be this hard?
Jock couldn’t help it – a wry smile passed over his face. After all the times I’d insisted I was going to have a natural birth, I was now begging the midwives for an epidural. After what felt like hours, I was finally given one, but it only worked on my left side so I was still in agony down the right side of my body. Oh, God, the pain was unbearable! I screamed, I fainted and I cried in pure agony. For 48 hours, I was in and out of consciousness, I was sick and my blood pressure kept dropping. Eventually, after a traumatic birth, my little boy arrived, born back to back, which is said to be the most painful way to deliver. He was nearly 10 lb, so no wonder I screamed! We called him John.
I knew from the word go that I was completely unprepared for motherhood emotionally. I had no idea I would be so traumatised by the birth but the love I felt for my son was immediate, overwhelming and like nothing I had ever experienced before. The intensity of the responsibility for this tiny, helpless creature was all on my shoulders. It was a shock and I begged my mum to come up and help me. Since Jock had to go back to work soon after the birth, I knew I needed the help.
The district nurses were on the watch for signs of PND – postnatal depression – and visited every day, to make sure I was coping okay. Sometimes, it was hard to know myself. I was recovering from the birth, sleep-deprived and utterly exhausted from worry, much of the time. It was amazing that so many women had gone through this terrifying, exhilarating experience before – how did they all cope?
‘Don’t worry,’ my mum reassured me one night when I was fretting over John latching onto the breast. ‘You’re doing great. You’re doing everything right, so don’t worry about a thing.’
It was such a relief to have Mum there and, for the first time since I was a very little girl, I was reminded what a brilliant mother she had been to me. After all, she had raised four girls and knew exactly what to do and how to support me. In the wee hours of the morning, when I was practically a zombie from lack of sleep and John woke up screaming, she would often come in and take him from me, rocking him to sleep in the living room so I could get some rest. The way she nurtured my child reminded me of all her wonderful qualities before it had all gone so horribly wrong.
I wanted to be a really good mum myself – I was determined not to fail at this. If I’m being honest with myself, I’d say I probably did teeter on the edge of insanity for a while. I was terribly protective of John – if someone walked past us in the street with a cigarette, I was frightened he would choke on the smoke. I couldn’t let anyone else feed or hold him except my mum or Jock, and I was obsessed with keeping him away from bacteria and germs.
‘You’ve got to relax a bit more,’ Jock urged one evening, as I got up to wash the changing table for the hundredth time.
‘What are you talking about?’ I snapped back. ‘I’m fine!’
‘You’ve cleaned that table fourteen times in the past two hours,’ he observed drily. ‘I don’t call that normal, do you?’
‘Mind your own beeswax!’ I retorted. ‘I just didn’t get it clean the first time, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’m just saying, Tina, for your own sake, to take it easy once in a while. You know I wouldn’t say anything to upset you – it’s for your own good.’
That night, I replayed the conversation over in my head. Are you meant to be relaxed in this situation, I wondered. How can any new mum relax when her baby is so small and dependent? Yes, I knew I was fixated but I didn’t judge myself to be ill. It was irritating that I had to keep proving myself to everyone in this way. Why couldn’t they just accept I was fine? My history made everyone so jumpy around me. One thing I knew for certain, I wasn’t going to have any more children in a hurry! So I went on the Pill.
After a couple of months, I was back in work. Fortunately, Steven and Danny were now both in school and I was able to take John into the bar with me and feed him in the office at the back. The bar was doing really well, so Dad decided to develop the upper part of the building, an old church, into a nightclub. He borrowed half a million pounds to get it up and running; he hired a top architect, sound engineers and went for the best of everything. The nightclub launch was wonderful and very exciting, as it was so much bigger than anything we had done before.
We used a promoter to get Snow Patrol, Biffy Clyro, Radio 1 live broadcasts, Judge Jules, Paul Oakenfold, Fergie and various other top DJs to always be on every other week.
Over the next year, I was very busy doing all I could to get the business going strong. But a year after having John, I fell pregnant again – once again the Pill had failed! It was such a shock, I didn’t believe the doctor so, in June 1998, he sent me for a scan that revealed I was already five months pregnant. I really couldn’t face going through another hellish birth, so I begged the midwives for a caesarean section. They refused – given the fact I was a strong candidate for PND, I was surprised at this reaction; so when I was overdue once again, I refused to go into hospital for the induction. But I couldn’t put it off for ever – this baby had to come out! The night I went into hospital, I cried my eyes out, terrified of the pain to come.
As it was, when I went in, on 15 October 1998, it was all relatively easy and pain-free. They induced me, gave me an epidural and my beautiful baby girl, Holli, was born, pain-free, two hours later. I was so happy and excited, I asked to go straight home as I felt great, but they insisted I stay in overnight to make sure everything was okay. Jock brought the boys up at night and they loved Holli instantly.
When they all left, I made the most of the time alone to hold her, smell her skin and just look at her, taking in her beauty. She was my little baby girl and I was so happy! I knew what to do now so I wasn’t daunted by the early demands of motherhood. We went home the next day and it was perfect.
I took a month off and then went back to work, taking my two little ones with me. Often I would have meetings and surreptitiously feed Holli under my top without anyone noticing. As the kids all grew, I would take them with me to the sound checks of the bands and DJs.
One day, after an unexpected visit from a health-and-safety officer, I decided to train for my NEBOSH certificate – the occupational-health-and-safety certificate. It was a 10-month course that actually benefited the business enormously and I was even approached to become a member of the Tayside Licensed Trade Association. The meetings were great – all the publicans were larger-than-life characters and so much fun! As I carved out a niche for myself, helping publicans with their health-and-safety policies, I loved every minute of it. Finally, I felt I had established myself as a success in this field. I had proved my worth and I belonged.
By now, Jock was working offshore as a technician so he was away a lot of the time. It wasn’t always easy to manage the kids on my own while he was away and I was shattered most nights but, at the weekends, we were a family again and Dad was always there whenever I needed him. He was a huge part of my life now and the kids loved him, as did Jock. We
even went away on holidays with Dad and his partner to Vegas, Lapland and Rome.
I had grown closer to Mum, too – over the years, she had made an effort to come and see the kids and me a lot. I loved her with all my heart but, still, the bond that had broken during my illness was never quite rebuilt. And it was during one of her visits that the barriers between us were finally torn down, once and for all.
Chapter 21
A Dark Family Secret
It was around 9 p.m., after the eldest kids had gone to bed, when Mum and I sat down in the living room for a well-deserved cup of tea.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, blowing steam off the top of my mug. ‘It makes such a difference when there are two adults around these days!’
The kids were different ages now but they all needed their fair share of attention, cuddles and bedtime stories. Mum’s frequent visits during the weeks when Jock worked offshore were a godsend.
‘Oh, you don’t have to thank me, Tina,’ Mum tutted. ‘You know that I love it. And your kids are all adorable, all of them.’
‘Aye, they can be adorable when they want to be. They can also be little horrors!’ I recalled a two-hour stand-off the night before with John, who had refused to go to bed. He was a curious, alert child – even as a baby, he always had his eyes wide open, taking in everything around him. Now five, he was into everything and, at three years old, Holli was also asserting her independence. She was the youngest, the baby, but she wanted to prove she could do what the big boys did. I really had my hands full!
‘No, don’t say that,’ Mum said, smiling indulgently, just a hint of sadness in her eyes.
‘Aye, Mum – I’m only joking, you know that!’
Mum sat then and looked out into the distance, as if staring deep into the past. A heavy silence fell between us as she chewed on her lip – I could tell there was something on her mind.
‘Tina, do you remember when you were younger, I told you I had a secret but I couldn’t tell you it until you were much older?’ she started.
Her words stirred vague memories from the past, of Mum laughing as I tried to wheedle her secret out of her.
‘Yeah, I remember that,’ I said. ‘What was it, Mum?’
‘Tina, I had a son,’ she said simply, her eyes shining with an intensity I’d never seen before. ‘When I was very young and before I met your father, I had a little boy. And I had to put him up for adoption, even though I didn’t want to. I’ve spent my whole life thinking about him, Tina, praying he’s okay, wanting to go back and change the past. But I couldn’t.
‘Tina, I’m so sorry I’ve not told you until now but it’s been the great tragedy of my life and I have been deeply, deeply ashamed. I’m so sorry.’
At that moment, my mother broke down in tears and I dashed over to the sofa to comfort her. I could hardly believe it. I had a brother? I was shocked and, at the same time, very distressed to see my mum so upset.
‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ I whispered into her neck as I rubbed her back and held her. ‘You don’t have to apologise to me – just tell me what happened. I’d really like to know.’
Mum pulled her cardigan around her tightly and lifted up her head. Until now, I’d heard snippets about her early life, but not that much. She didn’t like to talk about her childhood. I knew her parents had met and fallen in love while serving in the Army during the war. Mark was a bomb-disposal expert with the Royal Engineers and Rita was in the WAAF. Mum was the second eldest after William, with three younger brothers – Scott, Damon and Tony.
‘It all went wrong after my father died,’ Mum began. ‘I was just fifteen and he passed away in his sleep, of a coronary thrombosis. We were living abroad at the time but had to move back to Glasgow. We were plunged into poverty. Me and your gran got jobs in a spinning factory to make ends meet and took it in turns looking after the young ones. But Gran didn’t cope well – she turned to drink and she relied heavily on me to do all the childcare and housework. If I didn’t do things the way she wanted, she shouted and hit me. The boys ran wild – I hated it. I felt more like a servant in the house, doing everything for Gran, including all the washing, cleaning and cooking, while she was drinking and partying. It was real Cinderella stuff.
‘Anyway, I started going out at night, just to get away from it all. It wasn’t long before I met Ged, a drummer in a local band, who was studying to be an engineer. We went out on a few dates and he was always trying it on, but I refused. Then, one night, we went out to a party and I had a little bit too much to drink. When I woke up the next morning, we were both in bed, naked. I was horrified and very upset – I refused to see Ged after that.
‘At home, things were getting worse and it all got too much for me. I took an overdose. They found me in time and I had my stomach pumped at the local hospital. It was then the nurses came to me and said: “Do you know you’re pregnant?” I was in shock – I had been a virgin until that one night with Ged. I was deeply ashamed and, also, terrified – I needed support, I needed my mum. But when I told her, she stood bolt upright and slapped me across the face.
‘She shouted: “You whore!” before storming out the ward. I was mortified and devastated. I curled up into a ball and wondered what was I going to do; my life was a mess. We had nothing and now this! Ged came up to see me that evening and I told him the news. He was shocked but said the right thing to do would be to get married. I thought this was the answer.’
I listened, transfixed by Mum’s words. It seemed so strange to hear about her difficulties and burdens as a teenager. And I empathised immediately. After all, I too had felt responsible for my younger siblings as a teenager. And as a distraught young girl, I had also tried to take my own life. I could see the similarities between us now so clearly. I wanted to reach out and take that young girl’s hand – I wanted to reach back through time and reassure her, tell her everything was going to be okay. Show her all the wonderful things she had to look forward to. How many times had I curled up in a hospital bed, feeling bleak and unloved? Just like my mum! If only we could have seen into our futures.
Mum took a sip of her tea and smiled weakly at me – I could tell the worst was yet to come.
‘I wanted to believe I could marry Ged and everything would be okay,’ she said sadly. ‘But then a nurse told me that my mother had arranged for me to be moved to thee Salvation Army Home for Unmarried Mothers. It was all decided for me and I didn’t have any say because I was still sixteen and classed as a child. I was taken to the Great Western Road Salvation Army home for unmarried mothers the next day. They discussed all the possibilities with me and it was decided the best thing for the baby was adoption. I did not want to give up the baby, but felt I had nothing to offer the child at home. There was no way I’d be able to cope with a baby with no support. It killed me.
‘Ged was fine with the adoption – he didn’t want the baby anyway. Nobody knew about the pregnancy apart from Ged, my mother and brothers. This was our dark family secret, the shameful secret that no one was allowed to know about. I stayed at the Salvation Army home for seven months, until I gave birth to Robert on 8 December 1967. He was a beautiful baby and, from the moment I set eyes on him, I fell in love – I just fell for him completely.
‘But I knew, from the second he arrived, the clock was ticking. I knew he was going to be taken from me and I couldn’t stand that thought. I tried not to sleep, for I wanted as much time with him as I could. The nurses tried to reassure me about the adoption, saying it would be “much better for the baby”, but I was torn apart. Even though it was frowned upon, I kept Robert in the bed beside me and loved him every minute he was with me. I knew every inch of his little body – his hair, his eyes, his tiny toes and nails. I loved him with my whole body and soul – he was my blood and my bones.’
The tears coursed down Mum’s cheeks now and I wiped away my own – I knew exactly how she felt. As a mother myself, I sensed the visceral stab in the pit of my stomach at the thought of someone taking my children away. This w
as horrifying.
Mum’s voice was barely a whisper now as she looked beyond the world around her, looked far back into the past. ‘I spent every second I could with Robert,’ she continued. ‘Each night praying that the nurses wouldn’t find a family for him so he could stay with me for ever. I was desperate to bring him home but Gran dismissed the suggestion, saying we would be thrown out onto the streets if I tried to do that. “We couldn’t afford another mouth to feed,” those were her words. Nevertheless, Robert and I were inseparable for six weeks, until the nurse came and told me the news I was dreading: they had found “a wonderful family for Robert”. I was in shock. I could not bear to be parted from my precious little boy, the one thing in my life I loved more than anything else. I prayed to my dad above to protect him, to keep us together by some sort of miracle. But it was not to be.
‘Our last night together was heartbreaking. I lay beside him, watching him sleep, seeing his tiny chest moving up and down with each breath. I began to imagine him growing up into a man and having a lovely wife and his own children. I hoped and prayed he would grow up to be strong and healthy. The night melted away far too quickly – I hadn’t slept a wink. In the morning, I bathed him and put him in his little Babygro, fed him and sang his favourite nursery rhymes to him as we waited. I kissed him and breathed him in. I was trying to absorb him, to imprint him into my mind so strongly that I would never forget his scent and skin. I held him tightly with his tiny little head cradled under my chin; his warmth was my strength.
‘At two o’clock, a nurse came in with a bundle of paperwork. For a brief second, I saw sympathy in her eyes. She came over to me and put her arms out to take Robert. I stood up and walked over to the crib and put him in, covering him with his little white shawl, tucking in his little blue rabbit I had knitted for him. I bent over and kissed him one last time. The last kiss for the rest of my life to my son – then I ran out into the gardens. I lay on a bench, crying until I was sick. My whole body ached in pain with loss and grief. It was a pain I had never experienced before and one from which I’ve never recovered.