War Babies

by Annie Murray

  Irene seemed to read Rachel’s silence as criticism and she looked across defiantly at her.

  ‘He loves me really – I know he does. It’s not like yow think – it’s only the drink talking. He’s only like that when he’s had a few.’

  ‘Well then,’ Rachel said, feeling that whatever she might say she was never going to win. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about then, have you?’

  Thirty-Three

  A few days later, as the sun was rising, there was more commotion in the yard of a different kind. Gladys saw Ray Sutton hurrying in along the entry accompanied by a blonde-haired young woman in a nurse’s uniform. The two of them headed straight for number four.

  ‘Irene Sutton must be having her baby,’ Gladys announced, over Melanie’s morning grizzling. She was always a grumpy child until she was fed. ‘There’s that Ray with the midwife – trotting along with her like a lamb. He doesn’t look his usual cocky self at all!’

  ‘God, I wonder if she’ll have a boy?’ Rachel said. She had told Gladys all about Irene’s troubles. ‘All right, Melly – just hang on a minute. I’ll get you some stera.’ Tommy was asleep for the moment, thank goodness. She poured a drop of sterilized milk to pacify her daughter, who drained the cup, then looked expectantly at her.

  ‘All right, all right – look, here’s a piece, you little madam.’ She sawed at the half-loaf on the table. ‘Never anything wrong with your appetite, is there?’ She tweaked Melly’s nose affectionately and the child giggled.

  With Melanie eating eagerly, Rachel sat for a moment, sipping tea and feeling washed out and exhausted. It had been another poor night with Tommy struggling to feed and she felt anxious and close to tears. Melanie, as a baby, had latched on and sucked away as happily as anything, but with Tommy everything seemed to take more effort. She was afraid he was not getting enough milk but it was hard to tell.

  ‘It’d serve that Ray right if he has a lad who can knock some sense into ’im,’ Gladys said. ‘He could do with a bit of competition, that one. Damn and blast.’ She was trying to get the range to light. ‘I’m sure this cowing coal’s damp.’

  Everyone got on with their tasks all day, but in the yard there was a restless, listening mood. A new life arriving seemed to draw everyone’s attention. While Irene laboured, Ray had disappeared to work and Rita to school, so little Shirley came outside and played with Melanie, out of the way. Soon the two of them were in their own world, taking no notice of anything else.

  As she went back and forth across the yard, Rachel looked at the grimy upper window of number four. The window was kept closed, but every now and then through the glass she heard a low moan. Rachel had so recently been passing along the same road of birthing a child that it was easy to feel what Irene must be feeling in her own body. Tears sprang into her eyes and she tried to close her mind to it. Everything seemed to be pressing in on her. There had been no letter from Danny for several weeks now and in her low mood it seemed like forever since she had heard from him, let alone seen him or lain beside him. He wouldn’t even know about his son’s birth yet. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was real and she struggled to picture his face. She ached for him to be there, for him to be able to see Tommy. And all the time her worry over Tommy niggled at her mind, though Gladys kept saying it was nothing. ‘Babbies don’t always feed right to start,’ she said. ‘He’ll get the hang of it.’

  Rachel felt like snapping back, How would you know? But she chose to try and be reassured instead. How could two babies be so different? she thought. Was this the difference between girls and boys? Tommy’s body felt so stiff and strange compared with Melanie’s. I must go and see if I can get him to take a bit more now, she thought.

  By afternoon, the tension was growing. The women found themselves wandering out into the yard, even if they could not remember exactly why they were there, to stand listening.

  Rachel went along the yard to the lavatory and came upon Gladys and Dolly, leaning up against the factory wall. Both of them had their hair tied up in scarves. Dolly was talking about her favourite subject.

  ‘I’ve told Mo, I ain’t going through that lot again,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘And ’e said, well, what’m I s’posed to do? And I said, you’ve got them bikes to ride – you’ll have to make do with them instead . . .’ Rachel passed out of earshot.

  On her way back, though, she found herself lingering beside them.

  ‘How’s the babby?’ Dolly asked, a smile in her brown eyes. As usual her lips were painted a cheerful scarlet.

  ‘He’s all right,’ Rachel said. But she could feel the tears rising again. ‘But I don’t think he’s eating properly.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be all right,’ Dolly said. ‘You should have seen my Wally when ’e was born, and Reggie too – proper little so-and-so’s they were when it came to feeding. They’d have me up half the night, on, off, messing about. I thought they’d waste away. But look at them now!’

  Rachel gave a wan smile. She did feel a little comforted. Dolly had five sons – she must know. But the worry niggled on.

  ‘Eh –’ Dolly pushed herself off the wall. ‘Hark at that! She must be getting near the end!’

  Agonized yells came from the upstairs of number four.

  ‘Here we go,’ Ma Jackman said, crossing the yard with her stiff hobble. ‘Another brat.’

  ‘Trust her – full of the joys as usual,’ Dolly tutted.

  In a few seconds they could just make out the ragged mewl of a newborn.

  ‘Oh,’ Dolly said, a hand on her heart. Her eyes were full of tears. ‘Listen to that. Am I doing it all wrong, Glad? Should I have another one?’

  Gladys gave her a look. ‘I’m not answering that. I’ll only have you coming to me when you’re six months gone, saying it were my fault.’

  Tears were running down Rachel’s cheeks at the baby’s cries. To her surprise she saw that Gladys, as well as Dolly, was in a similarly watery state.

  ‘Sounds healthy enough,’ Gladys said, wiping her eyes quickly.

  ‘Ooh – never again,’ Dolly said emotionally. ‘But ain’t it lovely?’

  They hovered about until the midwife emerged from the house looking tired but relaxed.

  ‘She all right?’ Dolly called to her.

  ‘All doing very well – a lovely healthy baby.’ The young woman smiled.

  ‘What’s she had?’ Gladys asked.

  ‘Oh – a little girl.’ Rita, now home from school, was hovering about with Shirley. The midwife smiled down at them. ‘Are you the big sisters?’

  They nodded, in awe of her.

  ‘Well, you’ve got a new baby sister – you can go up and see if you like, but then you must leave your mother to rest for a while.’

  ‘A girl?’ Rachel said.

  The midwife hesitated. ‘I gather she was rather keen to have a boy.’

  The other women looked at each other.

  ‘Is there no one to be with her?’ Gladys asked.

  ‘No – I gather her family live some way away,’ the midwife said. She hesitated again. ‘I’ve given her a wash and made some tea for her, but – well, the place is rather disorganized.’

  ‘Someone ought to be with her,’ Dolly said. ‘It seems sad, her all on her own, like, no mom or anything. My mom came when I had all mine . . .’

  ‘I’ll go in and see her,’ Rachel said, thinking with dread, a girl, oh dear. ‘Shall I go now?’

  ‘Yes, go up and pop your head in, bab,’ Dolly said. ‘Tell yer what – I’ll come with you. You want someone with you when you’ve had a babby, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s kind,’ the midwife said. ‘She did seem a bit upset.’

  ‘Call me if Tommy wakes, will you?’ Rachel said to Gladys.

  She was relieved that Dolly was coming. It felt as if someone older and motherly was what was needed. They pushed the front door open and stepped into a downstairs room which made Dolly catch her breath. A cockroach scuttled across the floor heading for cover.
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  ‘Oh, my word.’ She tutted. ‘What a state. This place must be alive.’ She looked around as if expecting to see vermin crawling out of every corner. Rachel shuddered. Gladys was very strict about stoving her house and keeping the bugs at bay, but it didn’t look as if Irene ever did much about anything.

  The table was strewn with dirty crocks and bits of food, the floor did not look as if it had been swept for days and the range was stone cold and dull with grime. On the gas stove in the corner stood a couple of pots, one with a yellow, sulphurous-looking overspill down the side of it. The other one, which was cleaner, had a half-inch of water in it. The fireplace had rubbish and broken china thrown into it.

  ‘Hello-o?’ Dolly called up the stairs. ‘Can we come up?’

  There was a pause. ‘Who’s that?’ Irene’s voice came muzzily down to them.

  ‘It’s Mrs Morrison from number one – and Rachel.’

  There was no reply. Dolly raised her eyebrows at Rachel and they started to climb, pausing only for a few seconds in the curve of the stairs, to listen.

  There was no door to the bedroom, which opened right off the top of the stairs, with a second room leading off from it. With no door to knock on, Dolly tapped on the top step.

  ‘Here we are, bab,’ she said, kindness overcoming her other observations about the state of the place. ‘We thought we’d come up and see you – and the babby. See if you needed anything.’

  Irene raised her head as they came in, her blonde hair greasy and tousled. Her face still shone with a sheen of sweat. Already, even so close to the birth, she seemed smaller, shrunken, her cheeks a little thinner. Rachel thought she looked suddenly young and helpless and she felt a pang of pity for her. As they moved closer Irene let her head drop back onto the bed. There was no pillow, or sign of any comfort. She was covered by a thin, stained blanket.

  ‘The midwife said you’ve had a healthy little girl,’ Dolly said.

  Irene gave a slight nod, apparently indifferent.

  ‘You all right?’ Rachel said. The room was so bare and cheerless, she thought. She and Danny did not have much but they had tried to make their attic room a home. Surely Ray Sutton earned a reasonable wage at Kynoch’s? Probably poured most of it down his throat, she thought, with a wave of thankfulness for Danny who only ever had a pint or two. The only furniture other than the bed was an old wooden chest of drawers. The middle drawer had been removed and Rachel could make out a little bundle swaddled in it. She leaned over and saw the baby’s pink, tensed-looking face, the eyes tightly closed.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ she said. As she said it, she saw that it was true. The little girl had the squashy face of a newborn, but there was something even and well spaced about the features that promised well for her.

  Irene grunted.

  ‘Have you fed her?’ Dolly asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Irene said, in a resentful voice.

  ‘Shall us make you a cup of tea?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Irene said again. Adding, ‘Please,’ as an afterthought.

  ‘I’ll go and put the water on,’ Dolly said. ‘You stay with her,’ she whispered to Rachel.

  Rachel dared to sit on the edge of the bed. Though Irene was a few years older than she was, in those moments it felt as if the age gap between them had evened out, almost as if she was the older girl. Irene seemed so crushed and upset.

  ‘What’re you going to call her?’ she asked, for something to break the silence.

  Irene jerked up suddenly, resting on one elbow. ‘She’s gonna be called Eve,’ she said. Her voice was harsh and angry. ‘Eve. ’Cause Eve was cursed, wasn’t she? And she’s my curse – I’m cursed by God, I am. The only thing I’ve ever wanted – a boy. And God says, well, you cor ’ave it - you can ’ave a sodding wench instead.’

  ‘But you can’t blame the babby!’ Rachel protested. ‘Poor little thing.’

  Irene’s face contorted. ‘Little rat. She’s gonna be the ruin of me. He’ll leave me for her, for that ho – she can have boys. But me – I cor do what a proper woman should do. I’m never ’aving any more brats – never!’

  Irene turned her face downwards and burst into tears. Loud, gulping sobs came from her.

  ‘Oh, Irene . . .’ Rachel tried to think of something comforting to say. But what was there to say about a husband like that, if he would really leave? Surely that could not be true. ‘He won’t, will he? It’s all just talk. He just likes to upset you.’ Rachel did not realize at this moment that she had hit the nail on the head when it came to Ray Sutton’s cruel games. At that moment she was just trying to think of something to say.

  Irene quietened a little. Eventually she turned over again, her face pink and blotchy.

  ‘D’yow think?’ she said. ‘’E won’t leave me and go to her?’

  They heard Dolly’s feet on the stairs.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rachel said. ‘But how d’you know she wants him anyway?’ Why would anyone want him? she wondered. ‘Maybe he’s just all talk.’

  ‘Here we are, bab – nice and hot,’ Dolly said. She looked encouraged at the sight of Irene beginning to sit up in bed. ‘And would you like a hand clearing up a bit?’

  A tear dropped onto Irene’s left cheek. ‘What – you help me?’

  Dolly sat on the bed and touched Irene’s plump shoulder. ‘You ain’t from round here, are you, bab? You ain’t got your mom nearby?’

  ‘No,’ Irene said. ‘’Er’s in Netherton. If ’er’s still alive.’

  Dolly looked shocked. ‘Oh dear – like that, is it? Well, we’ll give you a hand, bab – won’t we, Rachel?’

  Wearily, Rachel nodded.

  Thirty-Four

  The tap-tap of a well-heeled pair of shoes on the bricks of the yard slowed, then stopped at their door.

  Rachel was in with Gladys, both of them at the table. Gladys was humming to herself while she stitched a tear in a blouse: ‘Oh God our help in ages past’, over and over again. Rachel, seated across from her, was trying to feed Tommy. As ever it was a struggle. Her nipples were sore from the attempt and she never thought he was getting enough to eat. She was exhausted and worried. She felt as if her face was set permanently in a frown and her irritable moods were affecting Melanie who was playing up more than usual. Gladys’s humming was grating on her nerves. To her relief, the polite knock on the door which followed the footsteps made Gladys stop and look up with a slight frown. ‘Come in!’

  A round face appeared around the door topped by flat brown hair, cut in a severe bob, and followed by the plump body clad in a brown utility suit of a woman who must have been in her early thirties.

  ‘Morning!’ she announced cheerfully, advancing in. Her eyes scanned the room as if there were certain things she was looking for. ‘I’m Miss Nolan, your health visitor. I’ve come to see how you and the little feller are getting along.’ She looked at Rachel, then down at the card she was holding. ‘It is a boy, isn’t it? Tommy Booker?’

  Rachel nodded warily. The woman’s warm manner and Irish accent were reassuring. After Melanie was born a different health visitor had come. She had never seen this one before. It was nice though, hearing someone say Tommy’s full name. It made her being a mother and being married to Danny feel more real.

  Miss Nolan put her bag down on the chair.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Gladys asked her. She always thought it was a good idea to get on the right side of these people.

  ‘Oh, that’d be grand if you can spare it, thank you.’

  Rachel could see Miss Nolan taking in details of the neat, colourful room, Gladys’s clock and row of knick-knacks on the mantelpiece, the rug by the fire and sense of cosy cleanliness. She seemed reassured. But Rachel hugged Tommy close to her, worried that the woman would find something wrong. Because somewhere in her mind, in all her constant niggling worry, she knew that there was something about him, something very different from her daughter. Whether this added up to anything much she was not sure. But it was not just
the slow, defeated way he fed from her that worried her – it was the strange, stiff feel of him. Whatever it was, she had never yet dared to put it into words.

  ‘I’m just after visiting Mrs Fitzpatrick along the way,’ Miss Nolan said, laying her papers on the table and fishing in her bag to retrieve a stub of pencil. Her cheeks were round and looked pink and weather-beaten. ‘Fine little lad she’s got there after all her troubles. I’ve hardly ever seen a mother so happy with lack of sleep! She said to say hello to you.’

  For a moment Rachel could not think who the woman meant. ‘Mrs Fitzpatrick? Oh – Netta!’ She smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. ‘Yes – ta.’

  ‘And you have another child – Melanie, born 1941?’ Miss Nolan looked up from the notes. ‘Goodness, my dear, you don’t look old enough!’

  ‘She’s outside,’ Rachel said wearily. Her mind felt treacly with fatigue. ‘Playing with the other girls. I can call her in?’

  ‘Oh, I saw them. Leave her be for now. Let’s look at this little— Thank you,’ she interjected as Gladys put a cup of tea down by her. ‘This little lad. He’s six weeks old now? And where’s his father?’

  ‘In the army,’ Rachel said miserably. ‘We think he’s out East somewhere.’

  ‘Good gracious, that’s a long way off. You poor girl,’ Miss Nolan said. ‘Well, it’s grand that you’ve got your mother here.’ She smiled at Gladys.

  ‘I’m not her mother,’ Gladys told her. ‘I’m her husband’s aunt.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’re a huge support,’ Miss Nolan said. ‘Now – where can we lay the little one down?’

  ‘The table’s clean,’ Gladys said, rather defiantly, Rachel thought. ‘Here – he can lie on this.’ She fished out a piece of white cotton sheeting from one of her bags and spread it on the table, several layers thick.