A Nurse's Courage

by Maggie Holt

  She need not have worried, for in another thirty seconds and a good hard push from the mother, a small baby boy slipped out, weighing scarcely five pounds. His small size and the fact that he was a third child saved him from danger, and Mabel sighed with relief as he lay squirming between his mother’s thighs, bubbling at the nose and mouth in his efforts to cry. Thankfully she seized a twist of cotton wool to clear the air passages.

  ‘That was the quickest I’ve ever ’ad, nurse!’ said the mother in admiration, and Mabel smiled, feeling that the less said, the better, though she sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

  Back at Deacon’s Walk for breakfast with Ruby and the boys, there was another knock at the door. Mr Clegg, unsmiling and clearly embarrassed, stood on the step with a request from his wife that Nurse Court would come to see Catherine who was ‘getting a lot of backache’. Swallowing her piece of toast and taking a last quick gulp from a cup of tea, Mabel said she would come straight away.

  Catherine lay flushed and restless in her bed, and her abdomen hardened at Mabel’s light touch. The baby’s heartbeat was regular and there was no ‘show’ of blood or sign of the waters having broken.

  ‘She’s probably goin’ into labour, but it’ll be some time yet,’ Mabel told Mrs Clegg. ‘She’d be better gettin’ up and walkin’ around the room for a bit, to help bring the baby’s head down.’

  She left a dose of ‘mother’s mixture’, an opium-based sedative with aspirin for pain relief, and said she would return later that morning.

  Ruby and her sons were ready to leave for Falcon Terrace at ten and Mabel joined them. There were greetings, kisses and exchanges of small gifts.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Harry! Look, I’ve brought yer this,’ she whispered, producing a cosy woollen dressing-gown, not wrapped up as it was difficult for him to unwrap with one hand. ‘Remember that Christmas when I gave yer a pair o’ socks an’ yer gave me a silver cross on a chain? – I’ve still got it, look!’ And she undid her top button to show that she was wearing it under her uniform.

  Ruby, Matthew and Mark accompanied Major Drover to the Park, but Harry preferred to stay indoors. Mabel sat and held his hand for a while, before cycling back to Kennington to check on her patient.

  ‘How’s she doin’?’

  ‘Oh, the pains are definitely worse, Nurse Court.’ Mrs Clegg had spent the morning at home with her daughter, while her husband had gone to the service at their chapel.

  An internal examination showed that the cervix was ‘three fingers’ open in the midwives’ jargon, or about half dilated.

  ‘Good girl, Catherine, ye’re well on in labour,’ Mabel told her.

  ‘How long d’you think it will be, Nurse Court?’ asked Mrs Clegg: the eternal question.

  ‘Ye’ll have yer baby before the day’s out, Catherine, I can tell yer that much.’ It was never wise to predict times, especially with first babies. ‘I won’t leave yer now, I’ll stay here till it’s born,’ Mabel reassured the girl and her mother, thinking she would miss dinner at Falcon Terrace, but knowing that she was more needed here. Mrs Clegg had cooked a small roast beef rib, served with roast potatoes, cabbage and gravy, and followed by home-made Christmas pudding, which Mabel was cordially invited to share. The drawback was that she and Mrs Clegg had to take it in turns to join Mr Clegg in the dining-room while the other stayed with Catherine, which meant that she had to eat with a morosely silent man, unable to give vent to his mixed emotions of pity for his daughter and shame on her behalf.

  Being young, with supple muscles, Catherine made good progress during the afternoon and, as darkness was falling, Mabel was happy to tell her that the neck of the womb was fully open, and some good, hard pushes were now needed to bring her baby into the world. Mrs Clegg had the cot all ready, warmed by a hot-water bottle.

  ‘Come on now, Catherine, sit up and take a big breath in, hold it and push!’ ordered Mabel, using the time-honoured words of midwives throughout the ages.

  The girl gazed imploringly at her mother who gripped her hand and whispered, ‘Just go on doing what Nurse Court tells you, Cathy – good girl – oh, my little girl – my poor little girl!’

  ‘Ssh, Mother, we don’t want any tears just now, only hard work,’ said Mabel, though her own heart ached for them both. ‘Come on, Catherine, another push – it’s not called labour for nothin’, yer know!’

  And sure enough, with a last, long-drawn-out groan from the mother, a baby girl emerged at a quarter past four.

  ‘It’s a girl, Cathy, a dear little girl, oh, thanks be to God!’ cried Mrs Clegg, leaning over to kiss her daughter in a shower of tears and endearments.

  ‘A daughter on Christmas Day.’ Mabel smiled, wrapping the new arrival in a towel. ‘What’re yer goin’ to call her?’

  ‘We’d thought of Rhoda, after my husband’s mother,’ said Mrs Clegg. ‘But she’s a Christmas baby, so shall we call her Carol?’

  ‘Yes, Mamma, let her be Carol,’ murmured Catherine. And for the first time since Mabel had met her, she smiled. A look of pure love spread over her face as she held out her arms to receive her child from the midwife.

  Neither Mabel nor Mrs Clegg could speak as they gazed at the mother and child. Mabel reflected that life would not be easy for Catherine: she would have to face setbacks and rejection, and almost certainly loneliness later in life, for she was unlikely to marry in a world drained of its young men. But for now, on this Christmas Day, she was the mother of a lovely child and Mabel rejoiced with her.

  ‘I’m sorry to be late, but I’ve delivered two babies today,’ Mabel told Mrs Drover when she eventually returned to Falcon Terrace as they were finishing tea. Taking the cup she was handed – she had lost count of the number of cups of tea she had downed that day – she noticed Harry looking at her with something of the old understanding they had shared in the past.

  ‘N – N – N – Nurse D – D – Dro – Drover!’ he managed to say, nodding to emphasise that she should be bearing his name: a dream that would never be fulfilled now.

  ‘Oh, Harry. Oh, Harry, my dearest love.’ And she leaned over him as he sat in his chair and kissed him full on the lips, not caring that his parents, sister and nephews saw her. In spite of everything, this was the right place for her to be: this was reality, anything else was a dream.

  On Boxing Day, having visited her two newly delivered mothers and their babies, Mabel cycled over to South Lambeth Road where she found Maud sitting up in bed, looking as white as the sheets and being waited on by Teddy. She had collapsed after the Christmas Eve performance of Chu Chin Chow.

  ‘Oh, Maudie! And I didn’t get over to see yer at all. I had two confinements – oh, I’m so sorry! How are yer?’

  ‘’S all right, gal, I spent yesterday in bed, I was that whacked aht,’ said Maud with a wan smile. ‘I meant to go over to see Norah an’ the tots, but –’ She shrugged.

  ‘Is the baby all right?’ asked Mabel anxiously. ‘Yer know yer can’t go back to the show.’

  ‘I know, I was leavin’ at New Year anyway.’ Maud closed her eyes momentarily. ‘Don’t worry abaht me, gal. Ted looks after me a treat, don’t yer, little bruvver?’

  ‘I do me best,’ he answered with a wry grin and Mabel warmed to him, a wiry lad with dark curly hair and a cheeky expression.

  ‘Yer could’ve lost the baby, Maud,’ said Mabel seriously.

  ‘Yeah – an’ there’s them ’oo’d say it’d be for the best, an’ all. But I want Alex’s kid now, Mabel – it’ll be all I got left of ’im.’

  Before she left, Mabel had a word with Mrs Hiscock to find out her reaction.

  ‘I don’t mind keepin’ ’er ’ere, nurse,’ the woman told her with a self-consciously generous air. ‘But wouldn’t yer think ’e’d ’ave made some provision for ’er – left ’er a few ’undred in ’is will? Yer ain’t ’eard nothin’, ’ave yer?’

  Mabel hadn’t and did not want to discuss Maud’s affairs with the landlady. She was not surprised that Redfern had left h
is faithful sweetheart penniless; she had always suspected that he had used the girl and never given a thought to her future. But then she told herself that perhaps she was being unjust, and in any case they would never know now; like Catherine’s sailor, he was one more life lost in this most terrible of wars.

  When Maud asked Mabel to look out for a vacancy for temporary domestic service with one of her clients, she was doubtful that she could oblige. ‘Somebody ’oo’s just ’ad a baby, an’ might be glad of an extra ‘and wiv the ’ousework, like,’ said Maud hopefully. In fact, most of Mabel’s patients did not employ domestic help, but relied on relatives and neighbours to help out. Those who could afford paid help usually engaged a private maternity nurse.

  Ruby Swayne offered to find a place at one of the Salvation Army’s women’s refuges, where Maud would be alongside other girls in the same situation; but Maud wanted to stay at her lodgings with Teddy.

  It was Norah who had the brainwave. ‘Sure and aren’t we always havin’ trouble findin’ an’ keepin’ good staff at the Midway! And Maudie’s so good wid the babies – an’ doesn’t mind what jobs she does – an’ sure the dear children aren’t goin’ to gossip about her, are they?’

  Mabel seized on this suggestion with enthusiasm. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Norah!’

  ‘I’ll have to ask Mrs Spearmann, o’ course, but that shouldn’t be any bother, she’ll rely on me bein’ acquainted wid Maud – an’ yerself, too.’

  Maud at once agreed. ‘But d’yer really fink she’d take me on?’ she asked doubtfully, looking down at her increasing girth.

  ‘Ah, won’t she be glad to have ye, Maudie!’

  Norah spoke with blithe certainty, but received a sharp and unexpected setback from Mrs Spearmann.

  ‘This home is run for the benefit of homeless children, Sister Norah, not fallen women like this, er, singer. Does she intend to leave her child here and go back to the stage after the birth?’

  ‘Oh, no, Mrs Spearmann,’ exclaimed Norah, surprised by such hardness from the patroness. ‘Ye can ask Nurse Court, Miss Ling has a very good character, I’m tellin’ ye.’

  ‘Hm, her conduct tells a different story. What about the father’s family – this flying officer who was killed? Can’t his people do anything to help Miss Ling?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ replied Norah, who found this question difficult to answer. ‘Please, Mrs Spearmann, we’re short o’ good, reliable staff who’ll turn a hand to anythin’ – if ye’d just see Maud for yerself an’ maybe give her a trial?’

  Olive Spearmann sighed deeply, for she was having a difficult time. She was aware that the work and money she had put into the Midway Babies’ Home was looked upon in some quarters as a sop to her conscience, for there was now open hostility towards manufacturers who had made money by supplying arms and equipment towards the war effort. Amos Spearmann’s textile works was now entirely given over to uniform material, buttons and accessories, and on occasion he had been followed by shouts of ‘Profiteer!’ and ‘Dirty Jew!’ as he travelled between home and factory in his chauffeur-driven car. His wife felt these public accusations very keenly and to hear her charitable work belittled was hard to bear; it was the wrong moment to ask her to employ an unmarried expectant mother as a favour. In the end she reluctantly agreed to take Maud on trial for a month, but at the brief interview Maud had to swallow hard when she faced Mrs Spearmann in the role of a penitent magdalen.

  ‘Why cannot the grandparents of this baby help you, Miss Ling? Surely it is their duty?’

  Maud bit her lip. ‘I wouldn’t go to them if they was the last people on earf, ma’am. They upset Alex by what they said abaht me, an’ I want to be independent of ’em.’

  ‘Well, I think they should at least be told about the baby and given a chance to make up their own minds. However, we will leave that for the moment. What kind of work will you be able to do in your condition?’

  ‘Anyfing that needs doin’, ma’am, sweepin’, dustin’, scrubbin’, washin’ an’ lookin’ after the children – I ain’t afraid o’ work.’

  ‘And what about when you get larger and slower? How long to you expect to be useful?’

  Maud drew herself up. ‘I can’t say exactly, ma’am, but I’ll keep goin’ as long as I can. Me midwife finks I got a good free monfs o’ workin’ time to go.’

  ‘Your midwife being the excellent Nurse Court, I believe. Very well, I’ll take you on for a month’s trial, starting on Monday next. You will report at eight o’clock as a general domestic assistant at eight shillings a week.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Fank yer. Good aft’noon.’

  And so began 1918, with no prospect of peace on the horizon. The queues lengthened and food rationing was begun, first for sugar and then meat, bacon, butter and margarine. Prices remained high, but food was more equally distributed and Ruby’s household benefited from the four ration cards that were issued to her. The news of the war on the Western Front grew worse as the spring advanced: in March a new major offensive was launched by the Germans and there were rumours of an invasion of Britain. Casualties continued to pour in and fresh battalions of young men were sent off to take their places; the British commander-in-chief tried to rally the nation with a speech about ‘fighting with our backs to the wall’, but in truth the fighting spirit had faded from hearts wrung by the sorrow of bereavement. Hardly a family in the land was untouched by the massacre of a generation, and one of Mabel’s patients had lost her husband and three brothers; the desolate grandparents on both sides were scarcely cheered by the arrival of a little grandson, their only surviving male issue. Cycling round her district in the lengthening daylight, the young midwife was aware of a general weariness and melancholy that the spring sunshine and early daffodils could not lift.

  Maud soon proved her worth at the Midway, vindicating Sister Norah’s recommendation. Olive Spearmann had to admit that she was a hard worker, good with the children and liked by the staff. She was duly re-engaged for a further month and her wages were raised to ten shillings, which helped with her bus and tram fares. Nevertheless, she began to find the work more tiring, and Norah tried to help by giving her sewing jobs, cot sheets to hem and repairs to the children’s clothes; Maud thankfully sat down in the nursery or playroom with her needle and cotton, keeping an eye on the little ones as she sewed. As time went by she was sometimes white with exhaustion, dragging her heavy body from one room to another, and when possible Norah would send her to lie down for an hour, summoning her quickly if Mrs Spearmann appeared. On arrival back at her lodgings in the evening, she was almost too tired to climb the stairs; Teddy would get supper for them both, but Maud was often unable to eat and simply collapsed into bed.

  ‘I really don’t think I can engage her for another month, Sister Norah,’ said Mrs Spearmann, who had missed her own February period and had ominous digestive disturbances. ‘She looks almost due to be confined.’

  And she was proved right. Maud was supposed to be due in April, but on Friday the twenty-ninth of March, she awoke at half past five in a soaking wet bed. She tried to get up, but was seized by a pain in her back so sharp and intense that she could not move until it had somewhat subsided; then she eased herself slowly off the side of the bed and felt her way to the door. Opening it, she stepped out on to the landing and called up the stairs to the attic, ‘Teddy! Can yer come dahn, Ted? Teddy!’

  Her cry brought Mrs Hiscock from downstairs, panting as she tied her dressing-gown. ‘What’s up, Maud? ’Ave yer started?’

  ‘Yeah, I fink so. Me waters’ve broke. Sorry.’

  Teddy came running downstairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. ‘Did yer call, sis?’

  Maud Ling’s hour had come and she was in labour.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘COME ON, MAUDIE, breathe hard when yer get the pain, that’s the way!’

  ‘Gawd, Mabel, I’m goin’ to die.’

  ‘No, ye’re not, ye’re goin’ to have a baby.’ Mabel’s tone was bright,
but she could not shake off a feeling of disquiet. Maud’s baby was in a ‘back-to-front’ position: its head was coming first but was facing the mother’s front instead of her back, which made for a long, slow labour and possible obstruction if the head became jammed in the pelvis while rotating round as it descended. This was a potential danger to mother and child, requiring the use of the delivery forceps. A skilled obstetrician like Mr Poole had long practice in the use of instruments, but Mabel had no idea what experience Dr Swift had. She knew she would not be happy until Maud was delivered.

  ‘I’m that glad that ye’re wiv me, Mabel.’

  Mabel hid her unease beneath a smile. After sending Teddy to the Midway with a note for Sister McLoughlin, she took the early precaution of sending him out again with a scribbled message to Dr Swift, to give him fair warning of what might lie ahead. She gave Maud an enema to clear her bowels, and got her to sit on the chamber-pot regularly to keep her bladder empty. Small drinks of tea, water and fruit cordial were given throughout the day as the hours went slowly by: midday, afternoon and evening. Maud bore the pains stoically, helped by doses of ‘mother’s mixture’ and Mabel’s constant attention; but twelve hours into labour, she began to lose heart and was not helped by a visit from Dr Swift who shook his head and said there was nothing to do but wait for nature to take its course.

  ‘I have to attend a dinner for the Royal College of Physicians tonight,’ he told Mabel grandly. ‘She’ll probably dilate up and be delivered by the time I get back, but leave a message at the surgery if you’re worried. There’s a GP standing in for me, but try not to bother him as he’s getting on a bit. Nice old chap, but –’

  Seeing the look on Mabel’s face, he patted her shoulder. ‘Remember that old Mother Nature knows her job better than we do, Nurse Court, and we have to be patient at this game. “Masterly inactivity”, as my old tutor used to say!’

  Mabel could have kicked him.