An Irish Country Welcome

by Patrick Taylor

  “I do. My mother and father were living in Belfast.” He paused. “As the expression goes, I wasn’t even a twinkle in my father’s eye then. But there was still bomb damage when I was a child and naturally, I asked them what caused it.”

  “I think,” said Barry, “just about every kid of our generation asked the same questions. Almost a quarter of a million people fled that damage and made their way to towns and villages outside the city. Half of Belfast’s houses had been damaged, and many people arrived with nothing more than the nightclothes they were wearing. Protestants took in Catholics and vice versa. There’s been a spirit of cooperation and friendships in parts of rural Ulster ever since.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Including Ballybucklebo.”

  “Especially Ballybucklebo. Every year the kids from both communities put on a joint Christmas pageant. Father O’Toole and the Reverend Robinson are best friends and golf together. Sometimes it’s hard to believe there are two sides here. A Protestant friend of mine’s going to marry a Catholic girl and her dad has given them his unreserved blessing.” It’s a wretched shame Jack’s own father hasn’t, Barry thought. Still no progress on that front.

  “And,” said O’Reilly, “let me tell you about the man who is worshipful master of the local Orange lodge. He was pretty rigid in his thinking as recently as 1965, until he nearly died and had to rethink a lot about how he treated other people. Since then, he’s got his membership to tone down their anti-Catholic stance. He was the prime mover this year in persuading the local sporting club to hold events on Saturday nights, like a recent talent contest, and open their licensed premises to nonmembers to foster cross-community friendship. Ballybucklebo may not be unique in Ulster but it sets a damn fine example.”

  “I just wish the rest of Ulster would behave like that,” Barry said. “There could be trouble ahead in August.”

  “You mean when the Apprentice Boys of Derry march?” Sebastian asked.

  “I do.”

  Emer frowned. “Can one of you Protestants explain to me about the Apprentice Boys. We all know about the Orangemen but hardly ever hear anything about this other group.”

  “Goes back to the Williamite wars,” O’Reilly said. “The Catholic King James II’s forces tried to take Londonderry, a walled city, in December 1688. Before they could get in, thirteen boy apprentices slammed the gates. James’s troops began a siege that wasn’t lifted until six months later, when two ships broke a boom across the River Foyle. The end of the siege continued to be celebrated, and in 1814, the Apprentice Boys of Derry, a Protestant fraternal order, was founded.”

  “So, it’s not just a Derry thing,” Emer said.

  O’Reilly shook his head. “There are branches worldwide. It has two parades in Derry every year. One is in December to celebrate the closing of the gates. The other, that Sebastian was talking about, is on the second Saturday in August, to celebrate the anniversary of the lifting of the siege. They’ll march two weeks tomorrow.”

  “I see. And given we’ve just had all kinds of trouble after the Orange parades in July, I can see why there’d be concerns about more Protestant parades in Derry,” said Emer.

  O’Reilly said, “That’s right. We can only hope mid-August passes quietly up there.”

  “I think,” said Sebastian, “it is generally recognised that wise men do not go round waving red rags at bulls. But then I suppose linking wisdom with people who have a passionate belief in a cause might not be an altogether happy juxtaposition.”

  “You, brother,” Barry said, “have said a mouthful, and sadly—I think you’re right.”

  14

  A Baby Brings Its Own Welcome

  “I’m off,” said Barry. “Got to buy some vanilla ice cream for Sue and get home.”

  “Give her my love,” O’Reilly said.

  O’Reilly watched as Sebastian’s gaze followed Barry out of the room. He tried to interpret the look on the young man’s face. If he had to guess, he’d say it was wistful.

  “Um. So, what do we get up to this afternoon?”

  “We wait,” O’Reilly said, “until Emer comes back. We’ve got to have a doctor who can respond immediately to an emergency near the phone at all times, and it’s particularly important when one of our patients is expecting. Rosie Redmond was due this week and it’s now Friday. If Miss Hagerty, the district midwife, calls while Emer’s still out I’ll respond, and naturally I’ll take you with me.”

  “I see.” He sighed. “I’d rather hoped we’d be finished for the day.”

  O’Reilly shook his head. “Damn it, man, it’s only two o’clock. We’re here to provide service to our patients—and you’re here to learn. Sebastian, I was a bit disappointed this morning with what I saw as your certain lack of empathy with Sonny, but I am willing to put it down to lack of experience in dealing with out-patients. In Bart’s and the Belfast City Hospital you probably never saw anyone more than once at a clinic. General practice is different. We do get to know our patients. Some of them even become friends.”

  “I’m sorry. I will try harder.”

  “Good. But I don’t understand your seeming to be work-shy. We simply do not keep bankers’ hours in general practice.”

  Sebastian would not meet O’Reilly’s gaze.

  “Do you want to tell me why you want to be free on the afternoon of your very first day?”

  “Um, well, I—I. Look here, Fingal, I’ve only just finished my houseman’s year at Belfast City Hospital and, well, I suppose I’m ready for a spot of fun.”

  “A spot of fun?” O’Reilly mimicked Sebastian’s upper-crust pronunciation. “A spot of fun? Well, you should have thought of that before you applied.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should have.”

  Sebastian continued to avoid O’Reilly’s gaze, and the older doctor sighed. “All right. We’ll let that hare sit for now, but I want you to know where you stand.”

  “I’ll try to do better.”

  “I believe you. Now, let’s shake on it.”

  Sebastian took O’Reilly’s offered hand.

  “We’ll give this another try, shall we, Doctor Carson?”

  Sebastian nodded. “I certainly—”

  His words were interrupted by the telephone’s harsh double ring.

  “I’ll answer it,” O’Reilly said, rising. “Kinky’s just popped out to look at new Hoovers. The old one’s making the most God-awful racket.” He went to the hall. “Hello. O’Reilly.”

  “Doctor, it’s Miss Hagerty. It’s Mrs. Redmond. Second pregnancy. Thirty-nine weeks and five days. Went into labour this morning. She’s eight centimetres dilated and the head is engaged. Won’t be long now.”

  “We’re on our way.” He replaced the receiver and bawled from the hall, “Come on, Sebastian. We’ve a delivery to do.”

  * * *

  The Redmonds lived in a pebble-dashed farm labourer’s cottage in the Ballybucklebo Hills. O’Reilly parked in the small front yard and both men piled out.

  A border collie barked once then put its tail between its legs and crouched low to the ground, growling.

  Sebastian hung back, staring at the dog.

  “Come on, man. Shep’s only doing his job protecting his family.” O’Reilly bent. “Here, Shep.”

  The collie wriggled forward, and O’Reilly patted the dog’s head. “Good dog. Now. Go home.”

  The dog, tail thrashing, crept into a kennel near the front door. “It’ll take a while, but you’ll get to know most of the farm dogs, and, more to the point, they’ll get to know you.”

  “One can hardly wait,” Sebastian said.

  “It’s all part of country practice.” O’Reilly didn’t bother to knock but opened the front door and strode into a kitchen with a tiled floor. “Miss Hagerty?”

  A woman’s voice came from along a hall. “In here, Doctor O’Reilly.”

  Pursued by Sebastian, O’Reilly strode along a narrow hall and into a bedroom, his nostrils instantly tickled by the acrid smell of amn
iotic fluid that always accompanied labour. “Afternoon, Miss Hagerty. Mrs. Redmond. This is Doctor Carson. He’s our new trainee.”

  Miss Hagerty, a slim, middle-aged woman in a red rubber apron over her blue midwife’s uniform, nodded briskly and turned her attention back to her patient.

  Rosie Redmond’s fair hair was damp and darkened by sweat. She lay on a red rubber sheet on top of newspapers on the bare mattress of her double bed. Her nightdress was pulled up. She forced a tight-lipped smile, then grunted and clasped her swollen belly.

  “Pant, Rosie. Pant,” said Miss Hagerty.

  The patient opened her mouth and panted like an unfit athlete who’d just staggered to the end of a hundred-yard sprint. She stopped panting as the contraction passed.

  “Will you listen to the foetal heart please, Doctor? The baby is lying longitudinally, right occipito-anterior, and the head is fully engaged.” She handed him a Pinard stethoscope, an aluminium tube with a broad, round open end, a narrower neck, and a flat circular earpiece.

  So, the baby’s spine was in line with its mother’s, the back of its head was turned slightly to the mother’s right, and the widest part of the baby’s head had passed the brim of the mother’s pelvis. “Right.” O’Reilly placed the broad open end on Rosie’s swollen belly over the top of the baby’s back, bent, and put his ear to the earpiece. Immediately he heard the rapid beat of the foetal heart. He stared at his watch as he counted. Thirty-six beats in fifteen seconds. “One hundred and forty-four per minute.” Perfectly normal. “You and your baby are doing fine, Rosie. Won’t be long now.”

  Rosie grunted and bit down on her lower lip.

  O’Reilly left Miss Hagerty to encourage the patient to pant and turned to Sebastian. “I presume you did a few deliveries as a student?” O’Reilly could still recall his own experiences at Dublin’s Rotunda Maternity Hospital. They were among his most vivid memories and satisfying moments from his student days.

  “Twenty actually, but I’m a bit rusty. We don’t do any midder in our houseman’s year.”

  “Well, time for you to get going again.”

  Rosie’s breathing had steadied.

  “Come on then. Rosie, we’ll be back in a jiffy. Doctor Carson’s just going to wash his hands. I’ll show him the way.” O’Reilly had made several home visits here over the years.

  When they returned, Rosie was panting again, and Miss Hagerty had opened a pack containing a sterile towel and rubber gloves.

  When the panting stopped, Miss Hagerty rapidly palpated the woman’s belly and listened to the foetal heart.

  “I’ll be here if you need me,” O’Reilly said, “but now you’ll get a taste of domiciliary midwifery. Dry your hands and put on your gloves.”

  Sebastian did as he was told.

  “Head is fully descended, Doctors. Heart rate’s one hundred and forty-four.”

  “Thank you,” O’Reilly said.

  Miss Hagerty had earlier set a pre-sterilised pack of the equipment that would be needed on top of the cleared dresser and opened it. She poured brown, strongly smelling disinfectant into a kidney dish.

  Sebastian, with no prompting from O’Reilly, grasped a cotton swab in the jaws of some stainless-steel, sponge-holding forceps, dipped the swab in the brown solution, and explained, “I’m just going to wash you down below, Mrs. Redmond, put some towels on you, and examine you.”

  She didn’t reply. She began panting again under Miss Hagerty’s direction.

  Sebastian waited for the contraction to pass and painted Rosie’s nether regions. He spread one green towel over her pubic region and belly. “Can you lift your bottom a bit?”

  She did and he tucked another green towel under, so most of it would be under the baby when it was delivered. “Now I’m going to examine you.”

  O’Reilly watched and listened.

  “The cervix is fully dilated, and the occiput will be visible as I remove my fingers. I should be grateful, Miss Hagerty, if you might encourage Rosie to push with her next contractions. You’re going to deliver your baby now, Rosie, so please part your legs and draw up your knees.”

  Sebastian moved to her left side.

  Before he could do anything, O’Reilly saw the black circle of the baby’s hair at the opening of the vagina.

  “Sweet Jesus, it’s coming,” Rosie said.

  Miss Hagerty helped her to a semi-sitting position and said, “Puuusssh.”

  O’Reilly watched as with his right hand Sebastian controlled the rate of descent of the baby’s head. With the other hand, he eased the skin between the bottom of the vagina and her anus down and away from the pressure above them.

  The contraction passed.

  “Are you all right, Sebastian?”

  “So far. It’s a bit like riding a bicycle, you know. It all comes back to one when it has to.”

  O’Reilly smiled at that analogy and was impressed by the man’s apparent sangfroid.

  “Right, Rosie. Big puuush.”

  O’Reilly watched as under Sebastian’s fingers the head advanced. He let it come until the widest part was clearly in the open. Then he allowed the head to extend. As it rotated, a wrinkled forehead appeared, damp and smeared with vernix caseosa, the white, greasy waterproofing that coats the skin of the baby in the uterus. A button nose came next, and in a rush a puckered little mouth, and a tiny pointed chin. Even before the shoulders were born, the baby gave its first, weak wail.

  Sebastian used both hands to guide the slippery infant out of its mother and onto the green towel. “It’s a boy, Rosie,” he said. “He looks fine so far.”

  O’Reilly handed Sebastian another green towel to wrap the boy, who let a screech out of him like a banshee. “Grand set of lungs there, Rosie,” O’Reilly said.

  Sebastian set the boy on his mother’s tummy, clamped and cut the umbilical cord, and gave the wee one to his mum, who was making cooing noises of delight. He put his hand on Rosie’s tummy. “Uterus is firm and contracted. The cord’s getting longer and there’s some bleeding. Right, Rosie. One more big push.” He gently pulled on the cord and as she pushed, the placenta was expelled.

  O’Reilly had prepared the hypodermic. “Just a wee jag to make sure your womb stays contracted”—and gave ergometrine by intramuscular injection into her left thigh. “Now,” he said, moving to the head of the bed. “Let’s have a look at the chissler.” Ten fingers, ten toes, intact palate and lips, no skull defects, no heart murmurs, although if there were heart defects, they may not show up until later, and no clicking of the hip joints when O’Reilly forced the wee one’s legs open, so no congenital hip dislocation. “He’s perfect.” O’Reilly gave the baby back to his mother, where the little one contentedly latched onto her right nipple and began to suck.

  “How are you getting on, Doctor Carson?”

  “Splendidly. No skin tears. No bleeding. Placenta’s intact. I’ll just need to give Mrs. Redmond a bit of a wash.”

  “Don’t you bother yourself about that, sir,” Miss Hagerty said. “Tidying up’s my job. You just take off your gloves and apron and go and wash your hands. And if you don’t mind me saying, I’ve seen a lot of deliveries. You did that very well.”

  Sebastian blushed. “Um. Well, thank you, Miss Hagerty. I was well taught. And thank you, Doctor O’Reilly, for letting me go ahead.” He looked at the mother and child. “You have a beautiful baby boy, Mrs. Redmond.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Right,” said O’Reilly, “we’ll be off. Miss Hagerty will take care of things. And one of us will pop in in the next day or two to make sure the pair of you are doing well. If you are worried about anything, give us a call.”

  “I will, Doctor, and thanks again.”

  O’Reilly headed for the door. “Go wash your hands, Doctor Carson. I’ll wait. But you did very well. I’m impressed.”

  Sebastian nodded and went into the bathroom. When he returned, O’Reilly said, “Right. We’ll pop back to Number One and if Emer’s there that’ll be
us finished for the day.” He opened the front door and stood aside to let Sebastian out. “How’d you like to celebrate your first home delivery with a pint on me? We could nip over to the Duck.” He opened the Rover’s door, hopped in, and started the engine. The prospect of a pint to celebrate the new trainee’s obvious obstetrical proficiency appealed mightily to O’Reilly.

  Sebastian climbed in the other side and closed his door. As O’Reilly drove off humming to himself, Sebastian said, “That’s a very generous offer, Fingal, but, honestly, if it’s all right with you I’d rather head for home if you don’t mind.”

  15

  To Comfort All That Mourn

  “This, Sebastian,” said O’Reilly, driving slowly along a narrow street five days later, “is the council housing estate. Thrown up after the war as cheaply as possible.” He braked as one of a group of boys in short pants kicking a football darted out into the middle of the road. “Eejit, boy,” he shouted out the open window. “Watch where you’re going, Sammy.”

  “Sorry, Doctor O’Reilly.”

  “It’s always gloomy because it’s in the shadow of the Ballybucklebo Hills. The rents are subsidised by the borough council so working folks can afford to live here. There’s been a slowdown in the shipyards—we can’t compete with South Korea’s pool of cheap labour. So quite a few who are unemployed live here too.”

  Sebastian peered at the rows of gardenless terrace houses, all identical, all mean and cramped-looking. “It’s not Cherryvalley, that’s for sure, and the drizzle is hardly cheering. But I suppose there are worse places in the world to live.”

  O’Reilly had to brake again for a stray mongrel, which slunk off, tail between its legs. “There are. This is nowhere as bad as the Liberties in Dublin before the war, with the poorest of the poor crammed into tenements with no running water and only a few outdoor privies. I got my start in general practice there in the ’30s before I came here to join old Doctor Flanagan.” O’Reilly moved off and passed three more houses before he parked. “Come on. You’ll not need your bag. The patient’s not physically ill. He lost his wife, Anne, to lung cancer on June the fourth—exactly two months ago. I want to see how he’s coping.” O’Reilly knocked on the front door.