‘Cheque,’ Danny replied, grateful to be able to assume some sense of control.
‘The name of your bank, Mr Dunn?’
‘It won’t bounce, madam,’ Danny replied.
The clerk sighed. ‘It’s purely routine, sir.’
‘Bank of New South Wales, Balmain. The manager’s name is Harry Farmer.’
The clerk wrote this down on the clipboard, then slid a slip of paper across to Danny. ‘Please make your cheque out for this amount. That will be your deposit on account and you will need to pay any extra costs over and above that amount before your wife and baby leave the hospital.’
Danny wondered momentarily what might happen if a family was unable to pay the bill. Did the hospital keep the baby? He wrote out the cheque, grateful that Brenda had insisted on topping up his bank account.
‘I’ll need your home and business phone numbers to contact you in case of emergencies. I take it your doctor has these as well?’ She gave him a wan smile. ‘To let you have the good news.’
‘Sure, but in both instances that won’t be necessary. I’ll be waiting right here in the hospital.’
The clerk looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, no, sir! That won’t be possible. We’ll . . . your doctor will inform you . . . telephone you at home some time tomorrow.’
‘What if the birth occurs during the night, madam?’
‘Some time tomorrow morning, after he’s done his rounds.’
‘No, no, you don’t understand. It’s essential I know the very moment my child is born. What if there are complications? I’ll have to be here,’ Danny insisted.
The clerk sighed. ‘Dr Leader could be busy. This is not his only hospital.’
‘All the more reason to stay,’ Danny cried, knowing he was rapidly losing control.
‘We don’t have suitable . . . er, facilities. The waiting room is only open until six; it’s already been locked for the night.’
‘Have you got a public toilet?’
‘Yes.’
‘And a spare chair?’ Danny turned and indicated the foyer behind him. ‘I could put a chair somewhere here. There’s plenty of room.’
‘I don’t have that authority, sir.’
‘What? To lend me a chair?’
‘No, to allow you to remain in the foyer. It must remain clear at all times, for emergencies.’
‘Then who has?’ Danny could hear his voice beginning to rise.
‘That would be the superintendent, and he’s gone home,’ the woman replied.
‘Who is in charge then?’
‘Miss Kirk, Miss Alison Kirk, the night-duty matron.’
Danny pointed to the phone on a nearby desk. ‘Will you call her, please?’
This last request proved too much for the weary clerk. ‘I am permitted to call only in an emergency, Mr Dunn.’
‘But this is an emergency!’ Danny insisted.
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
Danny was suddenly back in the camp facing Colonel Mori. He knew shouting at her was pointless, though that was exactly what he itched to do: to wreck the joint, make someone listen, reach though the window and grab this poor scrawny bitch and shake some sense into her, even though he was aware that she was only doing her job. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. He had to be near Helen in case something happened, something untoward. Everyone knew it happened all the time; you were always hearing about mothers dying in childbirth, and Helen was huge, almost twice normal size. People kept observing that she might be having twins. If so, this gave her twice the chance of dying in childbirth, didn’t it? Oh, Jesus! He had to be near, near enough to get to her bedside if something happened during the night.
Danny composed himself, smiled, and said in his Colonel Mori voice, ‘Your name, please, madam?’
‘Mrs Gibson.’
‘Mrs Gibson,’ Danny began, ‘I’m a lawyer, and a hospital is a public building, and this is one where the public come to have babies. Now a baby isn’t simply one parent’s responsibility but both, and although of course my wife has to do the lion’s share, I am an expectant father and naturally I am very, very concerned and consider myself directly involved. There are especially good reasons for my request, though I won’t go into them here, but I’m sure the legal implications of a public hospital denying a husband the right to remain in a designated waiting room, which has been deliberately locked, while his wife gives birth, or could possibly be dying,’ he added darkly, ‘will not serve this particular hospital well in a court of law or in the newspapers.’
Mrs Gibson looked thoroughly confused, as Danny had expected she might. He hoped to hell he’d guessed right about her and that she wouldn’t call his ridiculous bluff. He’d laid it on pretty thick and he knew that Helen would have practically killed him if she’d witnessed this ridiculous melodrama. Anyone with half a brain would know his words were an idle threat.
‘Mr Dunn, you’ll have to speak to the matron; this has nothing to do with me,’ the clerk said.
‘Of course, Mrs Gibson. I understand your position and that you would help if you could,’ Danny said soothingly, adding, ‘I know you’re only following instructions. As you say, I need to speak to the night matron.’ Danny gave her a forlorn look. ‘But without your help, I can’t think how I can possibly gain her attention.’ He grinned. ‘Without picking up that vase of dead flowers and hurling it through a window.’
It was a ridiculous threat and Danny intended it to be funny – but then he thought that perhaps she was responsible for the foyer flowers – so he was pleased to observe that Mrs Gibson, despite herself, smiled, breaking the tension between them.
‘I’d like to help you, Mr Dunn. I truly would. People – husbands anyway – should be allowed to wait at night. Some travel up from the country and can’t afford a hotel, and often the Salvation Army hostel down the hill is full, so they have to sit on a bench at Central Railway Station until the morning – that is, if the railway police don’t move them on – and then they have to walk the streets all night.’
‘If matron will give me just five minutes of her time I won’t ask for a second more,’ Danny said quickly. ‘I understand you are not permitted to call her directly. Perhaps you could simply leave the list of hospital extension telephone numbers here on this ledge for ten seconds? Then, if you are questioned later you can deny either telling me, writing down or giving me the number. You can swear on a stack of Bibles in a court of law you didn’t give me her extension number. I should know – I’m a lawyer,’ Danny said soothingly, adding, ‘I promise I won’t ever mention your name.’
To his surprise she smiled. ‘I only wish my husband had cared this much about me, Mr Dunn.’ She turned and unhooked a phone list and placed it on the ledge. ‘First line, second page, Alison Kirk.’ She smiled again, seeming to enjoy the conspiracy.
Danny flicked to the page and memorised the number. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gibson,’ he said quietly, pushing the list back through the window. ‘Now, pink or red roses?’ he asked.
‘I beg yours?’ Mrs Gibson asked, surprised.
‘You’ve been very kind. Pink or red . . . or white, for that matter?’
‘Oh, red, please. I’ve never been given roses before.’
‘And I’ve never had a baby!’ Danny said, laughing.
‘There’s a phone box on the pavement directly outside,’ Mrs Gibson offered. ‘The hospital one next to the lift is padlocked after six and the superintendent has the key.’
Danny had no idea what he was going to say to Miss Alison Kirk, the night matron. When Danny was a kid, Half Dunn had once advised him on what to do when he found himself in an awkward situation. ‘Talking’s always better than not talking, son, then just trust your Irish luck; the gift of the gab will usually get you through a crisis.’ Danny dialled the hospital number and, when the switchboard answered, said in a
n authoritative voice, ‘Dunn here. Matron, please, extension 151. Has she come on duty yet?’
‘Yes, doctor,’ came the cheery operator’s reply. ‘She came on half an hour ago. I’ll put you through.’
‘Thank you,’ Danny said in the distracted professional manner he’d heard some of his older legal colleagues use when calling from the public phones at the courts. Even in the army, where as a Sergeant Major he could command instant obedience, he’d learned that authority works best not when obedience is demanded but when it is simply assumed.
He heard the extension ringing, then a rattle as the receiver was lifted. ‘Hello. Matron Kirk.’
‘Matron, my name is Dunn, Daniel Dunn; we haven’t met.’
‘Oh? Are you a doctor?’
‘No, a lawyer, madam.’
There was a pause. ‘Is it a matter concerning me or the hospital, Mr . . . what did you say your name was?’
Danny had to hand it to her – she was quick. Without thinking he replied, ‘It is Daniel Corrib Dunn. I’m a solicitor and it concerns both.’ Danny went on in a relaxed, easy voice, ‘But let me quickly add, matron, that it is an informal matter – an important request but not one that should give you or the hospital the slightest problem. I’m calling from close by and could see you in the foyer or your office in a matter of minutes.
I promise to take no more than three or four minutes of your time.’
Danny held his breath, conscious that the matron’s reply would decide whether he won or lost. He couldn’t think of a single reason why she’d agree to see him. If she asked, he’d have to stumble through some kind of explanation or pathetic admission; tell the truth, beg. To his surprise she caught him completely off-guard by saying, ‘Corrib. Did you say Corrib? That’s a county in Ireland, isn’t it?’
Danny realised she was playing for time, deciding how to react to his request. What did he expect? She was a matron of the biggest maternity hospital in the city and he didn’t doubt for one moment she was a formidable woman, not one to be easily conned. ‘No, matron, rather more the district around the lake of the same name. It’s where my grandparents came from. My grandfather was born and raised in a crofter’s cottage on the lake shore.’ What now? Danny thought, inwardly wincing, certain he’d blown it.
‘Daniel Corrib Dunn, unusual,’ the matron remarked, adding quickly, ‘Strange coincidence. The only time I’ve heard that name before was at my niece’s graduation ceremony at Sydney University earlier this year. A law graduate who won the University Medal.’ There followed a slight pause, then, ‘Was that you?’
There is a God in heaven, Danny thought. ‘Yes, matron, I’m afraid my darling mother became a little distraught on the day.’
‘Nonsense, it was lovely and quite understandable. I must say, the vice-chancellor’s opening address and then the presentation left us all very close to tears.’ Then, as if he weren’t on the other end of the phone, she remarked, ‘Not a day I’ll easily forget. You seemed to epitomise all the brave, clever, decent young men who’ve fought and died for all of us. We felt very proud.’
Five minutes later Danny sat in the matron’s office enjoying a cup of tea. Miss Kirk turned out to be a tall, slim, attractive woman, probably closer to sixty than fifty, with nice brown eyes and a set to her mouth that suggested she was not to be taken lightly. She spoke like Helen and obviously came from a good family.
‘Well now, Mr Dunn, yours is not a face one is likely to forget, though they seem to have done a splendid job. Did you have it – the plastic surgery – done here in Australia?’ she asked without a hint of embarrassment.
Danny laughed. ‘Please call me Danny, matron. No, America. I spent many months in and out of the Barnes Hospital in St Louis. ‘Not a time I’d like to have over again, although the Americans treated me extremely well.’
‘Yes, lovely people. I spent some time as a young nurse in the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota before the war. Well now, Danny, what is this matter you wish to discuss with me?’
Danny took a deep breath, and when he spoke the words emerged in a rush. ‘My wife came in an hour ago, matron. This is our first child – we’ve tried for almost five years. They told me that, because of the three and a half years of severe malnutrition as a prisoner of war under the Japanese, I was likely to be sterile and then . . .’ Danny paused, suddenly realising the immediate implications. ‘Helen told me she was pregnant directly after the graduation ceremony in January.’ He paused again, overcome with emotion. ‘The joy I experienced was a thousand times better than anything that’s ever happened to me before,’ he finished quietly.
‘My dear boy,’ Matron Kirk said quietly, ‘what is it we can do for you?’
When the moment came to ask, Danny couldn’t think of anything reasoned or persuasive to say. ‘Matron, please let me stay here while Helen has our baby – anywhere, the toilet will be fine.’ He inhaled sharply. ‘Then let me see my wife and baby just as soon as it’s over. Please, Matron, I won’t be the slightest trouble,’ he begged.
Matron Kirk was silent for some time, then she asked, ‘Your wife, what floor is she on?’
‘Three, ward 3M.’
The matron picked up the phone, dialled a number and asked for the duty sister on the third floor. ‘Yes, sister, it’s matron here. Can you tell me how Mrs Dunn’s labour is progressing? [pause] Oh I see, how intense? [pause] Uh-huh. [pause] The doctor is on the floor . . . [pause] a previous delivery? How fortunate. Thank you, sister, I shall be up immediately.’ She turned to Danny, smiling. ‘It all seems to be going like clockwork. Dr Leader is here, your wife has gone into intense labour, he’s scrubbing up and they’re preparing her right now. I shall visit myself. In the meantime you must remain here, please.’
‘Thank you, thank you, matron,’ he cried, not quite able to believe his good fortune.
‘It could be a long night, Danny.’ Matron Kirk pointed to an easy chair in the corner of her small office. ‘You had better make yourself comfortable. I have to do my rounds and won’t be back for a while. Please do not leave this office unless you hear from me. I will instruct a nurse to call you when you may see your wife. If you need the toilet, it’s four doors to the left down the hall.’
Almost an hour later Matron Kirk reappeared. She was carrying a cup of tea and a plate of ham sandwiches. Danny jumped to his feet. ‘Thank you, matron,’ he said, acknowledging the tea and sandwiches but sensing that he should otherwise remain silent.
‘Sit, Danny, I have something to say to you,’ Matron Kirk instructed.
He sat down, thinking she was going to send him home. If so, he decided he was going to go down on his knees and beg. Coming out of the prisoner-of-war camp he’d sworn that he’d never humble himself in front of a man again in his life, but this was a woman and it concerned Helen, who was and always would be the exception to the rule.
‘I’ve made a decision and I want to explain why,’ Matron Kirk began. ‘What I am going to allow does not have a precedent. I want to be perfectly clear about that. With the exception of perhaps half a dozen young obstetricians who have been allowed to be present, but certainly not directly involved, while their wives gave birth, I don’t believe this hospital has ever agreed to a husband being at the birth of his child.’ Danny was beginning to shake. ‘I want to tell you why I have agreed to make an exception in your case,’ she paused, ‘and why Dr Leader has agreed.’ She paused and looked directly at Danny. ‘We feel that this is an opportunity to thank you, and the thousands of young men such as you, who fought and died to ensure that the next generation of Australians are born into a free society.’
Danny was very close to tears, his throat was constricted and all he could manage to choke out was an almost soundless, ‘Thank you.’
‘No, no, it is I who must thank you, but I must ask you to keep this away from the newspapers. While I am not acting against the law or even the official rules of this
hospital, I would be setting a dangerous precedent. You do understand, don’t you?’
Danny looked up at Matron Kirk. ‘Somehow, and I don’t yet know how, I promise to repay your kindness, matron. Thank you.’
Matron Kirk laughed. ‘You already have, Danny. Come along now, you have to scrub up and change into a smock, cap and mask. I imagine you’re not the fainting type, after what you’ve been through.’
At 11:33 p.m. on 24th of September, Samantha Dunn was born. It all happened with Danny thinking that at any moment Helen was going to rip his arm from his shoulder as she hung on to his hand, gasping and moaning. As Sam’s head emerged, Helen let out a piercing and agonised scream. Danny’s insides twisted in panic, but then, in moments, a baby was in the room, and Dr Leader was saying, ‘It’s a girl!’ She was briefly laid on Helen’s tummy, and both her parents gazed at her in awe, and then at each other, speechless. The umbilical cord was cut and tied, and, still unwashed, Sam was placed in Danny’s arms, her first squalls quietening at once.
The midwife was just taking her from his arms to ‘make her respectable’ when Danny realised that Helen was still labouring. He’d read something about the afterbirth, but to his astonishment, another baby girl was placed on Helen’s tummy, only six minutes after her sister: Gabrielle. Twins.
To Danny they were already the most beautiful little creatures he had ever imagined. He was permitted to sit with an exhausted Helen who was almost too weary to smile but managed to whisper, ‘Daniel Dunn, I don’t know how you managed this but I love you more than I can say.’ She closed her eyes and Danny wiped her brow, while telling her a hundred times over that he loved her.
The Story of Danny Dunn Page 30