The Midwife's Here!: The Enchanting True Story of One of Britain's Longest Serving Midwives

by Linda Fairley

  Chapter Eight

  ‘T’ Eagle ’as landed’

  During my final months as a third year in the summer of 1969 I was back on Sister Craddock’s ward for another short placement, which seemed fitting as it had been my very first ward.

  As I reported for a night shift with two second-year students, Sister Craddock informed us that most of the patients were in for routine ops and simply needed observation overnight. There was only one exception – a patient with leukaemia called John Fisher. He was in a side ward attached to a chemotherapy drip containing Endoxan, and we’d need to keep an extra eye on him.

  ‘As always, I expect all the charts to tally in the morning, without exception,’ she added, shooting each of us a warning glance. ‘To make myself plain, that means the amount of water drunk must correlate to the urine output.’ Eyeing the second-year students, she handed out a copy of my notes from the previous shift and added: ‘I would be very happy if you could take a leaf out of Nurse Lawton’s book. Her mathematics is exemplary, and if all my nurses were like her, most of our problems would be solved.’

  I felt myself going pink as Sister Craddock went on to deliver her ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’ lecture for the umpteenth time, but I barely heard her. Her compliment was buzzing round my head, and I could scarcely believe that the second-year students were looking at me in the admiring way I had looked up to the third years such a short time ago.

  I floated off on my tea break later that night, leaving a second year in charge of the ward while Sister Craddock retreated to her office, as she often did, with a pile of input and output charts and a sharp pencil.

  Nessa was sitting in the canteen sipping warm tea and eating a square of apple pie. ‘How are the wedding plans going, Linda?’ she asked sweetly. ‘It seems so silly, but I’ve hardly had a chance to ask you.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, realising I didn’t have a lot to tell her. ‘To tell the truth I’ve hardly had a chance to think about it myself. I’m going shopping with my mum in a couple of weeks’ time to look for a dress and we’re having the reception at the Masonic Hall in Ashton. Dad’s not a Mason, by the way; we just like the hall. Oh, and Graham and I have found a house!’

  Nessa’s eyes widened. ‘You lucky thing,’ she smiled. ‘I bet it’s lovely. Where is it?’

  I explained that the house was an end of terrace in Grey Street, Stalybridge, which we’d bought from Graham’s uncle, who owned most of the row and would be living in the house next door. We’d agreed to pay £1,300 for it, with a mortgage of £13 a month. Graham was going to use the cellar to store the vending machines he now bought and sold, having left his car sales job to set up his own company with his brother. We would officially own it three weeks before the wedding, to give us a chance to do it up before we moved in.

  ‘It all sounds so grown-up,’ Nessa grinned. ‘Good for you, Linda.’

  ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Have you settled on which flat you’re having?’

  Nessa sighed. ‘Er, yes. It’s in Didsbury, is riddled with damp and is a complete rip-off, but at least it’s a step in the right direction!’

  ‘You’ll love it,’ I said, meaning it. While I knew I could never have coped without Graham’s support, I could see that I’d missed out on the social front a bit, having spent so much time with him. The rest of the girls had grown closer, I sensed. They went out to the university dances together more often, while Graham and I were planning our wedding and our future.

  ‘You’re right,’ Nessa nodded. ‘I’m not too bothered about the state of the flat. I’m just looking forward to the freedom. Three years in a nurses’ home is enough for anyone – even a bookworm like me! But you’re ever so lucky, Linda. You’ll be a married woman and a fully qualified nurse by the end of the year. I’m so pleased for you.’

  I drifted back to the ward on a cloud. Nessa was right. I’d come a long way. I remembered my first tentative steps along these corridors, and the way I would pretend I was holding God’s hand to help me through the day. Now my hands were free, and I imagined giving myself an imaginary pat on the back. I really should count my lucky stars. If everything went to plan, by the end of the year I would have passed my nursing exams and started training as a midwife at St Mary’s. It was too early to approach the maternity hospital at this stage, as I needed to be a qualified nurse before applying for a pupil midwife post, but that day was drawing closer. As each week passed I allowed myself to dream just a little bit more about what it would be like to deliver baby after baby, day in, day out. I couldn’t imagine a more rewarding way to earn a living, bringing new life into the world time and time again. I would never tire of that, I was certain.

  My daydreaming came to a crashing halt that night when I returned to the ward to find that John Fisher had passed away suddenly and unexpectedly in my absence. I was absolutely distraught. He had been fine when I left, and I immediately blamed myself for having left a second year in charge while I went on my break.

  ‘I’ve let a patient die!’ I gasped. ‘I’ve killed poor Mr Fisher!’ In my shock and panic I imagined I would be dismissed, or even sent to jail! I would never become a midwife, and I would not be able to marry Graham! I began to shake and sob.

  Sister Craddock steered me into her office. ‘Nurse Lawton, you are an excellent nurse and I will always stand by you, if it is correct to do so. In this instance, there is no blame to be apportioned to anybody. Mr Fisher’s death was caused by his cancer, I’m afraid. That is a fact. Do not blame yourself. There is absolutely no need to feel guilty. You went on a perfectly reasonable tea break. Is that perfectly clear?’

  I wiped away my tears and nodded uncertainly, feeling relieved but not quite believing her. It was unusual for her to be on night duty, and on reflection I felt very glad someone of her experience had been the night sister on that occasion. I thought I must have a guardian angel looking out for me, and I was comforted by that idea.

  Still, it took me weeks to fully accept Sister Craddock’s words. Mr Fisher’s death played heavily on my heart and I saw his face many, many times in my dreams. Each time I was reminded how fragile and valuable life is and I shuddered at what a heavy burden it was to be a nurse. Midwifery was so much more uplifting, I thought. Dealing with birth instead of death was definitely the way forward for me, and now, more than ever, I couldn’t wait to get started.

  ‘Nurse,’ hissed Marilyn Barton, ‘can I ’ave a word?’

  It was 20 July 1969, and for my very last placement I was doing a night shift in charge of a female medical ward.

  ‘Would it be all right if we were to put telly on quietly? I’d like to watch them walking on the moon.’

  Hilda Grimsditch in the bed next door pulled her curtain open.

  ‘Couldn’t ’elp overhearing, like. I were going t’ask same thing m’self.’

  Before I knew it the ward was buzzing.

  ‘It’s history in the making,’ another lady, Mildred, exclaimed. ‘Did you hear that Neil Armstrong earlier? “T’ Eagle ’as landed,” he said.’

  ‘Put your teeth in, Mildred,’ a chortling pensioner with a purple rinse chipped in. ‘’Ave you ’eard yerself? “T’ eagle ’as landed!” I don’t suppose the BBC announcer would say it like that!’ The ward erupted with laughter.

  It was uplifting to have something so positive to watch on the television. The news at that time was often dominated by the Vietnam War, and it always shocked me to see so much devastation, right there on the screen in front of me. It was the first time a war had been televised, and seeing such terrible images was so alien and upsetting, I often tried to avoid the news altogether.

  By contrast, the moon landing was a rousing must-see. Excitement had clearly been building since well before my shift started at 9 p.m. As I’d dressed in my uniform I’d tuned in to the World Service on the little Bush radio in my bedroom, and was thrilled to hear that the Eagle landing craft had touched down on the surface of the Moon at seventeen minutes past eight.
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br />   I was as excited as the patients were about seeing the astronauts actually set foot on the moon, which wasn’t expected to happen for a good few hours yet.

  ‘I’m sure it can be arranged,’ I said. ‘You know the night sister doesn’t like the television on at all hours, but if we’re all in agreement, and all keep quiet, I think we’ll be able to watch in the day room.’

  A ripple of applause went round the ward and Marilyn, who was the youngest of the patients, agreed to keep her ear tuned to the hospital radio, which was doing its best to keep up with the latest news in amongst the usual hotchpotch of requests and hit parade music.

  Just before midnight, Marilyn declared that it was about time we repaired to the nearby day room, where there was a small black-and-white television, donated by a grateful former patient, and a mismatched collection of chairs and faux-leather pouffes.

  A few old dears were sound asleep and had not asked to be woken, but the rest of us – about sixteen in total – tiptoed, hobbled and shuffled to the day room in anticipation of this great historic event.

  ‘I feel like a naughty schoolgirl sneakin’ off t’ave a midnight feast!’ Hilda tittered. ‘Who’d a thought I’d be stuck in ’ere ’aving me varicose veins removed when man were landing on the moon? Ya couldn’t credit it, could ya?’

  I was afraid we might all get into trouble for this, but I couldn’t help enjoying the moment and having a little laugh myself. The ladies looked a picture as they settled in front of the television in their colourful collection of flannelette nighties, quilted bed jackets and fur-lined mules and slippers. Some also wore bandages and dressings and were attached to intravenous fluids rigged up to stands, but nobody gave two hoots what they looked like. This historic spectacle was all that mattered, and we sat with our eyes glued to the flickering box in the corner of the room.

  A couple of patients enjoyed a cigarette and Marilyn generously passed round two paper bags of sweets to share. ‘I got my old man to buy these specially for the occasion,’ she giggled. ‘Guess what we’ve got?’

  ‘What?’ Hilda replied, opening one of the red-and-white striped packets.

  ‘Space Dust and Flying Saucers!’ Marilyn chuckled.

  Everybody tittered and tucked in – at least those who’d remembered to put their teeth in – and time slipped effortlessly by.

  Some ladies dozed off as I flitted between the day room and the ward, while others refused to take their eyes off the small screen and promised to wake the rest when the big moment finally arrived.

  It must have been about 2 a.m. when I heard the familiar tap-tap of the night sister’s shoes treading the corridor between the ward and the day room, where I was sitting quietly.

  ‘Matron’s coming!’ Hilda exclaimed in mock horror, enjoying the drama. I must admit my heart did a little flip, and I was relieved when it was the night sister, and not Miss Bell, who poked her head round the door a few moments later.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind …’ I started.

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied briskly. ‘But let’s have no more smoking, ladies. Mrs Spencer and Mrs Clayton, put those cigarettes out quickly, please. Nurse Lawton, if you could fetch the charts and the medication, we can all stay in here.’

  I swiftly obliged, while Sister settled herself into an armchair. Moments later we sat transfixed as Neil Armstrong emerged from the Eagle landing craft. We watched, mesmerised, as he set foot on the moon surface and declared dramatically: ‘That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’

  The ladies clapped and cheered while sister dutifully shushed them and warned them not to wake the whole hospital. I looked at the fob watch I normally used for the routine task of checking pulse rates. The moon landing was officially recorded at four minutes before 3 a.m. on 21 July, and it was a moment in time I shall never forget.

  My own life was leaping forward, too. By now I’d had a discussion with Mr Tate, my tutor, about how I should go about applying to become a pupil midwife. To my surprise, rather than recommending I return to St Mary’s, he suggested I might consider applying to Ashton-under-Lyne General Hospital. I would have to pass all my exams first, of course, for which I was studying very hard. I had four to take in total, each lasting three hours, and I was really feeling the pressure.

  From a practical point of view, working in Ashton made perfect sense. With Graham now running his vending machine business from home, I did wonder how I would manage to commute into Manchester every day. It would be bad enough using public transport during the daytime, but how would I cope with night shifts? I couldn’t expect Graham to give me lifts all the time, as each round trip would take about an hour.

  Mr Tate told me that a brand new maternity unit was to be built at Ashton General Hospital in the near future, which would provide excellent facilities and opportunities for pupil midwives. It seemed like the perfect opening for me, but I wanted to be absolutely sure it would be the right move. After all, this was a major decision for me. I had worked very hard to get this far, and I didn’t want to take the wrong path now. I had thoroughly enjoyed St Mary’s, and just thinking about it warmed my heart. I could still smell the cosy scent of talcum powder and sweet milk in the air, and if I closed my eyes I could feel the babies in my arms, snug and content, snuffling as I rocked them to sleep. What if Ashton wasn’t the same? I’d regret the decision very much.

  I made an appointment to see Mrs Ingham at St Mary’s one afternoon to canvas her opinion. She told me Ashton General was a friendly hospital where she thought I would fit in perfectly thanks to my ‘equable’ temperament, and promised to give me a fine reference. I was chuffed to bits. I valued Mrs Ingham’s opinion highly and this was just what I wanted to hear. With Mr Tate’s help I wrote a letter of application a few days later, addressed to Miss Ripley, the Matron of Ashton General Hospital. The wheels were set in motion, and I could almost feel them rolling beneath my feet. This was incredibly exciting. My dream of becoming a midwife was within touching distance now.

  On 27 August 1969 Miss Bell asked Mrs Ingham to provide a reference for me, and on 9 September Mrs Ingham filled in a questionnaire about the ‘obstetric nurse training course’ I had completed at St Mary’s, which was then sent to Miss Ripley, my prospective new matron. I never saw the documents at the time, but I know these dates now because in 2008, when I tried to retire, I was presented with a copy of the original questionnaire. It had lain in my file for more than forty years, and this is what Mrs Ingham wrote about me:

  State of Health and amount of sick leave: ‘Apparently healthy. No such leave during above course.’

  Temper and Disposition: ‘A very pleasing personality. Equable temperament.’

  Reliability: ‘Always reliable and punctual.’

  Manner and appearance: ‘An attractive girl. Always well “groomed”.’

  Intelligence and Education: ‘An intelligent girl. Grammar School Education. Written work and record keeping well above average standard.’

  General remarks: ‘This girl was a most satisfactory student whilst undergoing the above mentioned training. She was extremely interested in her work and her nurse–patient relationship was excellent.’

  I remember asking my mum what the word ‘equable’ meant after I first heard Mrs Ingham use it when I went to St Mary’s to ask for her opinion on my career.

  ‘It means you are level-headed and not easily disturbed,’ Mum told me.

  We were out shopping for my wedding dress, and were walking though to the plush bridal department at Marshall & Snelgrove in Manchester.

  ‘Look, Mum!’ I said excitedly. ‘Look at this one! It’s absolutely gorgeous!’

  The dazzling white dress was displayed on a glamorous mannequin right in the middle of the floor, and I was thrilled to see there was the most beautiful long, lace veil floating behind it.

  ‘Can I try it on?’

  Mum turned over the price tag to reveal that the dress cost the extravagant sum of £50 – not far off two months of m
y wages.

  ‘Go on then,’ she smiled indulgently. ‘So much for being “equable”, though, Linda!’

  The dress fitted perfectly and I was very touched that Mum was more than happy to pay for it. It wasn’t about the money; I was delighted that she was clearly supportive of my decision to marry Graham, and that she wanted to push the boat out for me.

  The next few months passed in a whirl. In the September I received a certificate through the post telling me I had passed my exams and qualified as an SRN nurse. The certificate itself was disappointingly plain and delivered without a fanfare, but what it represented was incredibly important to me. As a qualified SRN I was now able to dispense with the three stripes of white bias binding on my sleeve that marked me out as a third-year student. Instead, I would now have the honour of wearing the MRI ‘strings’ on my hat, a green belt around my waist and the prized MRI bronze penny on my dress. This meant the world to me. All I needed to do now was complete my obligatory three months’ work at the MRI post-qualifying, which would enable me to receive my official MRI nursing certificate in December.

  Along with about twenty-five others from our intake, Nessa, Anne, Jo and I were all invited to Miss Bell’s office one morning to receive our penny. While waiting outside to be called in individually, we hugged and giggled like little girls.

  ‘All this for a bronze penny!’ Anne joked. ‘I think we deserve more than a penny after what we’ve been through!’

  We laughed, knowing that, like the rest of us, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on the shiny medal. It depicted the Good Samaritan and, in Latin, bore Jesus’ words Vade et tu fac similiter, meaning ‘Go, and do thou likewise.’ We’d seen it many times, pinned proudly to the uniforms of other nurses, and we could scarcely believe we were finally joining their ranks as fully-fledged staff nurses.