I’d heard there was a woman expecting triplets attending the antenatal clinic, and I thought about how interesting it would be to be involved in their birth next year. Perhaps I could ask if that were possible? Of course it was possible, I realised, thrillingly. I was already capable of delivering babies all by myself, and I would be a fully fledged, qualified midwife by then, I was sure. I had delivered Lorinda Louise and little Jimmy, and I had all but delivered Mrs Griffiths’s baby today in such unconventional conditions. What a triumph!
As I approached the last set of traffic lights before home I became aware that the red Hillman Imp in the left-hand lane beside me was drifting across the white line on the road. Blinking through the drizzle I decided to speed up to get past the little car as quickly as possible. I accelerated, and a terrifying noise filled my ears. I couldn’t make it out. It was the crunch of metal on metal. It was the eerie screech of brakes not working fast enough. It was the sound of me yelling and crying out, becoming painfully aware that I was lying on the pavement on the opposite side of the wet road to where my moped lay.
Mr Fox was the motorist’s name. He took me home, shaking uncontrollably, in his damaged car and told Graham what had happened.
‘She hit the side of me and went straight over the bonnet,’ I heard him explain, white as a sheet. ‘I’m very sorry, I didn’t see her. I don’t think it was anybody’s fault. Poor visibility. Wet road, I’m afraid.’ I had to agree with him, though I wasn’t sure exactly how the accident happened.
Remarkably, my coat and uniform were unscathed. I had a large, throbbing bruise on my hip but no cuts or even scratches despite this being a far worse crash than my accident at the doors of Casualty. I sat shaking from head to foot and nursing a cup of sweet tea while Graham gave Mr Fox five pounds to cover the damage to his dented car and took the details of where my moped needed to be picked up from. It was propped up next to a lamppost on the side of the road, and would probably need a bit of work done to it, Mr Fox advised. I’m pretty sure he caused the accident, but I can’t be certain I didn’t steer into him in the heat of the moment when I accelerated, and I was happy for Graham to give him the money.
‘I think it’s time we thought about getting you a car,’ Graham said.
I nodded half-heartedly. The accident had really frightened me and in that moment the last thing I wanted to think about was taking to the roads again, especially in a car, but I didn’t want Graham to worry.
‘The girls at work said it’s easy to pass your driving test when you’re a nurse,’ I told him, giving a brave little laugh.
‘How come?’ Graham asked curiously.
‘Apparently the trick is to wear your nurse’s uniform and hitch your skirt up an inch or two,’ I smiled. ‘They say it works every time, even if you’re not much good behind the wheel.’
Graham laughed, which is what I wanted him to do. I was feeling embarrassed about the crash, and now the initial shock had subsided I wanted to play down how much it had shaken me up. In my job I was used to being the one people looked to for help, not the other way around. I joined in with Graham’s laughter, even though it made my sore body ache.
‘Put your feet up, Linda, while I go and get the moped. We’ll fix it up and sell it and get you a decent car.’
Once I was qualified my pay would increase and we would comfortably be able to afford a new car. It seemed like a good idea.
As soon as Graham had gone I shuffled tentatively into the kitchen. Over the previous few weeks I’d made two Christmas cakes, one for my parents and one for my in-laws. I’d followed an old recipe I had on a typed card from school, when we’d been taught traditional baking in Domestic Science. I really wanted these Christmas cakes to be perfect. Both sets of parents had given us so much support in our first year of marriage, and I wanted to prove that I was the perfect little wife, capable of running the home as well as working hard for my final exam and completing Part Two of my training.
The day before, I’d put the finishing touches to the marzipan and royal icing, and now, even though my hands were still trembling and sore, I added the finishing touch – a red and green frill around each cake – and set them on top of the fridge for safe-keeping. They were loaded with dried fruit and brandy and weighed an absolute ton, and my arms ached just lifting them.
Graham returned just as I put them down. ‘I’ll get the dinner on,’ I called down the hallway. ‘I feel as right as rain now.’
‘More than can be said about your moped,’ he remarked.
The Honda needed quite a bit of patching up, but Graham said he would deal with it, and then place an advert in the Manchester Evening News to sell it as soon as I had passed my driving test.
‘Mind that paint in the vestibule,’ I shouted, suddenly remembering I’d left two tins of emulsion balanced next to the telephone table. I wanted to spruce up the paintwork in the lounge before Christmas, so determined was I to prove my worth as a competent little homemaker.
December 1970 was an incredibly busy month. The wards were teeming with patients and I found myself working long hours and, as I was still a pupil midwife, being given the worst ‘off-duty’. This meant moving around the wards frequently and taking on more night shifts, which was extremely tiring.
One evening I arrived at work feeling utterly exhausted before I’d even started. I’d spent the day cleaning the house in preparation for the decorating, as well as writing out scores of Christmas cards. Graham and I had been receiving cards for a week or so now, but I had scarcely had time to put pen to paper. The arrival of a card from Linda Mochri had jolted me into action. ‘All fine here in bonny Scotland,’ she had written brightly. ‘Hope you are well.’
I realised, to my shame, that the best part of a year had passed since I’d heard from Linda and I had no idea how she was getting on. I had been so caught up in my own life I had not made time to keep in touch with old friends. I hadn’t a clue how Nessa, Anne or Jo were doing either, and I resolved to send them all a Christmas card and wish them well for 1971. In my heart I knew that our friendship, as we knew it, could never be rekindled, but nevertheless I hoped to keep in contact.
‘You look shattered!’ Barbara Lees remarked when she saw me putting on my apron on the postnatal ward that night. ‘And it’s not a good night to be tired!’
‘Why ever not?’ I asked.
‘The wards are absolutely fit to burst. I heard they had two women labouring in the same delivery room earlier and had to wheel one of them out while the other gave birth!’
‘No! Why is it so busy?’
‘No idea, but thank goodness we’re getting a new hospital, that’s all I can say.’
I nodded. There had been a lot of excited talk about the new maternity unit. Our old maternity facilities within Ashton General would be gradually shut down, and by the end of 1971 we would have a large, purpose-built maternity unit, which was being built next to the existing hospital.
With more women than ever opting to have a hospital birth as opposed to a home delivery, it was anticipated the new maternity unit would be an extremely popular and thriving facility.
Talking to Barbara, I suddenly had a sense of being in the right place at the right time, which spurred me on that night despite my weariness. That feeling was magnified when I was summoned to see Miss Sefton before I began my duties. I had a good idea what she wanted to talk about, and I had been waiting for this moment. My record of deliveries had been sent to the Central Midwives Board for scrutiny, and I had been awaiting the result of my final exam, which I thought had gone very well. I had been hoping that any day now Miss Sefton would be able to confirm that I had passed my Part Two. This was it!
‘Congratulations,’ she said warmly when I entered her office. She expressed her great pleasure in informing me that I had passed my final exam with flying colours and that I had ably assisted in the various required births from March to December. Margaret Mulligan had been right, I thought. It wasn’t that hard to clock up the nece
ssary deliveries.
‘In passing Part Two you have automatically earned yourself a position as a staff midwife here at Ashton General Hospital,’ Miss Sefton confirmed. ‘In my opinion you should stay here, as you will probably be ready for a sister’s post in twelve months’ time.’
This news was delivered without fuss, though I was given a fancy certificate that informed me I was now entitled to inclusion in the Midwives Roll. It also declared that I, Linda Mary Buckley, was authorised to ‘hold herself out as certified’ under the Midwives Act of 1951. I was a qualified midwife at last! What an achievement!
I knew that staff midwives automatically qualified for a sister’s post after twelve months on the job, although of course you only got the job if there was a vacancy. With the new maternity unit opening, there would be plenty of sisters’ posts to fill, which was extremely good timing for me.
I rushed out of Miss Sefton’s office feeling fantastic. This was a very significant moment for me, and it felt very special. I had been a student for more than four years, all told, and this day was a real landmark. I felt truly ecstatic.
I could dedicate my whole life to delivering babies now. It was what I was meant to do, I was sure of it. Being a nursery nurse might have been a feasible alternative, but it wouldn’t have been the perfect job for me. I was meant to be a midwife. That’s how I felt, very powerfully now. I had achieved my dream thus far and I was certain I would never stop fizzing with pride whenever I heard those words, ‘The midwife’s here!’
Back on the busy ward there was no time for further reflection, and my first task that night was to assist two new mothers with breastfeeding.
‘Linda, see to those two in beds three and four, will ya?’ Sister Kelly ordered, scratching her bosom earnestly. ‘They’ve decided to try breastfeeding, so they have, but aren’t making a very good job of it if the truth be told. Poor little mites’ll be starvin’, the way they’re goin’ on.’
She rolled her eyes and sucked on her teeth as I headed off to meet Audrey Asprey and Eileen Yates, who had given birth to their respective daughters Adele and Donna within an hour of each other. Both women were bright-eyed and in their early twenties, and they explained to me enthusiastically that they’d heard a radio programme about the benefits of breastfeeding and wanted to give it a try, to give their daughters the ‘best possible start in life’.
‘Good for you,’ I complimented them. ‘We don’t get too many mums wanting to breastfeed, even though as midwives we’re taught to encourage it. After all, breast milk is the perfect food for baby, and is always at the right temperature.’
They both looked very pleased with themselves and listened attentively as I discussed the basic principles of breastfeeding and described how they needed to try to relax in order to get the baby to ‘latch on’ to the nipple correctly.
‘I’ll be back over in a little while, after the bottles are dished out,’ I said.
An hour passed and my feet and head were throbbing. I’d prepared all the bottles in the steaming milk kitchen and changed three or four babies in the nursery, including Adele and Donna. Betty, one of the hard-working auxiliaries, returned the babies to their mothers while I dished out bottles of milk before going to help with the breastfeeding.
To my delight, when I arrived at Audrey’s bedside she was already breastfeeding beautifully, the little girl at her breast guzzling milk greedily and contentedly.
‘I don’t think you need any help at all,’ I smiled. ‘Well done! You’ve got that down to a fine art!’
Just at that moment, I heard a worried little voice from the other side of the curtain around Audrey’s bed. ‘Excuse me, Nurse, can you come here a minute?’
I stepped out through the curtain to find Eileen standing before me with a confused look in her eyes.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
Eileen hesitated for a moment before hissing in my ear, ‘The thing is, Nurse, Adele is in the nursery and Donna isn’t, and I think …’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ I asked, my heart rate quickening as my brain caught up with what she was saying.
‘Audrey is feeding Donna!’ Eileen exclaimed loudly.
I pulled back the curtain to reveal the well-fed baby in Audrey’s arms giving a contented burp as she nestled on her chest.
‘Bloody hell!’ Audrey yelped, handing Donna over to her mother as if she were a hot potato. ‘Does that mean I’ve got to start all over again with Adele? I’m not sure I’ve got any milk left!’
‘I’ll fetch Adele right away,’ I said, dashing off swiftly. I’d never known Betty to make a single mistake before, let alone one of this magnitude. Normally the auxiliaries were marvellous and a crucial part of the team. Midwives treasured them as they were always there when you needed them, not only fetching and carrying but acting as another pair of eyes and ears. Betty must have been run off her feet today, I thought.
I returned from the nursery to find the two women chuckling merrily away. ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ Eileen was saying. ‘I’m just glad my Donna’s had a good feed – first proper stuff she’s had!’
With incredible good nature and impressive ease, Eileen later went on to breastfeed the real Adele, and as far as the women were concerned that was the end of it. They wouldn’t hear a word of apology and both said how uncanny it was that their daughters had been born so close together, and how alike the two little girls looked, especially in their matching hospital gowns. Neither woman blamed the auxiliary, despite the fact both babies wore name tags and were in labelled cots.
Looking back, I marvel at how times have changed. If that were to happen today, blood tests would definitely be called for, and most probably lawyers too. But this was a time when HIV was unheard of in maternity units and litigation was a word you rarely heard, so life carried on with no harm done.
I reported the matter to the night sister, of course, but I am pleased to say I heard no mention of the mix-up ever again. Nevertheless, my nerves were shot to pieces at the end of my shift and I couldn’t wait to get home and unwind.
As I was leaving the hospital at 7 a.m. the next morning I ran into Mrs Tattersall, who was rushing to a home birth.
‘Fancy coming with me?’ she asked. ‘Sixth baby, would you believe. Should be quick, up on the Moss. Husband makes a very good brew.’
‘Do you mind if I don’t?’ I said politely. ‘I think I need to get some sleep. I’ve had quite an eventful shift.’
Intuitive as ever, Mrs Tattersall knew I had a tale to tell and urged me to do so. I was so tired I could hardly relate the story without getting Adele mixed up with Donna and Eileen confused with Audrey all over again.
Mrs Tattersall laughed like a drain. ‘It happens, Linda love,’ she said. ‘All’s well that ends well, that’s what I say.’ She put her hand on my shoulder, and I sensed she had a tale to tell too.
‘A lot worse things can happen, Linda. Perhaps this is not the best time to tell you, but then again I don’t know when it ever is. I heard some sad news last night. Moira Petty’s little boy, Jimmy, has died. He had a serious heart defect. Nothing could be done for him, poor soul.’
I felt my legs buckle beneath me, I was so shocked and upset. I could picture poor Moira, labouring in the cold and damp in that front parlour, and I remembered how pleased I had been to see her little boy dressed up in his brand new clothes despite the poverty he was born into. I had hoped his life could be better than his mother’s, but now he had no life at all.
‘That’s awful,’ I gasped. ‘That’s just awful.’
‘Well,’ Mrs Tattersall replied thoughtfully, ‘it might have been a blessing. The poor little lad had enough disadvantages in life. A heart defect was perhaps one too many to bear.’
I knew what she meant but it didn’t make me feel any less sad about his passing.
When I arrived home, I fell through the front door feeling as if I’d been put through a wringer and was greeted unexpectedly by Sue, our Red Setter. Norm
ally she was asleep in her basket at this early hour, but she jumped up on me excitedly, taking me completely by surprise.
There was something white all around her mouth, and when I looked closely and took a sniff I realised to my dismay that it was icing – or the royal icing from my Christmas cakes, to be precise.
‘Sue!’ I hissed. She bounded off and I went to give chase but tripped clumsily over something hard in the hallway. It was one of the tins of white emulsion paint I’d left standing there, ready for the decorating. It overturned and spilled all over the hall carpet, making me burst into tears on the spot. Sue barked loudly, and I followed her through to the kitchen to find both of my lovingly baked Christmas cakes half-eaten on the floor. I sat on the cold tiles beside the crumbs and mess and sobbed into my hands.
Graham appeared at the kitchen door.
‘Whatever’s going on?’ he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking bemused.
‘Nothing,’ I shrugged, wiping away my tears. ‘Just a day in the life of a midwife, I suppose.’
He put his arm around me. ‘There’s no need to cry about spilt paint, you know …’
‘I’m not,’ I replied. Poor little Jimmy was dead. As if I would waste my tears crying about a ruined carpet! ‘And I don’t care about the cakes either, not really,’ I sniffed.
‘So what is it?’ Graham asked.
‘Just work. It’s hard sometimes. And sometimes you have to sit down and have a good cry. This is one of those moments. It comes with the job. I’ll be all right in a bit. You go back to bed.’
I found myself saying a similar thing to him when I returned home from my shift on Christmas Day 1970. While the rest of the family tucked in to cold turkey sandwiches in the evening I could think of nothing but what had happened at work earlier that day, but it wasn’t fair to burden Graham.
‘How was it?’ Graham asked brightly, fetching me a Babycham. ‘Any Christmas Day babies?’
‘Yes,’ I replied warily. ‘Six today. Hard day, but I’ll be all right in a bit. Let me just get changed.’
The Midwife's Here!: The Enchanting True Story of One of Britain's Longest Serving Midwives Page 23