Forget-Me-Not Child

by Anne Bennett

  She put the basket on the ground beside her and tried to ease the first bolt out slowly, worried that it might suddenly shoot out with a bang if she was too firm, or open with a penetrating screech.

  And then the baby began to whimper. She had slumbered beautifully while she had been carried, but now she was registering her discontent.

  It was the very worst time for her to cry, or make any noise at all, and Angela had slid open the first bolt, and as she reached for the second the baby’s whimpers became louder, and she threw caution to the wind and drew the bolt free with haste. The gate opened without a creak of any sort and as soon as she picked up the basket again the baby stopped crying.

  The way was open for Angela to do what she had come to do and yet suddenly she couldn’t move, it was as if she was rooted to the spot.

  She couldn’t do it, she decided. It was inhuman to expect her to put the child she had just given birth to on the steps of that vile-looking place and never ever know what happened to her. It was too cruel to ask a mother to do that and hot scalding tears fell from her eyes at the thought of it.

  And even while the tears rained down her face she thought of the practicalities of keeping the child, as she had done before. She thought she could just about stand the condemnation and disdain she knew would be shown by many of the neighbours if she brought home a newborn baby when her husband had been away two years.

  It would be harder to bear if their contempt impinged on Mary and even little Connie as she knew it might well. But how could she risk word getting to Barry and what if he was so upset he failed to keep his wits about him and was killed because of it? Could she ever live with herself if that happened? She knew she couldn’t.

  And how would they live if she couldn’t work? Mary wasn’t up to the care of a newborn baby and the nursery only took children from six months and might not take her at all if they knew the circumstances of her birth. In fact Connie might lose her place too. That would be disastrous for them all for the savings she had accrued wouldn’t last for ever. And what would happen when Barry came home and said he wasn’t prepared to care for a child forced on his wife in that violent way. He might even think the child had bad blood.

  She couldn’t blame Barry for feeling that way if he did, nor could she disobey him and so she would lose the child anyway, which would upset them both more than if she left her now.

  She faced the fact that that small child’s life was going to be sacrificed for the good of everyone else and that thought was hard to bear. If only she had something to give her to show how much she was loved. The letter was stowed in the basket where it would be found, but she would have liked to have given her something of her own, something she valued. And then she remembered the locket, her most treasured possession.

  It should have gone to Connie on her wedding day, but all her life she would have the love of a mother and this little mite would have nothing. She took the locket from around her neck and eased one of the baby’s hands from the covers and took off the mitten. When she touched the baby’s palm with the locket her little fingers folded over it and Angela replaced the mitten and put the little hand under the covers again.

  She went through the gate for it was no good delaying this any longer and she crossed the small yard and walked against the wall so she wouldn’t be seen by anyone looking out of the windows, which was highly unlikely because the yard was as dark as the entry. When she reached the corner of the house she peeped around furtively to check there was no one about and then before she could lose her nerve altogether she placed the basket on the top step, pulled the bell rope on the wall and heard it jangle in the house.

  They took a long time to answer the door and Angela was getting so chilled, her teeth had begun to chatter. And yet she kept her eyes focused on that door and when it began to open, she was off like a hare. The person who had opened the door gave a bellow, probably on realizing that there was a baby in the basket, and as Angela raced across the yard she heard the sound of many boots pounding through the house towards the door.

  Then she was in the entry, showing no caution now nor panic, remembering to pick up her case, and with it bumping against the side of her legs, she was out and tearing down Whittal Street towards St Chad’s.

  She barely took time to get her breath back in the porch, but in the church she saw there were a good few people praying already and lighting candles and so she made sure to dip her hand in the font as she entered the church and genuflect before the altar because people would think it odd if she didn’t. She didn’t skulk at the back of the church either, but made her way into the main body of the church and entered a pew beside two other women for she thought that was safer if she was pursued. She stowed her case under the pew and she knelt with head in her hands and tried to still her pounding heart as she prayed for the child she had just abandoned and Barry and Stan and all the fighting soldiers and their families.

  Phyllis had said that even if she were chased they wouldn’t think of St Chad’s and she would be safe in there. But people did come from the House looking for her. She heard the commotion at the back of the church and though many looked round, she kept her eyes firmly on the altar. The priest was a man called John Hennessy who people said was a kindly soul. He had not seen Angela come in but he had attended Catholics at the House and it always upset him to see how many were treated, especially the ones they called fallen women. A fair few were mere girls and forced into the sex that resulted in a child. So he had little time for those working at the House and he frowned as he asked the two men what they wanted.

  They said they were looking for a girl who had left a baby on the workhouse steps and run away.

  ‘And did you see her come in here?’

  ‘Well, no, Father. Not exactly,’ one of the men said. ‘Fact is we don’t know where she went. She like disappeared into thin air. We thought we’d try here on the off chance.’

  ‘Well as you can see,’ the priest said, ‘there are no runaway girls here, just respectable men and women saying a few prayers before the greatest event in the Christian Calendar, the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ and I’m sure they do not welcome this intrusion.’

  The priest said this with such authority that the men from the House were apologetic. ‘Sorry, Father.’

  ‘Yes, well, I suggest you look for that unfortunate young woman some other place for she is not here.’

  They went on their way and Angela breathed a sigh of relief and Father Hennessy made a mental note to pray for the poor girl they were searching for. She must have been desperate altogether to leave her baby in the indifferent care of the workhouse and he was sorry for her, whoever she was.

  Angela had the urge to leap up and follow the men out but she controlled that urge and waited till half an hour had passed and then she set off for the Bull Ring and home.

  Anxious now to be home as soon as possible, she took a tram along Bristol Street. As she alighted and went up Bristol Passage she gave a shudder remembering her ordeal at the hands of three drunken soldiers who weren’t worthy to wear their uniform. She had never walked this way in the dark and alone since that night because she was usually with Maggie and if she had to work late, she took up Mr Potter’s offer of a taxi home. It always caused a bit of a stir in the street but better that, Angela thought, than risk being violated.

  She mustn’t think of it again, she told herself firmly. All sad thoughts must be shelved. She hadn’t seen Connie for two long months and the last thing the child wanted was a Mammy with a doleful face, especially with it being Christmas Eve too.

  Maggie had told Mary Angela was making for home Christmas Eve if everything went to plan and so Mary was half expecting her, but said nothing to Connie just in case she didn’t make it.

  Angela opened the door with a smile nailed to her face to see Mary and Connie at the table eating a meal. She set the case down as Connie turned her head. When she saw her mother framed in the doorway, her mouth dropped open and the blood dr
ained from her face.

  Angela shut the door with her foot and said, ‘Hello Connie.’

  Her words seemed to galvanize the child, who leapt from her chair into her mother’s waiting arms, and then she burrowed her face into her mother’s neck and burst into tears.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Connie had longed for her mother’s return and asked Santa to bring her home for Christmas, and he had, and she was very happy about it. But, the Mammy who came home was not the same as the one who left. She looked the same and sounded the same, more or less, but …

  Connie hadn’t the words to say to show how she felt and she didn’t understand the innate sadness and guilt that clung to her mother. However she knew something wasn’t quite right and that unnerved her and so she didn’t want to let her mother out of her sight. So when she learned her mother didn’t intend going straight back to work after Christmas, she refused to go back to the nursery when it opened the day after Boxing Day.

  Angela didn’t mind spending some time with the child she had missed so much but when she refused to go to nursery she thought she might leave her with Mary while she returned to Phyllis’s to tell her how things had gone. However, Connie became so distressed when she suggested this, she knew she had to take her. ‘You must come too, Mammy,’ she said to Mary as they washed up the breakfast things. ‘You know Connie has ears on her like a donkey and there are things to be said that I definitely don’t want her to hear.’

  Mary could quite see that and anyway she had a great desire herself to see this lady who had looked after Angela so well when they had no idea where to turn and thought all was lost.

  Phyllis was delighted to see them and be introduced to Mary whom Angela had always spoken of so warmly and she had a special smile for Connie. ‘Did Santa come and bring you nice things?’ she asked.

  Connie nodded, thinking of the paint box and a pad with lots of paper to paint on, a beautiful white teddy from one uncle and soft leather boots from the other and a jigsaw from her Auntie Maggie.

  ‘And what was your favourite present?’ Phyllis asked.

  ‘Mammy,’ Connie said without hesitation and then went on, ‘I asked Santa to bring her and he did, before the other presents because she’s special.’

  Angela felt a lump form in her thoat as she realized Connie was deadly serious. She had no idea that was what she thought but Phyllis didn’t turn a hair. She just nodded sagely and said, ‘That must have been the way of it all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ Connie agreed happily.

  ‘And do you think you could eat some biscuits with a glass of milk?’

  Connie decided she liked this lady, whoever she was, and she nodded her head eagerly. ‘Yes please.’

  ‘I have the kettle on for us too,’ Phyllis said. ‘It won’t take me a jiffy.’

  ‘And I have some Christmas cake and a few mince pies,’ Mary said.

  ‘Oh we’ll have ourselves a little feast,’ Phyllis said as she got to her feet.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Angela said and immediately Connie slid off the seat beside her. ‘I’m only going as far as the kitchen. Stay here and I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Connie had her mutinous face on and for a moment Angela thought she was going to argue with her. Mary knew that too and said, ‘Bold girls who don’t do as they’re told don’t deserve milk and biscuits in my book.’

  Connie looked at her Granny who could be stern when she chose and she decided to not risk her getting angry and so she sat back down on the chair.

  ‘You see how she is,’ Angela said to Phyllis as she reached the relative safety of the kitchen.

  ‘I see a very unhappy girl,’ Phyllis said.

  ‘She won’t let me out of her sight,’ Angela said. ‘When she realized I wasn’t going to work straight away she refused to go to nursery and then when I suggested coming here without her she got really upset. I had to bring her.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ Phyllis said. ‘She is a confused girl at present and there is a shadow behind her eyes and that’s distrust. She loves you very much and she doesn’t want you to disappear again. You must be very gentle with her. Shall we go back now? I think we have it all organized.’

  As Angela followed Phyllis down the corridor she thought that though she had had no children herself she had seen straight away what ailed Connie. And she was so right, making Angela feel ashamed that her actions had caused Connie’s unhappiness.

  When Phyllis handed Connie the plate with the biscuits on she looked at her mother straight away because there were four of the most delicious-looking biscuits on that plate. They didn’t have that many biscuits and even then she was never allowed four straight off. Mammy always said that was greedy, but she didn’t seem to see and so Connie polished them off quickly in case she should suddenly take notice.

  They tasted as good as they looked and she sighed in contentment and took a gulp of milk before saying to Phyllis, ‘Did Santa come to you?’

  ‘Sadly no,’ Phyllis said with a smile. ‘It wasn’t that I was a naughty girl or anything, Santa just doesn’t come to adults.’

  Connie looked a little sad about that and so Phyllis said, ‘I have got toys here in my house, just in case I might want to play with them.’

  Connie wrinkled her forehead. She didn’t think adults played with toys but this lady might for all she knew so she just said, ‘Where?’

  Phyllis said, ‘They’re right here in the cupboard.’ Then she went on to ask Connie, ‘You know Maggie don’t you?’

  ‘Auntie Maggie,’ Connie confirmed.

  ‘Well she has lots of young brothers and when they were small they would come for a visit and they would get very loud and unruly if they got bored.’

  Connie didn’t know the word unruly, but she knew the word loud very well, especially when referring to boys. There were plenty of loud boys at her nursery and they didn’t have to be bored or anything, it was just the way they were and so she nodded and said, ‘I know.’

  ‘So I bought some toys and stored them in this cupboard by the fireplace. There’s a Noah’s Ark they seemed to play with a lot and a spinning top they all liked. There’s a box of lead soldiers somewhere and some books. Would you like to play with them now?’

  ‘Ooh yes please.’

  Phyllis opened the cupboard and Connie dived happily into it pulling out one thing after the other. She thought it an unexpected treasure trove for toys weren’t that plentiful in her house either. Mary took the seat nearby and Angela and Phyllis sat on the other side of the room so that as long as they kept their voices low they could talk with ease and Angela told Phyllis how dreadful she felt about actually leaving her child on the steps of the workhouse. ‘I gave her my locket,’ she said quietly.

  Mary’s head shot up at that, though they were speaking quietly, and she walked across to Angela. ‘I thought that was going to be given to her ladyship,’ she almost hissed indicating the child playing on the floor.

  Angela sensed that Mary wasn’t happy with her doing that. She understood, for the locket was given into her keeping by her mother, and she would want it to go to Barry’s child and she attempted to explain: ‘Mammy, through all her growing up Connie will have every ounce of my devotion and attention. I love her far far more than words can say and she is special, because she is part of Barry.

  ‘But the child I gave birth to is still my daughter however she was conceived. She is a child I can never acknowledge and even worse than that, I will never see her again nor know what happens to her, but I am certain she will have a miserable childhood in that place. I wanted to show her that somewhere there was once a mother who loved her and I had nothing to show that but the locket. It was the only thing of value I ever owned and it seemed right I give it to her. It is the only part of me she will ever have.’

  Phyllis took Angela’s trembling hands. She seemed unaware of the tears coursing down her face and said, ‘I fully understand why you gave the little one the locket, but can you be traced
by it?’ She knew that if they could find out who she was by the locket, she might be in trouble and Phyllis too, for she was sure it was a crime to abandon a child.

  It was Mary who answered because she had followed Phyllis’s train of thought, but Angela was struggling to control her emotions before the eagle-eyed Connie noticed her mother was upset. ‘No,’ she assured Phyllis. ‘All the locket contains is a miniature of Angela’s parents on their wedding day and the other side held two or three of the many white-gold ringlets Angela had as a young child. There is no writing anywhere, not even dates. And Angela,’ she went on, turning to face the girl, ‘I spoke out of turn. This I know was hardest thing you have ever had to do and I understand the dilemma you were in and you were right to give the child the locket. In that place it’s probably the only thing she’ll ever own.’

  ‘I know it was very hard for Angela too,’ Phyllis said. ‘Believe me, if there had been any alternative we would have taken it.’

  ‘I know you would,’ Mary said. ‘I’m not criticizing you in any way. I think the whole thing is unbelievably tragic and I can only thank you again for what you have done for Angela.’

  When they were leaving shortly afterwards Phyllis said, ‘If you will be able to carry it you could take the ark home if you like. Connie was very taken with it.’

  ‘Oh I couldn’t.’

  ‘’Course you could,’ Phyllis said firmly.

  Angela shook her head, ‘No, it’s made of wood and painted and everything. It must have been very expensive.’

  Phyllis shrugged. ‘I really can’t remember. I bought it years ago and it isn’t as if it’s new. It’s been well played with over the years. Look,’ she went on as Angela still hesitated, ‘I don’t have small visitors any more. Maggie’s brothers are all grown up. And it’s unlikely you and I will ever see each other again, for how would the friendship be explained? You were supposed to be my war-widowed pregnant niece. This is the end of the road for us so let your daughter have this as a sort of late Christmas present. I would like to think of her playing with it.’