Walking Back to Happiness

by Anne Bennett

  Neither response helped Hannah. Nor, she imagined, would it help Frances, or the family who didn’t want Paddy in Heaven, but back at home, working the farm in Wicklow.

  Feeling isolated and unsupported in her grief, Hannah was glad to go to bed, where she tried to muffle her sobs, lest they disturb the other girls in the dormitory. When she was woken in the early hours of the morning with griping pains in her stomach, she knew she was about to give birth to the child she couldn’t keep and she almost welcomed the pain, feeling she deserved it. She knew, too, that the baby was a month early and hoped he or she would be all right. But it was out of her hands now. Soon it would be all over.

  She lay in a stark white-tiled room, her smock rolled up to her middle and a towel tied to the bedhead. ‘That’s for you to pull on when the pains get strong,’ Sister Celia said.

  God, thought Hannah. Can they get stronger than this?

  The nun caught her train of thought. ‘Oh yes, my girl,’ she said with a smile – a satisfied, ‘serve you right’ sort of smile. ‘This is nothing. They’ll be worse than this, bye and bye. You’ll be glad of the towel then.’

  And she was glad of it, mighty glad. She nearly pulled the bed on top of herself, she tugged it so hard. Now she understood those who roared and screamed and called for their mothers. But because of the nun’s smile and because she’d seen what happened to people who did make a fuss, Hannah would not utter one sound. She was terribly frightened, though, and threshed on the bed to try and get rid of the wild beast trying to tear her in two.

  It went on for hour after weary hour, until Hannah felt she could bear no more, could push no more. She had no strength left, but Sister Celia wouldn’t let her give up, urging and shouting at her, ‘One more push. And another. You can do it! Come on – push and again, and one more. Come on, you can do it!’ Hannah wished the damned nun would shut her mouth and if she could have got breath enough, she’d have told her.

  ‘I can see the head,’ the nun cried, but Hannah just wanted to die. Then, as the pain threatened to totally overwhelm her, with one almighty push, which seemed to sap the energy from every part of Hannah’s body, the head was out and Hannah felt the baby’s body slither after it and the plaintive cries of a newborn filled the room.

  ‘Didn’t need a smack this one,’ Sister Celia said.

  ‘What is it? Let me see!’

  ‘You’re building heartache for yourself,’ the nun said, her lips pursed.

  Hannah felt anger pulsating through her. ‘At least I’ve got a heart,’ she yelled at the startled nun. ‘Not like you, you heartless cow. I’ve just given birth. At least let me hold my own baby one time.’

  ‘I’ll ignore your remarks and put it down to stress,’ the nun said haughtily. ‘And if you want to hold your baby, you shall. You’ll regret it, for it will be harder for you in the end. I know what I’m talking about.’

  Hannah barely heard her, for as she put the baby into Hannah’s arms, she became entranced. He was very, very tiny, and wrinkled, but then he was a month early. She checked that he had the right number of fingers and toes and she searched for any likeness to his father but found none. He had an apple-shaped birthmark on his left arm and Hannah lifted him up and kissed it. The blemish didn’t detract from his beauty, for he was beautiful, Hannah thought, totally unprepared for the rush of maternal love for the little scrap that suddenly coursed through her body. ‘Michael,’ she whispered to him. ‘That’s your name, Michael, after your daddy.’

  The baby was rooting at her, his mouth open and searching and Hannah pulled down the gown and put Michael to her breast as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She saw the baby’s eyes flutter shut in contentment and his tiny hands knead her breast that his small mouth tugged upon and felt so at peace she could have cried with happiness.

  And then, the door crashed open and Sister Theresa, an angry Sister Theresa, was glaring at her. ‘What possible good have you done, holding your baby and now feeding him?’ she demanded. ‘You’d have been better letting Sister Celia take him away without even looking at him. Give the child to me!’

  ‘Please, please,’ pleaded Hannah, not even sure what she was asking. She didn’t know how she’d bear it if they took Michael away now.

  ‘Come, come. This is just prolonging the agony,’ Sister Theresa said, taking hold of the child. At her slight tug, Hannah’s nipple popped out of the baby’s mouth and his eyes opened in surprise and his little face screwed up as if he was about to cry. But he was forestalled by Hannah, who let out an animal-like howl, and another, and another. Sister Theresa carried the baby away and Hannah felt as if her heart had been torn from her. ‘Pull yourself together!’ Sister Celia snapped. ‘You knew it had to be done. Stop this nonsense and cover yourself up. You’re a disgrace!’

  Hannah stopped howling, but the hurt buried itself deep, deep inside of her. She didn’t know how she’d ever overcome this despair. She’d felt this way when she heard Mike had died, but he was dead and gone, his son was alive and well and she’d given him away. Somehow, the thought that some other mother would love him, feed him, play with him and watch him grow up, made the pain worse.

  The next day in the room, she said to the young nun, Sister Monica, who didn’t seem as bad as some of the others, ‘I called my baby Michael. Can you tell them that, whoever has him? It’s after his father.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ the nun said gently. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have no say in any of this. His new parents will probably have their own choice of name.’

  Somehow, it seemed the final blow and Hannah sunk into depression. Tilly came to see her, but there was no baby to admire and Hannah barely spoke. ‘This came for you,’ Tilly said, handing Hannah a letter with a Southampton postmark.

  Hannah opened it with trembling fingers to find it was from Mike’s friend, Luke, who explained when and how Mike had died and said he was sorry for the delay in writing, but he’d been injured himself in the explosion that killed Mike. He also said his mother had told him that Mike’s parents had just disappeared, and no one seemed to know where. It was the last straw for Hannah. She’d held on to the dream that Mike’s mother would come back home and Hannah could go to live with her and they’d get her baby back and take pleasure and consolation in raising Mike’s son. She’d known it was only a dream, but it had helped sustain her, and now the dream was blown wide apart and she knew her child was gone from her. She also knew that she’d never see him again and she wept great gasping sobs of pure grief that she could barely cope with and that even frightened Tilly with their intensity.

  ‘Ah, Hannah, don’t. Don’t upset yourself like this,’ she begged, her arms tight around Hannah’s shaking body. She held her until the sobs had eased to snuffles and then because she’d like to have Hannah near her where she could keep an eye on her, she said coaxingly, ‘Shall I ask about you getting a job back at the hotel?’ ‘Be a laugh if we worked together again, wouldn’t it?’

  Hannah suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t go back there with everyone knowing and nudging one another, smirking and sniggering. But it did bring to her mind the idea of employment. She couldn’t live on fresh air, but she wanted work far away from Yorkshire.

  At her insistence, Father Benedict came to see her when her lying-in period was coming to an end. ‘Do you think it a good idea to look for employment miles away?’ he said. ‘Surely you have friends here?’

  ‘Oh yes, fair-weather friends,’ Hannah said bitterly. ‘Apart from Tilly, did you see anyone breaking the door down to see how I was? No, Father, let it go. This place holds sad memories for me and I don’t know what a good thing is anymore.’ She looked steadily at the priest and went on, ‘I’m very unhappy, Father. I can’t remember ever being this unhappy before.’

  ‘It will pass, Hannah.’

  ‘Will it? I’m not so sure,’ Hannah said. ‘I think this may be with me always. But I know it will be harder trying to put it behind me here where I am surrounded by memories.�
��

  Seeing that Hannah was adamant, Sister Monica wrote to her second cousin, Gloria Emmerson, who ran a guesthouse in Birmingham and who had helped girls in similar circumstances in her own parish in Erdington, asking if she could find lodgings and employment for Hannah. The woman wrote back by return of post, offering Hannah a job and a home with herself until she was settled with digs and employment.

  Sister Theresa wrote to Gloria Emmerson, outlining Hannah’s travel plans and urging her to take good care of the girl and to try and get her respectably married to a good, God-fearing, Catholic man. Hannah, knowing nothing of the letter, or the charge laid upon Gloria Emmerson, turned her back on Yorkshire, her past life and her memories, and set off for Birmingham without a backward glance.

  Chapter Nine

  Hannah arrived in Birmingham on a day in late October when the sun shone as if it were high summer but inside she felt as if her heart was dead and cold. She didn’t care where she went, or what happened to her. She felt her life was over, taken with the child she’d given birth to and lost forever.

  Gloria saw the girl, the truly lovely-looking girl, emerge from the taxi and thought she seldom felt such sorrow as there was reflected in Hannah’s startlingly green eyes. There was beauty there, in her face and her figure, but masked in sadness and sadness so deep that it affected Gloria like a hammer blow to her heart.

  Hannah was an ideal guest and that’s how Gloria thought of her at first, a transient visitor like the other girls had been. But this girl, Hannah Delaney, got under her skin in a way none of the others had.

  She was aware of her suffering and knew she had need of a job and a place to live, and she’d promised the nuns to look after her and yet couldn’t find any suitable employment in that area, let alone a place to live in a city ravaged by war. On the other hand, she had a thriving guesthouse and though she’d managed without help for years, she wasn’t getting any younger and the doctor had warned her for years to slow down. ‘Would you like to work here, for me, I mean?’ she asked Hannah one day.

  In Hannah’s deadened eyes there was a flicker of interest. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Gloria was confused. Was she really keen or was she just being polite? ‘You don’t have to agree,’ she said. ‘I need to know what you want.’

  For so long, Hannah’s wants had not been considered and she was confused. ‘I really don’t care what happens to me now,’ she said.

  It was that acceptance that finally caused Gloria to feel such pity for the girl that she enfolded Hannah in her arms. ‘Ah, pet,’ she said, and she felt her heart melt as she held the shuddering girl close. Hannah gratefully accepted the love Gloria offered and in those arms of a woman she knew little of, she cried out all the hurt and pain she’d suffered.

  ‘Do you want to work here for me?’ Gloria was able to ask again at last and Hannah was unable to speak for fear she would begin to cry again, but she gave an emphatic nod. And later, when the nightmares began, it was Gloria who held her tight until it was over and sat by her bed talking to her and holding her hand.

  During this time, a deep friendship developed between the two women and Hannah knew she’d always be grateful to Gloria. In the dark recesses of the night, the dimness hiding her shame, Hannah told Gloria of Mike Murphy and the love she had for him. She told of what had happened to him and later how that had affected his parents who she was sure would have taken her in. And when she cried during the telling, Gloria cried too, and she resolved to do everything in her power to help the girl.

  How different, Hannah thought, her pregnancy and birth experience would be three years on. The nursing home was a comfortable place. There was a bright day room for patients and visitors and all the rooms were private. No communal wards here.

  ‘We encourage our patients to walk around if they are able to, even once labour starts,’ the sister-in-charge, Sister Prescott, told Hannah and Arthur on their first visit.

  ‘Is that wise?’ Arthur asked.

  The nurse smiled. ‘I assure you, Mr Bradley, many of the mothers prefer it. Only in the early stages, you understand. They are of course at liberty to retire to their bed whenever they want and of course they are never left alone.’

  ‘I see.’

  Sister Prescott turned to Hannah with a smile. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of in the actual birth itself, Mrs Bradley,’ she said. ‘The days of women screaming in agony for days are a thing of the past, I’m glad to say. We have gas and air to help our mothers now. And if it gets too much or baby is uncooperative there is of course always a doctor at hand when a birth is imminent.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Arthur asked Hannah on their way back home.

  ‘It’s lovely, almost luxurious,’ Hannah enthused. ‘But isn’t it very expensive?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ Arthur said. ‘I had a bit put by for it anyway, but then Reg Banks insisted on paying for it. Like me, he thinks nothing is too good for my baby.’

  There it was again, the reference to ‘his baby’. At home, they had an enormous Silver Cross pram and a beautifully crafted rocking cradle complete with drapes that Arthur had bought, pooh-poohing Gloria saying it was unlucky to bring the pram home before the child. ‘What does she know,’ he said. ‘She has neither chick nor child belonging to her.’

  Hannah didn’t argue. There was no point, Arthur would go his own way.

  But even she’d been surprised when, just the previous day, he’d come home with a complete layette. Hannah looked at the bundle in amazement.

  ‘Two dozen terry nappies and a dozen muslin,’ Arthur announced proudly, ‘and little vests and nighties and tiny mittens and bootees and two complete pram sets.’

  ‘How did you know what to buy?’ Hannah asked in astonishment.

  ‘I asked the lady in the shop,’ Arthur said. ‘She said she’d never seen a father so involved.’

  Neither had Hannah, only it wasn’t involved. It was more like obsessed. ‘I would have liked to have gone with you to choose the things and I would have liked some choice in the pram and cradle,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Hannah, you don’t understand,’ Arthur said. ‘The child is mine. You are giving birth to it, that is all. You will have little to do with it once it is born.’

  ‘Arthur, what are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that I will not allow you to sully and taint my child.’

  ‘Arthur, this is silly,’ Hannah said. ‘All right, so I wasn’t a virgin when I married you. But it was only the once with one man. I know Gloria told you about Mike Murphy. We were engaged to be married and yes once, just once, we got carried away and then Mike was killed before we could marry.’

  ‘It makes no difference, once or many times, one man or several,’ Arthur said sternly. ‘It was wrong and I want my child to grow up pure and unsoiled, which he or she will.’

  There was no reasoning with Arthur, but Gloria told her not to worry. ‘Every child loves their mother, never fret,’ she said. ‘You’ll have the child all day. Hasn’t Arthur a job to go to?’

  Of course he had. She’d have care of the child all day, with help from Josie before and after school, she was sure. She’d let Arthur have his little fancy. It wasn’t worth arguing over.

  Doctor Humphries said her medical notes relating to her pregnancy and general health would be sent to the nursing home. ‘Will they have to know … you know, about the other pregnancy?’ Hannah enquired anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ Doctor Humphries told her. ‘But please don’t get agitated over it. They will be discreet. Please believe me, Mrs Bradley, you were not the only one that such a thing happened to. They won’t sit in judgement on you.’

  ‘Or tell my husband. You see he doesn’t … I couldn’t tell him.’

  ‘Your notes are yours, Mrs Bradley. They are not for anyone else but medical staff to see. But I’ll have a word with the doctor there if it will put your mind at rest.’

  And Hannah liked and trusted the doctor she saw at the
nursing home. His manner was efficient, yet reassuring, and his voice surprisingly gentle and she wasn’t filled with dread as she’d been the last time.

  As the autumn drew to a close, November dawned, wet, miserable and blustery, but Hannah just felt contented, knowing that before too long, she’d have her beloved baby in her arms. She was glad now, because of her size and the awful weather, that she hadn’t to carry shopping home. Josie was more than willing to run up to the shops with a list and the ration books after she’d finished school for the day and Hannah was glad to be able to sit by the fire with her knitting and daydream.

  Arthur was openly impatient for her to give birth and asked every day if she felt all right and if she’d visited the doctor, she had to give a blow-by-blow account to him. All in all, despite Arthur’s references to ‘his baby’, which Hannah refused to rise to, life was peaceful and uneventful.

  The baby was due on 4th November, but the day came and went and nothing happened. On the 5th, Josie was asked to a bonfire party at Mary Byrne’s house. Hannah and Arthur had been invited, too, but Arthur refused for the two of them. Hannah didn’t mind; everything was becoming an effort for her and the night was chilly and the wind fierce and she had no desire to venture out in it.

  Josie, though anxious to go to the party, was worried about leaving Hannah. ‘Don’t be silly,’ Hannah said. ‘It could be days yet. You go off and enjoy yourself. You’re hardly a million miles away.’

  But the door had barely closed on Josie, when Hannah got her first pain. It wasn’t bad so she said nothing to Arthur, but carried on knitting.

  Two hours later, the pains had settled into a pattern and were coming every twenty minutes and Hannah thought she’d better alert Arthur. ‘Arthur, I think I’ve started.’

  Arthur leapt to his feet, the paper he’d been reading cascading in crumpled sheets at his feet. ‘I’ll go and ring the nursing home,’ he said, struggling into his shoes.