The Forget-Me-Not Girl

by Sheila Newberry

  Fortunately, Ernie didn’t hear that, he was already on his way upstairs to see his mother. She welcomed him with outstretched arms. ‘Oh, my dear boy – have you seen your little brother?’

  He climbed into bed beside her, shoes and all, his little face as red as his hair. ‘He in’t big enough to play football with me,’ Ernie said dolefully, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  She gave him a kiss. ‘He’ll grow, you’ll see,’ she said, ruffling his wiry curls.

  However, Ted would always be the ‘little ’un’ of the family, with a similar temperament to quiet, dependable Tommy, his older brother. Ernie would later be head and shoulders taller than both of them – big, bluff and hearty – but all the boys were fiercely protective of their mother as they grew up.

  *

  Six weeks later Emma was back on call as a relief midwife and Immi, with support from TF, was looking after her tiny brother and the older children. Emma came back at intervals to feed Ted. When she was putting down her bag in the hall one evening, she overheard a conversation between Immi and her father in the room beyond.

  ‘If anything should happen to me,’ TF said, ‘I know you will look after your dear mother and comfort her, Immi.’

  ‘I promise you, Dada, I will,’ Immi replied.

  Emma wiped her eyes and hoped they would not realise she had heard what was said. She plastered a smile on her face and opened the door, just as Ted woke and cried for her attention. Immi lifted him up and brought him to his mother.

  She is our angel, Emma wrote to Jane in Amble later.

  It was a shock when Immi experienced her first epileptic fit. Emma was out, but fortunately for TF, Billie Betts, an elderly neighbour who had worked at Browick Bottom Farm in the old days, was there. Billie enjoyed lively discussion of local and world affairs with TF. He could neither read nor write, but he had a thirst for knowledge and a dry wit, which TF appreciated. ‘What’s old Disraeli up to then?’ Billie would enquire. The Liberals had been defeated in 1874 and East Anglia was a Liberal stronghold. When the fire smoked, he’d joke: ‘Us dussn’t send little boys up with a brush – that do let Tommy off.’ He was referring to the Factory Act regarding child labour that was now in force, and soon all children would be entitled to a basic education. ‘No more signing with a cross,’ as the old man observed.

  When Immi collapsed, Billie had just arrived, and he was able to deal with the situation, extracting the wailing Ted from her arms and passing him to his father, then moving things, so that Immi lay in a clear space, before he alerted the doctor, who came around as soon as he could. Billie said, ‘I jest did what I allus did when a poor old cow collapse.’ TF did not repeat that remark to Emma!

  By the time the children came home from school, Immi was recovering from the fit. ‘Why don’t you take the young ones to Aunt Sarah’s shop and buy some sweets,’ TF suggested to Tommy. He kept a little bag of pennies under his pillow for that purpose. ‘Then ask if you can go home with your aunt when she closes up. William will bring you back later.’

  Emma was distraught when she heard what had happened. ‘I should have been here for Immi!’

  Immi, sitting by her father, was pale, but otherwise seemed normal and insisted, ‘Mother, I’m all right, really I am. Doctor said so, didn’t he, Dada?’

  ‘He also said’ – TF sounded anxious – ‘we may be expecting too much of Immi, Emma.’

  ‘Oh, Immi darling, do you feel that?’ Emma asked. She sank down on the seat beside them.

  ‘Mother,’ Immi said firmly, ‘doctor also said that apart from this, I am very fit, so don’t worry!’

  ‘Perhaps we could get Jane to look after Ted. Would that help?’

  ‘Only if Jane came here and brought her little ones with her. When Tommy is home from school, he looks after Ernie and Alice. They’ve gone around to see Aunt Sarah and will be back later.’

  ‘What a lovely family we have, Tom!’ Emma said gratefully. ‘Don’t get up, Immi; I’ll make the tea after I put Ted in his cot.’ She thought, I must control my emotions, be cheerful, but I can’t give up my job, we need the money. Immi really is our angel.

  *

  Despite her busy life these days, Emma still kept in regular touch with her family, who seemed to be far and wide, as she put it with a sigh, but a letter on the doormat from one or the other, gave her a good feeling as she opened it to learn their news. She didn’t reveal her worries regarding TF for, she thought, most of them had problems of their own. When writing to Jane in Amble, she mentioned that her sister Keturah, who had recently had a new baby, wished she could manage a holiday with her husband and family. Jane responded to this by inviting Keturah, Harry and the children to spend a week with them in August: The air is so clean here, and it is a lovely place to spend a holiday. Do come! You will be welcome – the girls would love to see you too!

  Keturah, 1879

  Keturah was busy then making new clothes for Herbert and little Keturah for the holiday. When the family arrived in Amble, Jane, Rob’s sister-in-law, who had trained as a dressmaker, was duly impressed by her efforts, examining the fine stitching and commenting, ‘You have a real gift Keturah, especially as you cut patterns to your own designs.’

  The house in Amble was near the sea, and there was plenty of room for the visitors. Rob was home for a couple of days and he and Harry immediately took to each other, and the two men went fishing off Coquet Point. Keturah and Jane relaxed on the beach with the baby, while Jane’s nieces amused Herbert by building a sandcastle good enough for the queen, as Jane remarked, and read to him from a picture book.

  Keturah and Harry had recently moved to Jarrow, and Keturah, breathing in the good sea air, remarked, ‘How lucky you are to live in such a place, Jane.’

  ‘I’ll never leave here,’ Jane said. ‘I miss my sister still, and sometimes I regret that I never married and had children of my own, but I am so fortunate to have the girls with me. Rob leaves all the decisions to me, and I hope I am doing a good job.’

  ‘Oh, you are, Jane! What would Rob have done without you?’

  ‘He would have married again, perhaps. Oh, not to me – we get on well enough, but he gave his heart to my dear sister.’ She changed the subject. ‘I always hoped Emma would visit here one day, but I know that’s not possible at present. How is TF?’

  Keturah sighed. ‘He is very frail. Emma is still doing her midwifery, and Immi is a wonderful daughter and does all she can to help.’

  ‘It is strange, isn’t it, that Emma’s daughter and Margaret’s both have epilepsy. These things seem to run in families, don’t they?’

  ‘I do hope not.’ Keturah said a silent little prayer just in case, although she realised that it was unlikely as it must have come from Rob and TF’s family.

  ‘What can we use as a flag on the castle turret?’ Lizzie asked, shaking sand from her skirt.

  ‘How about this sweet paper?’ Her aunt had collected the wrappers from the home-made fudge in her bag to take home as rubbish.

  ‘It’s sticky,’ Lizzie said. ‘But it’ll do, thank you.’

  Jane was busy sketching on a little pad she kept in her bag. She would send the picture in her next letter to Emma, she decided, so she could see how much her sister and her children were enjoying their holiday.

  Emma, when she read this, decided immediately to find a small frame for the drawing. She thought wistfully again of how she wished she had met Margaret, Rob’s wife, because they had a lot in common, but Jane had become a real friend, too.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  It was a shock to Emma to realise the following spring that she was pregnant again. She kept quiet about it for as long as she could, although of course she had to tell the doctor eventually. He could not persuade her to give up work, because as she told him, ‘It is our only income! I know I will have to give up soon, because my husband is failing fast, but every little helps . . .’

  In July 1879 Emma was in the seventh month of her pregnancy and still attendin
g confinements. It had been a quiet day with just routine morning visits to new mothers and she was looking forward to an afternoon with TF, young Ted and Immi before welcoming Tom, Alice and Ernie home after school, and providing a tasty supper.

  It was a sultry day and thunder crackled in the distance. It looked like there was going to be a summer storm so she closed the window.

  ‘Sit down,’ TF told her. ‘Rest while you have the chance.’

  There came an urgent rapping on the front door and Immi went to see who it was with Ted hanging on to her skirts.

  ‘Tell Nurse to bring her bag – my lass hev need of her,’ the man said. He had been shovelling manure in the farmyard when his wife told him to ‘Git Emma – now!’ Immi stepped back as the smell from the man’s clothing and boots was overpowering.

  Emma had heard the farmer’s loud voice, and she came out into the hall with her bag, which was always packed ready for emergencies. ‘It’s all right, Simeon,’ she said. She bestowed quick kisses on Immi’s cheek and on Ted’s blond head. ‘Sorry, but I have to go.’

  Emma got there just in time to deliver a tiny baby, but then, much to the young mother’s surprise, a second, even smaller baby literally followed on ‘her sister’s heels’ as Emma put it later.

  It was a shock to Emma too. She braced herself for anxious hours ahead. Thank goodness it isn’t winter, she thought, these twin babies have more of a chance in summer. She turned to the worried father. ‘Will you fetch the doctor, Simeon? You should have his opinion, but the babies have good lungs it seems.’

  The tiny girls were side by side in the crib, which their grandmother made ready even as they were born. As Emma swayed on her feet, the doctor arrived and came swiftly across the room to steady her. ‘Emma, go home now, you look all in. When I have finished my examination here, I will ask the other midwife to take over.’

  ‘Thank you, nurse,’ the patient called, sitting up and looking proudly at her babies.

  Emma arrived home after 10 p.m. that night and found Immi still up and talking to her father, while sponging his forehead with cool water. ‘Dada felt feverish, Mother. I thought it might help. I propped up his poor swollen legs on a pillow. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thank you, dear, I just want to get to bed. You must get some sleep too.’

  ‘I’ll take the bowl away and get Dada some fresh drinking water first,’ Immi said. ‘Call me if you want me.’

  Emma undressed, had a cursory wash, murmured a quick prayer, and climbed into bed. She was glad that William had moved the double bed down here from their bedroom; she wasn’t up to going up those steep stairs herself. TF’s eyes were closed; the cool sponging had sent him to sleep. She was so weary she soon succumbed to sleep herself.

  She woke after half an hour, aware that her waters had broken. She stumbled out of bed and pulled the towel from the washstand rail to spread over the damp patch. The pains began – as one receded, another gripped her. She stumbled to the door, but it opened before she reached it, and Immi was there, with a lighted candle in its stick. ‘Mother, let me help you back to bed—’

  Emma managed to pull herself up by the door knob. ‘No – I don’t want to disturb Dada.’

  ‘Shall I fetch Aunt Sarah? Is it the baby?’

  ‘Don’t . . . leave me.’ Emma managed, clutching at Immi. Her daughter put the candlestick down.

  ‘I must light the lantern, Mother. Then I’ll try to make you comfortable – sit on here.’ She guided her to the daybed, which was now used as the family sofa.

  ‘Cover it with some of the newspapers I’ve been collecting, then go – to the linen press – and fetch all the towels.’

  Tommy came downstairs, rubbing his eyes. ‘What’s up?’ he asked his sister.

  ‘Mother is about to have a baby—’

  ‘What, another one?’ Tommy had not been aware his mother was pregnant.

  ‘Yes! Put your coat on over your nightshirt and get your boots from the scullery – you can’t stop to clean all the mud off! Then run down to Aunt Sarah’s and ask her to come, please! And try not to disturb the young ones; we don’t want them coming downstairs!’

  Sarah arrived with Tommy and told them that William had gone to the midwife’s home and found she was out on another confinement. ‘Us can manage – I hev delivered a baby before – when they come early, they usually come quick.’

  She told Tommy to go back to bed and to listen out for the children upstairs and Immi that she would be glad of her assistance. Amazingly, TF slept on and they tiptoed about by the light of the lantern. ‘Get the linen basket, use a flat cushion and flannel pieces for sheets,’ whispered Sarah. She poked the coals in the range and set a second kettle to boil.

  The baby, another boy, did ‘come quick’ and Sarah quickly wrapped him, unwashed, in one of the flannel pieces. She swung him in her arms until he gave a faint cry, then a stronger one. ‘Wipe his eyes and nose very gently with a bit of cotton waste,’ she instructed Immi. Then she placed the swaddled baby in Emma’s arms. ‘I must see to your mother now. You can fetch me a bowl of warm water, a clean towel and a big basin.’ The latter was to catch the afterbirth, which must be left attached to the umbilical cord, until the midwife or doctor arrived. By the light of the lantern, Sarah saw that Immi’s lips were trembling. She was near to tears; it had all been too much for her. ‘I can manage now; you must get some sleep, my dear. Ah, a knock on the door – let the midwife in before you go upstairs.’

  The baby was examined, the cord was cut, and he was laid gently in his improvised bed. The midwife said quietly to Sarah, ‘You hev done well. But I don’t hold out much hope. He is very small.’

  TF stirred and called out, ‘Who is here? Where is Emma?’

  Sarah went over to him and sat on the side of the bed, ‘The baby hev come. It is a boy. Hev you a name?’

  They both started as they heard Emma’s voice. ‘Frank . . . Herbert Frank.’

  ‘Can Emma come to bed?’

  ‘She should stay near the baby tonight and he must be kept warm by the stove,’ Sarah said. She sighed. ‘Shall us all have a nice cup of tea? Then I must get off home to my William.’

  *

  Somehow, the tiny baby clung to life. His skin was too delicate to wash, his finger and toenails were not yet properly grown, his hair sparse, his eyes hardly ever open. Emma had to clean him carefully with olive oil. He was still swaddled; the baby clothes she had sewn would have swamped him.

  Emma had to express milk every two hours and try to get the baby to take it almost drop by drop from an apostle egg spoon. Then she laid him back gently in his cocoon in the basket close to the warmth of the range and sang him snatches of lullabies. TF, propped up by pillows in bed to help his breathing, tried one day to whistle a familiar tune, and as the sound faded when he became exhausted, Immi joined her mother on the sofa and encouraged her to sing ‘If I were a Blackbird’. Little Frank opened his eyes fully for the first time and appeared to be listening.

  TF closed his eyes and remembered those long-ago days at sea, when he nimbly climbed the top rigging for the first time. Emma rested her head on Immi’s narrow shoulder. The girl was fourteen now, with responsibilities beyond her years, just as Emma had had herself, at that age. She was growing into a beautiful young woman, her mother thought. She sighed. With problems she didn’t deserve.

  ‘Frank is a fighter, Mother,’ Immi observed. ‘He’ll be a hero like Dada.’

  Emma was unable to return to her work. TF needed her to be at home, as much as the baby did. Sarah and William were there for them all, and Jane would mind the shop when Sarah was called on to help at the cottage. William and his boys cut wood for the fires which must be kept burning bright, especially when autumn turned into winter.

  Billie Betts looked in on TF most days. Often he had a rabbit for the cooking pot, or a sack of potatoes which he had grown on his vegetable patch. One day, TF had something important to entrust his old friend with. It was coming up to
Christmas and then it would be Emma’s fortieth birthday in the January. He wanted to give her a special present. ‘Emma must not know,’ he whispered. ‘I have a couple of guineas put by.’

  ‘A ring, you say,’ Billie paused for thought. ‘Somethin’ special. There in’t a jewellery shop in Wymondham, but I could try old Perfitt’s Fancy Repository on Town Green.’

  ‘I thought he was a watchmaker,’ TF said.

  ‘That’s so. But he hev a few things to tempt the womenfolk. Some of it was once in pawn. He always help them in need, they say.’

  ‘I want something dear Emma can remember me by, Billie.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Billie promised.

  *

  Emma was not expecting a present at Christmas, or much of a celebration, but Sarah and William were determined to make sure they made it as good as they could for the children’s sakes. They provided the Christmas dinner and there were wrapped parcels by every plate on the table set near TF’s bed. He watched the excited youngsters opening their gifts and managed a smile, although he was unable to eat anything. He waited to see Emma open her parcels after the children had uncovered all theirs. William had made wooden toys for the little boys and Sarah had knitted woollen gloves and scarves for them all, as well as sewing pretty aprons for Immi and Alice.

  Emma left the little box until last. When she opened the lid, she saw a ring nestling on a cushion of black velvet. TF had guessed well; the narrow gold band could be worn above her wedding ring. There were two lovely stones, turquoises, set round with tiny diamonds. The message inside read: This Forget-me-not ring is for my beloved Emma, with all my love from Tom.

  *

  TF died two weeks later, in January 1880. Billie Betts, his faithful companion, was by his side as Emma had gone to church for the first time since Frank’s birth with the older children, while Sarah looked after the baby in her home.

  ‘His poor old heart give up I reckon,’ said Billie.

  As Billie was the only person present, this was noted on the death certificate, naming him as ‘informant’. TF was forty-two years old.