by Daisy Styles
‘What’s done is done,’ Emily said pragmatically. ‘And look at me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Madly in love with a man who doesn’t even know I’m pregnant! I’ve written dozens of letters to him, but I have no way of knowing if he knows – or cares, in fact.’ Trying to be light-hearted about their bleak situation, Emily joked, ‘What a pair we are!’
‘The father of my baby definitely didn’t love me,’ Nancy murmured in a low, sad voice. ‘He just used me and I was stupid enough to believe him when he said that going inside me was just a bit more than kissing.’
Emily rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Oh, Nancy, you were such an innocent,’ she said softly.
‘STUPID, more like!’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘Now that I know the facts of life, I wonder how I could ever have been so naive. Worse still,’ she added angrily, ‘that pig of a man exploited my ignorance: he chased after me for one thing only – sex. Then he dumped me as soon as he found out I was pregnant.’
‘So your mother never told you about the facts of life?’ Emily inquired.
‘Never!’ Nancy cried. ‘She’s even shyer than I am. When I started my periods, it was the woman next door who told me I wasn’t bleeding to death, which I thought I was,’ Nancy laughed. ‘Thank God she had the foresight to give me some sanitary pads.’
‘My mother didn’t tell me anything either,’ Emily told her friend. ‘But the girls I worked with in the Lyons teashop weren’t backwards at coming forwards,’ she chuckled. ‘Talk about graphic! They even told me where I could buy condoms!’ Emily rolled her eyes melodramatically. ‘Not that it helped,’ she sighed. ‘The one George used split.’
Nancy’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh, my God! Is that how you got pregnant?’
Emily nodded grimly. ‘We thought we were being oh so careful, but look where I am now.’
In Emily’s early days at Mary Vale, Nancy introduced her to the other girls, both the ones who were awaiting their confinement and the ones who’d given birth and were preparing to leave. All of the new mothers Emily spoke to were leaving their babies behind, so when they heard that Emily was intent on keeping hers they were intrigued and barraged her with questions.
‘How will you manage?’
‘Where will you live?’
‘What will you do if you’ve not got a job?’
Passing through the sitting room where poor Emily was being cross-examined by the curious residents, Ada stopped short when she saw Emily’s tense expression.
‘Ladies, ladies,’ she said lightly but quite firmly, ‘you’ll give Emily a headache with all your questions.’ Quickly turning to Emily, she said, ‘Could I have a word, lovie? There’s something on your file I need to double-check.’
Once she’d got Emily out of the sitting room, the girl’s resolve dissipated and she burst into tears. ‘Honest to God, I don’t know how I’m going to achieve it, but come hell or high water, I’m keeping my baby!’
Ada laid a comforting hand on Emily’s heaving shoulders. ‘Don’t climb mountains until you have to, sweetheart.’
‘If I don’t hear from George, Sister, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do!’ she tearfully blurted out.
‘I’ve not known you long, Emily,’ Ada soothed. ‘But it’s clear to me that you’re a strong woman; I really believe that, once you’ve made your mind up about something, you’ll make it work.’
Emily gripped her hand. ‘Thanks,’ she gulped. ‘I was strong. I am strong. But now I’m so scared.’
‘Stand fast,’ Ada urged. ‘Believe in George – don’t give up his baby.’
Emily gazed gratefully at Ada. Only a few weeks ago Emily barely knew her; now she recognized in her both a friend and a professional of the highest calibre.
‘I won’t give up, Ada,’ she cried as she hugged her new friend. ‘I’ll keep my baby, I promise!’
After getting to know Ada on a deeper level, Emily began to notice how she reacted each time Matron came striding imperiously through the nursery: edgy and tense, the Sister watched her superior like chickens watch a fox.
‘She doesn’t like her very much,’ Emily thought to herself, then laughed out loud. ‘But then I don’t like her very much either!’
It was a mystery to her that such a cold-hearted woman had finished up in a mother and baby home – what on earth could have been the attraction? Matron Harding was as compassionate as a lump of wood and as generous as a miser. She had her favourites too, particular girls who spoke well and dressed better than the poorer residents; Matron was even nicer to their babies. But, as for the rest of the common rank and file, she barely seemed to notice them.
Emily’s dislike of Matron grew when, one afternoon, she witnessed Matron bullying a young, skinny girl who was trembling in fright as the domineering woman harangued her.
‘Shirley! When I say I want tea in my office, I mean I want it now, not ten minutes later.’
‘S … s … sorry, Matron, I had to go and get the m … milk for your tea from the l … larder and –’
Impatient Matron turned her back on Shirley and stalked away, insulting her as she went. ‘Stupid girl! The sooner you’re gone from here, the better.’
Though Matron had little time for Shirley, the sweet-natured girl was very popular among the residents; they appreciated the work the cheerful girl did for them, laying out vast amounts of food three times a day in the dining room and cleaning up after them.
‘She works like a dog,’ Nancy commented. ‘But always with a smile on her face.’
‘She’s a sweetheart,’ Emily agreed.
Determined to get to know Shirley, Emily helped her clear the dining table one day.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Shirley cried. ‘That’s my job.’
Emily threw her a rueful grin. ‘After the amount of food I’ve just eaten, I need as much exercise as I can get! That bread is delicious,’ she enthused. ‘I must have polished off at least half of it, not to mention the farm butter and raspberry jam – you don’t get grub as good as that in Manchester!’ she joked.
Shirley wiped her hands on her pinafore. ‘It’s all good stuff,’ she agreed with Emily. ‘I should know, I help out in’t kitchen,’ she replied with a happy little swagger. ‘Sister Mary Paul’s had me pounding dough for weeks, and now that I know what I’m up to she’s put me in charge of all the bread-making. I love it!’
‘Heck!’ Emily laughed as she collected up used crockery. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue where to start.’
Shirley’s dark eyes glowed with love. ‘Sister Mary Paul’s a right good teacher – she never shouts at me or tells me off, she just encourages me to learn, then praises me when I do well.’
‘That’s what I call a brilliant teacher,’ Emily replied. ‘But you don’t make the butter too, do you?’
‘Nay, that’s yon farmer.’ Shirley nodded her head in the direction of the fields adjacent to the Home. ‘He farms the land that belongs to the convent, so we get the perks – hand-churned butter, local cheese, and milk too, every morning.’
Emily patted her growing tummy. ‘I’ve never eaten so much good fresh food in years,’ she giggled. ‘I can’t seem to stop eating,’ she confessed.
Shirley nodded. ‘Expecting does that to you,’ she agreed.
Emily shot her a curious glance; Shirley looked about fourteen – could she have been pregnant? Shirley’s response affirmed that she had been.
‘I didn’t have much of an appetite when I were expecting,’ she admitted. ‘I felt sick most of the time.’
Aware she might put her foot in it, Emily asked cautiously, ‘Is your baby still here?’
‘No,’ Shirley told her. ‘She’s been adopted by some right good folks who Father Ben found, and I’m glad for her,’ she said frankly.
A bit baffled as to why Shirley was still a resident, Emily asked, ‘And you stayed on here after her adoption?’
‘Aye, I were right lucky, mi stay at the Home got extended – thank God,’ Shirley told her. ‘But I like to earn my keep, do something
in return for them letting me stay, so I help out with the cleaning.’ She paused to smile. ‘I’d do anything for the nuns here, Sister Ann and Sister Mary Paul, and the Reverend Mother too, they’re family to me,’ she concluded.
Along with Nancy and several other girls, Emily decided to attend Sister Ann’s fitness and exercise classes, which, during the summer months, were held in the spacious gardens. Lying on the lawn with her eyes closed and the warm sun on her face, Emily soon relaxed as Sister Ann instructed the pregnant girls on how to improve and strengthen their overall fitness in readiness for the physical ordeal they were soon to endure.
‘Now come on, ladies,’ she teased the sleepy, reclining girls. ‘You’re here to prepare for childbirth, so no drifting off!’
A good-natured groan went round the circle.
‘Go on, then, Sister, get on with it, then!’ one of the girls joked.
‘Okay, slowly lift your legs and take some big deep breaths,’ Ann started.
As the class slowly breathed in and out, Ann instructed, ‘Keep it nice and slow while maintaining that calm, steady breathing. Well done, keep going,’ she urged.
As the girls gently exercised, Sister Ann continued, ‘Allow all your air to flow out with a sigh as you lower your limbs. Excellent. Now rest.’
‘If I carry on like this, Sister I’ll be asleep in five minutes,’ a friendly girl teased.
‘Keep awake and stay relaxed,’ Ann advised, as the lesson continued.
Emily smiled at Sister Ann, whose calm voice and warm smile always made her feel secure; nevertheless, she did wonder how she’d feel when it came to her time. Would she panic or feel excitement that at last her baby was about to enter the world and she would soon hold him or her in her arms? One thing she knew for sure: if wonderful Sister Ann was beside her when her time came, she would have all the support she needed and do just fine.
14. A Good Catch
Isla couldn’t hold back her tears when she and Jeannie were finally left alone in the big second-floor bedroom that she was to share with Emily and Nancy, who’d tactfully left the two women alone on the pretext that Jeannie would like to help Isla unpack her bags. Despite the brave face she’d been putting on, the minute they were alone together and reality hit her hard, Isla could not stop the torrent.
‘Please don’t leave me here, Jeannie. Please take me home with you!’ she begged.
Jeannie’s usually firm resolve cracked when she saw her dearest Isla sobbing like a frightened child.
‘Darling girl!’ she cried, taking her granddaughter into her arms. ‘We have to be strong. I know it’s hard, but this is for the best. For both of you,’ she soothed.
‘I know, but I can’t bear for you to leave me,’ Isla wailed miserably.
Though on the verge of tears herself, Jeannie held Isla at arm’s length and looked her firmly in the eye. ‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘Your stay here is a necessity; you’ll be home before you know it, and then you can start to plan the rest of your life.’
Isla dumbly nodded.
‘I’ll come often,’ Jeannie assured her, her own heart breaking for the poor girl. ‘And I’ll bring all your favourite food – Mavis’s sausage rolls and coconut macaroons.’
Isla managed a weak smile. Jeannie knew how much her granddaughter loved her housekeeper’s excellent cooking; she’d piled on weight since her arrival in Windermere and it wasn’t all baby weight either.
‘Don’t forget how near I am, just over the fell,’ Jeannie joked. ‘And we’ll write to each other often, my darling, and I do have a telephone,’ she reminded Isla. ‘So please try not to worry.’
Their farewell was painful, but Jeannie was wise enough not to drag it out. Leaving tearful Isla with her room-mates, she drove away at speed, praying all the way home that her precious granddaughter would be well taken care of during her confinement.
In her office, with the door firmly closed, Matron was poring over Isla’s application form.
‘Father, Professor at Durham University; mother, English undergraduate; grandfather, respected Scottish lawyer …’ Her voice trailed away. ‘The girl is perfect!’ she muttered joyfully under her breath. ‘Or, more to the point – her child will be perfect. If it’s a boy, that is.’
Matron was tempted to phone Sir Percival, but then she remembered he’d gone back to London. Blissfully unaware of his double life, Matron had only fond thoughts.
‘He’s probably doing business with prospective wealthy parents, building up our empire.’
It would be good to give Archie two pieces of good news on his return. He hadn’t a clue about the arrangements she’d recently made with two of the Mary Vale residents: Olive, a shifty girl with sly eyes who’d recently been caught stealing; and Maureen, who constantly complained that there was never enough food to eat. Knowing they were both greedy, unscrupulous characters, Matron had invited them to tea in her office. After Maureen had gobbled her way through scones heaped with jam and cream, followed by a Victoria sponge and chocolate eclairs, accompanied by endless cups of tea, Matron said her piece.
‘How would you like to have more food like this on a regular basis and a nice big single bedroom each on the first floor with a sea view?’
‘Yeah!’ Maureen enthused with her mouth full.
Olive, who, Matron had deduced, was a cunning little madam, eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘Well, the truth is there’s been an on-going issue concerning Father Benedict,’ Matron replied. ‘It turns out we’ve had complaints from some girls about his behaving … inappropriately, shall we say.’
‘What does that mean?’ Maureen asked, as she slurped her tea.
‘Hands up the skirt – touching ’em up,’ Olive crudely explained.
‘Ooooh!’ Maureen’s piggy little eyes rolled in her fat red cheeks. ‘A priest wouldn’t go and do a dirty thing like that, would he?’
‘It has been known,’ Matron added. ‘Anyway, I wondered if either of you has personally experienced any inappropriate behaviour that you’d be happy to speak up about?’
She calmly laid two five-pound notes on the desktop.
‘I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it.’
Reaching for the teapot, she rose and left the room.
The wide-eyed girls watched her go; then Olive snatched up the notes on the table.
‘What’re you bloody doing?’ Maureen gasped.
‘Don’t you see what the old cow’s up to?’ Olive hissed, as she pocketed the notes in her voluminous grubby smock. ‘She’ll pay us off if we bad-mouth the priest.’
‘But it’s not true!’ Maureen squawked. ‘He’s never laid a hand on me.’
‘Me neither, but that don’t matter,’ Olive snapped.
When Matron returned with a fresh pot of tea, she immediately noticed the notes had gone.
‘There’ll be more when you leave Mary Vale,’ she said, as she coolly refilled their teacups. ‘If you should remember anything, anything at all, just write it down and pop it into my office.’
‘Thing is, Matron, I can’t be doing the writing,’ Maureen confessed.
‘If you have anything to say, you can tell me and I can write it for you,’ Matron assured the now eager girl, who was ogling the last eclair. ‘All you have to do is sign the document once you agree it is correct.’
‘I can write mi own name,’ Maureen said with a bit of a swagger.
‘And what about you, Olive?’ Matron inquired.
‘I can write,’ the girl sneered. ‘I don’t need any help, ta.’
Not long after Matron’s little tea party she received a signed letter from Olive stating that Father Benedict had accosted her several times, in the chapel, and in the garden when nobody was around.
‘He trid to kiss me and behaved inaprottly,’ Olive wrote, complete with misspellings. ‘Disgusting behavor for a man of God.’
Maureen dumbly signed the letter that Matron had written on her behalf.
‘Keep this to yo
urselves,’ Matron sternly instructed. ‘If I catch either of you gossiping behind my back, neither of you will get the other five pounds due to you on your departure from here. And that will be the least of your worries. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yeah,’ Olive scoffed. ‘Anyhow, why do you wanna dump the priest? What’s in it for you?’ she demanded rudely.
‘I am merely following the appropriate procedure after complaints and accusations have been made,’ Matron stiffly replied.
‘Yeah,’ Olive cynically scoffed again.
‘I don’t care,’ quipped Maureen. ‘I just wanna ’ave this bloody kid and get the hell out of this soddin’ place.’
‘Quite,’ thought Matron. ‘And the sooner I see the back of you two little wretches, the happier I’ll be.’
Carefully locking the letter and the statement in her desk drawer, Matron waited like a spider in its web for the right moment to pounce. Mercifully, Maureen and Olive were due to have their babies within the next few weeks; if they went over their due dates she would make it her business to see that they were induced, which would be followed by a speedy discharge and their final pay-off; then she would be free to drop her bombshell, secure in the knowledge that her ruthless accomplices were miles away and could not foil her clever plan.
15. Shared Confidences
Emily and Nancy were busy helping Sister Mary Paul and Shirley to lay the dining-room table for tea: cabbage and carrots, mincemeat pie and mashed potatoes.
‘The new girl isn’t like most of us,’ Nancy commented as she carefully manoeuvred her growing tummy around the dining chairs in order to put down glasses, cutlery, cups and saucers. ‘She seems a bit posh and stand-offish.’
‘I thought she was more nervous than stand-offish,’ said kindly Shirley.
Sister Mary Paul nodded her head. ‘Entering a home like this can be quite intimidating,’ she said sympathetically.
‘I agree!’ Shirley laughed, ‘I was so terrified when I arrived at Mary Vale I could barely speak for a week.’
The nun gave her a cheeky smile. ‘But you’ve made up for it since! She was a little timid mouse of a thing – and now she’s virtually running the Home,’ she joked. Turning to the other girls, she said confidently, ‘I’m sure you’ll all get along just fine.’