Mourning Doves (7 page)

Immediately upon her return, Ethel was entrusted with the job of taking Eric home. At first, Eric objected strongly to being taken from Dorothy and the comfortable security of the Gilmore basement kitchen. He remembered that his mother was upstairs and he shrieked that he wanted her. Fortunately, from the distant confines of the spare bedroom Phyllis could not hear him. If she thought about him at all, it was with the confident expectation that he would be properly cared for in her friend’s house, and would soon be delivered safely back to Lily.

Ethel carried with her a note from Louise to Lily, Phyllis’s cook-general, explaining what was happening, and asking her to feed the children their lunch and tea, and to make sure that Mr Woodcock’s dinner was ready for him when he came home from work. It was possible, Louise advised her, that Mrs Woodcock would not be home for a couple of days. She added that she would arrange for Mr Woodcock to be informed, at his office, of his wife’s predicament.

While Louise hastily scribbled a note to Arthur Woodcock, Phyllis sat on the edge of the wooden chair in the spare bedroom. Winnie helped to divest her of her sodden clothes and then slipped one of Celia’s huge cotton nightgowns over the young mother’s head.

‘Arthur’s going to be awfully cross,’ Phyllis whimpered to Celia. She gave a small shivering sigh, and then winced as a roll of pain commenced.

Startled, Celia looked up at her. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘It’s his baby, too!’ She had been inspecting the soft pad of old sheets Winnie had contrived in the middle of the bed, and now she shook out and spread over it another clean sheet and a light blanket to keep her friend warm. She was surprised at Phyllis’s remark; it contradicted all that she had learned from the many romances she had read. Didn’t men love their wives for producing their children?

Phyllis gritted her teeth and waited for a spasm to pass before she said hopelessly, ‘Oh, he’ll be cross about everything. For my being such an idiot as to get caught like this – and having to help Lily care for the other little ones. He always gets angry if his routine is upset, and Lily will have her work cut out with three children and the house to look after.’

Winnie interrupted the exchange, to get Phyllis into bed before the pain increased. She smiled benignly down. ‘Don’t you worry about your hubby, Ma’am. You just concentrate on the baby, and relax as much as you can between your pains. You’d be surprised how men can manage, if they have to.’

But Phyllis knew her husband too well to hope for anything other than constant complaints and weak bursts of sudden rage, and she closed her eyes to try to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Celia gently folded the bedclothes over her friend, and bent to kiss her. When she saw that Phyllis was crying, she took her handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped the tears away. Then she hesitantly kissed her again. Though she was quite frightened at being so close to a birthing mother, she said cheerfully, ‘Winnie’s right. Mother will talk to Arthur, I’m sure. She’s just gone downstairs to write a note to him – Ethel will take it to his office – and she can write today to your mother, if you’ll give her the address, to ask her to come like she did for the other children. If we post a letter soon, she’ll get it by tomorrow afternoon’s post.’

Phyllis conjured up a small smile. Her mother would certainly come and would run the family like a general conducting a battle – and Arthur would hate her more than ever. And take it out on Phyllis the day her mother left.

Winnie had gone to look at the old clock on the mantelpiece to check the timing of the recurrence of Phyllis’s pangs of pain. As Louise bustled back into the room after dispatching Ethel, Winnie said to her, ‘The baby will be a while yet, Ma’am. Shall I make some tea? Miss Celia could sit with Mrs Woodcock while I do it; and you could get dressed before the doctor comes.’

Louise had forgotten her own bedraggled state. She glanced down at her dressing gown, and laughed. ‘Yes, indeed, I must, mustn’t I?’ She hastened off to her own bedroom, saying to Phyllis as she went that she would send Ethel to Arthur’s office as soon as she returned from delivering Eric to Lily.

The laugh surprised and pleased Celia. Though childbirth was not a normal thing to her, it obviously was to her mother; and a sense of normality was what they all needed. As Winnie pushed the bedroom chair towards her, so that she could sit by the patient, she took Phyllis’s hand and squeezed it.

‘Is there anything I need to do for Mrs Woodcock?’ she asked Winnie, hoping that she herself would not faint if the baby came while the other two women were out of the room.

‘If the pains are sharp, you just hold Mrs Woodcock to comfort her until they pass. If they start to come close together, pull the bell immediately and I’ll run up. But she’ll know, won’t you, Ma’am?’

Phyllis nodded. She knew only too well from experience, and, in her despair, she wondered how she could endure being racked by childbirth almost every year of her life.

As it happened, Celia was not left alone with Phyllis,
because Dorothy came up with buckets of coal and wood chips and yesterday’s newspaper tucked under her arm, to make a fire to warm the room for the arrival of the new infant. She had reluctantly relinquished Eric to a buoyant Ethel, who was undeterred by Eric’s howls and flying little fists. She picked him up and held him firmly against her shoulder, as she ran down the front steps.

As Dorothy expertly built the fire, she realised that she was enjoying the unusual morning. ‘Young Eric went off quite happy with Ethel, Ma’am,’ she told Phyllis. She paused while she screwed up the newspaper and laid loose balls of it in the fire grate. ‘She comes from a family of thirteen, so she’s fine with children. Lovely little fella, he is,’ she added.

Phyllis nodded, and then gave a long, slow moan. God help me if I have to go through this thirteen times, she thought.

Celia leaned over and put an arm round her. Phyllis’s face was contorted; then, to Celia’s relief, she relaxed, and said in her usual soft tones, ‘Thank you, Dorothy, for managing him so well.’

‘It were nothin’, Ma’am.’ Dorothy was acquainted with Mrs Woodcock’s Lily and knew all about Arthur Woodcock’s relations with his wife. Both maids had lost sweethearts in France and had little hope of marrying. They were agreed, however, that it was better to be single than have a nit-picking husband like him. She picked up a pair of bellows lying in the hearth and blew the struggling fire until the coals had caught thoroughly.

As she tidied up the hearth, and with a polite bob towards the bed, went slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, her mood changed. If her Andy had survived the second battle of the Marne and come home last year, she could have been hoping for a baby now, even though she was middle-aged. Andy would have made a great dad, like the old man who was his dad, she thought wistfully.
Pity they’d waited so long, though seven years’ engagement wasn’t that long. After all, you were supposed to save before you could marry. Not that she had saved when she had been working in the ordnance factory. Easy come, easy go.

As she washed the coal dust off her hands in the pannikin in the kitchen sink, she smiled and shrugged her shoulders at the memory of the good times she and Andy had had when he had come home on leave.

Forget it, she told herself. You could have been stranded now, with a young baby to bring up alone. It was going to be hard enough to find a new, decent place without a child. With one, she wouldn’t have a hope.

A bell on its spring near the kitchen ceiling rang suddenly.

She grinned wryly to herself as she dried her hands on the kitchen roller towel. Miss Celia getting into a panic, no doubt.

Winnie was busy pouring hot water into a big breakfast teapot. As she laid the pot on the tray she had prepared, she chuckled. A similar thought had occurred to her. As Dorothy quickly took off her enshrouding sacking apron which she used for rough work, the cook said, ‘It won’t hurt Miss Celia to see a birth – it’s probably the only chance she’ll get! And any woman ought to know what to do. Here, take the tray up to them.’

Dorothy’s small mouth quirked into a smile of agreement. ‘Oh, aye, if she does, she’s going to be proper shocked. She don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. I’d bet on it.’

Years later, after another war, looking back on that day, Celia had smiled. She had been terrified. But in a few hours, she had learned so much about women, she considered; that they could organise in a crisis, work through it together, be brave under suffering. And, further, that you
did not know what friendship meant until you had faced crises together.

It changed for ever her ideas of what women could do, without men to tell them what incompetent fools they were. They had, of course, sent for the doctor – male – but, unlike her father, he had actually approved of their efforts on Phyllis’s behalf.

Because she had no idea at what point in the proceedings the baby would arrive, Celia had rung the bell when a much sharper pang had struck Phyllis; instead of a moan, she had suddenly cried out.

By the time Dorothy had navigated two flights of stairs with the tea tray, Phyllis was more relaxed and was whispering an apology to Celia for being such a coward.

Dorothy put down the tray on the dressing table, and inquired if Madam would like a cup of tea.

Facing for the moment only an awful ache round her waist, Madam said with a sigh that she would, so Celia propped her up a little with an extra pillow and held the cup while she sipped. Dorothy filled another cup and set it down on the bedside table near Celia.

Since Phyllis did not seem threatened by another immediate spasm and Celia’s face was an unearthly white, the maid tried to reassure Celia by saying, ‘Don’t fret, Miss. You drink your tea, too. It’ll be a bit yet afore the baby comes. The pains come quick when baby is actually on its way. Winnie’s got the kettle on for when the doctor comes, and she’s going to make a bit of lunch for everyone.’

The reminder that the doctor would be coming was a comfort, and Celia felt a little better. In fact, Louise had only just finished her toilet, when he arrived.

While Celia and her mother retired to a corner of the room, he did a quick examination of his patient, then
pulled down her nightgown and neatly replaced the sheet and blanket over her. He assured the struggling mother that the baby appeared to be positioned correctly and that he did not expect the delivery to be difficult.

Phyllis told him that she had arranged for Mrs Fox, the midwife, to help with the delivery, but that she had been caught unexpectedly in dear Mrs Gilmore’s house, and that Mrs Gilmore had sent for him.

‘Excellent. Excellent woman, Mrs Fox,’ he said, as he picked up his hat. ‘She has a telephone by which she can be reached – the chemist next door to her is very obliging in this respect. I’ll phone her as soon as I get back to the surgery.’ He patted Phyllis’s hand, and when Louise came forward, he told her, ‘I doubt if Mrs Woodcock will need my services, but I expect you have someone you could send for me, if Mrs Fox feels it necessary?’

All the women were reassured by the doctor’s visit, and, when warm, friendly Mrs Fox rolled quietly into the bedroom, her tiny slippered feet making no sound on the carpet, despite her vast bulk, Phyllis greeted her with pleasure before suddenly arching her back and emitting a sharp scream.

Shocked, Celia spilled some of Phyllis’s second cup of tea as she hastily put the cup down on the bedside table. She looked imploringly at Mrs Fox as she straightened herself up. Phyllis’s eyes were closed, and she was taking small, quivering breaths.

‘Don’t leave me, Seelee,’ Phyllis breathed and sought for Celia’s hand, which she clutched tightly. Only Celia understood how fretful and awkward Arthur was. She would understand how Phyllis was dreading going home to face his constant nagging, when she would be at her weakest after the ordeal of childbirth; the presence of Celia in his home had never deterred Arthur from humiliating his wife by picking at her whenever he was annoyed. Even if Celia did not understand the root causes of it, her friend
had seen enough to understand her terrible underlying unhappiness.

At the use of her childhood nickname, Celia was almost moved to tears. She gulped and said, ‘Of course, I won’t, dear.’

Mrs Fox approached the bed and glanced down at Celia’s left hand. No wedding ring. No wonder the woman was looking as scared as a mouse before a cat. Probably hadn’t got the faintest idea of what was happening. She leaned forward and wiped the thin perspiration off Phyllis’s forehead and her closed eyelids. The lids were not crunched tight with pain, so she said, ‘That’s right, Ma’am. Rest yourself in betweens. I’m just going to take a look to see how things are. Just lift your knees up and apart a bit.’

As the bedclothes were lifted back and Phyllis’s nightgown flipped up, Celia politely turned her eyes away and concentrated them on Phyllis’s face. Phyllis opened her eyes and smiled wryly up at her, while the midwife probed and pressed with her hands, and then carefully sponged her with surgical spirit. The midwife said quietly to Louise, ‘Her time’s too close to give her an enema to empty her bowels.’

‘Stay with me!’ Phyllis begged her friend again. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ll make an awful noise, but if you’ll hold on to me, it’ll feel easier.’

With her face as white as a newly donkey-stoned doorstep, Celia assured her that she would never leave her.

Louise intervened with a protest that it was not suitable for a single woman to remain in a birthing room. ‘My dear Phyllis, it simply isn’t the thing at all.’

Phyllis looked at her with wide uncomprehending eyes, and Louise turned to her daughter. ‘Celia, you must leave!’

Winnie, peering over Louise’s shoulder, her expression genuinely concerned, added, ‘You may faint, luv – and we’ll be too busy to deal with you.’

Celia cringed, and then as Phyllis’s grasp of her hand
tightened, she found the courage to say coldly, ‘I shall be quite all right, Mother – Mrs Fox.’

Mrs Fox did not rise to the appeal in Celia’s voice. It did not matter to her who was present, as long as they kept out of her way.

Celia faltered, and then, as Phyllis groaned, she said quietly, ‘No. I want to be with Phyllis.’

Louise’s voice was frigid, as she said sharply, ‘Celia. You are being most disobedient. Please, leave the room.’

Outraged at being ordered about like a child, in front of a servant and the midwife, Celia said, ‘I won’t.’ She loosened her friend’s hand, turned her back on Louise and very carefully slipped her arm under Phyllis’s shoulders. Phyllis put an arm round Celia’s neck and clung to her.

Louise was red with anger; Celia had never defied her like this; she would not have dared, if her father had been alive. She took a step forward, as if she might pull her daughter away, and Mrs Fox, for the sake of her patient, put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Let them be, Ma’am. Let them be, if it helps Mrs Woodcock.’

Breathing hard, Louise stared at the midwife. ‘It’s most improper,’ she protested.

‘It may be, Ma’am, but this is not the moment to argue. Will you be so kind as to step back, so that I can deal with Mrs Woodcock.’

Rebuked, Louise stepped back, and Winnie persuaded her into an easy chair by the fire. ‘Best to leave it, Ma’am,’ she advised.

‘It’s scandalous, Winnie!’

‘Nobody will know, Ma’am, if you don’t say nothin’.’

Sitting rigidly in the chair, Louise closed her eyes. Suddenly she turned her head into the curve of the chair’s padded back and began to cry softly into her black handkerchief.

Frightened to death by what she had done, nevertheless Celia stood by her promise. She would not shift. Phyllis
became rapidly far too absorbed in her own struggle to take much notice of any argument. With Celia, she concentrated on Mrs Fox’s instructions, both of them shifting position as needed.

With a groan so deep that Celia had never heard anything like it before, a tiny, perfect person was finally expelled and the cord was cut and tied. And, to Celia’s astonishment, the baby immediately cried out.

Phyllis relaxed in Celia’s arms. Her smile was so triumphant that it was as if she had not gone through what was, to Celia, an appalling operation.

The baby was quickly bundled up in a warm towel, while water to wash it was poured into a bowl by a smiling Winnie, and Celia glanced down to see what was happening.

Phyllis’s legs were still spread. Mrs Fox had pushed sheets of newspaper under her buttocks and, with a tin bowl in her hands, seemed to be waiting. In fact, except for hearty yells from the baby, everyone was very quiet.

Phyllis’s tired body heaved suddenly. It seemed to Celia that there was an awful lot of blood as the placenta came clear. She had never heard of an afterbirth. She believed that something dreadful was happening to Phyllis and that she was bleeding to death.

In a blaze of fear for her friend’s life, she fainted.