A Sixpenny Christmas (3 page)

And now, as the thunder rolled overhead, and lightning lit up the delivery room as brightly as though it were day, Ellen obeyed the nurse’s instructions to ‘Bear down!’ by giving a tremendous push, and to her delighted astonishment the next words she heard were: ‘Well done, Mrs O’Mara; you’ve got a dear little baby girl. My goodness, and you’ve barely been in here ten minutes! When I’ve settled you back on the ward I’ll go straight to the waiting room and tell your husband that he may visit you for five minutes.’

Ellen reared up on one elbow to gaze at the tiny crumpled red face and dark wet hair of her very own baby. She could feel an enormous smile spreading across her face, but when she spoke her tone was rueful.

‘I don’t think he’ll be in the waiting room, chuck; he’s workin’, and since he don’t know I were took to the delivery room he won’t be expectin’ the news yet for a while,’ she said. ‘Oh, nurse, ain’t she just perfect?’

The nurse agreed, then called a porter to wheel Ellen back to the ward and carried the baby off to the nursery.

Ellen was back on the ward, far too excited to sleep as the nurse had advised, when the lights went out. But she, who had been terrified of thunderstorms, was too happy to worry about this one. She just wished that someone else on the ward was awake, so that she could tell them all about her beautiful baby girl. But she knew there had been another mother in the delivery suite;
perhaps she would be along presently, having had her baby, and they could compare notes. Ellen lay back on her pillows and snoozed.

Sam emerged from the dockside pub he favoured in a murderous rage and almost indifferent to the storm, although he pulled his coat around him against the driving rain. He had been made a fool of, and if there was one thing he hated it was being made to look a fool. And of all people the one who had turned against him had been Billy Bates, a feller he had thought of as a friend. Sam considered going on to another of the many pubs down by the docks, but his money was running low and his belly felt full to bursting. Besides, after a bout of drinking the previous week he’d been pretty ill and seen strange things, and he had no desire to repeat the experience. Billy Bates had warned him that it might well be the start of something called the DTs and he didn’t want none of that. On the other hand he wanted to smash Billy until the grin disappeared from his one-time friend’s face. He had been so happy until Billy had opened his big mouth. He had been boasting that he’d got a kid of his own now, someone to look after him in his old age, someone to listen to his tall stories. He had even bought a round of drinks, which had cost a good deal, but he knew that the men would buy him drinks in return; it was the done thing, after all, when the man became a father, to treat him to a glass of whisky or rum. He was preening himself, enjoying the unusual popularity – for his temper and his willingness to use his fists had made most other men wary of him – when bloody Billy Bates had burst the bubble. Billy was a big
man, bigger than Sam and a great deal stronger, which was probably why they got on. But now Billy raised gingery eyebrows. ‘You’ve not said, me ol’ pal, so before I wet this baby’s head, wharrisit?’

Sam had not understood at first. ‘Wharrisit? It’s a perishin’ baby, din’t you hear wharr I said?’ he demanded truculently. ‘Me and the missus, old Ellen O’Mara, have done the trick at last and we gorra baby.’ He looked defiantly around the bar and saw that a great many people were grinning, though when their eyes met his the grins were wiped off their faces and they turned away.

If only bloody Billy Bates had kept his big mouth shut all might yet have been well, especially as Billy was now the only one still grinning, but Billy was three parts drunk and clearly could not resist. He slung a heavy arm around Sam’s shoulders and shook him. ‘Is it a boy or a girl, you great fool?’ he said. ‘Is it a Sammy or a Sally? I don’t go wettin’ no baby’s head till I know what’s what.’

Irritated, Sam shook himself free of his pal’s grip. ‘How the devil do I know?’ he enquired irritably. ‘It’ll be one or t’other; what’s it matter?’

Billy started it, the swine. A slow grin spread across his ugly face and then a chuckle escaped from his lips, and in half a minute or less the whole pub was convulsed with mirth. Billy turned to the barman, who was chortling even though he probably had no idea what was funny. ‘Sam’s wife is in ’ospital, havin’ a baby, and he wants us to wet the kid’s head before he even knows if it’s a boy or a girl,’ he said. ‘Come to that, with a dad like Sam it might turn out to be a perishin’ donkey!’

Sam looked around the pub and there wasn’t a single
man without a grin on his face. Men who usually agreed with everything Sam said, laughed at his jokes, never contradicted him, were laughing like hyenas, and Billy Bates who was supposed to be his pal, his bezzie in fact, was laughing loudest of all. He balled his left hand into a fist and smacked it into the palm of his right. If Billy Bates hadn’t been so bloody enormous he would have lain in wait for him, and used his docker’s hook or a cudgel or some other weapon to teach him not to have such a smart mouth, but Billy was quite capable of holding his own against Sam. There were other men in the pub, of course, smaller men, but they would make their way home in groups, knowing how Sam always took his anger out on someone smaller than himself, and bloody Ellen was tucked away in the maternity hospital with nurses and doctors on every side. Now that he came to think of it, it was all Ellen’s fault really. He hadn’t wanted a baby – more expense, more irritation – but Ellen had simply told him that the kid was on the way, so what choice did he have? He played with the idea of going up to the hospital; if she’d not had the kid by now he’d teach the perishin’ lot of them a thing or two. But then he remembered that Ellen had bought a bottle of rum, his favourite tipple, so that they could drink the child’s health; she had dared him to so much as touch it until the baby was born.

Making his way back towards Dryden Street, Sam decided that by now he must be a father. He would go home, take a glass of rum mixed with hot water, get out of his soaking clothes and go to bed. Time enough to visit the hospital the following day. He quickened his pace.

Florence Lana Manners heard the storm coming as she was finishing an eight-hour shift as ward maid at the maternity hospital. Despite her rather imposing name, Flossy was skinny and underfed, the youngest of three children and the only girl. Though it seemed strange to Flossy, both her parents favoured the boys and regarded her as someone else to wait upon their strong, healthy and exceedingly selfish sons.

Flossy, just fifteen, was in her first job and absolutely adored it. Miss Raines, whose job it was to supervise all the cleaning staff, porters and ambulance attendants – in fact everyone bar the actual medical staff – was delighted with Flossy’s work, although she probably never noticed that Flossy came in early and left late in order to ensure that ward eight and the adjacent nursery, which were her special preserves, were almost unnaturally clean and tidy. The girl was popular with the mothers because she was always ready to run an errand or fetch a baby for a woman too tired – or too lazy – to get out of bed, and executed many small commissions for both patients and staff. When a mother was ready to leave the ward Flossy would trot down the road to the nearest shop and buy a little box of chocolates, if the mother in question still had any sweet coupons, or a box of biscuits or some other little luxury such as scented soap if coupons were not forthcoming. The gift would then be handed graciously to a favourite nurse, or ‘to Sister, for the staff’.

But Flossy didn’t mind. She adored the babies and, even though she knew she should not do so, hurried to the nursery as soon as she heard a baby wail, whipping it out of its cot, cradling it in her arms and kissing the petal-soft cheek until, soothed, it slept once more.

If it had been possible, Flossy would have remained at the hospital for twenty-four hours at a stretch, for here she knew she was appreciated, regarded as a worthwhile member of the nursing team, though of course she had no qualifications. Her brothers, Hubert and Horace, sneered at her, called her a skivvy, but objected when she was not there to dance attendance upon them. Both boys followed the example set by their parents. They were always quicker with a cuff than a word of encouragement, so Flossy could not love either of them, and the more she was appreciated at the hospital the more she resented the treatment which was meted out to her at home. Tonight she had signed off and gone to the cloakroom to get her coat when she heard the first rumblings of thunder. She paused, a hand reaching up to the peg. Her coat was thin and much patched, and she doubted it would afford much protection in such rough weather. Nevertheless, she took the garment off its peg and went reluctantly towards the exit, where she stepped through the revolving doors and was decanted on to the pavement just as a terrible crack of thunder and a stab of lightning pinned her to the spot, too shocked and terrified to move. A passer-by told her to get back into the hospital unless she wanted to risk being lightning-struck, and Flossy grinned at the man, only too glad to obey, and bolted back into the hospital almost happily. The nurse on the big reception desk smiled at her.

‘You go back into the staffroom, Flossy, and wait for the storm to ease,’ she advised kindly. ‘Did you count the seconds between the thunder and the lightning? I reckon the storm’s pretty well overhead now and will move off any minute.’

Flossy muttered something and fled to the staffroom, but it was just her luck that the probationer nurse who most disliked her was ensconced in the only comfortable chair. She stared accusingly at Flossy and dropped a hand negligently over the arm of the chair. Flossy knew the older girl had been smoking, knew that it was forbidden to do so in any part of the hospital, but would not have dreamed of telling tales, not even on someone whom she knew to be her enemy. Instead, she backed out, closing the door softly, just as another tremendous crash was closely followed by a sort of sizzling sound and every light went out.

Flossy found herself running towards ward eight and its adjacent nursery, without any real intention of going there. She had always hated storms, feared both thunder and lightning, for when she had been quite a little girl, no more than four or five, her brother Horace had brought a young lady into their house, announcing that he was giving her shelter from the storm which was raging outside, and had thrust his little sister out into the yard, telling her to take shelter in the privy if it came on to rain. Ever since then Flossy had been terrified of storms, and now in the pitch blackness she fairly flew along to ward eight. Other people were also hurrying along the corridors. Some had torches, while those who had not relied on what little light came through the windows between the flashes of lightning that lit up everything. Flossy reached ward eight without difficulty and stopped outside the swing doors, then went through the ones which led to the nursery. Her poor heart was fluttering in her breast like a terrified butterfly, but as soon as she entered the nursery with its dozen small cots and its long
windows she began to feel calmer. It seemed strange that no one was in here with the babies, but then she realised that they were not crying, did not seem at all ruffled by the noise, the darkness, or the sudden stabs of brilliance which lit up the room as though it were midday.

Flossy was bending over the nearest cot when she heard footsteps approaching down the corridor and the swish as the swing doors began to open. Her heart, which had started to beat at its normal rate, speeded up again. If it were that wretched probationer she would be in trouble, because once her shift was over she should not really have been in here in the pitch dark. Hastily she dropped to all fours and squiggled beneath the nearest cot. Odd how safe she felt, not only from the storm but also from the spite of the cigarette-smoking probationer. God, she thought, would take special care of twelve brand new babies, would not let lightning enter a room containing so many tiny new souls. And with the thought she heard the doors swish again. Whoever had come in had gone out, having reassured themselves that everything was all right.

With a satisfied sigh, Flossy made herself comfortable. Because of the cold, extra blankets had been hung on the foot of each cot, and she reached up, pulled a couple down, rolled them into a ball and laid her head on the resultant cushion. She realised suddenly that she was very tired indeed. She had had a long and exhausting morning at the beck and call of both her mother and her brother Horace. Then she had come in to the hospital for what they called the afternoon shift, two till ten, and now that fright had eased exhaustion took over. Curling up, she began to enjoy one of her favourite daydreams.
One day, when she was old enough, she meant to apply to the hospital to be taken on as a probationer. Then she would work very hard, pass examinations and become a proper nurse. She would have a room in the nurses’ home and a real salary, for even though she knew the nurses were miserably underpaid they got more than a ward maid did. She dreamed of wearing the lovely blue and white striped dress of a qualified nurse, dreamed of never having to go home again to the ramshackle little house in Dryden Street. She dreamed . . . she dreamed . . .

She was almost asleep when she realised two things. The first was that the thunder was rumbling off into the distance, to be replaced by rainfall so heavy that it streamed down the windows like a river, and the second was that someone was entering the nursery; a mother no doubt, come to check on her baby. Or perhaps one of the nursing staff. Flossy’s heart began to beat uneasily once more; she knew very well she should not be here at all, let alone curled up under the babies’ cots with the babies’ blankets as a pillow. She thanked God that the lights had not yet come back on and shrank even further against the wall as the woman – it was definitely one of the mothers, for though there was very little light coming in through the rain-drenched panes Flossy could see a regulation dressing gown as well as a pair of slippers, far too large for the wearer – passed very quietly along the row of cots.