Danny Boy (29 page)

‘Bernadette, there are no buts. I’m not discussing it, I’m telling you how it will be.’

Bernadette wasn’t stupid. She knew there were times it was much healthier to give in, especially when her mammy spoke in a certain way, for to argue on then might merit a ringing slap on the back of her legs. So she sighed dramatically and said, ‘Oh, all right then,’ and Rosie suppressed a smile.

She was almost too tired to make the stairs and yet she longed to lie between the sheets and think of that wonderful, stupendous day as she drifted off to sleep.

She didn’t know what time she woke up, but she immediately felt a strange stickiness between her legs. She eased herself up in the bed and lit the lamp and saw the blood on the sheet and it still running from her. ‘Ah, dear Christ, no,’ she cried. ‘Sweet Jesus, please, oh please have pity on me?’

The answer was a drawing pain that began in her back and went in a ring around to her front and caused her to lift her knees almost to her chin.

Rosie was out of bed in an instant. She packed herself with cotton pads, pushed her feet into her boots, and pulling a coat around her she went into the freezing night to knock on Ida’s door.

Ida had been more drunk when she reached her bed than she’d ever been before and so was slow to wake. Once roused, she stared at Rosie, bleary-eyed and swaying slightly on her feet.

Rosie was too panicky and fearful to see that and she blurted out. ‘Ida help me. I think I’m losing this sodding baby as well. I’m bleeding, for God’s sake!’

The words, Rosie’s anguished face, and the night air sobered Ida somewhat and she cried, ‘You poor bugger! Ah Christ, it ain’t bloody well fair. Get back to bed. Give me a minute to throw some clothes on and I’ll be in.’

‘Fetch the doctor, Ida.’

Ida knew if Rosie was losing blood there was little the doctor could do. ‘Rosie,’ she said gently. ‘It will cost an arm and a leg to get him out at this time of night and Christ knows what state he will be in if he’s been partying like the rest of us.’

‘Please, Ida,’ Rosie begged. ‘It doesn’t matter what it costs. I’ll gather it together somehow.’

‘All right, calm yourself,’ Ida said, because Rosie’s over-bright eyes and high, hysterical voice alarmed her. ‘I’ll get our Jack up. He can go like the wind and you know he’ll have to go away past Salford Bridge to the doctor’s house up on the Birmingham Road there. Go in out of the cold, I’ll be in directly.’

Ida shook Jack awake and told him of the urgency of the message before struggling into her own things. She thanked the Lord that one of their neighbours cleaned at the doctor’s private house, for people like them wouldn’t usually be told where a doctor lived, and while Ida didn’t think the doctor could do much to save the baby, maybe he could help Rosie and save her going to pieces altogether.

When Rosie got home the linen pads were soaked through and the blood was trickling down her legs. Heedless of this, she kneeled on the bedroom floor, put her head on the bed, and cried out her despair while the blood pooled around her knees.

Anthony Patterson had no wish to leave the warm bed he’d fallen into just a couple of hours before. He had even less inclination to speed through the night to one of the teeming back-to-back houses. His wife, who hated that aspect of his work and was always urging him to leave the working classes to their own devices and concentrate on his richer clientele, was incensed. ‘What is it?’ she said irritably when her husband came into the room and began to dress after answering the persistent banging on the door.

‘I’ve got to go out, Susie. It’s one of the women from Aston Cross. She’s losing her baby.’

‘One of the lower classes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why make it your concern? Let her lose it. What odds will it be to them? You won’t be able to do anything.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Come on back to bed,’ Susie said seductively. ‘I know there is something you’d rather do.’

Anthony stared at his wife. For years now she’d denied him, saying she found that side of marriage distasteful, and at times, to his great humiliation, he’d had been forced to seek satisfaction elsewhere, though he’d always burned with
guilt afterwards. Now, Susie, who’d been quite tipsy going to bed, a very unusual state for her, was opening her arms to him. She was still a very beautiful and sensuous woman and her luscious lips were parted slightly, invitingly, and he felt himself harden.

But he’d left the child standing in the hall, feeling it was too cold a night to let him stand outside, and he shook his head from side to side. ‘I can’t, Susie,’ he said. ‘I’ll probably not be long. Wait for me.’

‘I’ll wait for no man,’ Susie Patterson said icily. ‘I’m ready now, and if you spurn me it will be a long time before I let you near me again.’

‘I’m not spurning you. It’s just…’

‘Oh, go. Go on, run to your working classes if you care for them before me.’

‘It’s not that.’ But Anthony knew he was wasting his time. Susie was turned on her side, her back to him. Dear Lord, life was a bloody bitch, he thought as he pulled on his trousers.

He was glad of the blast of night air as he stepped into the road. He was taking the car. He never usually took it into the maze of back-to-back housing, knowing the children would be over it like flies, but tonight there would be no-one about and they’d certainly get there quicker.

Never had Jack been so excited and yet a little frightened at the same time as the car picked up speed as it hit the main road, the headlights slicing through the dark and gloom, and he sat on his hands so that the doctor wouldn’t see them shaking and felt tremors running all through his body.

Doctor Patterson was amused at the child’s so obvious delight, but hid his smile. He could easily bet that it was the first ride he’d ever had in a car and it would raise his standing amongst his peers considerably. He didn’t ask him any questions about Rosie Walsh, for he knew the boy had told him all he knew, and so the silence stretched between them, and
Jack was glad of it, for he doubted he could have spoken sensibly to the doctor if he’d asked anything.

However, when the car drew to a halt at the top of the entry, Jack said, ‘D’you want me to mind it for you?’

‘No, there’s no one about,’ Doctor Patterson said, scanning the dark and empty street. ‘All partied out and asleep,’ he said. ‘And I bet you could do with your bed?’ he added as they walked down the entry.

‘Yeah, I’m whacked.’

‘Go on in,’ the doctor said as they stepped into the yard. ‘Is your mam in with Mrs Walsh?’

‘Yeah, she went in when I came for you.’

The doctor was glad. Ida had riddled the range into life and had the kettle just coming to the boil as he gave a tap on the door and walked in. She gave a sigh of relief as she saw the man standing there. ‘Thanks for coming out, Doctor. I don’t think you can do much. She’s losing blood. She’s above in the bedroom. I’ve padded the bed with towels, but it’s still coming.’

‘I’ll go straight up,’ the doctor said. ‘But first I’ll wash my hands if that water is hot.’

‘It’s boiling, Doctor.’

‘Then will you do me a favour and make me a cup of tea,’ the doctor said. ‘To tell you the truth, I have a thick head after the celebrations last night and have had little chance to sleep it off.’

‘You and me both, Doctor,’ Ida said with a smile, ‘and I think at least half of the adult population will be hung over in a couple of hours when the day really begins. I’ll make the tea directly.’

Just minutes later, the doctor, after examining Rosie, looked into her white, strained face and said, ‘You know I can’t stop this.’

Rosie knew. She’d felt the blood seeping from her, the blood that should surround and protect the baby, and no amount
of clamping her legs together or trying to ignore the drawing pains attacking her body could save this child. ‘But why, Doctor?’ she cried. ‘I mean, last time I was ill and it was maybe understandable, but this time…Doctor, I’ve done nothing.’

‘Hmm,’ Doctor Patterson said, drawing up a chair beside the bed. ‘I could say it’s just one of those things, but I’m following a pet theory of my own here. You worked in a munitions factory, didn’t you?’

‘Aye, but not for long,’ Rosie said. ‘I mean, I got a cough that turned to bronchitis, you remember, and that put paid to it. My face didn’t even get a chance to go yellow.’

‘Even so,’ the doctor said. ‘You were in contact with the sulphur. Inhaling the sulphur dust was what, I should imagine, gave you the initial cough.’

‘Maybe, but what’s that to do with losing a child?’

‘Sulphur is poisonous, Mrs Walsh,’ the doctor said. ‘I am conducting a private survey of my own on the number of miscarriages or still births amongst the women who worked in the munitions factories. There are others who seem fine and healthy, their husbands the same, who can’t seem to get pregnant. I want to see if there is a connection.’

Dr Patterson knew the authorities were refusing to acknowledge this, but there were too many for it to be a coincidence and he wanted to force the Government to face up to this.

But he saw that this second tragedy was badly affecting Rosie. She’d answered his questions about the munitions works reasonably enough, but when he went on to voice his concerns her mouth had dropped open and she stared at him, her eyes wide and full of pain and the colour drained from her face.

The thoughts pounded in her head. It’s my fault. I can’t have any more children for they are poisoned by me in the body that should protect them. She wetted her lips and faced the doctor. She had to hear the words from the man’s own
lips. ‘D’you mean to say the child I lost and this one I am losing could be due to the work I did in the munitions factory? That I brought it on myself?’

The doctor bitterly regretted telling Rosie straight out that she might have poisoned her child and might continue to poison subsequent children. What had he been thinking of? He knew had he been in his right mind and not so befuddled, he would never have done such a thing. But the damage was done now and the words could not be unsaid, and he saw the guilt that she’d been to blame stealing over Rosie’s face. ‘Mrs Walsh,’ he said. ‘None of this was your fault. You were not to know.’

‘No,’ Rosie said bitterly. ‘Well I know now, all right. You’ve been honest with me so far and so I want you to answer another question honestly. Tell me straight, will I ever manage to carry a child full-term, Doctor?’

‘I can’t possibly say.’

‘You could give me a bloody guess, for God’s sake,’ Rosie cried. ‘I mean, will this bloody sulphur ever pass through my body, or what?’

‘Mrs Walsh, this war was the first time women were exposed to dangers like this,’ the doctor said, knowing Rosie deserved as much of the truth as he knew. ‘No-one was really aware of the risks, and even if my theory is right I don’t know how it will affect people long-term.’

‘Tell me what you think, before I go mad altogether?’ Rosie yelled at the man. ‘Am I to go on and on trying to bear a child and losing them one after the other, like I’ve lost the previous two, for that I couldn’t stand, Doctor.’

Dr Patterson bent his head, for the pain in Rosie’s eyes was raw, and he castigated himself for his careless words, and yet. He knew if Rosie was to go on year after year, losing one child after another, she wouldn’t be able to cope. Indeed, few women could cope with such an ordeal. She would go under, for she was that kind of woman. Maybe, he thought, it would
be kinder to be as straight as he could. ‘Mrs Walsh,’ he said. ‘As I said before, I know little of the long-term effects of sulphur, but with you losing two children like this, I would say the likelihood would be that at the present time you would not be able to carry a child full-term.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Rosie said, and she turned her face to the wall. Danny would never have his son, she thought, and she would never hold another baby in the arms that ached to do so. She’d never feel another child tugging at her breasts and smiling at her in that special way. She cried hot, scalding tears at the pity of it, while her stomach continued to contract and push of its own violation, and before the day was really light, Rosie had miscarried another child;

The news flew around the streets and there was a troop of people coming in to express sympathy. Rosie wrote to Danny, she felt she owed him that, and told him not only of the miscarriage but also the doctor’s prediction that she’d probably never be able to carry a child full-term because of the sulphur that had poisoned her body at the munitions works, and she received a heartbroken reply from Danny.

Rosie seemed sunk in lethargy, but it was really guilt. Both boys had died through her doing. ‘You had to go,’ Rita reminded her. ‘You needed the money.’

‘Danny warned me,’ she said.

‘He didn’t know either,’ Betty said. ‘He just wanted you out of the place.’

‘Well he was damned right.’

‘Yeah, he was, but you can’t be held responsible.’

‘I’ve robbed him of his sons.’

‘No you haven’t.’

‘It’s how I see it,’ Rosie said implacably and nothing either of the women said could shake Rosie’s conviction that she was at fault.

‘She’ll get over it in time,’ Ida said. ‘Let’s not keep at her now.’

‘Oh yeah, you’ve got great faith in time being the great healer, ain’t you?’

‘That’s cos it is.’

‘Pity she ain’t had no letters from Ireland and that,’ Rita said. ‘They always buck her up.’

‘They won’t know, will they?’ Ida said. ‘Any letters she gets now won’t make her feel better. I mean, they’ll probably go on about the baby and all.’

‘Oh Christ, yeah.’

‘I mean, has she told you she’s written to them?’ Ida asked.

‘No, she just wrote to Danny, as far as I know.’

‘We could do it for her,’ Ida said. ‘She wouldn’t mind.’

‘She don’t seem to mind owt,’ Rita said. ‘That’s half the bloody trouble. I’d better ask her.’

But Rosie had no objection and Rita and Ida wrote the short letters to Wicklow and to the nuns in Baggot Street and those in Handsworth. And back came letters of support, just as before.

A few weeks later, and not long before Christmas. Rosie had something to think about besides herself and the loss of her baby, because Rita arrived early one morning and told her Betty was far from well and insisted on getting up and going to work, and Rosie went down with Rita to play war with her. She found Betty as ill as Rita had said and she told her she wasn’t to think of going any place except bed.

‘I’ll not be ordered about by you,’ Betty snapped. ‘A fine one you are to give medical advice, when you don’t take it yourself.’

‘All right,’ Rosie said. ‘I know I’m stubborn, but you’re not getting any younger, Betty, and, face it, you’re far from well.’

‘I’ll be worse if I starve to death.’

‘You’ll hardly do that.’

‘You can smile, girl, but all I’ve got is me savings. I get the
pension in three years’ time. Fat lot of good it is, though, five bob a week when the rent’s half a crown.’

‘I know that, Betty,’ Rosie said. ‘But you must have saved a pretty penny at the munitions and your boys send you something when they can. You’ve told me that.’

‘Ah, I know I did and they do, they’re good lads, but savings don’t last forever if you have to live on them, do they?’

‘No, but…’

‘Look, Rosie, you’re a good girl and you know the same as me, jobs is like gold dust, and I need a job and before all the men start coming home from the war like, I’d only just got that job in the Sauce.’

It was true, that was the shame of it. After being off work for four weeks from Kynoch’s works after the armistice, Betty had got a job at HP Sauce and only a few days after starting it, she’d been taken ill.

‘It isn’t your fault,’ Rosie said.

‘Won’t be my fault if some other bugger has my job when I do go back, either,’ Betty said morosely. ‘And I’ve only got a bleeding cold.’

‘Well, if you have it’ll soon clear up,’ Rosie said. ‘But I don’t like the sound of your chest and going out in the cold and fog will do you no good.’

‘Oh that’s all right then, I’ll just live on fresh air, will I?’

‘I’ve never known such an aggravating patient,’ Rosie said, exasperated. ‘If you’ve got so much energy, why don’t you sit tucked up in bed and make some more of those rag dolls you’ve done since you left munitions. I told you, Cleggy down the Bull Ring nearly snapped the hands off me and Rita for the five we took down yesterday. He said they’d sell like hot cakes, especially with Christmas around the corner. You wouldn’t have to go out in all weathers then. Danny always said you could make a fortune with those dolls.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well I do. And I know something else. You’re going no place today, so forget that idea. And you can either sit and do nothing and feel sorry for yourself or get on with another doll. The choice is yours. Do you want me to get your sewing box and bag of fabrics or not?’

Betty glared at Rosie mutinously and Rosie met the stare head on, and Betty thought she’d give in, for that day at least, for she acknowledged she didn’t feel well. Not that she’d admit it openly, but her head was swimming and a throbbing ache had begun in her temple and her chest was tight and sore. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own two feet, for they didn’t feel as if they belonged to her. She’d fall and make a fool of herself.