The midwife was a middle-aged woman, thin as a strand
of wire, with iron-grey hair and a beaky nose. She gave Jean a quick examination, felt her stomach all over and gave a
sharp nod. ‘Nothing wrong there. Going to be a big lad,
though. Might be a week or two early.’
‘It’s not a lad,’ Jean said. ‘It’s a girl.’
‘Oh, and how d’you know that? Done the wedding-ring
test, have you?’ Her glance strayed to Jean’s left hand and
Jean felt thankful for the wedding ring Alice Thomas had
given her.
‘The wedding-ring test?’
‘That’s right. You tie the ring to a bit of cotton and
someone holds it over your belly to see which way it swings.
If it goes backwards and forwards it’s a boy, if it goes round
in a circle, it’s a girl. Do it now, if you like.’ She took Jean’s hand and made to pull off the ring.
Jean snatched her hand away. ‘No! I don’t want to. I
don’t want to take my ring off-and anyway, it’s a girl.’ She
stared defiantly at the midwife. ‘I don’t need to do any tests
at all. I know it’s a girl.’
The midwife shrugged. ‘Hoity-toity!’ she sniffed. ‘Well,
have it your own way. But if it’s a girl, it’s a mighty big one.
You’d better get yourself decent again. I’ll come back in a
fortnight, see how you are.’
Jean watched her go, half-annoyed, half-frightened.
Later, telling Judy about it, she said, ‘I didn’t like her much.
I don’t really want her there when the baby’s born.’
‘You’ll have to have her though, won’t you?’ Judy asked.
‘I mean, suppose something goes wrong? And if the baby
really is going to be big …’
‘Oh, I know I’ll have to have her. And I expect she’s all
right really. Mrs Hazelwood says she’s delivered any
amount of babies round the village. I just didn’t like her
much.’
‘Well, never mind,’ Judy said comfortably. ‘It’s weeks
away yet, anyway.’
They were sitting on a blanket and some cushions in the
garden, beneath the apple tree where Judy had first met Ben. The small green apples which had followed the
blossom were growing fast and some were beginning to
redden. By the time Jean’s baby was born they would be
ready to pick and eat, and Mrs Hazelwood said they were
good keepers. A heavy crop would see them right through
the winter.
Ben had almost completed his training as a pilot. He
wrote to Judy once or twice, his letters enthusiastic, his
desire to get into the air throbbing through every line. She
read the letters a little sadly, wondering how long he would
survive once he did. So many young men were being killed
in the air, some of them on their first mission. She prayed
that wouldn’t “happen to Ben. He was so young, so ardent,
so full of life. And he had told her once that she would hear
again.
I wish I could, she thought. I wish I could, just for him.
Just to hear his voice. I’ve never heard his voice.
There were so many voices she had never heard. And
even those she knew well were beginning to fade. Maybe
even if I did get my hearing back, she thought, I wouldn’t
know them. They could come up behind me and speak Jean,
or Mum and Dad, Gran, Polly, Chris - and I wouldn’t
know who they were. I’d have to learn them all over again.
The thought of Chris brought back the memory of that
last meeting, when he had told her not to be sorry for
herself. Judy had walked away from the train that day
feeling hurt and angry. Why shouldn’t I be sorry for
myself? she had wondered. I’m entitled to be … But slowly
she had begun to see the sense of his words. She began to
realise that she had changed during the past few months.
Locked in her own, silent world, she had forgotten that
other people had feelings too, forgotten that they had
problems as great as hers. The old man who lived in a
tumbledown cottage down the lane and crept about, too
crippled with arthritis to be able to draw a bucket of water
from the well, his hands too gnarled and stiff to cut a slice of bread. The woman in the broken-down hovel who had four
children under seven and whose husband had been killed at
Dunkirk. The Hazelwoods, afraid of losing their youngest
son. Polly, widowed at thirty-five. Her own parents, losing
Terry … But I lost him too, she argued, and then reminded
herself sharply that this was exactly what she was doing
wrong. Always looking for her own griefs and sorrows,
dismissing those of other people.
I’m sorry, Chris, she thought sadly. You were right, and I
was wrong. And she regretted, bitterly, that she had sent
him away. He won’t come back now, she thought. Even if I
wrote and begged him - he wouldn’t come back now.
‘Judy!’
Jean grabbed her arm and Judy turned quickly. At the
look on her friend’s face, she gasped. ‘What is it? What’s
wrong?’
‘I don’t know. I got this sudden pain.’ Jean’s face twisted
again and she bent and pressed both hands to her back.
‘Is it the baby? It can’t be, surely.’ Judy was on her feet,
glancing wildly towards the house. ‘It’s much too soon.’
‘She said it might come early.’ The pain seemed to have
faded and Jean was breathing quickly. ‘But it was in my
back, not my stomach. It’s gone off a bit now anyway.’ She
lay back on the cushions. ‘I suppose it was just a twinge.’
‘It looked as if it was more than a twinge.’ Judy sat down
again, looking at her doubtfully. ‘Do you think I ought to
fetch someone?’
‘Not yet. It takes hours and hours for a baby to be born.
There’s no one to fetch, anyway. The vicar’s gone to Bridge
End and Mrs Hazelwood’s at the WI meeting. And
everyone else is out in the fields, haymaking.’
Jean understood only the shaking head and the words
‘WP and ‘haymaking’ but they were enough. Anyway, Jean
looked better now. Perhaps it had been no more than a
twinge. She’d had a number of aches and pains by now
her back hurt if she walked too far or tried to do too much work, she had heartburn after meals, and she’d had a fierce
stabbing pain down one leg that Mrs Sutton said was
sciatica. It was caused by the baby lying on a nerve,
apparently. There must be other nerves the baby could lie
against, especially now that it was getting so big.
‘Ouch!’ Jean exclaimed, her face contorting again. ‘Oh no,
no, no.’
‘What is it?’ Judy was on her feet again, thoroughly
alarmed. Jean was half sitting, half lying, leaning one elbow
on the cushions, the other arm held tightly over her stomach
as she rocked with pain. ‘Oh Jeanie, what’s happening? I’d
better get someone.’
‘No!’ Jean reached out a hand to stop her. ‘Don’t go
away! Don’t leave me!’ She pulled at her skirt and stared
down in horror at the blanket. ‘Look!’
Appalled and frightened, Judy looked down and saw a
dark stain spreading over the rug. ‘What is it? Whatever is
it?’
‘It’s my waters,’ Jean said, forgetting to look Judy in the
face as she spoke. She remembered and raised her head. ‘My waters. They’ve broken.’
Judy gazed at her helplessly. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It means the baby’s coming.’ The pain seemed to have
receded, and Jean lay back again, breathing heavily.
‘I’ll have to fetch someone.’
‘No! Don’t go! It’s coming now -I can feel it. Oh!’ Jean’s
voice rose to a scream and she fell back and flailed wildly
with her arms. ‘Oh Judy, Judy, Judy - it hurts so much!
Aaaah! Aaaaaaah!’
Judy knelt beside her, terrified. She had never seen a baby
being born, had no idea what happened. She had been only
ten years old when Sylvie was born and had not even known
that Polly was expecting a baby until the day it happened.
What she knew about ‘the facts of life’ had been gleaned
gradually over the years from other girls, equally ignorant,
much of the knowledge distorted, and although she now understood about sex she still had very little idea how the
baby that had been conceived would actually be born. Jean
herself didn’t know very much more.
‘What shall we do?’ Judy asked when the pain faded
again. ‘How quickly will it come?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jean’s face was white and beaded with
sweat. ‘Oh Judy, it hurts so much. People say it can go on
for hours - even days. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.’
Tears came into her eyes. ‘I’ll die. I’m going to die.’
‘No!’ Judy’s terror pierced her voice. ‘No, you’re not
going to die, Jean, you can’t. I’ll have to get someone—’
‘It’s starting again!’ Jean clutched her arm, digging her
fingers in like talons. Her nails bit into Judy’s bare flesh. ‘Oh God - here it comes - ah - aaah — aaaaaah!’ I can’t do it!’
she yelled, twisting frantically on the blanket. ‘I can’t bloody do it! Aaaaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaaaah!’
Judy put her hands on the writhing body and tried to
hold her still. One of Jean’s hands was still gripping her
arm, the other flailing in the air, beating on the ground,
pulling at her own hair. Judy reached across and grabbed it,
holding it tightly, trying to calm the desperate girl. She
could hear none of Jean’s cries but knew from her face that
she was making a lot of noise. Perhaps someone will hear,
she thought. Perhaps she’s shouting loudly enough for
someone to hear and come.
‘What shall we do?’ she asked when the pain subsided.
‘What do we have to do?’
‘Better get my knickers off. It’s got to be able to come
out, and they’re soaking wet anyway.’
‘Out here?’ Judy was scandalised. She looked around the
garden. It was in full sight of the vicarage, and anyone
passing by could look over the wall. She forgot for a
moment that she had been praying for someone to do just
that.
Jean threw her a scornful glance. ‘I don’t care if we’re in
the Lord Mayor’s parlour! I’m having a baby. Judy - quick, it’s starting again. Get them off. Oh …’ The two girls
scrabbled frantically and dragged off the sodden garment,
tossing it out of the way. They were just in time. The pain
came again, a fresh wave even stronger than before, and Jean
lay back, crying out again, reaching for Judy’s hands. As
Judy caught them in hers, she realised that something else
was happening. Jean was using all her strength to tense her
body, arching her back so that the swollen stomach rose like
a whale, her screams now as much groans of effort as cries of
pain.
Dimly, Judy remembered hearing the phrase ‘bear down’.
You had to ‘bear down’ when you were having a baby. She
had had no idea what it meant, but now she thought she
understood. ‘Bearing down’ was pushing, pushing the baby
out, and you did it when the pain gripped you, when it was
at its fiercest. She knelt beside the twisting, screaming girl
and spoke in her ear.
‘That’s it, Jean. That’s it. Bear down. Push. That’s right.
Keep going, keep trying.’ She risked a quick glance beneath
the rucked-up skirt and caught a glimpse of a mass of fair
pubic hair and something else — something swollen, like a
massive growth, protruding from Jean’s body. For a
moment she stared, horrified, and then Jean relaxed as the
pain faded, and the growth drew back inside. In that second,
she realised what it was.
‘It’s the baby! I can see its head! Oh Jean, Jean, I can see
the baby’s head!’ Beside herself with terror and excitement,
she gripped Jean’s hands. ‘Jean, the baby’s almost born! I can see its head!’
‘I don’t want it!’ Jean yelled. ‘I don’t want it any more! It
hurts too much! It bloody well hurts!’ Take it away! Take it away! I don’t want it! Oh - oh - ohhhh!’
‘You do want it. You do. Oh, please let someone come, let
someone come soon.’ Judy was crying now, gripping Jean’s
hands as the wave of pain rose once more. ‘Oh Jean, keep
trying, just keep trying. It’ll be over soon. It’s coming soon, I know it is, and it’ll all be over and you’ll have a lovely little baby girl - or maybe a boy, you wouldn’t really mind if it
was a boy, would you - and - and - oh Jean, Jean, that’s
right, bear down, push hard - it’s coming now, I can see it.’
She wrenched her hands from Jean’s grasp and caught at her
thighs, parting them so that the baby’s head could push its
way out. It was clear now, a round, hard little ball, wet and
dark and slimy, and as Jean screamed she saw it surge
suddenly forward, thrusting itself out into the world - head,
shoulders, body and legs - and Judy reached out and caught
it in her hands, a thrill juddering through her whole body as
she felt the warm, slippery, squirming flesh. A baby, she
thought wonderingly, a baby, and I’m the first one ever in
the whole world to hold it. But there was no time for
wonder. With the baby came a rush of water and blood, and
she lifted it clear and saw to her horror that there was
something else - a thick, twisted rope that was attached to
the baby’s stomach and seemed to disappear back into Jean’s
body. At that moment the baby began to cry, its mouth
opening to a square in its tiny red face, and Judy stared at it in wonder.
‘Is it all right?’ Jean was leaning up on one elbow,