Call the Midwife: A True Story of the East End in the 1950S

street Sister Julienne arrived on her bicycle and met Fred. Together they approached the farmer, who stared at them without saying a word. Sister Julienne stood on tiptoe, looking over the edge of the truck, and brushed back her veil which had been blowing towards the pig’s tusks.
     
    “Oh, he’s a beautiful fellow,” she whispered excitedly.
     
    The farmer looked at her, sucked his pipe, and said, “I don’t believe this.”
     
    He asked to see the sow. The entry to Fred’s yard was via a side passage that ran between the houses, at the end of which was the boundary wall to the docks. The Thames ran behind it. The farmer was thus confronted with the towering sides of ocean-going cargo vessels.
     
    “They are never going to believe this. Never,” he muttered, as he stooped to pick up his pipe and the keys that had fallen from his hands.
     
    He was directed into Fred’s yard.
     
    “There she is, an’ lookin’ for a bi’ of fun from that there big bugger o’ your’n.”
     
    “Fun!” growled the farmer, “This bit of fun will cost you one pound, cash in hand.”
     
    Fred knew the cost, and had the money ready, but grumbled nonetheless. “Cor - pound a poke - that’s more’n they gets up West, that is.”
     
    Sister Julienne remonstrated: “It’s no good grumbling, Fred. A pound is the going rate, so you had better pay up.”
     
    The farmer eyed the nun strangely, but Fred handed over the money without another word.
     
    The farmer pocketed the cash, and said, “Right! We’ll bring him round.”
     
    But that was easier said than done.
     
    A crowd had gathered, and was growing all the time - word travels fast on the Isle. The farmer backed his truck up against the passage, lowered the rear trailer board, and leaped into the truck to drive the boar down, but the boar refused to budge. A pig’s eyesight is poor, and, to a creature accustomed to the open countryside of Essex, the passage must have looked like the black hole into hell.
     
    “Get up and help me,” shouted the farmer to Fred.
     
    Together they pushed and walloped and shouted at the boar, which got nasty, and looked as if looked as if it might be tempted to use its tusks after all. The crowd in the street gasped, and mothers pulled their children back as the boar slowly and tentatively, descended the ramp on its tiny trotters and entered the passage. Even then it was not plain sailing. The alley was narrow, and the bear very nearly got stuck. The two men pushed from behind. Sister Julienne ran through the house, through the pig yard and the outside gate, and into the passage with turnip tops in her hand, which she said would entice the pig forward. She held them under its nose, but still it would not move.
     
    Fred had an idea, “Wha’ we needs is a red hot poker to stick up his arse, like wha’ they do with camels in the desert when they wants ’em to go over a bridge. Camels won’ go over water, you know.”
     
    “You stick a red hot poker up his arse, and I’ll stick one up yours, mate,” the farmer threatened, and continued pushing.
     
    Eventually the boar was coaxed down the passage into Fred’s yard. A crowd of children followed, and more went into neighbouring gardens and hung over the fence.
     
    The farmer got cross. He spoke with slow emphasis.
     
    “You’ll have to clear this crowd away. Pigs are shy animals, they won’t do anything in front of an audience.”
     
    Again, Sister Julienne took charge. She spoke with quiet authority to the children, and they crept away. She, Fred, and the farmer went into the house and shut the door. But Sister could not resist the temptation to peep out through the curtains to see how the sow took to her “husband”, as she insisted on calling the boar.
     
    “Oh Fred, I don’t think she likes him - look, she’s pushing him away. He’s definitely interested, do you see?”
     
    Fred stood by the window, sucking his tooth.
     
    “No, no, not like that!” cried Sister Julienne, wringing her hands in anguish. “You mustn’t bite him. That’s not the way. Now she’s running. Fred, I’m afraid she might not accept him. What do you think?”
     
    Fred didn’t know what to think.
     
    “That’s better. There’s a good girl. She’s getting more interested, do you see, Fred? Isn’t it wonderful?”
     
    Fred grew alarmed.
     
    “He’ll kill ’er, he will. Look at ’im, the big bugger. He’s biting her. Look ’ere, I’m not standin’ fer this,