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

their children in the shed, occupying the seven-foot square space that had been chalked on the floor for them. They were given a straw palliasse to sleep on, and with the primus stove and a hurricane lamp, it was all considered very comfortable. There were a lot of new people at the farm that year, and several families from the West Indies, which was quite a surprise. At first Doris was stand-offish. She had never met or spoken to a black person before, much less slept in the same barn as a group of them, but the children immediately made friends, as children always do. The women were laughing and friendly, and Doris quickly found her inhibitions breaking down.
     
    In fact the holiday proved to be a real eye-opener for Doris and Cyril. They had never before realised that West Indian people could be so much fun. It is said that East Enders are good-humoured. Well, beside the West Indians, Cockneys look positively dour. Doris and Cyril laughed from morning to night, and the hard work of hop-picking was barely felt. Tired but elated in the evenings, Doris would leave the fields to prepare a meal for her family, and then join the groups sitting around the fires. The songs were new this year. She had never heard West Indian singing before, with its blend of beauty and tragedy, and it stirred deep and nameless longings in her heart. She joined in the choruses and the round songs with an ear for music that she never knew she possessed. Cyril didn’t think much of the music, and nothing on earth would have induced him to open his mouth and sing, so he joined one of the other groups around another fire where the blokes were more to his liking.
     
    Time passes all too quickly when you are enjoying yourself, and no one wanted to leave at the end of the fortnight. But their time was up, and they all declared it was the best holiday of their life, and that they would meet again next year. The children cried at parting.
     
    The humdrum life of work and school and neighbours and gossip started again, and gradually the memory of the Kentish holiday faded into a dream.
     
    No one was surprised when Doris announced at the Christmas party that she was pregnant again. She was only thirty-eight, and five children was not considered to be a large family. Cyril was told that he “wasn’t ’alf a lad”, and they were both given everyone’s good wishes.
     
    She went into labour early one morning. Cyril rang us on his way to work. Doris was able to get the children up and off to school, and a neighbour came in to be with her for a while. I arrived around 9.30 a.m. to find everything in good order. The house was clean and tidy. The baby things were ready and immaculate. All the requirements we asked for, such as hot water, soap, and so on, were ready. Doris was calm and cheerful. The neighbour left as I arrived, and said that she would pop in later. Labour was uneventful, and fairly quick.
     
    At twelve noon she delivered a baby boy, who was quite obviously black.
     
    I, of course, was the first to see him, and didn’t know what to say or do. After I had cut the cord, I wrapped him in a towel, and placed him in the cot whilst I attended to the third stage. This allowed me a little time to think: should I say something? If so, what? Or should I just hand her the baby, and let her see for herself? I decided upon the second course.
     
    The third stage of labour usually takes at least fifteen to twenty minutes, so during that time I simply picked the baby up, and put him in Doris’s arms.
     
    She was silent for a long time, and then said, “He’s beau’iful. He’s so lovely, ’e makes me wanna cry.”
     
    Tears silently came to her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. She sobbed inwardly to herself as she clung to the baby.
     
    “Oh he’s so beau’iful. I never meant to, but wha’ could I do? An’ now wha’ am I goin’ to do? He’s the lovelies’ baby I ever seed.”
     
    She could speak no more for crying.
     
    I was shaken by the unexpected turn of events, but had to attend to my job. I said, “Look, I think the placenta will come soon. Let me put the baby back in the cot, only for a few minutes, so that we can complete your delivery safely, and clean you up. We can talk after that.”
     
    She allowed me to take the baby, and within ten minutes everything was complete.
     
    I put the baby back in her arms, and silently attended to my clearing up. I felt it better not to initiate any conversation.
     
    She held him