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

the nuns, particularly to Sister Monica Joan? And it would be interesting to see Alan’s “story”.
     
    The day arrived, warm and bright, and none of our patients was expected to go into labour, which would have disrupted the luncheon party. Everyone was in a flurry of excitement. Had the boys known the flutter they were causing in so many female hearts, they would have been deeply flattered. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they would have regarded it as no more than their devastating charms were due.
     
    They arrived at about 12.30 p.m., just after the Sisters had entered chapel for Tierce, the midday Office.
     
    I opened the door. They certainly looked very spruce, in grey suits, newly washed shirts, and highly polished shoes. I had never before seen them look like that on a Sunday morning. Obviously lunch in a convent was a novel experience for such dedicated young men-about-town. They looked a little unsure of themselves, though.
     
    We kissed, but slightly more formally than usual - no hugs, no laughter, no badinage about nothing much - just a formal kiss, a polite “How are you?”, and “Did you have a good journey?”
     
    I felt a trifle uncomfortable, having never found conversation easy. We all know people in a certain context, and outside the familiar, often find them to be completely different. I had known Jimmy since childhood, but normally met up with the others in London pubs. I didn’t know what to say, and just stood around looking awkward, thinking the whole thing was not such a good idea after all. The boys could find nothing to say either.
     
    Cynthia saved the day. She always did, without knowing how or what she had done. She stepped forward, her soft smile dispelling the tension and filling the rather strained atmosphere with warmth. When she spoke, the slow sexy voice just knocked them over. All she said was: “You must be Jimmy and Mike and Alan. How lovely - we’ve been looking forward to this. Now which of you is which?”
     
    Was it the way she said it, or the wide smiling eyes, or the unaffected warmth of her welcome? The boys must have met scores of girls who were more beautiful, with more self-conscious allure, but they could seldom, if ever, have met a girl with a voice quite like that. They were absolutely bowled over and all three stepped forward at the same time, crashing into each other. She laughed. The ice was broken.
     
    “The Sisters will be here soon, but come into the kitchen and have a coffee, and we can have a chat.”
     
    Coffee, nectar, ambrosia? They followed eagerly; anything with this glorious girl would be heaven. I, thankfully, was forgotten and I breathed a sigh of relief. The luncheon would be a success.
     
    Mrs B. had neither sex appeal nor an alluring voice, “Now don’ you make a mess in ’ere. I’ve got lunch to serve.”
     
    Jimmy smiled confidently at her. “Don’t you worry, madam; we won’t mess up this beautiful kitchen, will we boys? What a magnificent kitchen, and what glorious smells! All your own home cooking, I take it, madam?”
     
    Mrs B. sniffed, and eyed him suspiciously. She had grown-up sons of her own, and was not susceptible to their particular charms. “You jes’ watch it, tha’s all I’m sayin’.”
     
    “Oh, watch it we certainly will,” said Mike, whose eyes had not left Cynthia as she filled the kettle. The water pipes all around the kitchen rattled and shook as she opened the tap. She laughed and said, “That’s just our plumbing system. You’ll get used to it.”
     
    “Oh, I’d like to get used to it”, said Mike with enthusiasm.
     
    Cynthia laughed and blushed a little, brushing back the hair that had fallen over her face.
     
    “Allow me,” said Mike gallantly, taking the kettle from her and carrying it over to the gas stove.
     
    Chummy appeared in the doorway, her head buried in The Times .
     
    “I say, gels, did you know that Binkie Bingham-Binghouse is getting spliced at last? Jolly good show, what? Actually, her Mater will be frightfully chuffed, don’t you know. They thought she was on the shelf. Good old Binkie, haw haw!”
     
    She looked up and saw the boys. At once she went red, and jerked the arm holding the newspaper. It crashed into the dresser, setting the cups rattling and shaking. The paper caught behind a couple of plates and sent them crashing to the floor, smashing them into a dozen pieces.
     
    Mrs B. rushed forward, snarling:
     
    “You clumsy great … you - you - jest get