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

her what for when I sees her.”
     
    The policeman said: “Where is your wife?”
     
    “’Ow should I know?”
     
    Marjorie shouted at him. “Yer villain. Yer know where she is. An’ you made her go, didn’t you. Yer swine.”
     
    Dick was all innocence. “What’s the old cow on about now?”
     
    Marjorie was about to scream a reply, but the policeman stopped her. “You can settle your differences when we have gone. We have put it on record that you have been cautioned about leaving your children unattended, and in a dangerous situation. If it occurs again, you will be charged.”
     
    Dick was all wheedling charm. “You can take it from me, this will not occur again, officer. I apologise, and will see it never happens again.”
     
    The police prepared to leave. Dick said, pointing to Marjorie, “And you can take her with you, and all.”
     
    She gave an anguished cry, and held the two little boys closer to her. She appealed to the policemen, “I can’t leave them here, the baby, the boys. Can’t you see? I can’t leave them like this.”
     
    Dick said in a soothing, cheery voice, “Don’t you worry, old lady. I can look after me kids. There’s nuffink to worry about.” Then, to the policeman: “Yer can leave ’em safe wiv me. You got my word for it.”
     
    Neither of the policemen were fools and they were not taken in for a moment by this display of paternal devotion. But they had no power to do anything but caution him.
     
    One of them turned to Marjorie, “You can only stay here if you are invited, and you certainly cannot take the children away without the father’s consent.”
     
    Dick was triumphant. “You heard. You’ve got to have the father’s consent. And I’m the father, and I don’t consent, see? Now get out.”
     
    I spoke for the first time. “Well what about the baby? She is only eight days old, and she is being breastfed. She will wake up hungry soon. Where is Molly?”
     
    I don’t think he had noticed me before. He turned, and ogled me up and down. I almost felt him undressing me with his eyes. He was a nauseating specimen, but no doubt he thought he was God’s gift to women. He came over to me.
     
    “Don’t you worry, nursey. My missus will feed her when she gets back. She’s just popped out for a minute.”
     
    He took my hand in both of his own, and stroked my wrist. I pulled it sharply away. I wanted to smack his leering face, which he was pushing so close to my own, I could smell his foul breath. I turned my head away in disgust. He drew even closer, his eyes gleaming with mocking interest. He dropped his voice so that no one else could hear,
     
    “Hoity-toity eh? I know how to take you down a peg or two, Miss Hoity-Toity.”
     
    I knew how to deal with men like that. Height is a great leveller, and we were level. I didn’t need to say a word. I turned my head slowly to look him straight in the eyes, and held his gaze. Slowly his smirk faded, and he turned away. Few men can withstand a woman’s look of utter contempt.
     
    Marjorie was kneeling on the floor crying uncontrollably, and hugging the two little boys. The policeman went over to her, took her elbow to help her to her feet, and said gently: “Come on mother, you can’t stay here.”
     
    Marjorie got up, and the children retreated silently towards the chair in the bedroom. She gave a despairing moan, and allowed the policeman to lead her to the door. She stumbled out, a broken woman, looking twenty years older than when she had entered. She was led through the crowd at the door, and there were many sympathetic voices.
     
    “Oh poor soul.”
     
    “Oh it’s a shame.”
     
    “Don’ yer jus’ feel for ’er, poor soul.”
     
    “’E’s a bad’un, an’ all.”
     
    “It’s a shame, oi sez.”
     
    She was escorted back to Ontario Buildings, and I returned to Nonnatus House, with much to think about that night.
     

THE BICYCLE
     
     
     
    The hidden steel of a Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne was revealed to us over the next few weeks as Chummy mastered the skills of riding a bicycle. After the accident Sister Julienne was seriously in doubt as to whether it would be possible, but Chummy was adamant. She could and would learn.
     
    Every spare minute of her time was spent practising. All her district work had to be done on foot in the meantime, and this took far longer than it would have taken on a bicycle. Consequently she had less spare time than anyone else. But she