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

utilised each and every minute of freedom. She would push the old Raleigh up Leyland Street, a slight incline, and then free wheel down; up and down hundreds of times until she acquired her balance. She got up a couple of hours early each morning, and went out every evening from about 8 to 10 p.m., coming back exhausted and breathless. “Well, actually, there’s no point in just learning to ride in the daylight,” she argued gaily, with irrefutable logic.
     
    These rides in the dark were usually accompanied by crowds of cheering or jeering children. This might have been a menace, had Chummy not gained the respect of an older lad who had joined us on the first day when Cynthia, Trixie and I had been trying to teach her. Jack was a particularly tough specimen of about thirteen, accustomed to fighting for his rights. He soon dispersed the little kids; a few blows, a few kicks, and they were gone. Then he presented himself in front of the bicycle, her champion.
     
    “You gets any more trouble from that lot, Miss, jes’ call me. Jack. I’ll take care of ’em.”
     
    “Oh, that’s frightfully good of you, Jack. Actually, I’m most awfully grateful. This old machine’s a lively little filly, what?”
     
    Chummy’s posh voice must have been as incomprehensible to Jack as his Cockney accent was to her, but nevertheless, they struck a friendship then and there.
     
    After that Chummy learned rapidly. Jack was out early and late, running, pushing, helping her in every way. He developed a particularly ingenious way of teaching her to steer the bike and turn corners; he pedalled whilst she steered! Chummy controlled the handlebars, sitting on the saddle, her legs trailing, whilst he stood on the pedals, doing all the hard work. To propel her twelve stone weight must have been hard work, but Jack was no puny thirteen-year-old, and took pride in his manliness. Early and late he could be heard shouting: “Turn left, Miss; NO, LEF’, yer dafty. Easy does it. Not too sharp, now. Aim for that phone box, and keep yer eyes on it.”
     
    Neither of them saw defeat as a possibility, and within three weeks they were riding all the way from Bow to the Isle of Dogs in the dark November mornings.
     
    Jack did not own a bicycle, and reluctantly he had to admit that the time had come for Chummy to try on her own. He pushed her off, and she pedalled confidently down the street and round the corner. Sadly he waved as she turned out of sight. He had been useful, and now the fun was all over. He kicked a stone, and slouched off homewards, hands in pockets, one foot in the gutter, the other on the kerb.
     
    But Chummy was not one to let a friendship die, still less to allow kindness and help to pass unnoticed. She discussed it with us at lunch, and we agreed that a gift of some sort would be appropriate. Various were the suggestions - a jar of sweets, a football, a penknife - but Chummy was not happy with any of these ideas. Sister Julienne, ever practical and wise, pointed out that the time, effort and commitment on Jack’s part had been very great, so therefore her debt to him was great.
     
    “I don’t think the boy should be fobbed off with a trivial token. I feel he should receive something that he really wants and would value. On the other hand, it depends entirely upon what you, the giver, can afford, and only you can know this.”
     
    Chummy brightened, and a huge smile lit her features. “Actually, I know what Jack wants more than anything else - a bicycle! And I’m pretty sure Pater would buy one for him if I explained the circumstances, what? He’s a sporting old stick, and always coughs up for a good cause. I’ll write to him tonight.”
     
    Of course Pater coughed up, happy to see his only daughter fulfilled at last. He could no more understand her determination to become a missionary than he could understand her passion for midwifery, but he would support it to the end.
     
    A new bicycle meant a new life for Jack. Very few boys had such a possession in those days. For him, it meant more than status. It meant freedom. He was an adventurous boy, and went miles beyond the East End on his bike. He joined the Dagenham Cycling Club and competed in time trials and road races. He went camping alone in the Essex countryside. He went as far as the coast, and saw the sea for the first time.
     
    Chummy was delighted, and his continued friendship was her greatest joy. He seemed to feel she needed his protection, and