Farewell To The East End

on first call, and you can’t refuse to go.’
    Trixie sighed noisily, defeated by the facts.
    ‘Well, I won’t stay long, that’s all.’
    Grimly she cycled the well-worn path to Mile End. Meg was at the door.
    ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’
    ‘Yes. I’m sorry to say it is.’
    ‘Well, I ’ope as ’ow you knows what yer doin’ vis time, because Mave’s in labour an’ we don’t want no bunglers.’
    ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Trixie drily.
    She went upstairs to the bedroom. It was pitch dark inside, so she went straight to the curtains and drew them back. Daylight flooded in.
    ‘Don’t do that,’ shouted Meg.
    ‘I must see what I am doing.’
    ‘It’s dangerous.’
    ‘Yes, it will be dangerous if I can’t see.’
    ‘I mean, a woman in labour must be confined in a dark room.’
    ‘Rubbish.’
    ‘Don’t you rubbish me.’
    ‘I will if you talk rubbish. Now I’ve come to look at Mave, not to talk to you.’
    She went over to the bed. Mave was sitting up, looking quite comfortable.
    ‘Meg gets worried. I ’ad a few pains an hour ago, but they’ve gone, an’ I reckons as ’ow you can go home now.’
    Trixie ground her teeth crossly.
    ‘You’ll cry wolf once too often.’
    ‘Wha’choo mean?’
    ‘I mean if you carry on like this, you’ll call when you really need us, we won’t believe you, and we won’t come.’
    ‘That’s negligence,’ shouted Meg.
    ‘It’ll be your own fault.’
    Both women sucked in their breath – ‘shockin’, a disgrace, I tells yer. Vey don’t care, vey don’t. Can’t trust no one.’
    Trixie ignored them and sat down beside Mave.
    ‘I must examine you, and then I shall go. Lie flat, please.’ She palpated the uterus, and could feel a head low down, which satisfied her that the woman was close to full term, but not necessarily in labour. The foetal heart was very vigorous and could be heard in several places. Just then, the uterus tightened, and Mave gave a slight moan. Trixie sat still with her hand on the uterus, and took out her watch, counting about fifty seconds before the tightening relaxed.
    Meg opened her mouth to speak, but Trixie silenced her.
    ‘Would you go and make a cup of tea, please? Mave looks thirsty and needs a drink.’
    Meg, grumbling about not being anyone’s servant, left the room.
    Trixie sat quietly. Ten minutes later she felt another contraction, slightly stronger than the first.
    ‘You are in labour, Mave. And this time it is not a false alarm. Your baby will be born today.’
    Meg came in with the tea.
    ‘I’m in labour, Meg. Our baby’ll be born soon.’
    Mave looked unusually cheerful, but Meg turned white, and the teacups rattled in the saucers so much that they nearly fell out of her shaking hands.
    ‘I must go to the telephone on the corner to ring Sister Bernadette,’ said Trixie.
    ‘You’re not leavin’ ’er. That’s negligence, that is,’ shouted Meg.
    ‘It would be negligence if I didn’t go. I’ll be back before the next contraction comes. You two have your tea, and you can discuss my negligence while I’m gone.’
    Sister Bernadette said she would come straight away. A primigravida of thirty-eight years requires careful treatment. Mave had been told quite categorically that she should have her baby delivered in hospital, but she had refused. The fear of hospitalisation was so entrenched in working-class women of limited education in those days that nothing could shift it. They associated hospitals with the old infirmaries that were converted workhouses. Very likely if she had been taken into hospital, Mave would have been so tense and terrified that the psychological strain would have had a damaging effect on labour. So a home delivery, with an experienced midwife and if possible a doctor present, was the best compromise.
    Trixie returned to the bedroom, which was in darkness again. She went over to the curtains to draw them back, but Meg stopped her.
    ‘She’s gotta be in a dark room.’
    ‘She has not.’
    ‘She must. Ve book, it says …’
    ‘I don’t care what your old book says. I’m in charge here, not you.’
    Quite a tussle ensued, but the curtains were finally drawn back, filling the room with daylight. Mave was sitting up in bed looking quite fit and cheerful, but Meg was hovering around, grumbling under her breath and throwing nasty looks at Trixie.
    ‘If you two have finished your tea,’ said Trixie, ‘you can take the cups away. I want to prepare my equipment for a