Farewell To The East End

delivery.’
    Meg took the cup and saucer from Mave and stared into it. She gasped, and stared harder, then went deathly pale and trembled all over. The cup fell from her hand and shattered into pieces on the floor. She moaned, ‘Oh no, no, no,’ and fell against the wardrobe, half fainting. Trixie grabbed her arm.
    ‘Hold on! Steady. What’s the matter with you?’
    Meg seemed unable to speak.
    ‘You had better get out of here.’
    Trixie led her to the door. The woman looked stricken and clung to her arm for support.
    Finally Meg found her voice. ‘It’s an omen, an evil omen.’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘Ve tea leaves. An’ then ve cup breakin’. It’s bad. Bad. I ain’t seen worse.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘Vey never lie. Never.’
    ‘Who don’t?’
    ‘It’s an omen. Bad, I tells yer. Ve tea leaves never lie.’
    Sister Bernadette arrived, required to see Mave at once, and said that the doctor would come as soon as he had finished his surgery. She examined Mave vaginally and assessed an os two fingers dilated with a foetal head low down, anterior presentation. The foetal heart was strong, the mother relaxed and cheerful. Mave looked happier than she had been throughout pregnancy.
    By contrast, Meg was going to pieces. She hovered in the doorway, whimpering and moaning. Her face was the colour of one of her old books. Whenever Mave had a contraction, Meg groaned and rolled her eyes and many times looked near to collapsing. She moaned ‘Vis is goin’ to kill ’er, vis is. She can’t stand it. She’s got a weak constitooshun. You gotta do somefink – it can’t go on like vis. The omens are bad.’
    Quietly but firmly Sister Bernadette ordered her to leave the delivery room. Meg wailed and whined, but just for once Mave did not agree with her. She looked at Sister Bernadette and nodded. Then she said, ‘You go, Meg. I’ll be all right without you.’
    Labour was progressing normally. Sister Bernadette and Trixie settled down to waiting and watching. Sister took out her breviary and said her evening office. Time ticked by. The doctor came, saw that things were going well and said that he had a few evening visits to make, but would return after they were completed. Trixie showed him to the door.
    Returning through the living room, she heard strange sounds coming from the kitchen, so she looked round the door. The kitchen was filled with a weird greenish-yellow light. Smoke was coming from a burner and she spied Meg dressed from head to foot in a long green robe. A green scarf covered her head, pulled down low over her brow. Her face was white, and dark circles surrounded black, black eyes. She did not see Trixie, so engrossed was she in her activity.
    Meg the gypsy was dealing out cards. She was cutting the pack methodically, laying down four cards face upwards, slowly and deliberately, then cutting the pack again. She was muttering, ‘Death! I see it. Mortuary. Coffin. Grave.’ Then she would shuffle the cards and cut again. ‘Ve same. Always ve same. Them cards never lie.’ She shuffled again, and laid down four different cards, and lastly, slowly, fearfully, cut the pack once more. Her skin shone with a ghastly greenish light. ‘Ve same. First, ve teacup, now ve cards, vey cannot lie. Death. Death.’ Her head fell forwards onto her arms, and the cards slithered across the floor.

MAVE THE MOTHER

    The atmosphere in the delivery room was quiet and cheerful. Sister Bernadette had a presence. She was a young woman of about thirty to thirty-five, deeply religious, and her monastic vocation filled her with happiness. She was also a highly professional nurse and midwife. She radiated control, confidence and calm, which had a soothing effect on any woman with whom she was working. Mave looked quite different. Her martyred air had gone, her eyes were bright, and she seemed excited. Contractions were regular, every ten minutes. Sister had given Mavis a dose of castor oil, and Trixie had shaved her and given her an enema (the required practice in those days).
    The doctor returned at 9 p.m. and agreed that he would stay. General practitioners, although they were not trained obstetricians, were the first point of call for a midwife. In fact, a medical student’s training involved 50 per cent clinical experience in hospital under an obstetrician and 50 per cent district midwifery under a midwife. Consequently the general practitioner, unless he had a great deal of experience, frequently