Farewell To The East End

knew less about childbirth than the midwife. This could sometimes lead to a strained situation, particularly if the midwife did not trust the doctor’s judgement. But we were fortunate. The Sisters of St Raymund Nonnatus had been practising for so long in the East End of London, with such a good record, that all the local doctors respected their judgement.
    Mave was sleeping lightly between contractions, having had a dose of chloral hydrate. At 11 p.m. the waters broke. Sister prepared to do a vaginal examination, but with the next contraction the head was visible. She told Trixie to scrub up and to take the delivery.
    The second stage of labour was surprisingly quick. Mave was nearly forty, and this was her first pregnancy, but she was relaxed and comfortable, the uterine muscles were strong, and her perineum stretched without difficulty. Only two more contractions were necessary and the head crowned. Sister Bernadette smiled at Mave, who looked up at her trustingly.
    ‘Now, with the next contraction I don’t want you to push. Just pant and concentrate on your breathing, because we want the baby’s head to be born slowly.’
    Mave was wonderful. We had all expected her to create a terrible fuss during labour and refuse to cooperate, but not at all. With the next contraction the head was born. Trixie waited for restitution of the head, and after only a few moments the shoulder slid under the pubic arch and the baby was born.
    ‘She’s a little girl.’
    ‘Oh, thank God. I don’t like boys,’ said Mave.
    The baby gave a lusty scream, and Meg put her head round the door. She was still wearing her strange green outfit, and her black eyes devoured us all, her gloomy features contrasting with Mave’s radiant smile.
    ‘We wan’ed a li’le girl, Meg, and we got one.’
    ‘She’ll die. I seed it all.’
    ‘Don’t talk like that.’ Sister Bernadette was angry.
    ‘Worms an’ coffins. It’s in ve cards.’
    ‘Will you go away. I won’t have you in here,’ the nun said.
    ‘Vey never lie.’
    ‘I never heard such nonsense. Now go away this minute.’
    Meg rolled her eyes, making herself look weirder than ever.
    ‘It’s all worms an’ coffins,’ she muttered as she left, shaking her head mournfully.
    If Mavis heard these words of doom she did not seem to take any notice, as she cuddled her baby in a state of exhausted euphoria.
    The cord was clamped and cut, and Sister took the baby to examine and weigh her. She was a very small baby, weighing only 4 lb 12 oz, but was not premature and appeared to be normal and healthy in every way. Trixie left the baby to Sister, and concentrated on the management of the third stage of labour. There were no contractions, so Trixie waited. After ten minutes she decided to massage the fundus to stimulate another contraction. The uterus felt bulky, and then she saw a movement, like a kick, as the wall of the uterus rose and fell briefly. She put her hand over the place, and it happened again.
    ‘Sister, I think there is another baby in here,’ she said.
    Midwife and doctor were at the bedside in an instant.
    ‘That would account for a small first baby,’ Sister said as she palpated the uterus. ‘You are quite right, nurse, and I think it is a transverse lie. Pass me the Pinards, please.’
    She listened carefully. The heartbeat could be heard low down, just over the pubic bone. It was rapid but regular. Sister counted 140 beats per minute. She asked the doctor to confirm the lie of the baby. He said that he could not tell and would rely on Sister’s judgement, but whatever the lie of the baby he advised we call the Flying Squad, and immediately transfer Mavis to hospital.
    Until that moment Mavis had appeared unconcerned and relaxed, but at the word ‘hospital’ she wailed in anguish. Meg rushed into the room.
    ‘Wha’choo doin’ to ’er?’ Her voice was harsh and aggressive.
    ‘Vey’re goin’ ’a put me away. In an infirmary.’
    ‘Over my dead body.’
    ‘It’s not an infirmary,’ said the doctor, ‘it’s a modern hospital, where Mavis will get the best treatment.’
    ‘She’ll never come out alive. Or never come out a’ all. I know wha’ goes on in them places. Vey keeps the likes of Mave an’ me, an’ never lets ’em out. Uses ’em for speriments, that’s wha’ vey do.’
    Mavis became almost hysterical, shrieking and sobbing, ‘I won’t go,’ and Meg threw her arms protectively around her. Sister felt Mave’s pulse, which had