Farewell To The East End

the cabin called out in English, ‘Don’t try to explain, Dad, I can.’
    Chummy entered the cabin, which was very small. A hurricane lamp swung from a hook and the atmosphere was suffocatingly hot. The woman, who was lying on a small bunk bed, was positively huge and not only filled the bunk but spilled out over the edge. She was sweating and dry around the mouth. Her eyes looked gratefully at Chummy. ‘Thank God you’ve come,’ she breathed, ‘these men will be the death of me.’
    The woman lay back and closed her eyes. Heavy blonde hair fell over the grey pillow. Beads of sweat covered her fat features, her chin was indistinguishable from her neck, which in its turn blended into a vast and pendulous bosom.
    A small wooden crate in the cabin obviously served as both stool and table. Chummy sat down and took out her note-book.
    ‘I’m glad you can speak English, because I need your case history.’
    ‘My mother was English, my father Swedish. My name is Kirsten Bjorgsen. They call me Kirsty. I am thirty-five.’
    ‘What is your address?’
    ‘The Katrina .’
    ‘No, I mean your permanent address.’
    ‘The Katrina is my permanent address.’
    ‘That is not possible. This is a trading vessel. It cannot be your permanent home. In any case, I’m told women are not allowed on the ships.’
    Kirsty laughed.
    ‘Well, you know, what the eye doesn’t see …’
    She laughed again.
    ‘How long have you lived on the boat?’
    ‘Since I was fourteen, when my mother died. We had a home in Stockholm, and I went to school there. But when she died my father brought me onto the Katrina . He is the captain.’
    ‘I was informed that you were the captain’s wife.’
    ‘Wife? Who told you that? He’s my dad.’
    Chummy said no more on the subject, but enquired about the woman’s condition.
    ‘Well, I have a pain in my belly. It comes and goes.’ Chummy was beginning to put two and two together. ‘When was your last period?’
    ‘I don’t know. I don’t really take much notice of that.’
    ‘Can’t you remember at all?’
    ‘Perhaps a few months. I’m not sure.’
    ‘I need to examine your stomach.’
    Chummy palpated the mountainous abdomen, which was all flesh and fat. It was quite impossible for her to tell whether the woman was pregnant or not. She took up her Pinards foetal stethoscope, but it sank about six inches into the abdomen, the flesh virtually covering it, and all that Chummy could hear was the gurgle and swish of intestinal movements.
    The woman groaned – ‘Ooh, you’re hurting me. It’s making the pain come back. Please stop.’
    But the pain got worse. Chummy felt the lower abdomen and felt a hard round sphere beneath the flesh. When the pain had passed she said, ‘Kirsty you are in labour. Didn’t you know you were pregnant?’
    Kirsty raised herself on her elbow. ‘What?’ she demanded, her eyes round and incredulous.
    ‘You are not only pregnant. You are in labour. That’s what your stomach pains are.’
    ‘I can’t be. You’re wrong. I’m always so careful.’
    ‘I’m not wrong.’
    Kirsty lay back on the pillow. ‘Oh no! What’s Dad going to say?’ she murmured.
    ‘Which of the men on board is your husband?’
    ‘None of them. And all of them. They are all my boys, and I love them all – well nearly all, anyway.’
    Chummy was shocked. Kirsty read her thoughts and laughed a great belly laugh, which set all her flesh rippling.
    ‘I’m what you call the “ship’s woman”. I keep the boys happy. My dad always says there’s no fighting on a ship when the boys have a nice woman to go to. That’s why he brought me here when mother died.’
    Chummy was deeply shocked.
    ‘You mean to say your father brought you here when you were only fourteen to be …’ she hesitated, ‘to be the ship’s woman?’
    Kirsty nodded.
    ‘But that is shocking, disgraceful!’ exclaimed Chummy.
    ‘Don’t be silly. Of course it’s not. After my mother’s death I couldn’t stay in Stockholm by myself, and Dad was always at sea. So he took me with him. He explained what was expected of me. He couldn’t keep me for himself, because that would cause trouble with the crew – so it had to be fair all round.’
    Chummy felt she was choking.
    ‘Your dad explained to you …?’ Her voice trailed away.
    ‘Of course. He was always fair, and he still is. But he’s the captain, and he always goes first. The other boys have to wait their turn.’
    ‘Your dad goes first?’