Jennifer Worth - Call The Midwife - A True Story Of The East End In The 1950S

There had been no food in the flat. Perhaps Molly had anticipated this, and that was why she’d discharged herself. She had no money on her, but on the way home with the baby, had called in the cooked meat shop, and begged a couple of meat pies on tick. As the butcher knew and respected her mother, he let Molly have them. The two little boys, dressed only in filthy jumpers, were sitting on the floor devouring the pies ravenously when Sister Bernadette had arrived.

Molly hardly spoke, Sister told us. She had submitted to being examined, and the baby, a little girl, to examination, but remained morosely silent all the while. Sister had said she was going to tell Marjorie that her daughter was home.

“Please yerself,” was all the reply she got.

Marjorie had had no idea of the turn of events, and ran round to Baffin Buildings straight away. Unfortunately Dick chose the same moment to return, and they met on the landing. He lunged at her drunkenly, and Marjorie ducked. Had he hit her, she would have fallen down the stone staircase. After that, all the poor woman dared to do was to buy food and leave it on the landing outside her daughter’s door.

Our custom was to visit twice a day for fourteen days after delivery. Molly and baby were satisfactory, from a purely medical point of view, but the domestic situation was as bad as ever. Sometimes Dick was at home, sometimes not. Poor Marjorie was never seen there. She would have made all the difference in the world to Molly and the little boys. Her cheerfulness alone would have lightened the atmosphere, but she was never allowed in. She had to content herself with coming round to Nonnatus House to ask the Sisters how her daughter and grandchildren were getting on. One day she gave us a bag of baby clothes to take on our next visit. She said she didn’t like to leave them on the landing, in case they got damp.

Over the next few days several nurses visited Molly, all reporting the same disquieting condition. One nurse said that she was very nearly sick in the room, and had to rush outside into the fresh air in order to control her stomach. On the eighth evening I called, and there was no reply to my knock. The door was locked, so I knocked again - no response. I thought Molly might be busy with the baby and unable to answer. As it was only 5 p.m., I continued my visits, intending to return later.

It was about 8 p.m. when I got back to Baffin Buildings. I was tired, and it seemed a long climb up to the fifth floor. I was almost tempted to skip it. After all, Molly and baby were medically satisfactory, which was our remit. But something prompted me not to miss this visit, so I wearily climbed the stairs.

I knocked, and there was no reply again. I knocked again, louder - she can’t still be busy, I thought. A door opened just down the balcony, and a woman appeared.

“She’s out,” she said, her fag drooping off her lower lip.

“Out! You can’t mean it. She’s only just had a baby.”

“Well, she’s out, I tells yer. Saw ’er go, I did. Tarted up an’ all, she was.”

“Well where’s she gone to?” It flashed through my mind that she had gone to her mother’s. “Has she taken the three children?”

The woman uttered a shriek of laughter, and the fag dropped to the floor. She stooped to pick it up, and her hair curlers clacked together as she bent.

“What! Three kids! You must be joking. Three kids wouldn’t do her much good, would it now?”

I didn’t like the woman. There was something about the knowing way she grinned at me that was most unpleasant. I turned my back on her, knocked again, and called through the letterbox. “Would you let me in, please, it’s the nurse.”

There was definitely a movement inside, I heard it quite distinctly. Self-conscious, because I knew that woman was sneering at me, I kneeled down and looked through the letterbox.

Two eyes, close to mine, met my gaze. They were a child’s eyes, and they stared at me unblinking for about ten seconds, then vanished. This enabled me to see into the room.

A faint greenish-blue light came from an unguarded paraffin stove. A pram stood nearby, in which I presumed the baby was sleeping. I saw one little boy running across the room. The other was sitting in a corner.

I caught my breath sharply. The woman must have heard it. She said, “Well, do you believe me now? I told you she was out, din’t I?”

I felt I must take this woman into my confidence. She might be able to help. “We can’t leave the three children alone with that paraffin heater. If one of them knocks it over, they will be burned to death. If Molly’s out, where’s the father?”

The woman drew closer. She clearly enjoyed being the bearer of bad news. “He’s a bad lot, that Dick, he is. You mark my words. You don’t wants to ’ave nuffink to do with ’im. He’s no good to her, and she’s no better than she should be. Oh, it’s a shame, I says to our Bette, it’s a shame, I says. Them poor little kids. They didn’t ask to be born, did they, now? I always says it’s a ...”

I cut her short. “That paraffin heater is a death-trap. I’m going to inform the police. We’ve got to get in there.”

Her eyes gleamed, and she sucked her teeth. She clutched my arm and said: “You going to call the police, then? Cor!”

She dashed off down the balcony and knocked on another door. I imagined her bearing the news all around Baffin Buildings, even if it took her the entire night. Tiredness had left me, and I sped down the stairs to street level, and just about ran to the nearest phone box. The police listened with concern to my story and said they would come at once. Marjorie had to be informed, I decided, so my next call was Ontario Buildings.

Poor woman. When I told her she crumpled, as though I had hit her in the stomach.

“Oh no, I can’t bear any more,” she moaned. “I guessed as much. She’s gone on the game, then.”

So innocent was I, that I didn’t know what she meant.

“What game?” I said, thinking she meant darts or billiards or gambling in a local pub.

Marjorie looked at me compassionately. “Never you mind, ducky. You don’t need to know about that sort of thing. I must go and see after them kiddies.”

We went together in silence. The police were already at the door working on the lock. I had thought that they would bring a locksmith with them, but no - most policemen are expert at picking locks. Do they learn it in College? I wondered.

A crowd had gathered on the balcony. No one wanted to miss a thing. Marjorie stepped forward saying that she was the grandmother, and when the door was opened she was the first to enter. The police and I followed.

The room was suffocatingly hot, and the stench putrid. The children were not to be seen, apart from the baby, who was blissfully asleep. I went over to her, and she looked surprisingly well cared for, clean and well fed. The rest of the room was indescribable. It was full of flies to begin with, and a heap of excrement and dirty nappies in a corner was crawling with maggots.

Marjorie went into the bedroom, gently calling the boys’ names. They were behind the chair. She took them in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

“Never mind, my luvvies. Nanna’s got you.”

The police were taking notes, and I thought perhaps I should leave, as the grandmother would now take charge. But at that moment, there was a commotion outside, and Dick appeared in the doorway. Obviously he had not known that the police were in his flat. As soon as he saw them he turned to run, but his path was barred by the onlookers. They had let him in, but they were not going to let him out again. Perhaps there were several scores to be settled between Dick and his neighbours. He was told that he would be cautioned about the neglect of three children under the age of five.