Helen Forrester - Mourning Doves

Phyllis told him that she had arranged for Mrs Fox, the midwife, to help with the delivery, but that she had been caught unexpectedly in dear Mrs Gilmore’s house, and that Mrs Gilmore had sent for him.

‘Excellent. Excellent woman, Mrs Fox,’ he said, as he picked up his hat. ‘She has a telephone by which she can be reached – the chemist next door to her is very obliging in this respect. I’ll phone her as soon as I get back to the surgery.’ He patted Phyllis’s hand, and when Louise came forward, he told her, ‘I doubt if Mrs Woodcock will need my services, but I expect you have someone you could send for me, if Mrs Fox feels it necessary?’

All the women were reassured by the doctor’s visit, and, when warm, friendly Mrs Fox rolled quietly into the bedroom, her tiny slippered feet making no sound on the carpet, despite her vast bulk, Phyllis greeted her with pleasure before suddenly arching her back and emitting a sharp scream.

Shocked, Celia spilled some of Phyllis’s second cup of tea as she hastily put the cup down on the bedside table. She looked imploringly at Mrs Fox as she straightened herself up. Phyllis’s eyes were closed, and she was taking small, quivering breaths.

‘Don’t leave me, Seelee,’ Phyllis breathed and sought for Celia’s hand, which she clutched tightly. Only Celia understood how fretful and awkward Arthur was. She would understand how Phyllis was dreading going home to face his constant nagging, when she would be at her weakest after the ordeal of childbirth; the presence of Celia in his home had never deterred Arthur from humiliating his wife by picking at her whenever he was annoyed. Even if Celia did not understand the root causes of it, her friend had seen enough to understand her terrible underlying unhappiness.

At the use of her childhood nickname, Celia was almost moved to tears. She gulped and said, ‘Of course, I won’t, dear.’

Mrs Fox approached the bed and glanced down at Celia’s left hand. No wedding ring. No wonder the woman was looking as scared as a mouse before a cat. Probably hadn’t got the faintest idea of what was happening. She leaned forward and wiped the thin perspiration off Phyllis’s forehead and her closed eyelids. The lids were not crunched tight with pain, so she said, ‘That’s right, Ma’am. Rest yourself in betweens. I’m just going to take a look to see how things are. Just lift your knees up and apart a bit.’

As the bedclothes were lifted back and Phyllis’s nightgown flipped up, Celia politely turned her eyes away and concentrated them on Phyllis’s face. Phyllis opened her eyes and smiled wryly up at her, while the midwife probed and pressed with her hands, and then carefully sponged her with surgical spirit. The midwife said quietly to Louise, ‘Her time’s too close to give her an enema to empty her bowels.’

‘Stay with me!’ Phyllis begged her friend again. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ll make an awful noise, but if you’ll hold on to me, it’ll feel easier.’

With her face as white as a newly donkey-stoned doorstep, Celia assured her that she would never leave her.

Louise intervened with a protest that it was not suitable for a single woman to remain in a birthing room. ‘My dear Phyllis, it simply isn’t the thing at all.’

Phyllis looked at her with wide uncomprehending eyes, and Louise turned to her daughter. ‘Celia, you must leave!’

Winnie, peering over Louise’s shoulder, her expression genuinely concerned, added, ‘You may faint, luv – and we’ll be too busy to deal with you.’

Celia cringed, and then as Phyllis’s grasp of her hand tightened, she found the courage to say coldly, ‘I shall be quite all right, Mother – Mrs Fox.’

Mrs Fox did not rise to the appeal in Celia’s voice. It did not matter to her who was present, as long as they kept out of her way.

Celia faltered, and then, as Phyllis groaned, she said quietly, ‘No. I want to be with Phyllis.’

Louise’s voice was frigid, as she said sharply, ‘Celia. You are being most disobedient. Please, leave the room.’

Outraged at being ordered about like a child, in front of a servant and the midwife, Celia said, ‘I won’t.’ She loosened her friend’s hand, turned her back on Louise and very carefully slipped her arm under Phyllis’s shoulders. Phyllis put an arm round Celia’s neck and clung to her.

Louise was red with anger; Celia had never defied her like this; she would not have dared, if her father had been alive. She took a step forward, as if she might pull her daughter away, and Mrs Fox, for the sake of her patient, put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Let them be, Ma’am. Let them be, if it helps Mrs Woodcock.’

Breathing hard, Louise stared at the midwife. ‘It’s most improper,’ she protested.

‘It may be, Ma’am, but this is not the moment to argue. Will you be so kind as to step back, so that I can deal with Mrs Woodcock.’

Rebuked, Louise stepped back, and Winnie persuaded her into an easy chair by the fire. ‘Best to leave it, Ma’am,’ she advised.

‘It’s scandalous, Winnie!’

‘Nobody will know, Ma’am, if you don’t say nothin’.’

Sitting rigidly in the chair, Louise closed her eyes. Suddenly she turned her head into the curve of the chair’s padded back and began to cry softly into her black handkerchief.

Frightened to death by what she had done, nevertheless Celia stood by her promise. She would not shift. Phyllis became rapidly far too absorbed in her own struggle to take much notice of any argument. With Celia, she concentrated on Mrs Fox’s instructions, both of them shifting position as needed.

With a groan so deep that Celia had never heard anything like it before, a tiny, perfect person was finally expelled and the cord was cut and tied. And, to Celia’s astonishment, the baby immediately cried out.

Phyllis relaxed in Celia’s arms. Her smile was so triumphant that it was as if she had not gone through what was, to Celia, an appalling operation.

The baby was quickly bundled up in a warm towel, while water to wash it was poured into a bowl by a smiling Winnie, and Celia glanced down to see what was happening.

Phyllis’s legs were still spread. Mrs Fox had pushed sheets of newspaper under her buttocks and, with a tin bowl in her hands, seemed to be waiting. In fact, except for hearty yells from the baby, everyone was very quiet.

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