A story from memory in which a fire is lit, a baby is born and a child is noticed.
There was nothing normal about that cold, damp February day. For a start, it was Saturday morning and my mam was in bed. I was in my parents’ bedroom with my sister. None of that was normal, but there was something I’d never seen or felt before. The bedroom was warm and magically, in the small grate, a fire was lit. The burning paper, wood and coal gave an orange glow to the dimly lit room and filled me with excitement. Surely this was a special day, the like of which I’d never known before.
The room was sparsely furnished with dark brown furniture, a double bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. A rug protected bare feet briefly before stepping onto the wooden floorboards. That day, something extra stood there, out of place, not far from the fire. How had the wooden clothes horse which lived in the kitchen got there? It was festooned with tiny vests, nightgowns and the cardigan, hat and bootees which I’d watched mam knitting.
My dad was at work and so was my thirteen-year-old brother.
I heard the back door open, which meant that some family had arrived. I smiled when I heard my aunty Phyllis call out “Here I am” as she walked quickly up the stairs and into the bedroom. Could this day get any more strange or special? I’d never seen an aunty upstairs before, but aunty Phyllis was a treat wherever she was.
It felt busy in the warm bedroom with its fiery glow, and I was happy to be there in the midst of all that specialness. My sister, who was eighteen, had told me that the baby would be born soon and I couldn’t wait. I was six years old and I’d watched the bump grow and laid my head on it, feeling the little wriggles, kicks and punches. I was looking forward to seeing those tiny arms and legs.
Then, there were more voices downstairs. A woman was talking to my dad, but what was he doing at home? Footsteps sounded coming upstairs and in walked dad and the midwife.
Just in case anyone younger than about sixty-five is reading this, if you think that “Call the Midwife” is a quaint fantasy, it’s not. Our house was on Serlby Rise and Nurse Finnis lived on Bracton Drive, the next-door road, in the Midwives’ House. She’d been there for years and knew every family in the area. She would keep her eye on us while we grew up.
That Saturday, someone would have knocked on her door and told her she needed to come quickly.
Anyway, suddenly the warm, cosy room was full of grown-up efficiency, and I didn’t know what was happening. Dad went to see mam, but didn’t stay long and when he passed me, he took hold of my hand “C’mon duck.”
Tears of anger and disappointment pricked my eyes as I was led out of the warm room where everything was about to happen and down the cold stairs. I was furious. How could it happen without me?
I waited at the bottom of the stairs with my dad. We didn’t pace the worn lino, but stood still, gazing up at the thin stair carpet, held in place by shiny brass rods.
Finally, the bedroom door opened, and Nurse Finnis called out “You’ve got another son, Ted!”
No one could stop me then. I raced up the stairs and was the first into the room. Again, it was different. The warmth and orange glow was still there, but now there were new smells. Sickly, bloody, gutsy, sweaty smells and there the midwife stood, holding a tiny baby.
“Sit down on the bed”, she said to me and I did. Wonder of wonders, she put the baby into my arms. Aunty Phyllis stayed close and cradled his head. There he was, my baby brother, born with the first spring lambs and named after a Biblical shepherd who became a king.
Then I knew how special that day would get, but the surprises weren’t over.
When the baby was taken from me, Nurse Finnis gave me a gift. The gift was a paper face mask and a plastic syringe. They were nearly as precious as the baby and they came in very useful when I was nursing my dolls and Teddy bears, who often had accidents or were ill!
It was mid afternoon before my older brother came in from work and found that now there were four of us!
There began a new phase of my life, in a house which in those early days was always warmer than usual and which smelt of milk, washing powder and baby poo! A house with even more visitors than ever which filled up with knitted gifts and yet more aunties!
I am so grateful to my mam, sister and aunt who let me into that special place of birth and to Nurse Finnis, who had delivered me into the world and who noticed me when another baby was born and gave me some vital nurse’s equipment!
What memories do you have of siblings being born?
Wander well,
Mandy.
Things I love:
- My sister and brothers.
- A warm house.
- Cuddling a baby.
Wandering Through The Land Of Nod. 