WANTED, to place a baby with a respectable person. – address with terms – “Mother” Daily Press Office.
Western Daily Press, 26 January 1879
The ladies kept coming and so did the babies. Mother would routinely set off to the railway station with a newborn baby, returning later alone. The next morning she always had a story: the baby’s mother came for it; some poor couple fell head over heels with it on the platform, and adopted it on the spot.
Ellen recalled there were generally four little ones in the house, besides Polly and Willie. Then in March 1878, when Polly was four and a half, there was trouble. One of the babies died. Polly remembered the commotion. More strangers in the house: a doctor first, then an undertaker. Unwelcome intruders; she would have been glad to see the infant go.
After that, the babies kept dying; two more over the next twelve months. It didn’t much matter: Mother could always find new ones. The letters kept coming. By the summer of 1879, there were six nurse children in the house. Even with Ellen’s help, Mother was struggling to cope. Mother’s teeth must have been hurting pretty badly, too: she relied more often on her sticky brown poison to ease the pain.
A medical man and his wife wish to recommend a home for 2 or 3 young children from birth and upwards. Healthy and pleasant neighbourhood of Bristol. Motherly and home comforts guaranteed. Terms from 7s a week according to requirements. Address “Mother” Daily Press Office.
Western Daily Press, 3 July 1879
Over the last year or so, Polly had watched the three babies deteriorating, as they succumbed to their slow deaths. One of the babies in the house that July seemed to Polly as if she might be the next to go. She was a three-month-old child called May (though everyone called her “Little May” as there was already an older nurse child called May at 14 Poole’s Crescent). Little Mayslept pretty well all the time, though Ellen remembered that Mother still quietened her every night with five drops of Godfrey’s Cordial. The infant took less and less from her feeding bottle. Mother said there was no need to wake the babies for feeding unless they mithered for it. Little Maywas too weak to express hunger, and so went mostly unfed. And Little May wasn’t the only child who was fading. There was Bessie, too; only a month in the world and already thin and grey and beginning to take on the sunken features of one far beyond her age.
Respectable married couple want a child to nurse or adopt one. Small premium. 14, Poole’s Crescent Bath Road.
Western Daily Press, 31 January 1879
Mother said she hadn’t liked the look of Little May; the life was half gone from her eyes and her breath had become unnervingly laboured. Mother said it was time she went, and sent Ellen off to post a letter marked “Mrs J Williams, 14 moor Street, St Philip’s Marsh, Bristol”.
Mrs Williams was an old friend of Mother’s; she had lodged with them when William was first born. She arrived at Poole’s Crescent later that same day. Mother told her she had received a letter from a lady in Dublin, who had asked if she could come to the house until she’d had her baby. Mother still had six babies to nurse, and she told Mrs Williams she was worried that she’d never cope with all of them and the lady in the house as well. There wasn’t the room, for one thing.
“I’d be doing myself more good,” Mother said, “with the lady, than with two or three babies.” Mrs Williams agreed to ask her husband’s permission. Two days later she sent word that she would come and collect the babies the following Wednesday.
On Tuesday 29 July, the day before Little May and Bessie were due to go to Mrs Williams, mother was fretful about Little May, saying she had taken a turn for the worse. She had what mother called “the red gum”, her mouth and face and frail body covered in sores. (lots of babies born to syphilitic mothers soon became severely ulcerated;
“the Red Gum” may describe this condition). The sores over the infant’s skeletal trunk and inert limbs were enough to make a six-year-old shudder if she looked too long. Before the end of the afternoon, Mother had sent Ellen off with another letter for Mrs Williams, asking her to come to the house later that evening instead.
Mrs Williams came to the door at around half past seven. Mother said that as the lady from Dublin was arriving early on Thursday, she could do with Wednesday clear to get the house ready. Would she take the babies now? She gave Mrs Williams instructions to feed them bottles of condensed milk and cornflour along with a little boiled bread. Mother made no mention of her worries about Little May, and wrapped her well so that Mrs Williams didn’t notice the child’s red gum.
Mrs Williams didn’t want the Godfrey’s Cordial mother offered. Mother asked what she intended to do when they became restless without it. But Mrs Williams said that was no matter; she said she’d never felt moved to resort to it before and wouldn’t do so now, thanks all the same, and she left, taking Bessie and Little May with her.
14, Poole’s Crescent – respectable person wants a child to nurse.
Western Daily Press, 3 July 1879
Polly couldn’t recall a lady from Dublin appearing that week, but babies continued to arrive. Before long, Mother soon sent two more infants to be nursed by Mrs Williams. But two weeks after she first took Little May away, Mrs Williams brought her back. The child was not doing well; she wouldn’t take her boiled bread and showed little interest in her milk either. Bessie wasn’t much better. She said she couldn’t manage all four babies, especially since one of the boys Mother had sent her was also poorly and needed a lot of nursing. She asked that Mother come back with her to St Philip’s Marsh to take a look at him.
Mrs Williams was right about Little May: she was worse than ever. It was so much trouble just trying to keep her clean: she had diarrhoea. And there were still four other infants at Poole’s Crescent for Ellen to tend to whenever Mother was out.
While Mother was tending to the sick boy at Mrs Williams’s house, her friend Mrs Hacker arrived at Poole’s Crescent. She said mother had sent word from Mrs Williams’s house that she was to come and collect Little May and another nurse child, named Evalina, to be nursed at her house in Victoria Terrace, St Philip’s Marsh, for a few days. (Mrs Hacker had already taken two babies from Mother, but she could manage two more as she had now passed them on to another friend to nurse.) Mrs Hacker had screwed up her face when she pulled back some of the clothing and caught a glimpse of how dirty they were underneath. Ellen did her best but Mother hadn’t let her wash them very often.
Mother brought two babies home with her from Mrs Williams’s late that Tuesday night. Mrs Williams was left nursing only Bessie, making sure that Mother was informed by letter of the child’s progress and telling her she had had to call out Dr Paull, who prescribed medicine for Bessie’s diarrhoea.
The sickly boy died in Poole’s Crescent the following day.
Three days later, Mother sent word that Mrs Williams should return Bessie to Poole’s Crescent as the child’s father was shortly expected. Polly remembers seeing no sign of the father, but Mother gave Bessie a dose of Godfrey’s Cordial and sent it back to Mrs Williams the next day.
Mother also had a letter to be posted to Mrs Hacker, asking her to bring back Little May for a night, as her mother was due to visit on the Saturday. She asked that Mrs Hacker be sure to travel after dark: she didn’t want the neighbours suspecting anything, what with so many babies coming and going. Mother was always very keen that they should keep their business away from the neighbours: they were not the sort to understand. Mother was making angels: Jesus wanted the nurse children far more than their own mothers did. She was adamant her trade in infants was not for the neighbours to worry about; she would rather they didn’t know.
Mother was on the doorstep when Mrs Hacker arrived, and took Little May directly into her arms, making a point of remarking that the little one wasn’t looking too well. Mrs Hacker disagreed. She said she thought May a good deal stronger: she had even cried on the way over to Poole’s Crescent that evening.
But Mother must have been right, for Little May had been the next to die.
Mother and Mrs Hacker left the house together late that same Friday night, taking Little May with them. Mother had persuaded her to take the baby to Dr Milne’s surgery, in Harford Place, Bedminster. Against her better judgement, as she later recorded, Mrs Hacker had eventually agreed. It was approaching midnight as they set off, and Mother was still urging her to agree to them acting as sisters. Mrs Hacker conceded that Mother should tell Dr Milne the child was her own.
Little May came back to Poole’s Crescent with Mother, with some medicine Dr Milne had prescribed to treat what he had said was a disorder of the gut. She lay as still as a stone, her mouth open, her eyes fixed and glassy, like the fish at the market. The next day Mrs Hacker appeared at the door several times and asked Mother to let her have Little May, promising she would hand her back the instant her mother arrived. She grew increasingly agitated when Mother declined each time. Mother absolutely refused to concede, which was typical: all who knew her agreed there was really little point in challenging her; she would never be moved. But finally, after a strong exchange of words, Mother at last allowed Mrs Hacker in to see the child.
Little May was “all wrapped up in her bed, the empty tube of a feeding bottle still in her mouth”. She was awake, her eyes fixed and staring. Mrs Hacker tried to talk to her, to get her attention, but the child didn’t stir; she rarely did. In fact, none of them had ever seen Little May smile. Mrs Hacker was worried: she said the child didn’t look right; there was something wrong. Mother grunted in reply, and Mrs Hacker recalled her having put the blame upon Mrs Williams for not doing right by the child.
That next day was Sunday, and despite Mother dosing up the child with Dr Milne’s medicine and a few more drops of Godfrey’s Cordial, Little May grew weaker and weaker. Eventually, in the middle of the evening, mother took her back to Dr Milne. But it was no use; Little May died at nine o’clock in Dr Milne’s surgery.
Dr Milne wrote Mother out a death certificate, Mother informing him that the child’s name was “Ann May Walters Dyer”. He wrote that “intestinal disorder and convulsions” were the cause of death. He’d not seen her convulse, but Mother was part doctor herself, and he believed her when she told him the child had fitted.
The next day, Mother wanted to keep word of Little May’s death quiet. She told Ellen and Polly to say nothing and went out. While she was gone, Mrs Williams called at the house to see Mother. Ellen kept quiet, as instructed. Mrs Williams said Mother had written to her explaining that Sergeant Dewey of the Totterdown Constabulary had called, asking for the address of Little May’s Mother in London, after which the woman had come to take May back home. She wondered, had the child already gone from the house? (Polly would have wondered at this, knowing Little May couldn’t be in London with her mother. She was lying dead on the sofa in their front room.)
Mrs Hacker was next, arriving just after Mother and demanding to see the child; she would not let up. Mother did her best to send her off, but eventually admitted that the child was dead. She led Mrs Hacker into the parlour, where Little May’s body was lying on the sofa, wrapped in blankets. Afterward, she warned Mrs Hacker to say nothing of the child’s death and sent her on her way.
Mrs Williams arrived later with bad news. Bessie had also died the previous day. She wanted to know what Mother proposed to do about funeral arrangements. She said Dr Smart had come from Redcliffe Crescent to see Bessie, and had given a death certificate, stating “atrophy and convulsions” as the cause of death. Mother urged Mrs Williams to register Bessie’s death herself, insisting it would go better for them all if she were to say the child had been born in her house. Mrs Williams agreed to do so.
Mother was twitchy after Mrs Williams left: three deaths in five days. From that day on, she kept the little bottle of laudanum in her apron pocket.
Mrs Hacker hurried home to St Philip’s Marsh after her conversation with Dyer that Monday morning. She was fretful about the death of Little May, busying herself tending to Evalina, the fast-fading nurse child who remained in her care. The child’s blueish appearance and listless demeanour were worrying; she had already taken her to be examined at the Children’s Hospital. And there was something else about Dyer’s behaviour that was concerning her: why had she insisted on pretending that they were sisters? Why had she lied to Dr Milne, claiming that Little May had suffered a fit? At the time, Mrs Hacker had not dared to contradict her. Now her part in the demise of this little one was weighing on her conscience.
Elizabeth Hacker spilled out the day’s events to her husband Charles as soon as he arrived home that evening. He hadn’t hesitated: she was to go and recount every detail to the first policeman she saw. She did exactly that.
She had never been able to make up entirely for the pitiful state in which Evalina had first arrived. The dirt on the child’s body was deep-grained: she had not been properly clean since. The unnatural sleep, the lack of appetite and the unresponsive, glazed wakefulness had eased somewhat. But she knew from Ellen that Dyer had administered Godfrey’s Cordial on a daily basis: the woman had offered her some to quieten the child’s restlessness. The Hackers had children of their own and she had never once resorted to the drug. She knew enough about raising infants to recognize that boiled bread and cornflour could never sustain a human life. She had done her best by Evalina, giving her prompt medical attention and new milk. But on the Saturday following the deaths of Bessie and Little May, Evalina too passed away. On her certificate Dr Stephens of the Children’s Hospital stated atrophy as the cause of death: like the others, she had simply wasted away.
When Jane Williams went to 14 Poole’s Crescent on the morning of Monday 18 August, Dyer seemed less interested in discussing funeral arrangements for poor Bessie than in getting the child’s death registered. Again, Dyer insisted it would “go better for them all” if she wasn’t the one to register it. At Dyer’s insistence, Jane went to the Bristol Register Office and waited in line to see Mr Hunt, the city registrar. She was prepared to claim that Bessie had been born at her home in St Philip’s Marsh, but was not happy to act as the child’s mother, as Dyer had asked her. She clutched the death certificate signed by Dr Smart and hoped all would go well.
Mr Hunt was not happy. He listened to the woman’s story that this infant had been born and raised in her home and had simply failed to thrive. He studied the death certificate uneasily. He asked her if she was the infant’s mother. She admitted she wasn’t. Finally, he refused to register the death, informing Mrs Williams that the matter was now out of his hands and would be passed over to the City Coroner, Mr Wadborough.