“Could I throw an idea at you?” said Betty, the Social Worker of my acquaintance.
“Sure, give it a lash as they say.”
“Well, there is a competition coming up and you might be able to help us with it.”
“Alright,” I said. “Spell it out.”
“It’s a Baby Show; you would be a Judge.”
“Why me?” I asked.
“To be quite honest with you, we had hoped that Wendy Pope, the paediatrician, would judge but she is not available.”
“That sounds like a backhanded invitation,” I said.
“Are you saying, no?”
“Not necessarily; let me think about it.”
“Have you any experience of this type of contest?”
“Well, strangely enough, I have. I judged several baby shows in my time in North London and I swore I would never do it again!”
“Why so?”
“Some of the mothers cried more than the babies if they didn’t win. Anyway, who else have you in mind to be on the panel?”
“We have two obstetricians.”
“At least I would be neutral – those guys would not want to upset potential future clients.”
“Come on – don’t be a cynic. Will you do it? It’s the first one we’ve done and I’d say there will be very few at it, in any case.”
“OK, but I am only offering to do my best.”
A few weeks later, I put on my good suit, collar and tie and presented myself at the City Hall. The organisers gave us tea and we sat together to discuss the show. Marks were to be allocated according to set categories along the following lines:
General Appearance and Turnout – 30
Behaviour, Sleep Pattern, Feeding etc – 30
Milestones achieved – 20
Overall impression – 20
There was to be a separate category for twins, who were to be marked on the same scale.
The preliminaries settled, we were led out onto the stage. To my astonishment, the hall was packed with mothers and babies. In view of the unexpectedly large attendance, the organisers had decided there would be three separate judging panels, on which, each of us would be joined by a nurse.
I was directed to the left-hand side of the stage, where I was introduced to a plump, jolly, young woman who said, “Hello, I’m Maureen. I hope that you have an amour-plated getaway car, as we will never succeed in pleasing them all. Have you done this before?”
“Yes, I have, in London but there, nobody knew me – you will have to help bat them off if we are attacked by an enraged mum,” I said.
The senior of my two fellow judges was known to me. He was a remote man with an aloof air. It was rumoured that he had one of the biggest obstetric practices in town. I gathered from others that he was an absolute charmer with his pregnant clientele. The other judge was a near contemporary, who had qualified in Medicine a few years ahead of me. He was in the process of trying to establish himself in practice in the city.
Judging was not easy. It was amazing to hear that almost all of the babies slept through the night and never cried.
“Cry,” said one woman, “Not a peep out of him since he left Erinville – I has to look in the cot to see if he is breathing. Of course, I put him in the hot press when I got him home and that settled him.”
“The hot press! Why so?”
“God, wasn’t it the only warm place in the house.”
Apparently, babies did occasionally vomit.
“Saving your presence, he spewed all over Jack’s shirt one night.”
“So, your husband helps you look after him?”
“Not if he can help it. The other children do look after him. My fella is about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike when it comes to babies! We had five girls first and when I saw your wans twig and berries, I couldn’t take me eyes off them; God forgive me!”
I chanced asking another mother, “Does your husband help you?”
“Naw – didn’t he go off with that blondie wan from Blarney, boy. He was useless anyway; we’re better off without him,” and she burst out laughing,
“Sure, this one isn’t his anyway. I’d say he is the product of Polish seamen – do ya get it?”
My face had flushed and I was anxious to get back to some more normal conversation.
“What about feeding?”
“He’d ate a horse if I let him. He’ll be another Jack Doyle you know.”
I thanked her for coming and letting us see such a beautiful baby. She immediately replied, “Go on out of that, give him a good mark now, boy, or I’ll arrange for someone to mark you!”
“Does he sleep at night?” I’d asked another mother.
“Sleep is it? How could the leanbh sleep with that bitch of a dog next door, barking all night? Bridie do put him in the shed at 9 o’clock. Once, I flung stones at him and roared, ‘Shut up, you are keeping the baby awake.’
“The next thing, Bridie thrun open the bedroom window, stuck her head out and shouted, ‘My Bella has as much right to bark as your fella has to cry.’
“That dog must be put down. Don’t you agree, Doctor?”
“That sounds extreme. What about informing the Guards?”
“Isn’t her nephew in Shandon Street Station, so that would be a waste of time. I think the only thing to do is throw some poisoned meat into the yard. Do you agree, Doctor?”
“Taking the law into your own hands is a dangerous thing to do.”
“Yerra, sure ye are all the same – stick-together Blueshirts. Anyway, me child is a gem, don’t you think?”
When putting scores together with Maureen, I made sure that our babies were all up near the top marks. I had learned this through bitter experiences in my previous exposure to such shows. When we met up to compare marks, I was confident that we should have the winner, as one of our babies had amassed a total of 96 out of 100. The Junior Obstetrician was stunned, as his best mark was 75. My delight was short lived as the Senior Doctor arrived with scores that even I could not match. One of his children scored 105 out of 100 and another 103. We protested that that was impossible, as 100 was the maximum.
“I don’t care. Those children were so beautiful; they deserved to get more than 100!”
At least, in the final analysis, we had the third placed baby overall. In the twins section, we had first and second. The results were announced and prizes were awarded.
As we left the hall, there was applause for the Senior Doctor and, to a lesser extent, myself. The Junior Obstetrician was roundly booed, as none of his babies had featured in the final shake-up. He emigrated soon after.