Another Bloody Mouth to Feed
‘Come on now, Kate. Y’re no’ really tryin’,’ said the midwife. ‘Pull on the towel and push! Push!’
‘I am bloody well pushing,’ Kate shouted back. ‘I can’t push any harder. Pull and push. It’s like rowing a boat on Heaton Park lake. You’d think God would have thought of an easier way of having kids.’
‘It won’t be long now, luv,’ said Lily Goodhart, her next-door neighbour, wiping Kate’s glistening forehead.
‘That dose o’ castor oil should speed things up,’ said Nurse McDonagh. ‘Anyway, it’s no’ as if it’s your first wean.’
‘Aye, but it never gets any easier, no matter what they say,’ said Kate.
A sudden contraction convulsed her.
‘Glory be t’God, that was like a red-hot poker going through me!’ she gasped.
‘Bite on your hanky when it gets too bad, Kate,’ said the nurse. ‘We don’t want the neighbours to hear. And your kids are in the other bedroom. Is your husband no’ around?’
‘No, I told him to take himself off to the pub outa the road. He’d only be in the way. Besides, he doesn’t like trouble, y’know.’
‘Lucky for him! Just the same, I think he should be here, just in case we have to fetch Dr McDowell. Lily, you’d best go across to the pub and bring Tommy over.’
‘Eeh, I don’t think he’ll like that,’ said Lily.
‘Never you mind whether he likes it or no’.Tell him he’s needed over here. Dinna come back without him.’
‘Very well, if you say so,’ said Lily doubtfully as she left the little cramped bedroom.
‘I do hope we don’t have to bring no doctor. I’d be so embarrassed, like . . .’ said Kate after Lily had departed.
‘But he’s a doctor .’
‘It doesn’t matter. He’s a man, isn’t he? I don’t want no man - not even me husband, for that matter - to see me like this. And anyroad, I think . . .’
But the nurse did not discover what it was she thought, for Kate was racked by another agonising spasm and was busy stifling a scream.
‘Come on now, Kate,’ urged the midwife. ‘Nearly there! Now, pull and push! Pull and push!’
It was eight o’clock on that Sunday night in 1928. Tommy was already on his third pint and a feeling of bonhomie and goodwill had begun to flow over him. He felt completely at home and in his true element.
‘This is the place for me,’ he said to Jimmy Dixon, his bosom pal. ‘This is where I really belong. The vault of Tubby Ainsworth’s. Best bloody pub in Collyhurst.’ Its real name was the Dalton Arms, but hardly anyone called it that.
The thick tobacco smoke and the excited babble of twenty male voices talking at once combined to produce in
Tommy a deep sense of contentment and comradeship. In here, he felt safe and away from all those goings-on at home.
He took out a packet of Player’s Weights, extracted the last remaining cigarette, tapped it slowly on his yellow, nicotined thumbnail, and struck a match. Puffing contentedly on his fag, he looked up from his cards and gazed round the vault, taking in the picture of the pasty-faced men in their flat caps and woollen mufflers which they wore like a uniform.
‘Eeh, what a bloody fine bunch o’ working men they all are,’Tommy said.
‘Whadda you mean? Working men! Most of ’em are on the dole!’ said Jimmy.
‘Doesn’t matter, they’re the salt o’ the earth. Except for that bastard Len Sharkey over there,’ he added quickly as his eye lighted on his hated enemy, guffawing as usual with his mates over some joke or other.
They took a long pull at their pints.
In the main, then, Tommy was happy. A pint, a pal and a bit of peace - that was all he wanted. That wasn’t asking too much, was it? But that Sunday night, he had more. It was his lucky night. He was on a winning streak, having just pegged twelve on the cribboard with a double pair royal. No doubt about it. He was well on the way to taking not only the game but the shilling bet that was riding on it. Mind you, Jimmy Dixon was a real Muggins and wasn’t quick enough to add up even his own score, never mind Tommy’s. But what the hell! Friend or no friend, a shilling was a shilling in this rotten old world. He downed the rest of his pint and stood up.
‘My twist, Jimmy. Same again?’
Jimmy drained his own glass. ‘Aye, ta. Don’t mind if I do, Tommy. And see if you can’t buy me a bit o’ bleeding luck while you’re at it.’
Tommy pushed his way through the men standing at the bar.
‘When you’re ready, Tubby. Pint o’ usual for me and a pint o’ bitter for Jimmy there. Oh aye . . . and ten Weights as well. Must have a smoke for the mornin’.’
‘Right, Tommy. Pinta best mild, pint o’ bitter, an’ ten Weights. That’ll be one and eleven altogether,’ Tubby Ainsworth said, drawing the pints.
Tommy paid up, collected the beers and his cigarettes and returned to his seat at the card table.
‘All the best!’ said Jimmy.
‘Bottoms up!’ rejoined Tommy.
It was at that precise moment that his peace of mind was shattered. As he tilted his head back to drink, he saw through the bottom of his glass the shawled figure of Lily Goodhart hurrying towards him.
‘Bugger it! Don’t turn round now, Jimmy, but have you seen who’s coming?’
‘No. How the bloody hell could I?’
‘It’s Lily Goodhart, me next-door neighbour. And I know why she’s here.’
As Lily threaded her way through the unyielding male bodies, she was greeted by various cat-calls.
‘Women not allowed in the vault!’
‘Men only in ’ere.’
‘Go and fill your bloody jug at the snug.’
‘S’all right,’ she said. ‘I just want a word with Tommy there.’
She went up to the card table. Tommy put his pint down.
‘Yes, what is it, Lily?’ he asked irritably - put out by her appearance in the vault and the fact that all eyes were on him. Especially those of Sharkey, who seemed to be enjoying yet another horse-laugh with his cronies.
‘It’s time, Tommy,’ she said in an urgent whisper. ‘It’s Kate. I think you’d better come now. Her waters broke and the pains are coming faster. I don’t think it’ll be long now.’
‘Bloody hell. No peace for the wicked - not even in the bloody pub. But what do they want me for? Kate told me to bugger off out of the way.’
‘I think it’s in case there’s complications like, and they have to call the doctor.’
‘A doctor! I can’t afford no two quid for a bloody doctor. Besides, I’ve heard they kill more than they cure with their bloody instruments.’
‘I’m only telling you what they told me.’
‘All right, Lily. I’ll finish this game first. Mind you, I can’t see what bloody use I’ll be. She’d be better off if I just stop where I am. How long’s the midwife been there?’
‘Over half an hour. I think she’s doing her best to hurry things along like. Anyroad, Tommy, I’d better get out of the vault afore these men here chuck me out. But I promised to come and fetch you. Shall I wait for you?’
‘Look, Lily, there’s no bloody need for that. I’ve said I’ll come when I’ve finished the game, and I will.’
‘All right. If you say so.’
As if for protection, she pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and hurried out.
[Tommy finishes the game , but his heart is no longer in it. After some lively exchanges with his drinking cronies , he calls it a night.]
Leaving the smoky atmosphere behind, Tommy emerged from the pub into the Collyhurst evening air. It was half past nine and not quite dark, but already the lamplighter was going his rounds down Collyhurst Road.
Tommy crossed over the road. With his strange,
shambling gait, he hurried along by the side of the River Irk - known simply in the district as the Cut.
As he approached the iron bridge which led to the Dwellings, he spotted Polly playing ‘Queenie-o-Co-Co, who’s got the ball?’ with a lot of other kids. ‘See I haven’t got it!’ ‘See I haven’t got it!’ they chorused as they offered alternate hands for inspection.
‘Come on, our Polly,’ he ordered. ‘Time you was in. And bring Jim with you. It’s past his bedtime.’
‘Aw, Dad. Can’t we stay out a bit? S’only early.’
‘No you can’t. Up you go.’
‘Yes, but Dad . . .’
‘Will y’do as you’re told, y’cheeky little sod. And less of your ole buck. Now get up them bloody stairs afore I land you one. It’s time you packed up them bloody daft games. You’re thirteen and you’ll be starting work next year. You should be giving help at home, not playin’ out here. Your mother’s not well, y’know.’
‘Yeah, I know. She’s got that stomach ache again. It’s through eating all them kippers on Friday. But we’re out ’ere ’cos they chucked us out when the nurse came. Sam and Les are already in bed, though.’
‘I should bloody well think so. But now it’s time the two o’ you was in. So up the Molly Dancers!’
Reluctantly, Polly collected her ball and her younger brother. Squeezing past a courting couple who were at it on the steps, she followed her dad up the stairwell until they reached the landing and the lobby which led to their tenement - number 6, Collyhurst Buildings.
The door was ajar. Inside, they found Lily stoking up a big fire at the black-leaded kitchen range. Flo, the eldest daughter, was filling a large iron kettle from the tap in the corner of the room.
‘It’s a boy, Dad,’ announced Flo. ‘Seven pounds. And he’s lovely.’
‘Oh aye,’ sighed Tommy, resignedly. ‘I thought it might be a boy the way your mother’s been eating all that apple pie lately.’
‘How d’you mean?’ asked Lily.
‘Well, fancying apple pie means a boy, and cherry pie, a girl. S’well known, that, in Lancashire. But by God, another boy, eh! Another bloody mouth to feed! That’s six kids we’ve got.’
Nurse McDonagh, all bustling and businesslike, appeared from the bedroom carrying a brown paper parcel, which she thrust into the fire.
‘What’s that? It’s not the baby, is it?’ asked Jim, his little face aghast.
‘Never you mind what it is, young man,’ Nurse McDonagh said. ‘And no, it’s no’ the baby. The very idea, indeed!’
She turned to Tommy.
‘So the prodigal son has come back to the fold, eh? And you look as if you’ve been in the wars, as well.’
She fished in her medical bag, pulled out a small bottle of iodine, and applied a little to Tommy’s wound. Tommy winced.
‘It’s only a scratch. Not worth botherin’ about.’
‘Dinna fash yoursel’. I’m no botherin’ that much. If you daft men want to punch each other’s heads at night, it’s no skin off my nose. More like skin off your heid, I’m thinkin’!’
‘You’re a hard woman, Nurse.’
‘Ye’ve got to be in my job. But you took your time gettin’ here. Timed it just right, didn’t you? Like the last time - arrivin’ home when it’s all over. Typical man! You think when you’ve put your wife in the puddin’ club, that’s you out. Your contribution to the birth process!’
‘Now, you know very well I’d have been no use to you. I know nowt about bringing kids into the world, except that you need a lotta hot water.’
‘Aye, and I suppose you think that’s for mixing with your whisky to make yoursel’ a hot toddy! All things considered, though, I think maybe you were better taking yoursel’ off to the pub and keepin’ outa ma way.’
‘But how’s Kate? How’s me wife doing? Is she all right?’
‘You’ve no need to worry on that score. I thought at one point we might need the doctor, but everything’s turned out fine, and mother and son are both doing well. You’ve got a strong, healthy wife there. She had her baby without any fuss - hardly made a sound. The only noise was from your son, and judging by the strength of his lungs, there’s not much wrong with him either.’
‘I know I picked a good ’un when I picked Kate,’ he said proudly.
‘Well, anyway. I’ve cleaned things up as best I can. And now I suppose you’ll be wanting to go in and see the bairn. I don’t see any way I can stop you.’
‘I should bloody well hope not,’ he said indignantly.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm as long as you don’t go breathing your beer fumes and germs all over the baby. Not too much noise, either,’ she said, looking pointedly at the younger end of the family. ‘Now, I’m awa’. I’ve got another case over the road - a lot more urgent than yours. I’ll call in again tomorrow morning to see how things are. See that Kate gets a good sleep tonight.’
She began packing up her mysterious black bag, and Polly asked:
‘Is that what you brought the baby in?’
The nurse gave her an old-fashioned look, hesitated, looked as if she were going to say something, then changed her mind.
‘In a way it is, I suppose.’
‘We had a listen at your bag before, and we didn’t hear no baby in there,’ said Polly.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Jim. ‘Everyone knows that babies are brought by an angel. Don’t you know nowt, Polly?’
‘How d’you make that out?’ asked Polly.
‘Well, when one person dies, another one gets born.’
‘Straight away?’
‘No, stupid. When a person dies, he has to go up to this room in the sky where he has to wait for, I dunno, maybe a hundred years until it’s his turn to get born again.’
‘I dinna ken what they’re teachin’ ’em at school these days,’ said Nurse McDonagh, shaking her head.
Tommy gave the nurse a sealed envelope.
‘Ta very much for all you’ve done, Nurse. Though I think we should be getting a discount for quantity.’
‘That’ll be the day - when a Scotswoman gives a discount!’ And with those words. Nurse Flora McDonagh departed from the scene.