A Mother’s Hope

The day that Millie and Rose spent together was to be the first of many. For a start, they examined the town thoroughly, searched the many cafés and milk bars for the one offering the cheapest cup of coffee and bun, and went into Marks & Spencer. Having so little money at her disposal, Rose had never been particularly interested in clothes, but Millie had a keen fashion sense and insisted that they examine the racks of colourful skirts, slacks and tops before making their way to the end of the store where more practical items, such as beef and onion pies, were on sale.

After much careful consideration, Millie made her purchases, including a couple of individual meat and potato pies, two packets of biscuits and two small bottles of fizzy lemonade. ‘We’ll have a little picnic on the beach,’ she said as they queued to pay. ‘And then we’ll go along to the clinic on Marsh Road and explain that you intend to remain in Rhyl until after your baby’s born. I’m going to have mine in the Stanley Hospital at St Asaph, so I expect you will as well because I don’t think there’s a maternity unit at the Alexandra.’ She giggled. ‘Wouldn’t it be strange if we found ourselves giving birth on the same day? Gosh, I wish we could arrange it because I wouldn’t be nearly so terrified if you were with me. When are you due?’

‘Towards the end of next month, I think,’ Rose said rather dubiously. ‘To tell you the truth, no one seems quite sure. Every time I saw a new doctor at the clinic in Liverpool he would disagree with what the previous one had said, and the nurses were just as bad. Still, there was an elderly one I rather liked, and she said babies came in their own time and not to worry myself until I felt the first sign. She meant pain, of course, but that’s a word they seem to avoid. When are you due, Millie?’

Millie was beginning to say that she, too, was due next month when they reached the top of the queue, and by the time she had paid for her purchases and they had left the store, emerging into bright sunlight, babies and birth seemed a long way away.

When they had settled on the beach and were beginning their picnic, Rose asked her new friend whether she had managed to get some sort of layette together. ‘I’ve got nighties, nappies and a couple o’ them little matinee coats,’ she said proudly. ‘Oh, and I got some of them rubber knickers ’cos they was goin’ cheap in Bunney’s, only afterwards someone told me that new babies need really tiny ones an’ I never looked at the sizes until it were too late.’ She spoke rather thickly through a mouthful of meat and potato pie. ‘Go on, wharr’ave you got?’

Millie stared at her. ‘I thought they’d give us stuff in hospital!’ she said. ‘Oh, lor’, it’s been bad enough buying smocks and trousers with expanding waistbands for myself. No one’s asked me what I’d got for the baby!’

‘But Millie, everyone knows that babies have to have clothing,’ Rose said, truly shocked by her new friend’s ignorance. ‘Didn’t they tell you that your husband – or your mother – must bring in nappies and clothes and that, the day before you and the baby are released? They told me. Don’t you even have a shawl?’

‘Oh, I’ve got a shawl and some of those little coats you mentioned, and I believe I’ve got some nappies. I’ve a very old aunt – she’s a great-aunt really – and she sent me a parcel of stuff which her own daughter had used years ago, so I dare say I shall be all right.’ She dug her companion playfully in the ribs. ‘Good thing I bothered to bring them with me, else poor Scotty would have had to go out and buy nappies and things, and he wouldn’t like that one bit!’

‘I expect you’ll be all right then,’ Rose said comfortably, dusting pastry crumbs off the front of her shabby grey coat. Millie did not seem to be short of money, so she imagined that Scotty would be able to make good any shortfall in his wife’s preparations. They had been sitting on the soft sand at the top of the beach and she turned to give Millie a hand as her friend struggled to stand up. ‘What’s next? Back in Liverpool, you were really supposed to go to the clinic on the same day each week. Is it like that here?’

‘Oh, I go whenever it occurs to me,’ Millie said cheerfully. ‘They grumble and tell me my record is the untidiest they’ve ever seen. The clinic is a good way out of the town, so we’ll catch a bus.’

They reached the clinic, a low, one-storey building within a stone’s throw of the bus stop, and Millie led the way inside. There was a short queue at the desk, and they joined it. Rose’s heart thumped uncomfortably as she waited, suddenly feeling as though the word ‘runaway’ had been tattooed across her forehead. She handed over her card to the pleasant-faced young woman behind the desk and had begun a stammered explanation when the woman cut across her words. ‘Don’t worry, love, you’re in good company here,’ she said. ‘I hear the same story over and over . . . your husband’s job didn’t pay well, your lodgings were that expensive you scarce had a penny over for food, or you were living with your parents and they fell out with you or your husband. Someone told you that there was always seasonal work in Rhyl, starting at Easter, and that you could get a room here cheap, so you decided to make the move. Am I right?’

‘That’s right, and my husband’s got a job already, doing maintenance in the funfair,’ Rose said proudly, feeling her heart slow to its usual pace. ‘And we’ve got a room too, though only till Whitsun. It’s quite a nice room, in the same house as my friend here.’

‘Well, isn’t that grand! And you couldn’t have a nicer neighbour than Mrs Scott,’ the woman said, beaming at her. She wrote on Rose’s card, then directed her to a row of chairs against the wall. ‘You won’t have long to wait; it’s Dr Shaw today and she’s always quick. Then you go to that table over there for your cod liver oil and so on . . . but I’m sure Mrs Scott will take you under her wing, though she’s only been here three or four weeks herself.’ They were turning away from the desk when she added: ‘One piece of advice I will give you, though. Try for accommodation well away from the front, and if possible before Whitsun. Once the season gets under way, every landlady in Rhyl will put her prices up.’

‘Of course,’ Millie said politely, and then added, lowering her voice: ‘Everyone tells you the same thing, but if you ask me, old Ozzie will have a job to let our attic rooms. They’re right at the top of the house, miles away from the kitchen, and personally Scotty and I wouldn’t mind paying an extra half-crown, or even five bob, just until we’ve saved enough to get something a bit better.’

Despite Dr Shaw’s reputation, the two girls did not leave the clinic until halfway through the afternoon, but both felt well satisfied, for Dr Shaw had said that she thought they would quite probably give birth within a few days of one another. ‘Whoever pops first will let the other one know at once,’ Millie said excitedly. ‘They let your husband stay with you for a bit, but not for very long, I believe.’ She squeezed Rose’s arm. ‘Speaking for myself, I’d rather have a girl with me than any man, no matter how much I like him. Will you come with me, Rose?’

Rose laughed and said that of course she would, though she didn’t really believe that Millie would prefer her company to Scotty’s when the time came. ‘I intend to faint myself if I possibly can,’ she said. ‘At my last clinic, they kept on saying that it didn’t hurt a bit, and anyway they would give us gas and air, whatever that may be. But I did manage to ask one or two of the mothers who had already had a baby what it was like, and they said it was no picnic.’

‘Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!’ Millie squeaked. ‘It’ll only give me nightmares and put me off the whole idea. Ah, here comes the bus. Give him a wave and waddle as fast as you can, then we’ll be back in town in time for tea and a sticky bun at the Russell. It’s my favourite café and very convenient.’

Rose and Martin had finished their breakfast and taken Don for his usual gallop along the sands, and Martin had gone off to work. They had invested in an ancient camp bed and rigged up a curtain that could be pulled across to give each of them a degree of privacy. Rose had explained the camp bed to her friend by saying that her size and the increasingly warm weather made sleeping in the same bed uncomfortable for them both, and Millie had accepted it without comment.

By now, she and Millie had spent a good deal of time in each other’s company, but she had still not admitted to her friend that she was neither married to Martin, nor using her real name. She had consulted Mart and he had agreed wholeheartedly that they should keep such information to themselves, as Millie could be quite scatty. Nevertheless, Rose sometimes found the desire to confide almost irresistible.

Now, feeling more or less worry-free, she had settled down to the task of preparing for motherhood. She rejoiced in her friendship with Millie and had been pleased and flattered when Scotty himself had suggested that the four of them should go out for a drink one evening. As Rose had guessed, he was an extremely attractive man with dark wavy hair, brilliant blue eyes and a cleft chin. He wasn’t as tall as Martin, but he was a good deal sturdier and only a couple of inches shorter, and the two men got on well. Rose suspected that this was because Martin always deferred to Scotty, but whatever the reason, both girls were glad that the young men had taken to one another.

‘At home, Scotty seemed almost jealous if I mentioned girls I had been friendly with before I knew him,’ Millie had admitted. ‘I suppose it made him feel left out . . . anyway, he really seems to like your Martin, and he certainly approves of you and me spending a lot of time together.’

‘So do I,’ Rose had said with a grin. ‘D’you know, Millie, I’ve never had a proper girlfriend before, and I didn’t know what I was missing. I say, why shouldn’t you be godmother to my baby when it comes? Can I be godmother to yours?’

Millie had agreed and Rose had been both pleased and flattered. After that the talk had switched to names and Millie had promised that they would go to the bookshop on Queen Street and see if they could find a copy of The Complete Book of Baby Names which had just been published and she wanted to buy.

Rose had thought this an excellent idea. Today was the appointed day, and since the book contained not only names but also the meanings of names she was just wondering what she would discover about one or two of her favourites when there was a crash and a squawk from outside the door. Hastily scrambling to her feet, she jerked the door open to find Millie swaying on the landing, a hand clapped to her face. ‘Oh, Millie, wharrever have you done?’ she exclaimed. ‘For one awful moment I thought you’d fallen down the stairs.’

‘Well, move your hand then,’ Rose said, and gasped. There was a red weal across Millie’s cheek and she had a rapidly blackening bruise around her eye. ‘What you want is a cold compress, queen. I’ve got some water in my jug, so if you come into my room and sit on the bed for a moment I’ll deal with it for you. However did you come to do it?’

‘I was on the landing when I remembered I’d left my purse on the table. I turned to go back for it and, as I said, walked slap bang into the edge of the door. Oh, oh, it doesn’t half hurt!’

Millie hissed in her breath, then turned her head to look, lopsidedly, up at her friend. ‘Oh, that actually feels better!’ she said in an astonished tone. ‘But I can’t go round with a wet flannel clutched to my face, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life shut up in my room. What’ll I do, Rose?’

Rose removed the flannel and examined her friend’s wound. ‘The skin isn’t broken, but I could put a piece of lint and some plaster across it, and you could buy a pair of cheap sunglasses to hide your black eye,’ she said rather doubtfully. ‘I suppose there are such things as eye patches, if you don’t mind looking like Long John Silver.’ She chuckled suddenly. ‘Wharrever will Scotty say when he comes home? He’ll think you and I have had a real falling out!’

The two girls finished their shopping in plenty of time, including the book of babies’ names, but when Rose suggested that they should go back to No. 27 for a sandwich and a cup of tea, Millie vetoed the suggestion. ‘There’s something I want to show you,’ she said. ‘It’s a fair walk and it’s somewhere we’ve not visited before, because . . . oh, but you’ll see when we get there . . .’

As she had said, it was a fair walk for two women in the last stages of pregnancy, but they enlivened it with their constant chatter. It had come as a real surprise to Rose to learn that Millie’s parents lived in Formby, which was not, after all, so very far from Liverpool. ‘Well, my father works in Liverpool, but of course Formby is very posh,’ Millie had explained. ‘We’ve got a huge house and a lovely garden; I miss the garden. Father often says that before the war the owners had a full-time gardener and two full-time helpers, but now we manage with a couple of men who come in for a few hours each week. Father loves gardening, so he doesn’t mind the work, and of course I helped as much as I possibly could. Daddy – I mean Father – says I’ve got green fingers and that everything I plant or look after thrives. So you see, even if I wasn’t a first-rate shorthand typist, I could get work as a gardener.’

As they walked, her friend pointed out the brilliant yellow of forsythia, the strawberry pink of flowering currants, and the beautiful blooms which looked to Rose like her namesake, but which Millie assured her were actually camellias.

Presently, they reached what looked like a compound of some description. There were a number of large, one-storey buildings, some with cars parked in front of them, surrounded by wire fencing. Millie gestured ahead. ‘Industrial units,’ she said. ‘I came round here when we first moved to Rhyl, spying out the land so to speak. There’s one firm who always seem to be advertising for staff, so I made some enquiries and apparently they make pyjamas for most of the big stores. I was afraid at first that the advertisements meant there was a constant turnover of staff, which usually indicates bad employers or discontented workers. But I got talking to a girl from there and she says they are overwhelmed with orders and are actually taking over the unit next door. What is even more to the point, however, is the last unit on this row. You’ll never guess what it is!’

‘Does it make cakes or doughnuts?’ Rose said vaguely. ‘No, I know, does it make prams? We’re going to need one of them. I don’t s’pose we’ll run to a pram each, but we could share, turn and turn about.’

‘Gosh,’ Rose said with well-simulated surprise. ‘That seems very generous. They must be good employers, then.’ She waited a moment, hoping Millie would expand on what she had said, then metaphorically threw in the towel. ‘Millie, what’s a crèche?’

This brought forth Millie’s infectious, bubbling laugh. ‘I thought you didn’t know,’ she said triumphantly. ‘But how should you? I remember you saying that you’d only been to a council school and they don’t do languages. Crèche, my dear little ignoramus, is French for nursery, and this particular crèche looks after your baby for you for the active working day. Comprends? Or do you understand, as us dull English say?’

‘Gosh,’ Rose said again, but with far more enthusiasm this time. ‘Only don’t you have to be good at needlework and so on to make pyjamas? I told you I weren’t no good wi’ me needle.’

‘You don’t have to be,’ Millie said impatiently. ‘Good Lord, girl, where were you brought up? No, don’t answer that, I was being silly. The girls make the pyjamas on great big industrial sewing machines; anyone can do it, even me, and I’m a worse needlewoman than you could possibly be because I’ve never even tried my hand at sewing on a button. The pay’s pretty good, better than I’d get as a secretary, believe it or not, so what do you think? Shall we apply as soon as we’ve popped?’ She grinned at her friend. ‘Shall we go in right now and apply? I can just see their faces if we did!’

‘Millie Scott, you’re awful!’ Rose said, as they turned away. ‘But it’s a grand idea, so it is. I just hope the work isn’t all taken by the time our babies arrive. Tell me, Millie, how soon will we be able to start work after the births? Mart an’ me manage okay, but I won’t deny the extra money would be useful.’

‘We’ll ask when we go to the clinic,’ Millie said. ‘I say, Rose, I’m most awfully glad you like the idea. And now, what about a sandwich and a cuppa? We can walk to the Botanical Gardens from here; they’ve got a café and the prices are really reasonable.’

‘Once the other tenants start coming in they do rather take over, and there’s a limit to what one can cook on a Primus stove,’ Millie agreed. ‘But I bought some potatoes yesterday, so if I get a nice steak and kidney pie from Parry’s on the corner, and some tinned peas, then Scotty shouldn’t grumble.’

‘That sounds nice,’ Rose said approvingly. She knew that poor Millie could not cook for toffee nuts, but suspected that Scotty was not privy to his wife’s lack of culinary skills. Millie, unblushingly, presented the pies she bought as all her own work, and this seemed to satisfy her husband. Rose had offered to give Millie simple cooking lessons, but they had not got round to it yet. As for Rose’s own plans for their evening meal, she told herself that fish and chips was just a little white lie so that Millie should not realise how tight money was, particularly towards the end of the week. If she had said they intended to dine on chips and chips, Millie might have offered a loan, and Rose would have been embarrassed and would not have known how to refuse.

As they walked towards the Botanical Gardens and the café, Rose dug a hand into her coat pocket and tried to check that she could indeed have a sandwich and still buy chips, but when they entered the café Millie went straight to the counter, ordered two cheese sandwiches and two cups of tea, and said firmly that it was her treat. ‘Left to yourself, you would have done your shopping and gone back to your room and made yourself a sandwich for almost nothing,’ she pointed out. ‘I will say this for Scotty: he’s not mean with money. I bet he gives me twice what you get, and you’ve got Don to feed as well as Martin.’

‘Martin gives me as much as he can possibly afford, honest to God he does,’ Rose said at once. ‘The trouble is, his money varies from week to week, so of course we have to be careful.’

They went over to a window table, settled themselves comfortably, and began to eat, whilst Millie shook a chiding finger at Rose. ‘I wasn’t meaning to say that Martin wasn’t generous, because I know he is, and I know that both of you worry a bit when we have a day of rain, like we did last week, and the funfair lays workers off. But won’t he be thrilled when he hears about the pyjama factory?’

‘I don’t think I ought to tell him until we actually get the jobs,’ Rose said, after a short pause for thought. ‘I say, I wonder what we should do about Don? I don’t like to think of him being left alone in our room all day. I know Mart will offer to take him to the funfair . . .’

‘You cheeky mare!’ Rose said wrathfully, trying to lean across the table to give her friend a clout, but missing due to her bulk. ‘Still, I’m sure we’ll manage something; we always do. Martin and I chew our problems over in the evenings, when there’s nothing good on the wireless, and between us we find a solution to most things. Are you going to tell Scotty about the jobs?’

Millie took a sip of her tea, then shook her head. ‘No, I can see that you’re right. If it doesn’t come off, he’ll be . . . oh, I suppose he’ll be disappointed, because though we’re quite well off really, he’s always made it plain that he expects me to work. Well, why not? It seems fair enough to me.’

‘Yes, it is fair,’ Rose agreed. She began to get rather wearily to her feet. ‘We’d best get going now, though; you’ll want to buy that steak and kidney pie before the shop closes and I want to be at the head of the queue for the chippy when it opens. So we’re agreed? Not a word about the pyjama factory until we can say: “Tara! We’ve got jobs!”’

Millie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, we’re agreed, because I’m sure you’re right. No point in raising expectations and then having to admit it didn’t work out.’ She glanced at her wristwatch and gave a squeak. ‘Heavens, look at the time! We’d better get a move on!’

On their next visit to the clinic, the nurse told them that they would probably be able to start work three or four weeks after their babies were born. ‘We’d best get our act together,’ Rose said, as they walked back to the lodging house. ‘I’m going to teach you to do some simple cooking. We must do it before the babies come, because afterwards I bet our free time will be fairly limited.’

One Sunday, the four of them had a picnic on the beach, and whilst Rose and Millie collected shells and paddled, the men skimmed stones across the waves and talked about buying a bat so that they could play beach cricket. By the time they were trailing home, pleasantly tired, Rose and Millie had warned the men that they would have to make do with a sandwich supper. To Rose’s surprise, Scotty grumbled and said he needed a hot meal after such an energetic day. Millie said she would open a tin of tomato soup and he shrugged and said he supposed it would have to do. ‘How about baked beans on toast then . . . as well as the soup, I mean?’ he said suddenly.

Rose and Martin both laughed, thinking that he was joking, and Martin suggested that he might like to share Don’s tripe and biscuits. But before Scotty could answer Millie cut in, saying that she had no baked beans but could rustle up a tin of Heinz spaghetti. By now they were entering the house and Rose, glancing at her friend, saw a look of apprehension on her face. ‘I’ve got a tin of baked beans you can borrow,’ she said. ‘Or we’ll do a swap if you’d rather; I’ll take your spaghetti and you have the beans.’

‘Thanks, Rose,’ Millie said gratefully, and when they reached the top floor she accepted the beans and handed over the spaghetti, giving Rose a conspiratorial wink as she did so. ‘Hope you enjoy the spaghetti. You couldn’t lend me some bread, could you? I seem to have run out.’

Rose handed over half a loaf, but when she and Martin were back in their own room they exchanged thoughtful glances. Keeping his voice well down, Martin said: ‘Scotty’s awful selfish, ain’t he, Rosie? He never give a thought to what Millie were goin’ to eat . . . or d’you think they’ll share the baked beans? Or she might have the soup, I suppose.’

‘Millie says he’s been spoiled and you can see what she means; I don’t think it occurs to him to wonder what she’ll have,’ Rose admitted. ‘But Millie’s got a lot of determination; I’m sure she isn’t going to starve. Now, what about us, Mart? I’ve still got half a loaf so we can have spaghetti on toast and then fill up the chinks with bread and jam.’