27. Babies

As the snow continued to fall, creating a beautiful but icy-cold landscape, Mary Vale’s baby nursery was comfortably snug even if it did ring with the loud cry of new-borns. George and Teddy, now strong, wriggling little boys, seemed to compete with each other as to who could make the loudest noise, while tiny Constanza surprised everybody with the strength of her lusty cries. Reticent Zelda, who was quietly spoken, blushed with embarrassment when her daughter’s cries rang out.

‘She’s often the loudest in the nursery,’ she told Dora, who gave a philosophical shrug.

‘That’s what babies do, lovie. How else are they going to claim our attention?’

‘She cries even when she’s just been fed,’ Zelda pointed out.

‘She’s just exercising her little lungs, exploring the world,’ Dora said knowingly. ‘Stop fretting, lass, she’s feeding well enough – little yet often, though that will change as she grows and gets into a regular routine.’ Stooping over one of the little white cribs, she lifted baby George into her arms. ‘How’s this lovely little lad doing?’

‘He’s so big,’ Zelda exclaimed.

Making herself comfortable in one of the changing chairs, Dora laid the heavy baby on to her wide lap. Giving George an affectionate tickle, she playfully chided him. ‘Stay still while I sort out your dirty nappy.’

When George was clean and changed, Dora warmed up a prepared bottle of formula milk for him and, holding him securely in the crook of her arm, fed the little boy, who sucked loudly as he hungrily drank his milk. Sitting beside Dora and breast-feeding Constanza, Zelda asked if there were any more news on George’s adoption.

Dora sadly shook her head. ‘Nothing. According to Father Ben, everybody who comes to see George loves him to bits, but they feel he should grow up in a mixed environment, with other kiddies of colour.’

Zelda frowned. ‘Are they in fact saying they’re afraid of bringing up a child of mixed race?’

Dora gave her a knowing look. ‘Probably. Look at Maria’s own father,’ she snorted derisively. ‘He wouldn’t even have George’s father in the house – imagine what his feelings must be towards George’s baby?’

‘But he’s so lovely,’ Zelda cried with tears in her big brown eyes. ‘People are so cruel, so judgemental.’

‘There’s plenty of them in the world,’ Dora answered bitterly.

‘How long can you keep him at Mary Vale?’

Dora gave a sad shrug. ‘We don’t have the facilities here for babies beyond three months; anyway the younger a baby is when it’s adopted the better the bonding between the baby and the new parents.’

‘What if Father Ben can’t find the right family for George?’ Zelda asked fearfully.

Dora gave a heavy sigh. ‘Then he would have to go into an orphanage.’

‘Oh, God,’ Zelda murmured sadly. ‘He’s such a delightful little boy.’

‘He’s that all right,’ Dora agreed, as she laid the sleepy baby over her shoulder and lovingly patted his back. ‘He’s a little champion.’

After his feed Diana popped George into one of Mary Vale’s big old-fashioned prams. Tucking him up beside Teddy, she set off for a walk around the snowy garden, accompanied by Gracie. Walking along the garden path, Diana smiled indulgently at George and Teddy, snuggled up together under a warm woolly blanket.

‘Bouncing these two along in a pram seems to send them off to sleep better than anything,’ Diana told her companion.

‘As long as they’re well wrapped up, the fresh air will do them good,’ Gracie replied.

‘Are you all right?’ Diana enquired. ‘I would have thought you’d prefer to stay indoors on a day like this.’

‘I’m a bit like the boys, in need of fresh air. ‘I’ve been feeling so cooped up recently – I feel like I’ve been pregnant ALL my life,’ Gracie groaned. ‘Sometimes I think I’ll never see my feet again!’

‘From the look of you I’d say you’ve not got long to go,’ Diana remarked.

As she stopped briefly in order to rearrange the blankets around the slumbering babies, she said adoringly, ‘Just look at these little cherubs. Even in their sleep they clutch on to one another.’

Gracie, who had often watched the boys lying on the nursery rug, chuckled at the sight of them. ‘When they’re awake they’re like two little boxers, grabbing hold of each other, usually by the ears and squeaking. Heaven knows what they’ll be like when they’re toddlers; they’ll probably tear each other’s hair out.’

A sad expression clouded Diana’s pretty face as she continued pushing the pram along the garden path.

‘They won’t be toddlers together, Gracie,’ she quietly pointed out. ‘Eventually they’ll go their separate ways. We’ll be in one place, God only knows where, and George will be in another, probably hundreds of miles away from Teddy. They’ll grow up not knowing each other at all.’ Not wanting to linger too long on a subject that was becoming increasingly painful even to think about, Diana quickly said, ‘What about you, Gracie, still keen to get back to Barrow?’

Gracie replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘I can’t wait to get back to the shipyard; hopefully if there’s a shortage of men on the ground I might get to do what I’ve dreamt of for years.’

Diana threw her a quizzical look. ‘What would that be?’

‘To drive one of the shipyard cranes,’ Gracie announced.

‘I imagine that’s still a man’s privilege?’ Diana queried.

‘Aye, but there’s bound to come a time when there’ll be no choice but to ask us lasses to do the job,’ Gracie cried. ‘Who else is going to work the cranes if all the fellas are away at war?’

‘You’re right,’ Diana agreed. ‘And we all know what a good driver you are,’ she teased.

Gracie threw back her shoulders as she added with complete conviction, ‘I’ll convince the gaffers just as soon as I’m back in the yard that I can do as good a job as any fella,’ she said passionately.

Diana couldn’t help but laugh at Gracie’s complete conviction that it would happen. ‘What about romance, men, marriage?’ she teased.

Gracie rolled her sparkling green eyes. ‘Bugger that! Once I get out of Mary Vale, I’m going to be a career girl with HIGH ambitions,’ she joked. ‘Anyway,’ she continued on a more serious note, ‘I want to make up for all that I’ve put my poor parents through. I want to make them proud of me for a change.’

‘Dora’s son, Jack, seemed to notice you when he was home on leave,’ Diana remembered. ‘I thought he might be keen to keep in touch’.

Gracie stopped in her tracks before she gave a reply. ‘He is keen,’ Gracie agreed. ‘But you’ve got to admit, Di, it’s a bit rum: me pregnant and him writing to me, not love letters but about things that we might do together in the future when he’s home on leave.’

‘Perhaps he just likes writing to a pretty girl,’ Diana suggested.

‘Maybe,’ Gracie sounded unconvinced. ‘By the way, Di, don’t mention his letter-writing to Dora: I don’t want her getting the wrong impression.’

‘I won’t say a word,’ Diana promised. ‘Though in truth I think Dora would be pleased if she knew you were cheering her son up.’

‘The truth is, Di, I’m not cheering Jack up,’ Gracie told her bluntly. ‘I’ve never replied to any of his letters and I know full well that Dora really wouldn’t appreciate that.’

Diana nodded her head in agreement with her friend’s wishes, while at the same time thinking how extraordinarily unexpected life was at Mary Vale: before her stood a determined young woman with ambitions to drive a shipyard crane; in the nursery was a baby girl born alive and well in a forest, sleeping alongside her own dear Teddy and precious George, who might well end up an orphan. War was forcing radical changes everywhere, quite rightly challenging old beliefs. Nevertheless, a cold shiver shot down Diana’s spine: change brought fear and uncertainty, both of which she had had more than her fair share of recently.

When they walked back into the Home, both women were delighted to find Frank Arkwright and his father erecting a splendid fir tree, still speckled with snow, in the entrance hall.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ Gracie exclaimed in delight.

Frank gave her a cheeky wink. ‘I set off t’other morning to chop one down but got side-tracked by Zelda in’t forest,’ he joked. ‘I thought I’d better make amends before I get a roasting off Sister Mary Paul.’

After helping Diana with the babies, now wide awake and starving hungry, Gracie wheeled the pram back into the storeroom, where the big nursery equipment was kept. Deep in thought, she mulled over Diana’s words. Was Jack keeping in touch with her simply because it was pleasant to have a bit of feminine company, or was there more to it than that? She liked the lad well enough – he was warm, open, straight and funny, just like his mam – but right now the thought of anything beyond friendship with men repulsed Gracie. After her shaming affair with flighty Reggie and the consequences of getting pregnant, Gracie had no sexual appetite. The cheeky young flirt of a girl had been replaced by an older, more cynical woman who would never make the same mistake again.

Everybody loved the Christmas tree, which generated excited festive plans.

‘We should decorate the dining room,’ Gracie suggested.

‘And bake cakes,’ Zelda suggested, before quickly adding, ‘That’s if we can get enough rations and Sister Mary Paul will let us use her kitchen.’

‘We could hang little Christmas stockings by the fireplace for the babies,’ Diana added.

Ada and Sister Theresa, who had joined the girls around the Christmas tree, had their own suggestions too. ‘There’s a lovely carol service in the chapel on Christmas Eve,’ Sister Theresa informed the group. ‘You’re all warmly invited.’

‘Fate always conspires to make me work on Christmas Eve,’ Ada said with an apologetic smile. ‘Somebody always goes into labour just as the carol service starts, so, seeing as I’m on duty that night, I’m not making any firm plans to attend the service. But nothing will keep me away from Sister Mary Paul’s Christmas dinner. Last year Farmer Arkwright supplied the Home with two geese – nobody dared ask where they came from,’ she added with a wink. ‘We were just grateful to have them.’

‘This will be my first Christmas with my Sisters in the convent,’ Sister Theresa said happily.

Ada yet again marvelled at the change in Shirley. This happy, confident, articulate young women dressed in her nun’s habit and wimple was hardly recognizable as the same sad, wretched girl who had arrived at Mary Vale in need of sanctuary. Ada missed not seeing Shirley as frequently as she used to in former days – her life as a nun obviously meant that the convent and her religious life came first. When she did see Shirley, or Sister Theresa as she must remember to call her, it was always a joy, especially when she turned up on the ward with a mop in one hand and a bucket of hot soapy water in the other.

Though none of them had much money, the Mary Vale residents started to think of little gifts they could leave for each other underneath the Christmas tree. Zelda for one had quite ambitious plans, which would only come to fruition if she could spend time in her garden shed. Waiting until Constanza had had her feed, Zelda settled the sleepy baby in the Silver Cross pram with its sparkling chromework and smart waterproof hood and cover one morning. Gently bouncing the pram, Zelda made her way carefully along the snowy path to the shed, which was freezing cold. Putting the brake on the pram, Zelda hurriedly made a fire in the wood-burner, which crackled into life and heated the shed in no time. Knowing full well she could not go foraging in the nearby woods and fields for wild herbs, Zelda skimmed through her existing collection of precious Herbals.

‘Marigold hand cream!’ she exclaimed when she had found what she had been searching for. Scanning down the list of ingredients, Zelda muttered out loud, ‘Marigold petals if in season, otherwise combine dried lavender, rosemary and sage and a pint of good oil, simmer ingredients in a pan until a satisfying consistency is reached, strain off the herbs, cool the mixture and bottle when cool.’

Zelda was so engrossed in her reading she barely heard Constanza whimpering in her pram, and by the time she became aware of her baby’s cries the child was wailing indignantly – at which point Frank Arkwright came striding into the shed. He called out in his characteristically direct way: ‘Everything all right?’

Zelda smiled at his anxious face. ‘Yes, thank you, Frank,’ she answered calmly.

‘It’s just that I heard a baby crying and I thought I’d better check like …’ he mumbled, before peering under the bonnet of the big pram and winking at Constanza, who gazed up at him with the same beautiful dark eyes as her mother.

‘I’m afraid I didn’t respond immediately she summoned me,’ Zelda admitted. ‘I was lost in my Herbals. I want to try to make some Christmas presents,’ she confided in him. ‘None of us have any money so we’re all racking our brains trying to think of gifts that are inexpensive but a little bit unusual.’

Frank stared curiously at an open page in one of the Herbals. ‘Face and hand cream,’ he said. ‘If you come up with summat as good as what you brew for me, lass, your gifts are bound to be much appreciated.’

Zelda coloured at Frank’s kind words. Since he had delivered Constanza, their relationship had reached another level: previously she had jumped at the sound of his voice, but now she found it warm and comforting. In the past she would have fled at the sight of him, but now she gave a welcoming smile at the sight of Frank, who always grinned back at her like a big cheeky boy. Frank’s kindness had generated trust and love in her heart, which she knew was fully reciprocated. Nowadays he was unquestionably one of her dearest friends, a man she could truly rely on.

‘I’ll take the little lass for a walk in her pram,’ Frank generously suggested. ‘Give you a bit of peace.’

Looking at the glittering bright frosty day outside the shed window, Zelda had a change of mind. ‘I’d like to walk with you, if you don’t mind?’

Frank nodded and, taking hold of the pram, he pushed it outdoors and bounced it several times. ‘Damn good springs if I say so myself,’ he mumbled gruffly.

As they set off, Frank was suddenly struck by an idea. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he started nervously, ‘I’d like to take the little lass to meet mi father down at farm?’

Zelda smiled her agreement. ‘I’d like that; he might like to see the new pram you bought Constanza.’

‘Aye, he might well,’ Frank agreed.

The farm track was rutted and filled with drifts of snow, but Frank thoughtfully steered the pram on to smoother patches, so he didn’t disturb the baby.

‘We should have resurfaced this blasted road years ago,’ he grumbled.

‘Well, now is definitely not the right time of year for road-laying,’ Zelda laughed as she manoeuvred her way around the banks of snow.

Frank was surprised at how much slimmer she looked these days; he was used to seeing Zelda big and pregnant, but now she walked with a quick lightness in her step. Her hair looked longer too; he liked the way it sprang in bright red curly tendrils around her delicate, heart-shaped face. Gazing at her with pleasure, Frank, sensing a tell-tale blush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks, quickly looked away.

Farmer Arkwright was thrilled to see the ‘Babby’, as he called Constanza. ‘She might need feeding,’ Zelda said, as the baby began to stir again after her long walk in the cold.

The farmer sensitively showed her into a little parlour, where a warm fire crackled in the hearth.

‘We’ll leave you in peace,’ he said softly. ‘When you’ve done, there’ll be a cuppa tea waiting for you in’t kitchen.’

Zelda felt strangely peaceful sitting by the fire feeding her baby in Farmer Arkwright’s parlour, a place she would never have expected to find herself in her wildest dreams. After Constanza had fallen asleep on her breast, Zelda buttoned up her blouse, then made her way to the kitchen, where a collie dog lay flat out in front of the old black grate, while a kettle merrily whistled on a hot plate.

‘Father’s just gone out to milk the cows,’ Frank said, as he laid a tray on the table.

Zelda was touched by the trouble he had gone to: dainty china crockery on a pretty embroidered white linen cloth, a pot of tea and slices of cake.

‘That looks very pretty, Frank,’ she commented.

‘Me and mi father don’t normally dine in such a genteel lady-like fashion,’ he chuckled, as they sat down together. ‘Though Sister Mary Paul, bless her heart, does make us a cake every week, from the eggs she gets from the farm,’ Frank explained as he poured her tea.

‘Delicious,’ Zelda exclaimed, sipping her hot tea and nibbling the nun’s coconut and carrot cake.

Sitting on either side of the grate, they ate in a comfortable silence, broken only by the collie’s loud snores. It was the closest Zelda had felt to home in many, many months.