Page 101 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

Peggy and Dan – now Doctor and Mrs Sheridan – had booked a few days away down south during Easter week, and Maisie had agreed to cover two night shifts in the maternity hospital for Peggy, as she was currently taking her turn working in delivery suite again. Alex had promptly swapped his shifts so he could be on duty on the same two nights, and as he cycled down the Cliftonville Road on the evening of Easter Tuesday, his thoughts were filled with the woman he loved, and what a treat it would be to work alongside her tonight.

He was just passing the Belfast Royal Academy – his old school – and was nearly level with St James’s, the Anglican church at the end of his road, when he spied his neighbours out for an evening walk. Mr and Mrs Wallace had been a fixture in his life since childhood, and their son George had been in his class in school. The Wallaces’ house was joined on to theirs, and he and George had spent most of their summers in each other’s back gardens. He was early for work, so pulled up on his bike to speak to them.

George was in the second rifles battalion, and had been evacuated from Dunkirk last year. He was currently training somewhere in England, apparently. No doubt he would be sent to Europe to fight again, God help him. He and his wife had two children. George’s two sisters – one older, one younger – were married too, and the younger one had recently had a baby. A wave of excitement rippled through Alex at the notion that before very long, he too would be a married man, and perhaps, after that, a father.

‘I’m getting married, too,’ he told them, and they gave warm congratulations, their expressions not faltering in the least when he told them the name of his bride-to-be. They know rightly that she’s likely a Catholic. What they did not know was that he was now one too.

‘I better go,’ he said, remounting. ‘I’m on duty in the Royal tonight.’

They wished him well, and as he cycled away he hoped that their politeness meant they would not cut him off completely. Family relationships were vital, but he also didn’t want to be a pariah among his own neighbours. To be fair, the road was mixed, with a few well-to-do Catholic families amid the Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Methodists.

After stowing his bicycle he headed upstairs to the doctors’ mess on the top floor for a clean white coat and his stethoscope, then made for the nursery. He then checked in on the wards, where everything was nicely under control, and finally he made his way to delivery suite, where he intended to base himself tonight. He might even get some sleep in one of the comfy armchairs later on. There was one other doctor on duty – Dr Marron – so he would have help if they suddenly needed to carry out two caesareans at once – a highly unlikely scenario.

Maisie and Sister Higgins were at the midwives’ desk. Sister was doing paperwork and Maisie was restocking the supply cupboards behind the desk. His heart did its usual thumping on seeing her. I can’t believe the best girl in Ireland is going to marry me!

‘Well!’ he greeted them, noting the reassuring silence in the ward. ‘Is it quiet tonight?’

Instantly, as he had known they would, they reacted dramatically. ‘Don’t say that!’ said Sister, only half-laughing.

‘Don’t you say the Q word!’ Maisie declared. ‘You’ll put the scud on us!’

‘What does that even mean?’ he asked, smiling.

‘It means you’ll put bad luck on us. Any time somebody say’s it’s – you know – half the women in Belfast decide to go into labour!’

‘And there’s still a full moon!’ Sister added ominously. ‘We all know that starts a lot of labours. It’s been mad busy here the last couple of nights.’

He had heard that particular superstition before – he even half-believed it. Tonight though, he was more worried that a full moon might mean another bombing raid by the Nazis. Last week, before the moon had even reached its fullest, the Luftwaffe had sent six or seven planes to fly over Belfast, dropping a number of bombs over the docks area. Thirteen people had been killed, and it had brought home to the people of Belfast that they were most definitely on the Nazis’ list of targets, and well within range.

Before leaving home tonight Alex had checked the Anderson bomb shelter in the back garden, ensuring it was well-stocked with blankets, food, and even a small heater. Please God it wouldn’t be needed, but being away at night felt really scary in these worrying times.

Maisie’s family were worse off, for they didn’t even have a shelter. When Mick and Matty had tried to dig out an area in their tiny back yard many months ago, they had hit boggy conditions almost straight away. There was no point in building a shelter on soft foundations where the family might be up to their ankles in mud if there was a raid. No, they’d be better making for a public shelter, or hiding in the tiny area under the stairs and praying as hard as they could.

Letting none of his worries show, he continued to banter with Maisie and Sister Higgins for a minute or two, his gaze lingering on Maisie’s beloved, familiar face. They informed him that there was only one woman in labour – a Mrs Spencer. Midwife McCrea was in with her, and things were progressing nicely.

‘Right!’ he said then, ‘I’ll get caught up on my own paperwork before this onslaught begins!’

Winking, and ignoring their laughing protests, he went to the medical staffroom, where he made tea for three, bringing two cups out to the midwives. The canteen was closed of course, and it would be a long time until morning. Mrs Sinclair had provided him with sandwiches, and the midwives would have brought their own packed lunches too. It always felt strange to be calling it ‘lunch’ at two or three in the morning, but it was better than calling it a ‘mid-shift break’ or some other such nonsense. Lunch was perfectly accurate.

By half past ten he was well caught up on the various forms, reports, and letters to GPs on his list, and he was just wondering if he should double-check the rotas for next week when a strange sound made his body freeze in fear. Air raid siren!

The sirens had rung over Belfast a few times already, but given last week’s bombing raid, this was ominous. Hurrying to the midwives’ station he saw worried faces, even as Maisie and Sister went through the emergency drill, which included checking supplies, filling baths and containers with clean water, and ensuring the phone was working.

‘I’ll go and help in the nursery,’ Alex said tersely. The hospital air raid plan included evacuating the babies from the top floor.

‘You go down to the baby clinic and start clearing the chairs for them, Maisie,’ said Sister. ‘But come back up here in fifteen minutes just in case.’

‘Yes, Sister.’

They walked out to the main corridor together, and hugged briefly before parting. Neither of them knew what the night would bring.

Hurrying up the stone steps, Alex made his way to the nursery, where the evacuation was already underway. The nursery on the top floor was vulnerable to any bomb damage, so the plan was to move the babies to the clinic space on the ground floor, which would hopefully be safer for these, their most vulnerable patients.

Sister Young was on tonight, and when Alex arrived she had everything under control. One nurse was systematically checking that the identification tags on the babies’ ankles were all firmly attached, while the other was currently calmly feeding a baby, the little one sucking contentedly on its bottle. As Alex watched, she finished the feed, holding the baby upright and vigorously rubbing its back to make it rift. Nobody wanted wee ones suffering from wind.

‘I’m here to help,’ Alex said, and Sister Young turned to him gratefully.

‘Thanks, Dr Lowe.’ She pointed to the cots nearest to the door. ‘These two are ready to go. Can you take them downstairs and stay with them until I can spare a nurse?’