Page 102 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Of course.’ Carefully, Alex pushed both cots out into the corridor and towards the lift, hoping it was working. To his relief, it came straight away, and he carefully manoeuvred the two cots inside before pressing the button for the ground floor. The babies were both asleep, thank goodness. He was a firm believer in comforting crying babies, but right now he had to prioritise getting them to safety as soon as possible.

Within moments he was in the baby clinic corridor, and ahead he could see Maisie stacking chairs in the large clinic space. Briefly, his mind flashed back to the reception he’d attended here, in his very first week as a qualified doctor. That fella could have had no idea what lay in store for him.

Like Maisie. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she hurried forward to take one of the cots, wheeling it all the way to the back of the clinic, keeping to the centre of the room as they’d been instructed. He moved the second cot into place alongside the first, and was just straightening it when BOOM! A loud explosion rattled the air, and two of the windows at the far end of the room shattered.

BOOM! Another. And another. And another. Maisie was in his arms, trembling, and his own body was racked with terror. Was death coming, right now?

One of the babies was crying, and now the second joined in. Duty calls. Squeezing Maisie one last time, he stepped away, and they each lifted a baby, giving comfort even through their own fear.

By the time the nurse came with two more babies, the first two had settled a little, despite the ongoing explosions, some of which sounded scarily close. As he hurried back up to the top floor, Alex noticed that most of the bombs were to the north and the east – the docks and the city centre being targeted, perhaps. The Lowe family home was dangerously close to the waterworks – a set of major reservoirs serving the city. That would be a good strategic target for the Nazis to hit, he realised, his stomach sick at the notion.

The next hour was spent evacuating babies and the supplies from the nursery that would be needed to get them through the night. The bombing was relentless. Alex didn’t dare think about the death and destruction taking place outside. He couldn’t do anything about that; what he could do was help these babies.

Once the last child had been transferred, he completed medical checks on every single one of them – including checking for cuts from the broken glass. Two of the babies had suffered minor injuries, and bits of glass were found in quite a few cots – thankfully, being swaddled in sheets and blankets had largely protected the wee ones. One of the nurses had a bad gash on her arm, which he cleaned and dressed, allowing her to resume her duties. She and the other nurse, along with Sister Young, continued with their cycle of feeding and changing each baby, and a sense of strange normality was coming over the clinic – bizarre, given the noises from outside.

Maisie had returned to delivery suite a while ago, but he couldn’t go to her yet, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed to go to the wards – not just to check for any medical issues, but to reassure the mothers of the nursery babies that their wee ones had been moved to safety and were currently enjoying feeds and cuddles. But first, a mad curiosity had come over him. He had to see it for himself . . .

Quietly, he made his way to the main hospital door near the baby clinic, stepping outside and closing the door behind him quickly.

The first thing to hit him was the smell. Smoke, so much smoke. At the same time, the noise thundered in his ears. While some sounds had penetrated the building via all the broken windows, standing outside exposed him to the full force of it. Countless aircraft droning above him, strange whistling sounds as the bombs dropped, explosions all over the city centre, and the northern parts of the city. Even the ground beneath his feet was vibrating with the explosions.

He looked up, and gasped in shock. The skies over Belfast were thick with Nazi aircraft, dropping their deadly cargoes with what seemed to him to be glee. BOOM! Each explosion reminded him that people were dying, every minute. He didn’t dare think about the Cliftonville Road, north of here, and that little shelter in the back garden. There was no point in dwelling on it, though, for he was entirely powerless to protect his family. What he could do tonight, was work. He could do his best to keep the babies safe, and the women. And hope the Nazis didn’t bomb the hospital. Turning, he went back inside.

33

Maisie returned to delivery suite, ignoring the sounds of bombs falling and detonating outside in various parts of the city. Worrying thoughts were racing through her mind. Were her family safe? Had they made it to a public shelter? For an instant she pictured wee Molly, terrified, running through the streets as bombs dropped all around her, but she pushed the thought away.

Her first job was to help Sister Higgins clear away the broken glass littering the various rooms. Thankfully, some of the rooms – like the theatres – had no windows. The problem there was the possibility of losing the electrical supply – though there was a generator which the caretaker team would use if needed. And what if the hospital suffered a direct hit? The Nazis had no compunction about bombing a hospital, she knew, for they had hit King’s, and a maternity hospital in England had also been bombed a few weeks ago – the Greenbank Maternity Hospital in Plymouth. Only a handful of staff and patients had survived that night, with twenty babies among the dead. It didn’t bear thinking about.

And now women were beginning to arrive: women too terrified to labour at home, women whose homes had been hit, women who had no shelter to go to, women who had been injured. They were brought by relatives, by neighbours, by ambulance volunteers.

Thankfully, some midwives came too – district midwives unable to get about the damaged streets, and off-duty hospital midwives. Matron arrived then, and began directing operations – giving Maisie a sense of safety and clarity.

From being quiet – the Q word that should never be said – the ground floor and middle floor were now bustling. Any woman not in labour was assessed by one of the doctors – Mr Russell, Dr McCrory, and Dr McMullen had all made it in. And of course, Dr Lowe and Dr Marron, who were officially on duty. Of Fenton, there was no sign. After assessment and any first aid treatment, each woman was allocated a place depending on her status. Those not in labour or only starting were given chairs in C ward, with a midwife and a first-aider to look after them. Women in advanced labour were prioritised for rooms in delivery suite, and before long there were more women than there were midwives to care for them.

‘You’re getting two each,’ Sister told them crisply. ‘You’ll just have to manage.’

Maisie was given labour rooms 5 and 6, and for the next few hours she went between them both, trying to calm down any fears and reassure the women they were safe.

Safe? None of them were safe. The bombing continued relentlessly, there was hardly an unbroken window in the building, and the dust and smoke had begun to penetrate the heavy blackout curtains – some of which were torn.

While supporting the women in her allocated rooms in an intermittent way – which was terrible, really – Maisie was also called upon to help in other ways. Once a birth was imminent Sister tried to have two midwives present – even tonight. Seeing to the baby in those first precious moments was a gift, and Maisie was trying desperately to hold on to the hope that each successful birth brought. And despite everything going on around them, some of the women went ahead and birthed. Maisie’s admiration for women had never been higher.

On the other hand, if a woman’s labour slowed or stalled completely, Sister was ruthless. ‘Bring her back to C ward,’ she would say. ‘We need that labour room.’

And so, twice, Maisie had to walk a woman back across to C ward, finding a new woman in labour waiting for her when she returned. She had seen Alex only occasionally – each time taking reassurance from the knowledge that at least one of the people she loved was definitely still alive.

There had been two emergency caesareans so far, with the post-surgical women being prioritised for beds in A Ward, in turn displacing other women to C Ward, and now to the antenatal clinic downstairs, which had been opened up as an additional overflow area. The logistics of it all were complex, and Maisie was vaguely aware that Matron and Mr Russell were coordinating everything in an excellent way. The phone lines had been down for hours, but while the electricity had flickered a few times, it had remained on.

Maisie was busting for a wee, and asked Sister for a toilet break around 4 a.m. Her iron-clad midwife’s bladder had enabled her to manage this far, but she was now really uncomfortable. Sister looked at her with compassion. ‘Take ten minutes, Maisie. No, really. Just take some time to breathe.’

‘Thanks, Sister.’

After completing her ablutions she went to the main corridor, standing for a minute and peeping outside through a torn curtain.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! She blessed herself at the sight. The entire north of the city seemed to be in flames – including the area where her family were, and further north, Alex’s family. She squeezed her eyes shut against tears that threatened to break her. She had to be strong for a wee while longer. Dawn would come soon, and the Luftwaffe couldn’t stay forever, could they?

In the meantime this living nightmare was continuing, and she had work to do. Squaring her shoulders, she returned to delivery suite.