Page 12 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

A step in the hall made him lift his head. Sure enough it was their housekeeper, Mrs Sinclair, come to announce that dinner was ready. As he tucked in to delicious cod with potatoes, green beans, and parsley sauce, Alex made idle conversation – idle that is, until he referenced the war.

‘Aye, it was inevitable, really, when you think about it,’ Father agreed. ‘I reckon Chamberlain hoped it wouldn’t happen, but he was smart enough to prepare anyway. I got a new order yesterday. A big one, for shell casings. Could be the first of many.’ He grimaced. ‘Not that you want to be making money out of war, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Alex felt torn. Here he was, dedicating his life to saving lives, while his father was literally manufacturing weapons. Or parts of weapons. And yet . . . ‘Hitler can’t be allowed to just take over other countries.’

‘Exactly.’

Mother had been listening with interest. ‘But what does it mean? For us? For Belfast?’

‘We’re a long way from Germany,’ Father said. ‘Unlikely to affect us directly. I’m too old to get called up, and Alexander is a doctor, of course.’

‘Good lad, Alexander,’ said Granda, and Alex had to admire his cheek. He had no fear of his son’s rigid views, often deliberately winding him up.

There was a silence as they all reflected on the fact that, if he hadn’t gone into medicine, Alex might soon be swapping his day clothes for a soldier’s uniform. Alex’s conversation with Dan earlier came to mind. ‘No conscription at all here.’

Father snorted derisively. ‘Aye, only so the papists can get out of it! I’ve no doubt that young Protestant men will do their duty without any need to be forced into it!’ His eyes flashed fire. ‘Mrs Sinclair!’ he called, while Mother’s mouth tightened into a hard line. She did not approve of Father’s occasional fits of what she deemed ‘uncouthness’.

Mrs Sinclair appeared in the doorway, her face red from exertion and her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, Mr Lowe? Have I forgotten something?’

‘Why are we eating cod?’ asked Father, his tone blunt.

‘Oh, I thought you liked cod, Mr Lowe. Should I not cook it no more?’

‘The cod is not a problem,’ said Father. ‘Eating it on a Friday is what I don’t hold with.’

There was a stifled guffaw from Granda, and Father sent him a sharp look. ‘We do not partake in ridiculous papist superstitions!’ he continued to Mrs Sinclair, his tone indignant.

‘Yes, Mr Lowe.’ Mrs Sinclair nodded, her brow clearing.

‘And can we have more parsley sauce, please?’

‘Yes, Mr Lowe.’ She took the sauce boat and departed, leaving behind a tension that had not been there before.

Sectarianism. During his time in Edinburgh, Alex had gradually learned there was a different way of life – one that didn’t obsess over which branch of Christianity people followed. The university prided itself on being what it described as ‘multi-cultural’, and Alex had encountered people from all races and religions, and from all parts of the world. Now that he was home, the Catholic–Protestant thing seemed petty. And what Father had just done was decidedly small-minded. Riled, he opened his mouth to challenge Father, but a quelling look from Mother stopped him.

She’s right. Father would never change, and all he would achieve would be a row that would leave the whole house disturbed. Uproar, and to what end? His shoulders tense, Alex applied himself to his cod.

4

‘Well, did you enjoy that?’

Maisie and Molly were walking down the High Street in Belfast, having enjoyed Sunday tea and cake in the Albert Ices café, as Maisie had promised.

‘It was class, Maisie!’ Molly wrapped her shawl more tightly about her – for early September, it was fairly cold in Belfast. ‘But I wish I’d gone for an ice cream instead of Victoria sponge.’

‘Ah now, don’t be starting that! It took you a good ten minutes to decide as it was! Besides, it’s freezing out. Imagine how cold you’d be feelin’ if you’d just eaten an ice cream.’

Molly giggled. ‘I was a disaster, wasn’t I?’

As she chattered on, Maisie briefly allowed herself to think about the war now raging in Europe. As with the Great War, more countries were joining every day, it seemed – on both sides. There had been a radio in the café, and conversations all around them had been focusing on the war, and Canada’s recent declaration of war against Germany. Canada! Maisie shivered – this time, not from the cold. Thankfully, she’d been able to keep her sister distracted. Wee Molly didn’t need to be worrying about things she could do nothing about.

Having gone down Castle Street and King Street, they were now heading southwards towards the Grosvenor Road corner. Molly kept looking up in awe at the impressive buildings they were passing. ‘What’s that one, Maisie?’

‘That’s Inst,’ she said shortly, sighing at Molly’s puzzled look. ‘The Royal Belfast Academical Institution. It’s a school.’

‘Wow.’ Molly’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a school?’

‘Aye. A very fancy school. You have to pay to go there, I think.’