Page 27 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

Would Gerald have to fight? She assumed so. He won’t like it. Gerald loved the uniform, and the drills, and parading about London getting eyed by everyone. He wouldn’t be so cocky when he found himself facing a German gun somewhere in Europe. She shuddered. He might die!

And that’s when she knew. Despite everything – despite the way he had hurt her – she still cared. And even though she had now realised he hadn’t been right for her, she was a long way from getting over him. Ferociously, she applied the brush to the next stair down, having by now gathered a satisfying amount of dirt. On reaching the bottom she shortened her grip on the long handle, carefully brushing it all onto a piece of cardboard kept for the purpose. After dumping the dirt into the bin she carefully stashed the card and brush in the corner of the living room. She would eat next, then do the floor after that.

Matty was still at the table, but Da and Maureen were long gone – away to the mill for six. But Matty had a big day today; he was starting with Áine’s Uncle Tom as an apprentice painter. Ma had wasted no time putting the feelers out, and Tom Kennedy was already looking for an apprentice; the timing was perfect.

‘You all right, Matty?’

‘Aye.’ He grimaced. ‘Hope I can do it all right.’

‘You’ll be grand. You’re smart, and you work hard. Tom knows that. That’s why he agreed to take you on.’

‘Ah, I dunno about that.’ His brow was creased.

‘I remember my first day on the midwifery course. I was terrified!’

‘What did they get you to do?’

‘It was all hygiene and cleaning to start with. I ended up doing better than some of the other girls; they were too fancy to clean up. I think they had servants, some of them.’

His eyes widened. ‘Servants! Jaysus!’

‘Aye. And some of them couldn’t cope with having to work hard.’ She paused, remembering those days. ‘I think the bosses liked us better – the ones that would just get on with it.’

He whistled softly. ‘Well I know all about hard work, that’s for sure and certain!’

‘So go in there ready to do whatever’s needed. And use your head – if something’s obvious, just do it. Bosses like that, so they do.’

‘Thanks, Maisie. I’ll try.’ His brow was still creased, but hopefully he would be all right.

‘When have you to go?’

‘I’ve to be at Dunville corner by half seven. Tom’s picking me up in the van.’ He ate the last of his soda, washing it down with a slurp of tea. ‘I better go.’

‘Here.’ Mammy handed him a small package, wrapped in wax paper. ‘Bit o’ soda for you to have while you’re there. You’ll be back for dinner at one?’

‘Tom said so, yeah.’ Bending, he kissed Mammy’s cheek. ‘Thanks, Mammy.’

Shrugging on his donkey jacket, he stuffed the wrapped soda in the pocket, then was gone.

‘Our Matty’s such a good lad,’ Maisie said, starting to clear the table. ‘He’ll do great with Tom Kennedy.’

‘He will, aye. And we can afford the loss of his mill wages because of the money you’re getting from the Royal. Two years of his apprenticeship, so don’t you get fired!’

Maisie laughed, even though she knew Mammy was deadly serious. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Mammy was eyeing her curiously. ‘What are they like? The people you work for?’

‘They’re mostly nice, from what I can tell so far.’ As they cleared up, Maisie thought about this. Peggy was nice, and Dan, and Alex . . . Matron and the sisters were scary, as was Midwife Brooks. But Dr Fenton was an arrogant get. Even thinking about his attitude towards most of the women made her blood boil.

That people could be nasty and horrible to one another was something she had always known. Before going to London, though, she had been less aware of it. Nastiness among millworkers was limited by the fact you worked non-stop, and the noise often limited horrible people to throwing dirty looks. Rows in her own family had been short-lived flare-ups – she and Moya used to pull each other’s hair when they annoyed each other. Mammy would then sort it out and force them to make friends. You weren’t allowed to huff for long in the Canavan house.

Once they’d all finished cleaning up after the breakfast, Maisie reached for her coat. She might as well go in early, as she was ready anyway. She had already worked out that it took only four minutes to cycle to the hospital from home, whereas walking took a good ten minutes. Well, today she was not short of time, so she fancied the walk.

Checking her cap was securely pinned, she picked up her bag and called a ‘Cheerio!’ to Mammy and Molly. Pulling the front door closed behind her, she stepped out into the cool September morning. It felt so right to be home. She had been born here, in the front bedroom of their wee house in Dunlewey Street. Here she had gone to school – St Vincent’s School for girls was only a few steps away – and down the bottom was Ross’s Mill on Odessa Street where her entire family had worked at one time or another.

Wrangling bed sheets from stubborn flax had been hard work – physically demanding, hot, and noisy. Mammy had escaped to become a mother, Maisie to become a midwife. Moya, Maisie knew, was counting down the days until she could quit the mill. She hadn’t fallen pregnant yet, and even though she’d only been married for less than two months, already she was beginning to worry. Maisie reassured her as best she could; there seemed to be no rhyme nor reason as to why some women had to wait for babies, while others got pregnant as soon as their husbands looked at them funny – or so they joked.

There had been no escape for Da, or Maureen, and there would be no escape for wee Molly. Soon she would become a half-timer – three days in school, three days in the mill. What a prospect. Only the rich had the luxury of staying at school full-time till they were sixteen. Some of them were so rich that they stayed on longer, even going to university.