Page 29 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Ach, I’m sorry, Maisie.’ She squeezed her arm. ‘Heartbreak, eh?’

‘Aye.’

They shared a sad smile, then parted.

As she made her way back to the clinic, Maisie’s thoughts were chaotic. What she hadn’t told Peggy was that Gerald hadn’t simply been some random lad. He had been upper-class, and Protestant, and was in the British Army. While there were many Irish Catholics who had fought in British wars over the centuries, recent events had put a lot of people off the notion.

The wounds from the Irish War of Independence were still raw, and here in the north it was the army who enforced control of the Catholic people, along with the police. Even now, years after partition and the setting up of this strange little state, army units patrolled Catholic areas, ignoring the sullen resentment of the locals. Those who knew they were Irish had the habit of rising up against the British invaders from time to time – and the last time that had happened, the Easter Rising of 1916, Britain had been distracted by its last war with Germany.

Memories of that war – the Great War – were also recent, the scars not yet healed. Some near neighbours of the Canavans had lost uncles at the Battle of the Somme. Apparently thousands of Irishmen had perished – including from the 16th Irish Division and the Royal Dublin Fusiliers. Their families rarely spoke of it, as joining the British Army was now frowned upon in Catholic communities. Well, why should Catholics fight alongside their oppressors?

This war felt a bit different, though. Scarier. Thon Hitler boy seemed like a madman, but he was dangerous and determined and was wildly popular in Germany. Maisie knew that there would be Irishmen so worried about him they would be tempted to join up, especially since the Irish Free State had declared neutrality.

And what if Gerald did end up in the thick of it? A pang went through her. She would not wish that. Since yesterday’s insight had come to her, she had been filled with rage at times about how cruelly Gerald had treated her. At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to wish him harm.

All British Army units, she had heard, were undergoing heightened training to prepare for whatever would happen next – either to be shipped off to fight, or to build defences in Britain in case the Nazis invaded. Nobody really thought that would ever happen, though. France was on the front line, and would bear the brunt of the fighting. Still, there were plans to evacuate children and build air raid shelters in Britain. Some were even talking about similar shelters in Belfast, which sent a shudder through her.

Refocusing on the present, she glanced at the wall clock as she entered the clinic, relieved to see it was only one minute to eight. A young couple were already seated in the chairs she had laid out shortly before, and her insides went cold for a second as she recognised Mrs Lennon. They’re early.

‘Good morning, Mrs Lennon,’ she said, with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Whatever this woman had decided, she would support her. I’m a midwife. That’s what we do.

‘Midwife Canavan! I hoped you’d be here.’ She looked pale and exhausted, and her hand trembled as she indicated the man by her side. ‘This is my husband, Danny.’

Mr Lennon had risen, and as she briefly shook his hand she recognised the expression in his eyes – a kind of bewilderment. God help them!

‘You’re good and early, Mrs Lennon. The doctor won’t be here until half eight, and you’re booked for theatre at nine.’

Her husband cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to speak to the doctor – ask a few questions, you know? My Teresa is awful annoyed about it all.’

‘I’m sure.’ Annoyed was the local way of saying upset. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘I had me breakfast.’ Mr Lennon nodded. He looked to his wife, but she seemed to be too upset to speak. ‘Teresa hasn’t had a bite.’

‘I feel sick. I couldn’t have ate if you paid me,’ Teresa managed. Fishing in her handbag she retrieved a clean white hanky, perfectly ironed. ‘I can’t cope with this!’

Other women were beginning to arrive for their appointments, some of them eyeing the Lennons with open curiosity. Maisie made a decision. ‘Come with me. You too, Mr Lennon.’

Leading them to one of the empty doctor rooms, she got them sitting, then made polite conversation. They were from a place called Derrybeg Cottages near Bessbrook, and had moved to Belfast for work. Both were millworkers, though Mrs Lennon had quit to be a mother.

‘See, what I don’t understand,’ said Mr Lennon abruptly, ‘is how this Dr Fenton can be so sure and certain that Teresa is a hundred per cent gonna die. Like, can they not do something for her if her scar gives way, Midwife Canavan?’

Exactly the right question. ‘Call me Maisie.’ She took a breath. ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Mr Lennon. But you be sure and ask Dr Fenton now, won’t you?’ Inwardly, Maisie’s stomach was churning. This woman was being bounced into ending a pregnancy against her wishes. She was first on the list, which meant that Dr Fenton would have the thing done by a quarter past nine.

‘The priest says if I do this I’m gonna burn in hell for all eternity.’ Mrs Lennon’s voice caught, and Maisie took her hand as a wave of shock and sympathy rippled through her. ‘He says it’s a mortal sin and can’t be forgiven.’

‘God, I’m so sorry. Father Wallis, was it?’

The woman confirmed it, and Maisie’s jaw tightened. ‘Aye, I thought it would be.’ Father Wallis loved the Old Testament stuff, his sermons loaded with themes of sin, retribution, and punishment. Mass was hard going these days – the man hadn’t an ounce of warmth or kindness in him. While there were some who loved Father Wallis’s uncompromising approach, Maisie suspected many parishioners, like her, couldn’t wait for the priests in the parish and diocese to be reshuffled again. Hopefully next time they’d get a nicer one in their wee bit of Belfast.

God, the situation looked hopeless! Was there anything she could do? Anything at all? As Mrs Lennon began to weep quietly, her husband put an arm around her.

‘I’ll give yous a minute.’

Quietly she slipped from the room, then, avoiding Sister’s office, left the clinic. She was acting on instinct, and couldn’t be sure if anything could even be done, but she had to try. And the only person she could think to ask for help was . . .

Moving as quickly as she could while technically not running, she made her way to the doctors’ mess on the top floor, running into Dr Marron. ‘Is Dr Lowe here?’

‘Aye, he’s in there.’ He pointed to one of the side rooms.