Page 72 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

24

June 1940

As she made her way to work one bright Friday morning in June, Maisie reflected how glad she was to be on days this week, for she and Alex would be working together today. Due to holidays, they had both been assigned to the morning clinic. Even better, there was an Orpheus dance tonight. Alex was on duty until seven, but had said he intended to change at the hospital then head straight over to the York Street ballroom.

As she walked towards the hospital it was hard to avoid the headlines in the early newspapers, for they screamed from every seller’s poster stand on every corner. The Germans had marched through Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg, and were expected to take Paris any day now.

Far from being nearly over, the war was becoming worse by the day. At work they now had regular meetings to discuss supplies, contingencies, and emergency plans. The range of food in the canteen had decreased, and Maisie had begun to see signs of hunger in some of the women she cared for. Unemployment in the west of the city had risen, as people had less money to pay for luxury items like damask tablecloths, and so many of the mills had reduced the hours for their workers. Some mills, though, were supporting the war effort and had shifted to manufacturing fabric for uniforms, tents, and what was being called Aero Linen – a fortified fabric used in military aircraft. Protestant communities were not suffering as much, for there were new jobs in the shipyards and the aircraft companies – well-paid jobs that didn’t go to Catholics.

And still the babies came. The staff at the Royal and on the district had noticed a new pattern – a small but noticeable spike in pregnant women who were young and unmarried. War babies they were, with their fathers away fighting – preventing the hasty weddings that would often take place in these situations. One young woman had reported she and her boyfriend were to be married by proxy – something Maisie had never heard of, but which seemed to involve each of them saying their vows before legal witnesses in entirely separate countries.

And so, when Miss Maggie-Ann Boyd, aged seventeen and heavily pregnant, appeared in the clinic accompanied by her disapproving mother, Maisie immediately wondered if this was another such case.

‘She’s up the stick, Doctor,’ the girl’s mother declared bluntly to Alex. She had insisted on accompanying her daughter into the clinic room. ‘Won’t tell me nahin’. Took me weeks to get her to come here. The GP wrote the letter to get us into the Royal for free cos she wouldn’t talk to him either, so she wouldn’t.’

‘I see. Hello, Maggie-Ann.’

‘Hello.’ Maggie-Ann was pale, her hands twisting a handkerchief in her lap, and her expression one of terror. Abruptly, Maisie was reminded of another woman – Mrs Lennon – someone who still appeared in her thoughts most days, much as she tried to rid herself of them. The situation was different, of course, but Maggie-Ann’s distress today was equally marked.

Alex was gently questioning the girl, who was giving short answers, her head bowed and her shoulders tense. No, she couldn’t remember when she last had a period. When he asked her how far on she thought she was, she stiffened and didn’t speak.

‘See?’ said her mother. She elbowed her daughter. ‘Tell the doctor, Maggie-Ann.’

This, Maisie knew was now putting Maggie-Ann under severe pressure. A doctor, her own mother, and a watching midwife . . . The girl opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Alex glanced at Maisie, and she allowed him to see she was troubled. He turned back to the women. ‘Mrs Boyd,’ he said decisively, ‘could I possibly speak with you privately? There’s an empty room next door.’ Immediately, Maisie knew what Alex was thinking.

Mrs Boyd’s eyes narrowed, and she threw a suspicious glance in Maisie’s direction. Maisie remained immobile, standing by the wall, her expression neutral. I am no threat, she was thinking hard towards Mrs Boyd.

‘All right.’ She huffed out of the room with Alex, and Maisie saw the girl exhale raggedly.

‘It’s all right, Maggie-Ann,’ she said gently. ‘I know Dr Lowe introduced me as Midwife Canavan, but my name’s Maisie. My whole family has names beginning with M, but we don’t have a Maggie-Ann. It’s a great name.’

‘I always liked it,’ said the girl. She shook her head then, agitation showing on her face. ‘My ma made me come here.’

‘Did you not want to come?’ Maisie slid into the chair recently vacated by Alex, hoping he could stall the mother for as long as possible.

‘No. I mean, I suppose I’ll need a doctor, but I—’ Her face crumpled. ‘I just want this not to be happening!’

Maisie gave her a handful of clean tissues. ‘It must be really hard. But I’m here to help you.’

‘I don’t wanna have a baby!’ It was almost a wail.

‘I know. It’s hard.’ Maisie took a breath. ‘Is there anyone who can support you? Your boyfriend?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ She put her head in her hands, her words muffled. ‘Oh this is a nightmare!’

‘What happened, Maggie-Ann?’ Maisie’s tone was gentle.

Maggie-Ann looked at her, as if considering whether it was safe to talk. Maisie held her breath and held the girl’s gaze, trying to signal compassion and care. I won’t judge you, she was thinking.

‘We . . .’ She took a breath. ‘We were all out for the New Year – me and my friends. There was these sailors from somewhere foreign. Good-luckin’ lads, you know? They were only here for a day or two.’

‘Aye.’ Maisie was forming a fair idea. ‘And you paired up with one of them?’

‘I did, aye. Marcus, he said his name was.’

‘And you did things with him?’ Maisie kept her tone gentle, but inwardly, she was confused. New Year was only six months ago. Maggie-Ann’s swollen abdomen suggested she was further on.