Wartime Friends, page 24
Over the following days, Beryl was fully occupied helping with the lambing and caring for her particular charge until it was old enough to be weaned.
‘You’ve done a grand job, lass,’ Frank said as they watched the healthy lamb frolicking in the field with the others. ‘It helps make up for the owd ewe we lost. This little lass can take her place.’ He paused a moment and then asked casually, ‘Did you have a name for her?’
Beryl hesitated for a moment before saying. ‘Yes, I called her Rosie after my – my little sister.’
There was a long silence between them before Frank asked softly, ‘Do you ever hear from any of your family?’
With tears in her eyes, Beryl shook her head. ‘No,’ she said hoarsely, ‘but then I don’t really expect to.’
Frank patted her shoulder and his voice was a little unsteady as he said, ‘Ne’er mind, love. We’re your family now.’
‘Now then, love. How’re things? Managing all right, are you?’
Eve opened the back door and walked straight into the farmhouse kitchen.
Beryl straightened up from putting a pie in the range oven and turned to greet her visitor. She winced a little and rubbed her lower back.
Eve eyed her speculatively. ‘You’re getting big now, lass. How much longer have you to go?’
‘Only about a couple of weeks or so, I think. I’ve just made a pie out of a chicken Mr Frank killed.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m getting more used to farming ways, but I can’t bring myself to do that yet.’
‘Best not, then,’ Eve laughed. She put a basket on the table and began to unload it. ‘I’ve brought you some apples from our orchard picked last autumn and bottled by my own fair hands. You can make pies, or crumbles, or even just stewed apples and custard.’
‘I can make custard now. Phyllis told me how.’
Eve’s eyebrows rose. ‘You two getting along better now, are you?’
Beryl smiled. ‘A bit. We keep out of each other’s way most of the time, but I catch her watching me sometimes and if looks could kill . . . Let’s just say I’d be feeling a bit poorly.’
‘Mm,’ Eve said thoughtfully. ‘So, your cooking and baking’s coming along nicely, is it, despite all the rationing?’
‘I keep trying to learn new things.’
‘There’s a little trick I’ve discovered on how to save on our precious rations,’ Eve said as she watched Beryl prepare to roll out pastry. ‘If you’re interested.’
‘Of course, Aunty Eve. I’m always willing to learn.’
‘Yes, I have noticed,’ Eve murmured. She was becoming very fond of this city girl who was trying so very hard to fit in with what must be, to her, strange surroundings. ‘When you cook mince,’ Eve went on, ‘let it cool and then skim off the fat from the top and use it to make pastry for a pie. A savoury pie is best. It’s nice with a leek and potato pie. I’ve tried it and there were no complaints.’
Beryl smiled to herself. She doubted anyone in Eve’s household would dare to complain about her cooking, not even her husband.
‘Thanks, I’ll try that.’
‘Erm . . .’ For a brief moment Eve seemed strangely reticent. ‘Do you mind if I say something?’
Beryl smiled at her with the kind of full, wide smile she hadn’t felt much like displaying lately. ‘From you, Aunty Eve, I don’t mind anything.’
‘Well, I’m a dab hand with my sewing machine,’ Eve said, carefully leading up to what she wanted to say.
‘That’s good with all this “make do and mend” advice. I’m not bad with a darning needle, but I’ve never had a chance to learn how to use a sewing machine. Sorry – I’m interrupting. Go on.’
‘I can’t help noticing that you don’t have many clothes. That dress you’ve got on has seen better days.’ Eve couldn’t help her usual bluntness coming out.
Beryl pulled a face, but she was still smiling. ‘No, I haven’t got many and most I can barely get into now. I bought one or two things in . . .’ She stopped. She really shouldn’t say where. ‘In the nearest town to where we were, but other than that, no. I only had my uniform.’
Eve’s face lit up. ‘Then I can help you. I love dressmaking and sewing. And knitting, if it comes to that. It’s my hobby.’
Now Beryl laughed out loud. ‘You mean to tell me you have time for a hobby with everything else you have to do?’
‘I make time, Beryl. Whatever else you do in life, love, always make sure you take some time out for yourself – for hobbies or interests or whatever. And my hobby just happens to be doing something useful as well, especially in these times.’
‘But I’d need to get some material.’
Eve’s smile now widened into a positive beam. ‘Because I’ve done dressmaking for years, I have a contact on the markets – Deirdre. She knows exactly the sort of thing I like and always saves me fabrics for when she comes to our town.’ Eve winked at Beryl and tapped the side of her nose. ‘And she does me a special discount in exchange for a few eggs. Tell you what, come across to our place when you’ve time and I’ll take your measurements.’ Then she chuckled. ‘Though your waist won’t be exactly right at the moment, will it? I’ll make you a couple of blouses and a wrap-around skirt for now and, once you’ve had the baby, I’ll make you some dresses and skirts and knit you a jumper or two. I’m sure Deirdre will be able to find something you’ll like. And she sells wool too.’
Tears prickled at the back of Beryl’s eyelids. ‘Thank you, Aunty Eve. That would be wonderful.’
Eve sat and talked a while longer with Beryl but as she left she saw Frank coming out of the tractor shed, wiping his hands on an oily rag.
‘Morning, Dad,’ she called cheerily and walked towards him. She had always called her father-in-law ‘Dad’. Her own parents were both dead and he had been as good to her as any father.
‘Hello, love. What brings you here?’
‘I’ve brought some bottled apples for Beryl to use.’
‘She’s getting quite a dab hand in the kitchen and she seems to enjoy it.’
Eve moved closer. She didn’t want to be overheard and she wasn’t sure if Phyllis was here this morning or not. ‘Dad, will you promise me something?’
‘I will if I can, love.’
‘Beryl’s getting quite close now and I want you to fetch me when she starts in labour.’
‘Even if it’s in the middle of the night?’
‘Yes, even then.’
‘Shouldn’t I ring the midwife first?’
‘Yes, of course, but then come and fetch me.’
‘But that’d mean leaving her on her own.’
‘We’re only a few minutes away in your truck.’
‘That’s true. I’ll mek sure I’ve always got plenty of petrol in it.’
The two smiled at each other. ‘Poor lass,’ Frank murmured. ‘No mother around to be with her.’
‘That’s exactly why I want you to fetch me. I like the girl. She’s not a bad lass, even though some around here seem to think she is. She made a mistake, that’s all.’ Eve paused and then asked, ‘Is she going to keep it?’
Frank frowned. ‘At the moment she says she’s going to have it adopted, but I’m rather hoping that once she holds the little mite in her arms . . .’
‘That’s exactly what I’m hoping, Dad.’
Over the next week or two, Beryl visited Eve regularly. Soon, in the wardrobe in her bedroom, there hung three new cotton blouses, a skirt and a tailored jacket.
‘I’ll make more when you’re back to your normal size.’
‘Oh Eve, you’re so clever. I wish I could do something useful like this.’
‘Can you knit?’
‘Sort of. I’m not very good.’
‘Then you can borrow some knitting needles from me and some wool and practise. Start with a jacket for the baby. I’ve plenty of patterns. I’ll look out some easy ones. And if you get stuck, you know where I am.’
How kind everyone is, Beryl thought, as she walked home across the fields from a visit to Eve’s. She stopped suddenly, surprised at her own thoughts. Yes, she did think of Frank’s farm as ‘home’ now. But, she asked herself, as she moved on again slowly, was that wise? Was it safe to get too attached to living here?
Thirty-Seven
But the arrival of Beryl’s baby didn’t happen as Frank and Eve had hoped. It was a bright, fine day in early April and Beryl had been feeling a nagging pain in her lower back since she’d got up. After breakfast, Frank had set out early to give instructions to the two land army girls in one of the far fields. He would be gone for the rest of the day. And neither Harold nor Adam were in the yard. There was only Phyllis, who was just finishing up in the dairy before coming into the house for a cup of tea, then setting off home. Beryl would be alone for two or three hours until Frank returned.
They sat in awkward silence, while Phyllis drank her tea. As she rose to go, Beryl said tentatively, ‘Mrs Carter, could you call at Mr Harold’s on the way home, please? It’s on your way, isn’t it?’
‘Why?’ Phyllis asked sharply.
‘Just tell Aunty Eve . . .’ Beryl began, but whatever she had been going to say ended up with a cry as pain stabbed her groin. She clutched the edge of the table and bent over.
‘You’ve started, haven’t you?’
‘I – think so,’ Beryl gasped. The pain had receded now and she stood up.
‘There’s no need to trouble Mrs Atkinson,’ Phyllis said. ‘She’s enough on her hands with her own family and them two girls lodging with her. I can help you.’
‘Oh please, I . . .’
‘Get yourself up to your bedroom. And put a waterproof sheet on the bed. We don’t want Mr Frank’s mattress getting spoiled. And find some towels. I’ll get the kettle and a couple of pans of water on the go.’
Beryl heaved herself up the stairs to her bedroom. This was the last thing she wanted: Phyllis standing over her while she gave birth. If only she could get word to Eve or even if Mr Frank would come home. But there was no way either was going to happen.
She did as Phyllis had instructed. Then she undressed and put on her nightdress and dressing gown. Despite the warmth of the day she was shivering – more, she thought, from fear than cold. She didn’t want to lie on the bed yet, so she walked around the room, pausing at the window, longing to hear the sound of the farm truck returning. But the yard was silent. How she wished Eve was on the telephone, but only Frank was. Then another thought struck her. She fished in her handbag and found the scrap of paper she’d been given at the doctor’s surgery. It was the number of a local midwife. Pushing her feet into her slippers, she went back downstairs and into the kitchen where the telephone sat on a dresser.
‘What are you doing? You ought to be lying down.’
‘I’m just going to ring the midwife . . .’
‘You’ll do no such thing. Midwives costs money. Mr Frank has spent enough on you already. Giving birth is a natural thing. There’s no need for anyone else to be here.’
‘Oh please, Mrs Carter . . .’
‘I’ve had a baby myself. I know what happens. Just do as I say.’
‘But what if – what if something goes wrong?’
As another pain gripped her, Beryl didn’t see the gleam in the other woman’s eyes, but all Phyllis said was, ‘You’ll be fine. You’re a strong, healthy lass. Just go and lie on your bed and try to relax. You can’t fight the pain – it makes it worse. Just go with it.’
Beryl hauled herself back upstairs and lay on the bed. She breathed in and out deeply and tried to relax as Phyllis had told her, but doubt niggled at her. Was Phyllis actually giving her good advice?
The pains came at regular intervals, but there were several minutes between each one, when Beryl was able to lie quietly. But when the pain started, she couldn’t stop the groans. Why didn’t Phyllis come to check on her? As the afternoon light began to fade, Phyllis had still not come to see how she was. Had she gone home? Had she left her all alone in the house? She tried to get up off the bed, but another stab of pain made her flop back against the pillows and cry out. As the contraction eased, she called out, ‘Mrs Carter? Mrs Carter, are you there?’ But there was no reply from downstairs. And then she felt a wetness between her legs. Fear flooded through her. Oh no, she must be bleeding and she didn’t think that was right. There would be blood, of course, but when the baby came, not before.
Beryl began to cry and, as another pain swept through her, she cried out aloud, ‘Help, please help me.’
Alone in the kitchen, Phyllis heard her cries but merely smiled to herself. The slut was paying for her moments of pleasure now, wasn’t she? Maybe she’d behave herself in future. She hadn’t heard the truck come into the yard and didn’t realize that Frank was back until the back door opened. She had no time to scuttle upstairs and make out that she had been with Beryl all the time. Instead, she grabbed the kettle as if she were busy making preparations.
‘Oh Mr Frank . . .’ she began, but at that moment a loud scream from upstairs rent the air.
‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s her. She’s gone into labour . . .’
Almost before Phyllis had finished speaking, Frank was hurrying upstairs and flinging open the bedroom door.
‘Help me, please help me. I’m bleeding . . .’ Beryl cried, hysterical now.
Frank moved to the bedside and threw back the blanket Beryl had pulled over herself. Relief flooded his face. ‘It’s all right, lass. Yar waters have broken, that’s all. Yar not bleeding. Now, how often are the pains coming?’
Now that the solid presence of Frank was with her, Beryl calmed down a little. ‘It feels like all the time, but I – I suppose it’s still in waves, though they’re very close together now.’
‘I’ll telephone the midwife. You just try to relax, lass. I’ll be back in a minute . . .’
Beryl lay back and closed her eyes. She’d be all right now Frank was here. He wouldn’t leave her on her own. She heard distant voices and knew that Phyllis was still there. What a cruel, vindictive woman she was, Beryl thought as the pain subsided for a few moments and gave her temporary respite. How could any woman leave another in such distress? Phyllis had borne a child herself. She knew what the pain was like. How, she thought, had such a nasty woman given birth to such a nice young man as Peter? Another contraction began as Frank came back into the room.
‘Midwife won’t cycle right out here now it’s getting dark, so I’m going to fetch her in my truck. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘Mr Frank . . .’ Beryl gasped and reached for his hand. ‘Please – get Aunty Eve to come over.’
He looked into her eyes and read the fear there, guessed that things were not all that they should be between her and Phyllis. ‘I’ll call in on me way.’ He patted her hand. ‘Don’t fret, lass. I’ll get her.’
He hurried out of the house without another word to Phyllis. Once he’d gone, she just sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the newspaper again.
Frank drove the truck hard along the rutted lane towards Harold’s house. He left the engine running as he hurried up the path and banged on the door. Adam opened it. ‘Come in, Grandad. What’s to do?’
‘Is yar mam here?’
‘Yes, of course . . .’
Frank raised his voice. ‘Eve – Eve?’
Eve appeared from the scullery drying her hands on a towel. ‘Hello, Dad, what’s the matter?’
‘It’s Beryl. She’s in labour and she’s close. Phyllis is there, but I don’t reckon she’s been helping her. Can you go across straight away? I’m going to fetch the midwife. I’ve telephoned her, but she won’t come out here now because it’ll likely be dark before she can cycle home.’
‘Of course,’ Eve said at once, untying her apron. ‘I’ll go at once. I’ll cycle across. It’ll be quicker. You get off, Dad . . .’
Only ten minutes later, as Frank pushed the old truck to its speed limit towards town, Eve was letting herself in through the back door of the farmhouse. She moved deliberately quietly; she wanted to see just what was happening before anyone realized she was there. At once, she heard Beryl’s anguished howls echoing down from the bedroom. The door into the kitchen was ajar and she pushed it further open without making a sound. Phyllis was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper, acting as if she was oblivious to Beryl’s cries. Anger surged through Eve, but she forced herself to tiptoe back to the outer door, open it again and close it with a bang. This time she marched into the kitchen to see Phyllis lifting the kettle from the hob.
‘Just making the poor lass a cuppa, though I don’t expect she’ll want it,’ Phyllis said brightly.
‘How is she?’
‘Meking a lot of fuss, as you can hear, but it is her first time. Well, as far as we know,’ she added, snidely.
‘I’ll go up to her.’
‘Don’t you want a cuppa first?’
But Eve had gone, hurrying upstairs towards the shrieks of fear and pain. ‘I’m here, Beryl love. Everything’ll be all right. Mr Frank’s gone for the midwife.’
Beryl reached out with a trembling hand. ‘Oh Aunty Eve. Thank goodness. I’ve been on my own all the time and I’m terrified. I’m sure I’m bleeding . . . Aagh!’
‘Let’s have a look at you.’ Eve pulled back the blanket and laid her hand gently on the girl’s abdomen. She could feel the swell of the contractions coming close together now.
‘Everything’s fine, I’m sure. You’re not bleeding. It’s your waters, that’s all, and that’s perfectly normal. Baby won’t be long coming now.’
‘Mr Frank said that was what it was, but I can’t raise myself up enough to look.’
As the pain subsided for a brief moment, Beryl lay back against the pillows, her hair wet from the sweat beading her forehead and running down her temples into it.
‘I’m just going to get some warm water and a flannel to bathe your face.’
‘Don’t leave me, Aunty Eve. Please don’t go.’
‘I’m going nowhere, love, I promise you. Not until it’s all over.’
