‘Let mum see the baby and look at the baby,’ I heard Mrs Tattersall’s raspy voice say. ‘If she doesn’t remark on the deformity herself, you need to refer to it gently, in a very nice manner, of course. “Unfortunately, your baby’s foot is a little deformed,” you should say. “But there are things you and he can use to help, and I’m sure he will cope well …”’
I cut the cord and delivered the placenta as Rosemary lay back, quiet with exhaustion. ‘Is she all right?’ she asked softly. ‘Can I see her?’
The baby was wrapped snugly in a blanket now. I lifted her over, letting Rosemary feast her eyes on her daughter’s beautiful face for a moment before I loosened the cover. The little girl cried when the air hit her bare chest. Her legs wriggled and she shot both arms up in a reflex action, just as a newborn should.
Rosemary’s eyes fell on her daughter’s arm, and I was very comforted by the fact I could still hear Mrs Tattersall guiding me.
‘Wh-wh-what’s happened to her hand?’ Rosemary asked slowly. ‘Is it my ff-fault?’ Tears were welling in her eyes. ‘W-w-what did I do wrong?’
‘You did absolutely nothing wrong at all,’ I replied, handing her the snuffling baby to cuddle. ‘It is just one of those things. I’m sure you must know other children who were born with little things not quite right. It happens, but I’m sure she’ll cope really well.’
‘Poor little soul,’ Rosemary said, giving the little girl a gentle kiss on the forehead.
I swear Mrs Tattersall dug her bony elbow into my rib at that precise moment, prompting me to add, ‘If you look, she’s got this little bud here in place of a thumb, which is good. It will help her to grip things.’ The words came out of my mouth, but they had been planted firmly in my head by Mrs Tattersall, and I silently thanked her.
When Rosemary indicated she was ready to see her husband, I asked Billy to step inside and meet his new baby daughter. I could see they were a solid, close couple and I would let Rosemary tell him the news in her own way and in her own good time. I would stay close by, busying myself with writing up the notes and tidying up, so as not to intrude but to be there if they needed me.
What happened next was incredibly heart-warming. Unbeknown to me, Billy had brought his ukulele into the maternity unit. It seemed he had planned all along to serenade his wife and new child, and this unfortunate turn of events had not dented his enthusiasm.
‘I would have waited a bit, you know, if things …’ he explained to me as he took the instrument slowly from its case. ‘But … can I?’
I nodded and made sure the door was shut behind us, and then I watched and listened, spellbound, as Billy gently strummed his ukulele and gave a brief rendition of ‘All You Need is Love.’
Rosemary rocked the baby in her arms and sobbed quietly before saying, ‘Come ’ere, ya soppy old devil!’
Billy put his arms around both his wife and new baby daughter, and I knew in that moment that what Mrs Tattersall had said to me many times was so true. ‘People cope, you’d be surprised Linda. There are always ways around things. It usually works out in the end.’ These were all typical Mrs Tattersall sayings, and how very right she was.
When I went home that night, I didn’t tell Graham a thing. I didn’t want him to start worrying about our own baby, and I didn’t feel the need to unload on him. I actually felt surprisingly at ease about the events of the day, and when I jotted down a few thoughts and feelings in my notebook, as I sometimes did, I realised why.
‘People keep asking me if being a midwife hasn’t put me off having babies of my own,’ I wrote as I sat on our bed at home. ‘I think it has the opposite effect. I can’t wait to have my baby! If being a midwife has taught me anything, it is that, come what may, babies bring a great deal of happiness.’
‘Billy Jean King beat Chris Evert 6–0, 7–5. Did you hear?’ Graham called up the stairs to me.
‘No, missed that,’ I replied. ‘Been a bit busy today.’
‘Not too busy, I hope?’ Graham asked protectively. ‘Not in your condition!’
I loved that he was looking out for me, but I reassured him that I was absolutely fine, and that I was perfectly capable of working through my pregnancy, especially at this early stage as I was still only just into my fourth month. Despite the trials of the day I knew I had done a good job and I felt sure Rosemary and Billy’s baby would thrive, having such inspiring parents.
Graham and I would be good parents, too, I knew it. We loved each other very much, and as Billy had made clear so very touchingly, love really is all you need.
‘I think I’ve eaten far too much turkey’
My pregnancy was progressing well. It was October 1973 and I was six months pregnant and feeling absolutely wonderful. Save for the fact I’d been issued with bigger uniforms that accommodated my growing bump but gaped unflatteringly around my bust, you would hardly have known I was pregnant. I had no morning sickness, never had any problems at my antenatal appointments and I felt fit and well. In fact, I felt so good that I decided to work right up until thirty-six weeks, even though I was entitled to stop at twenty-nine weeks, which was what the majority of women did at that time.
Graham and I had just moved into a semi-detached house on Four Lanes in Mottram. It cost £9,999 and was another step up the ladder for us. I loved my kitchen. It had a fashionable peninsular unit, small flowers inlaid into the design of the worktop and fluorescent lights, which were very trendy. On the worktop I even had an electric cake mixer, which was considered to be a very posh gadget at that time. We also had a central heating system fitted in the ceiling, no less, which was very modern (though not very efficient); we decorated every wall with the latest woodchip paper and, most important of all, we decided to splash out on brand new teak G-plan furniture.
‘Oh, you’re really somebody when you’ve got G-plan furniture!’ my brother John joked when he telephoned from his home in Vienna one night.
He was teasing, of course, but what he said actually rang true. We felt we’d really arrived, Graham and I, at least in our little corner of Ashton-under-Lyne.
My brother was still working very successfully as a journalist, and his wife Nevim was busy being a mum and learning French. Little Kerem was two years old by now and baby Tijen was five months old. We didn’t see a great deal of the family, as travel was expensive back then, but we always tried to keep in touch on the telephone and I’d always look forward to their occasional visits at Christmas.
I knew that our parents were very proud of the way John and I had turned out. With such a big age gap between us I had never really seen myself as an equal to John, not until now. The fact he was a full ten years older than me meant I had always looked up to him, but as I was about to become a parent myself, and I was now twenty-five years old, I no longer felt like the much younger little sister I always had been. I was as secure and settled and grown-up as him, and it was a good feeling to acknowledge.
Together, Graham and I turned one of our three bedrooms into a nursery in preparation for the baby, installing a beautiful white cot and a matching wardrobe and chest of drawers.
‘I don’t want you overdoing things,’ Graham said when I insisted on going up the ladder to help paint white emulsion over the woodchip, before adding an animal design frieze.
‘I’m fine!’ I said. ‘You know me, I like to be busy.’
‘That’s