animals do but I realized my baby wasn’t ready to come yet—or my body wasn’t ready to push—so I went with the wash of pain and let the moans bubble from my lips without restraint.
The hours seemed to pass slowly and painfully and I felt a sense of relief as the waters broke, washing down like a puddle, reminding me how I’d peed my pants when I was thirteen. Here I was at seventeen about to bring a child into an uncertain stormy world where nation killed nation and Michael was dead.
I began to cry with self-pity. What had I done to God to be treated like this I demanded in a loud voice. And then the door opened.
‘Jessie?’ My voice wavered as I lifted my head but it was George who came into the room, a huge stick in his hand. I thought he’d gone mad and wanted to kill me. Right now I didn’t care, I just wanted to be out of my pain.
‘
‘Damn the curtain, you’re obtuse as ever George, can’t you see I’m about to have a baby!’ I moaned again, ‘Can you help me?’ I asked more humbly.
George dropped the stick and washed his hands; at least his awful mother had taught him to be clean. He came to the edge of the sofa and undid my skirt. ‘Your knickers are sopping wet, you haven’t got a clue about birthing a baby have you, a cow about to calf got more sense than you.’
I felt a growl begin in my throat. ‘I think I want to push,’ I managed. The feeling of burning was almost a relief from the contractions that seemed to tear me apart. ‘George, I’m scared.’
He grinned and winked at me. ‘Think yourself to be a young healthy animal and remember I’ve delivered more beasts than you can count, so just stay calm and we’ll be alright.’
George was gentle, his capable hands guiding my baby into the world with unerring skill and assurance. ‘You’re not as easy as a cow,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to cut the cord. Why can’t you be an animal and bite it with your teeth?’
He did the job without any trouble and then put the baby on my already full breasts. ‘You’ve got a son,’ he said, ‘he’s got a big, strong you-know-what; his father, whoever he is,’ he said, under his breath, ‘would be very proud.’
I hugged my boy, who looked like an unfurled petal and felt his pleasing weight against me. I was crying again as George carried on with the business of the rest of the birth. Then he gently washed me, found me a clean blanket, wrapped me in it and took my boy out of my reluctant arms.
I watched as he washed my son with infinite care, wrapped him in a clean towel and put him back into my arms.
‘Thank you, George,’ I said gratefully.
‘Drink of brandy to wet the baby’s head and help you sleep.’ He boiled up some water, something he hadn’t done for the birth, and made me a syrup of brandy, sugar and hot water. I sipped it delicately—it was very strong on brandy.
George went upstairs. I heard him bang about a bit and then he returned with a drawer from one of the dressers. He had lined it with a pillow and some white sheets from Jessie’s cupboard. ‘The
I felt my eyelids begin to droop as George took my son and laid him carefully in the home-made crib. With George there I felt safe. I snuggled down thinking absently that this morning I was in a different country and then, weary, slept the sleep of the dead.
It was morning when I opened my eyes, alerted by the sound of the baby’s cry. I sat up remembering, frantic to go to my son but there was George bringing the boy to me, placing him in my arms.
‘Try to give the child suck,’ he said. I looked at him feeling dense.
‘Put your teat into his mouth!’ George was irritated.
‘I know what you mean, I just don’t know how to do it.’
He pulled aside my clothes and put the baby against my nipple. ‘Let him clamp on, he won’t get much milk yet but he will have goodness and comfort.’
Clamp was the word. The baby grasped my nipple in rosy lips and immediately began to suck. I winced.
‘If the beast’s teats get sore, I put Vaseline on them between times suckling the young ’uns,’ George said. He peered over the baby’s head. ‘You’re not doing bad for a townie,’ he said.
‘Townies have babies and… anyway, stop looking, I’m embarrassed.’
‘I don’t need to look at you,’ George said reasonably, ‘I’ve got a lovely wife in Vi, she’s good and loyal but I know in my heart she can’t stand it in the country. She wants to go home to Swansea and I want her to wait till the war is over.’ He laughed. ‘The old horse bit her arm a few weeks ago and Vi ran away screaming. The demented horse began to gallop and Vi was convinced the creature was after her. I don’t want her to go back to Swansea, I couldn’t bear it if I lost her.’
I thought hysterically about Mrs Dixon and longed to make some insulting comparison between her and the horse. I restrained myself.
‘George,’ I said softly, ‘the war is almost over, the British and the Americans are taking control, there are rumours that Herr Hitler is dead.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t really know what’s happening but look, perhaps it would help if Vi came to help me with the baby, stayed for a few days, perhaps that would lift her out of her gloom.’
George held my hand. ‘Thank you, Meryl. I once thought I loved you and I suppose I did in some boyish way but Violet is my blood, my bones, she’s part of me and I’m grateful to you for doing your best to help.’
‘And I’m grateful to you, more grateful than I can say. I don’t know what I’d have done without you, George.’
He turned red. ‘I’ll slip back home, bring some food and things and bring Violet, we’ll be together just like a family, at least for a while.’
When George had gone, the farmhouse seemed empty. I glanced down at my son and kissed his curly, wispy hair, red, like my sister’s. ‘You are going to be called Harry after your aunt and Michael after your daddy.’ My son opened his eyes and looked at me, and a smile, maybe wind, curled his mouth and I began to cry. Again. I began to realize that’s what babies and their mothers did: cry, a lot.
Seventy-Four
The war was over, officially, at last. Troops were still fighting in Burma but they would be home soon. The Japanese had surrendered after the huge bombs were dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima and I was a woman who was still a wife, not a widow as I’d believed for so long. My regret was that Herr Euler never could know his son and his grandson were alive and well.
When I visited Daddy in Swansea I learned that Michael was being held in Island Farm; he’d escaped and been recaptured and I had very little idea when he would be released. Hari and I didn’t speak.
As I trudged now across the grassland towards the prison, I hoped yet again to catch a glimpse of him. That’s all I could hope for, he was still a German prisoner of war and I’d be risking his life if I said anything different.
This time he was there. My heart leapt as I saw Michael looking at me from beyond the fence, a smile on his face.
‘Hello wife.’ He spoke in German and I understood it was his cover. If the truth was known about his background the other prisoners would lynch him. ‘How are you keeping?’ His tone was jocular, I still had no idea how he felt. I wanted to ask if he had made his choice between us, between me and my sister Hari, but we couldn’t talk intimately. Even as we stood looking at each other a British soldier came along and pointed a gun at Michael. ‘Move!’ he ordered.
‘We’re being sent back to Germany any day now.’ Michael spoke quickly. When I’m discharged I’ll come back and…’ He didn’t finish his sentence, the soldier jabbed him and moved him on giving me a filthy look.
I caught sight of Hari, her red hair flying in the wind, but I was too sick at heart to stop. I hurried away as if I hadn’t seen her. She was visiting my husband and I wondered if he had made her any promises.
