Farewell To The East End by Jennifer Worth Read Free Book Online Page A

to make a return visit within four hours. I had left to make my morning visits at 8.30, and Cynthia had remained behind to clean and sterilise her equipment and write up her notes before returning to the newly delivered mother and baby at 10 a.m.
    ‘What happened?’ I asked when I had recovered from the shock.
    ‘I went back to the house as usual,’ Cynthia explained. ‘I never thought anything would have happened. The door was open, and I went in. Everyone was crying. They said the baby was dead. I couldn’t believe them. I went and saw the baby. It was quite dead and cold.’
    ‘But how? Why?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know,’ she whispered and started crying again.
    ‘Look here, we’d better get back, but don’t try riding that bike. You’ll only fall off. I’ll push it for you.’
    We started walking along the pavement, with me pushing both bikes – a noble but futile gesture. Have you ever tried pushing two bikes along a pavement crowded with people and prams and children running around? Soon Cynthia’s tears were mixed with tears of laughter.
    ‘I’ll take mine, or you’ll do someone a nasty injury.’
    We walked along without speaking for a while. I didn’t know whether to ask more questions or to keep silent, but she said: ‘They’ve taken him away.’
    ‘Who? The doctors?’
    ‘No. The police.’
    ‘Police? Why? What for?’
    ‘Post-mortem examination. The parents didn’t want them to, but the police insisted, saying it was the law with a sudden, unexplained death.’ Her voice faltered and she started crying again.
    ‘I don’t know if I did anything wrong. I’ve been going over and over it in my mind. I did everything we were taught to do. The baby cried soon after birth. I cleared the airways. I cut the cord aseptically. All his limbs moved independently. His spine was straight, his breathing was normal, and the sucking reflex was there. He was a perfect baby, I thought. I don’t know why he died, or if I did something that might have caused his death.’
    She shuddered and could hardly walk straight. The front wheel of her bike hit a bus stop, and the handlebars twisted and poked into her chest, making her groan with pain. We straightened out her bike.
    ‘Of course you’ve done nothing wrong. You are the best of midwives. I just know it wasn’t your fault in any way.’
    ‘You can’t be sure,’ she whispered. ‘That’s why the police took him away.’
    We continued for a while in silence. I did not like to intrude on Cynthia’s thoughts but felt compelled to ask, ‘What did you do?’
    ‘Well, I tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it was hopeless. The baby was quite cold and stiff.’
    She was shaking, and her voice was barely audible above the noise of the street.
    ‘Let’s get off this main road into a quieter one,’ I said. ‘All this noise is getting on my nerves. Then you can tell me more.’
    We pushed our bikes round a corner and continued in a more peaceful environment. Children were playing in the street, women were scrubbing their doorsteps or shaking mats. Several greeted us.
    ‘I went down the street to the phone box,’ Cynthia continued, ‘and rang Nonnatus House and spoke to Sister Julienne. She came straight away. It was wonderfully reassuring to see her. She christened the baby, even though he was dead, and prayed with the family and me, and then she went to inform the doctor and the police. I had to remain in the house with the baby’s body.’
    She started crying again. I leaned over and squeezed her hand.
    ‘We didn’t have to wait long. The doctor came. He examined the little body and said he could see nothing to suggest the cause of death, but that a post mortem would be necessary before a death certificate could be issued. The family were terribly upset at this, saying they didn’t want to see their baby cut up, they just wanted him to have a quiet Christian burial.