With Love From Ma Maguire Page 7

  ‘I’m coming down with something. You’ll have to hang on to him, Edie. I don’t want him getting it too.’

  ‘Keep him overnight, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. You know I’d do the same if it was Molly.’

  Edie brought her lips together tightly before she said anything. The lad was past dealing with some days and this was one of them. Seven months old and he carried on like the blinking Kaiser if he didn’t get his own road all the while. ‘Can I do anything for you, lass?’ Aye, she did look a bit poorly, did Philly.

  ‘Keep away, please! If it’s what I think, you mind those babies till I’m over it and the house fumigated.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘And don’t swear, Edie.’ Philly steadied herself against the cart. ‘Get Arthur to shove this into the yard later on. I’m well past meself. If I bang on the wall, get the doctor.’

  ‘I’ll get him whether or not. Go in that house this minute, Philly Maguire.’

  She staggered up the stairs, gripping tightly on to the castiron rail. Her head swam as if she were drunk, while all four limbs felt as if they were weighted with lead. Incapable of removing her clothes, she fell on to the bed and drifted into a tormented sleep.

  As soon as Arthur came in, Edie ran from the scullery to greet him. ‘Were it a bad day, lad? Well, it’s not over, ’cos Philly’s been took badly. You’d best get down for the doctor . . . What’s matter, love?’

  His head drooped as he fell into a chair. He took a deep shuddering breath before looking up at her. ‘It’s Bob – you remember Bob Hawkins, him as come round with his Missus when I’d no work?’

  ‘That’s right. He made a collection, didn’t he? Gave us a few coppers every week till your arm got right.’

  ‘Aye, that’s him. Well, he’d six childer up to last Sunday, four lads and two girls, a bonny lot too. By this morning, he’d got one left and that’s poorly.’

  A hand flew to her mouth. ‘Dear God! Whatever is it? Scarlet fever?’

  ‘Nay, lass.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘That doesn’t kill many, just leaves them deaf and with weak insides. No, it’s the other.’ He almost choked as he whispered, ‘They’re saying it’s the dip again, Edie.’

  ‘Diphtheria?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what most of the doctors are putting it down as. Anyroad, they’re falling like flies with it, streets of kiddies just wiped out.’

  ‘No!’ Patrick began to scream again and Edie looked anxiously at the two children on the rug. ‘What if . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t think on it, lass. Just keep her in the house till it’s all passed over.’

  ‘But we’ve Patrick too! She says I have to hang on to him while she’s ill. What if he’s got it? What if he gives it to our Molly?’

  ‘The Lord will look after us, Edie. He knows she’s too precious – aye and Patrick too. Anyroad, I’ll go and get the doctor for Missus next door.’

  After he had left, Edie fed the two babies on thin stew followed by rice pudding then breast-milk. It was not uncommon for one woman to feed both children if the other was busy. She examined the infants carefully. They looked well enough and were weaning early, so happen they’d find the strength to fight whatever this was. She bathed them and put them to bed, glancing from time to time at the slow-moving clock, wondering what was keeping Arthur so long.

  When at last he returned, his face was grimmer than ever.

  ‘Did you get the doctor? Where’ve you been all this while?’

  For answer, he threw his cap on to the table and rubbed a hand across coal-rimmed eyes.

  ‘What is it, Arthur?’

  ‘There is no doctor, lass.’

  ‘No doctor? Why, is he out on a call?’

  ‘Aye, you might say that, Edie. His last call.’

  ‘Arthur!’ She ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. ‘Not Dr Flynn! No!’

  ‘This morning. He’d been treating them, you see, so he caught it and passed away before dinner. I reckon Philly’s been near it too, lass, so we must prepare for whatever comes.’

  Edie burst into tears while her husband, whose own grief was not far from the surface, held her tight in his arms. ‘There’s nowt at all we can do, girl. I ran down St George’s Road to see if I could find the other feller, only he’d the shutters up. Happen he’s laying low and looking after his own.’

  She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with fear and panic. ‘What about Philly? We can’t just leave her, yet I daren’t go near in case I fetch summat home to the babies. Whatever shall I do?’

  He reached for her hand. ‘Make a brew while I think on. There must be a road round this . . .’

  Two hours later, after scouring the town for medical help, Arthur returned once more to his wife. ‘That’s it,’ he announced quietly. ‘The doctors are all out or not answering, then the hospital said they were full up, no more room for isolation cases. But there again, we mun look on the bright side – she might not have it, Edie. Happen it’s a chill or the scarlet fever. See, I’ll go in . . .’

  ‘No!’ Edie’s voice was fierce. ‘She wouldn’t want that, Arthur. She must have something bad, else she’d have been knocking on the wall or trying to get to see us. And if she’s poorly, then for Patrick’s sake and for our Molly, she’d never let us in.’

  ‘She might be too poorly to know who’s in and who’s out . . .’

  Edie shook her head determinedly. ‘We’re none of us going in there. You stop here, lad. I’m off to find the one person who will take this on for a few bob.’

  ‘Nay . . .’

  But she was already fastening the shawl about her head. ‘It’s our only chance, Arthur. And whatever happens, thanks for trying. You’re a good lad and I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  She was gone. Arthur washed himself down at the scullery slopstone then pushed his dried-up stew around the plate for a while. At about nine o’clock, Edie returned with a subdued and unusually sober Mother Blue in tow. After sending her husband upstairs, she dragged in the tin bath and ordered Mother to get a good scrub. By this time, Philly had been alone next door for many hours and Edie was once more anxiously watching the clock. Fortunately, the two women were much of a size and within another few minutes, Mother Blue was dressed in Edie’s cast-offs.

  Edie sat her down by the fire. ‘Right. Remember what I told you. The food and your gin will be left on the doorstep every morning. If it’s nothing serious, you’ll likely be on your way in a day or two, but if she’s bad, then you have to promise to stay in there with her till it’s all over one way or the other. All right?’

  ‘And three guineas of her money at the finish?’

  ‘Four if she lives.’

  ‘Right, Missus.’ Mother Blue struggled to her feet. ‘No gin, love. Just bring me black beer while I’m working. Save me a couple of bottles of the good stuff for after.’

  Edie led the old lady to the door. ‘Aren’t you a-feared?’

  Mother Blue laughed, toothless gums glistening pink in the lamplight. ‘Me? I’ve seen more disease than you’ve had hot dinners, lass. Nay, I’m frightened of nowt, me. Mind you, Missus High and Mighty next door likely won’t want me in her house . . .’

  ‘That can’t be helped, Mother. We can’t find nobody else willing, so just do your best and we’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘And I’ll talk to you through the bedroom window at eight o’clock in the morning. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  When the old woman had left, Edie burned the filthy rags of clothing, allowing herself a sad smile as a picture flashed across her mind, a vivid memory of Mother Blue in the bath with her bonnet still firmly in place. Anybody who’d keep the blinking hat on in the bath must be well away with the fairies and no mistake. Still, the old besom was their only chance, so there hadn’t really been any other alternative, had there? Though God alone knew what Philly would say when all this was over! She called Arthur down for his cocoa and toast. They sat on opposite s
ides of the fire, both exhausted by the day’s happenings.

  ‘I hope the lass makes it,’ said Arthur, his voice edged with sadness.

  ‘Aye well, we’ll know if and when she’s on the mend. I reckon this house’ll fall down when Philly sees Mother Blue. She’ll go bloody mad!’

  ‘Don’t swear, Edie.’

  ‘Sorry, love. But them two together – can you imagine? Mind, there were nowt else for it.’ She sighed as she gazed into the fire. ‘Say a prayer for our Molly, lad.’

  ‘I will. And for Patrick too.’

  ‘That’s right. Let’s not forget Patrick.’ She dropped her voice. ‘As if we ever could.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, love. Just say one for all of us.’

  She was choking, choking to death. Someone had rolled her over to the edge of the bed and left her hanging there face down with her mouth drooling on to the floor. Now she was lifted, heaved about like a sack of coal, pushed and pummelled past endurance. ‘Breathe, you bitch,’ whispered a female voice. ‘Don’t you dare bloody die on me, else I’ll kill you!’

  That, thought Philly, was a ridiculous thing to say. Then the owner of the voice was on top of her, straddling her body and hissing in sinister tone, ‘Open your gob, Missus. Go on, open it.’ Philly continued to drift in and out of consciousness until a sharp jab in the stomach made her mouth open involuntarily. Inflamed and swollen throat membranes were suddenly assaulted further when a foreign object entered her mouth, something smooth and long. Dear God! Somebody was pushing a snake down her throat! With a painful sigh she absented herself, put herself away where she was not reachable.

  Mother Blue smiled at her small triumph. It hadn’t been easy to work out how to feed this one, because the throat was near closed, but a bit of narrow and well-greased rubber tubing had done the trick something lovely. Mind, it was a bit dicey, was that. The only way of knowing that the tube was in the stomach was to check that the patient hadn’t gone purple. But she hadn’t, so all was well enough up to now.

  She took a funnel and inserted it into the end of the tube, then poured milk and beaten raw egg into this receptacle. It was a slow process, but the law of gravity had its inevitable way in the end, leaving Mother with an empty jug and a smile of victory. That was a beginning now. After six days of no food and little water, the battle had looked to be lost. She would leave the tube in, drip a bit of nourishment down every hour or so.

  It wasn’t a bad life. A bit on the boring side with nobody to talk to, but plenty to eat laid on every morning by her next door, a nice full coal hole to provide fires in kitchen and bedroom, then a couple of pints of dark beer thrown in on top. Mind, as soon as this one popped her clogs, there’d be none of that. Which was why Mother had willed the young dragon to stay alive. At least, that was the idea in the first place, only now she’d gone and let herself get fond of the great lump of a girl. By God, she had some spirit, right enough. And she was a bonny-looking lass even with all the flesh gone off her – took some lifting even if she had lost weight. Happen she must have been made with a heavy skeleton, because she looked about as healthy as something left in the ashpit for a fortnight. Aye, it was all bone now – without the tube, there’d have been no better than a dog’s chance. There again, this was Mother Blue’s opportunity to prove herself once more, let everybody know that she could still do the job. The whole street was waiting to see if the famous Ma Maguire would stay alive with Old Blue in charge. Well, it was touch and go, but it wouldn’t be for want of trying.

  She poured a bit more milk down the tube, then went to the window. Edie Dobson was waiting as always, hanging halfway out of the next door bedroom. Reports were due every hour on the hour now – and there was usually quite an audience gathered in the street.

  ‘I got the tube down,’ she announced to Edie and those assembled below. ‘She’s had raw egg and plenty of milk, so she’ll come to no harm. How’s her lad?’

  Edie grimaced. ‘Depends what you mean. He’s healthy and horrible, I suppose.’ The neighbours chuckled. ‘Nay, I shouldn’t be saying things like that with his mother so poorly,’ she continued, a blush of shame colouring her cheeks. ‘He’s all she’s got, poor soul.’

  ‘Will she make it?’ asked Bessie Critchley anxiously. ‘Only she said you don’t do things right, said as how you made me ill . . .’

  ‘I’m doing me bloody best!’ snapped the old lady. ‘Anybody want to come up and see if they can do better? You’re more than welcome to have a go, Missus, changing the bed half a dozen times a day, boiling sheets in the middle of the night, shoving bloody pipes down her throat. Any volunteers?’ She paused, pretending to wait for an answer. ‘No, I thought as much.’ Then she slammed down the window, only to raise it again immediately. ‘Hey!’ she shouted to the next bedroom along the row.

  Edie poked her head out. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want some more eggs and a bit of brandy. And I fancy a nice lamb chop for me tea tomorrow.’ Down went the window again and everyone dispersed until a further bulletin was due.

  Mother turned and faced the bed. ‘Eeh well,’ she remarked quietly. ‘Somebody been rattling the bars of your cage, eh? How long have you been awake? What’s matter, nowt to say? Oh, I see. Some bad bugger’s shoved a lump of rubber in your gob, what a bloody shame about that. Have I to fetch the animal doctor and have you seen to? Only it’d have to be him, ’cos the real doctors are a bit thin on the ground with this here epidemic. Nay, if I didn’t know different, I’d swear them Irish eyes are laughing at me. Cheeky bugger! Listening to me at the window, were you? Anyroad, the lad’s all right. No! Don’t you be pulling that there pipe out! It’s all as is keeping you going and don’t forget it. I know it’s a bit hard to breathe – that’s why I’ve got this pan of water on the fire with some of your balsam in. Stinks like the flaming farrier’s when he’s had all the brewery horses in. That’s right, queen. You go off back to sleep now. No need to fret, Mother’s here . . .’

  The days blended into one another, became a week, then a fortnight. After the tube was removed and normal – if somewhat soft – feeding had resumed, Philly found herself still at the complete mercy of this little old woman, because her own chief weapon seemed to have been mislaid. Although her lips moved to frame words, nothing came from her voice box, so she was forced to listen instead to Mother’s endless tales.

  ‘I’m from Liverpool in the first place. Brought up by nuns, I was, miserable beggars too, the lot of them. Not that I know exactly where or when I was born, like. But I must have been just a young woman when I came here. Got carried away by a handsome Lancashire lad, you see. Only he got carried away to prison and I never saw him no more. Led a bad life, I have, no use pretending I’ve not. Went with men for money – there was nowt else to do then. Seems like a hundred years ago now. Lost me looks with the scarlet fever. And me hair too. Everybody else just shed their skin, ended up looking like boiled shrimp, but I had to go one better and finish up bald. So. Who wants a good time with a bald woman, eh? Anyroad, I took to midwifing and laying-out – did a bit in the mill too, cleaning up and that. Didn’t like it. And I’m past it all now, too old for any of it.’

  Philly smiled as broadly as she could manage. She was on the mend, but still needed rest and building-up. Was there no end to this lady’s tales? On and on she went, stories of men she’d known and loved, how much they’d loved her, how much they’d paid to prove it.

  ‘Am I getting on your nerves? Only it’s not often I have a silent audience what can hear me, like. The only time I’ve ever been on me own with a woman, she’s either been in labour or dead . . .’

  Philly fought a painful chuckle as Mother relived a dozen births and several excruciatingly funny layings-out. ‘No bloody door to straighten him out on – they’d even burned the netty door for firewood . . .’ And, ‘I’ve seen some ugly babies in me time, but this one made me wonder if the organ-grinder had lost his monkey . . .’

  The younger woman looked up at the c
eiling. Dear Lord, couldn’t somebody or something stop Mother Blue? If Philly didn’t laugh, she’d burst right here on the spot . . .

  ‘You’ve gone all purple again. Am I being funny then? We’re like that, Liverpool folk. We don’t even know when we’re being funny. Did I tell you about that one down Allinson Street? I swear to this day she poisoned him deliberate . . .’

  Philly swallowed as carefully as she could. With this old dear in the house, she had better improve quickly. Lying here and hearing all these hilarious tales, lying here a prisoner, not even able to laugh properly . . . Well, she would choke to death on a giggle if this carried on much longer!

  But it did carry on, endlessly, relentlessly . . . ‘You were disappearing in front of me eyes. As sure as sixpence, if you’d fell on the floor, you’d have shot straight between a crack in the boards and into the downstairs oven. So I gets this here tube what him next door fetched from the ironmonger’s . . .’

  Mother Blue lifted Philly high on to her pillows and placed a cup in her hands. ‘Put yourself outside of that beef tea. Take your time, we can always knit the odd blanket between swallows. And that lad of yours wants taking in hand, Missus. He’s led them next door a fine dance after you’ve ruined him past mending. Start shoving him on his own, let him scream it out, do his lungs good. An idle little sod, he is, can’t even shift himself to try and crawl while some soft woman’ll pick him up. I’ve heard him through the walls, carrying on like destruction.’

  Philly sighed and struggled hard to swallow the hot liquid. The woman was right, of course. Patrick was a torment – hadn’t she listened to him herself these last days since she started picking up a bit? She must take a firmer stand with him in future.

  ‘Then there’s all them food parcels,’ continued Mother Blue with hardly a breath as she changed subject. ‘You’ve a mystery caller twice a week, leaves fruit and fancy tea on your step. Bloody tea tastes like scent, so I don’t bother with it meself, but I reckon it’s grand posh stuff like what the gentry has. Whoever brings that lot must come in the middle of the night, ’cos I’ve never seen nobody. Likely one of your customers with more money than brain. I’ll catch the bugger one of these days, tell them to fetch proper tea. Anyroad, I’ll give you a wash now, then you can settle for the night. You’ll happen manage without me for once, though God knows I’ve nowt to go home for . . .’