Forget-Me-Not Child Read online

  As soon as Phyllis had gone Angela went upstairs and pulled her case from the top of the wardrobe in the room she had been using and began to fill it with all the things she had brought with her all those weeks ago. She hadn’t quite finished when she heard Phyllis returning and she went out to greet her and was astounded to find she had brought the baby back with her.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They were full,’ Phyllis said. ‘Chock-a-block they said they were. Apparently with the war and everything, adoptions have dropped off quite a lot and they couldn’t squeeze in another child and certainly not a baby at the moment.’

  Angela glanced at the baby still slumbering peacefully in the basket and she looked so small and vulnerable and she had a sudden longing to hold her in her arms. She clenched her fists and held her arms stiffly at her sides to prevent herself from doing that and said, ‘Did they suggest anywhere else?’

  ‘The only place left,’ Phyllis said flatly. ‘The workhouse.’

  Angela gave a shiver for just the thought of that place struck terror into the hearts of all working-class people. ‘What if they are also full?’

  ‘They’re never full,’ Phyllis said. ‘I mean do you ever see any queue of people waiting to go inside?’

  ‘No,’ Angela said. ‘And the thought of leaving her in an orphanage is bad enough, though I know they do everything they can to find good, Catholic couples to adopt the babies and young children, but some people never come out of the workhouse. It’s rare for anyone to adopt a child from the workhouse. I’ve never heard of it happening. They might on the other hand send a girl of twelve or thirteen into service to labour from dawn to dusk twelve hours or more each and every day. You see the poor scrawny and exhausted young girls at the shops sometimes and they look as if they’ve never had a decent meal in the whole of their lives. How could I subject this poor little helpless baby to that?’

  ‘Everything you say is right,’ Phyllis said. ‘The baby stands little chance of being adopted from the workhouse. People have to be on their uppers before they seek help from the parish. Most children in the workhouse are not available for adoption anyway because they are not officially orphans. They are looked after so their mothers can work and not be too much of a drain on the parish coffers. And even though we know this and recognize it is not ideal, we are still not burdened with options or alternatives.’

  Angela knew that only too well and she nodded mutely and Phyllis, catching sight of her sorrowful face, felt very sorry for her. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I must get ready for eleven o’clock Mass. I’ll see to the baby first and she should sleep till I’m back.’

  Again Angela nodded and watched as Phyllis fed and changed the baby and laid her in the cradle by the fire where she would be nice and warm.

  ‘You should be all right now,’ she said as she prepared to leave herself. ‘I’ll be straight back. And after dinner when Maggie comes she might be able to think of something that hasn’t occurred to either of us.’ She didn’t believe it for a moment, but she wanted to take a little of that intense sadness from Angela’s face, let her hope a little longer. Angela grasped that thought like a life-line though, knowing how resourceful Maggie was.

  However soon she had more to think about, because Phyllis wouldn’t have got right to the end of the road when the baby began fidgeting and making the little mewling noises many babies make before waking up properly.

  Angela tried rocking the cradle with her foot, but the baby continued to whimper and then to wail. Angela’s breasts began to ache and she felt milk seep from her nipples in response to the baby’s distress and this was despite the tight binding cloth Sally had bound round Angela’s breasts to give her some ease until the milk had dried up.

  Angela had a sudden longing to put the baby to her breast, feel her tug at those swollen nipples and swallow the milk that should have been her birthright. But she resisted the temptation and anyway knew the child could not be hungry for she had just been fed and it must be wind causing her pain, and almost gingerly she picked her up, laid her against her shoulder and began to rock her gently while she rubbed her back.

  And as she did so, she felt the shell she’d put around her heart to try and prevent her from loving this child, shatter and break apart and she knew her love for this child, regardless of her conception, was as deep as the love she had for Connie and, had the circumstances been different, she would take her home without hesitation.

  However, the circumstances weren’t different and privately admitting her love for the baby did not change the situation one bit, except feeling as she did now, it would cause further heartache to walk away from her.

  When Phyllis returned from Mass she saw at once that Angela’s attitude towards the child had changed. She was still holding her for Angela hadn’t wanted to put her down, though any pain she’d had was eased and she had fallen into a deep sleep. Phyllis felt her heart constrict with pity for Angela. She had planned to get the child away to the orphanage before any bond was formed between them like she had done with Maggie’s mother all those years ago, but in this case it looked very much as if she was too late. ‘Oh, Angela,’ she cried. ‘You shouldn’t have touched her.’

  ‘I had to,’ Angela said in her own defence, ‘she was crying.’

  ‘And now you feel differently about her?’

  ‘Yes I do,’ Angela said. ‘And I can’t help how I feel, but I know it changes nothing.’

  ‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘it doesn’t and we can’t let it and that’s the pity of it.’

  When Maggie arrived, she was enchanted by the baby but she was careful not to go overboard, as she would usually, for these were not usual times and the future for the child was very uncertain. She was quite shocked that the orphanage was full and though she thought hard she could come up with no solution but the workhouse. ‘The only thing is,’ Maggie said, ‘I think if you just turn up with the baby in your arms they’d insist on taking you in as well.’

  ‘They couldn’t do that,’ Angela said. ‘Anyway I wouldn’t go.’

  ‘I don’t think you would have much of a choice,’ Phyllis said. ‘Maggie is right, they look after the child and put the woman to work to pay for their keep because you are living off the parish.’

  Angela glanced from one woman to the other in panic. ‘What shall I do then because I can’t do that?’

  ‘There is only one thing to be done,’ Phyllis said. ‘It is a terrible thing to do and I never ever thought I would be advocating it, but in the circumstances it is all I can think of and that is to leave her on the steps of the workhouse.’

  Both Angela and Maggie gasped and Angela said in horrified tones, ‘What a dreadful thing to even contemplate.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Phyllis. ‘Give me an alternative and I will gladly take it.’

  Angela could think of nothing, but she did say, ‘Are you sure they’d want me to go into that dreadful place as well?’

  ‘They might not if you tell them everything and I mean everything,’ Phyllis said. ‘And they may not believe you were attacked at all, as you didn’t report it to the police. What I’m saying is there would be a hue and cry and there would be no way to keep it secret and it’s almost certain one of your neighbours will get to hear of it and then you cannot really protect your husband from hearing about it either.’

  ‘Oh what am I to do?’ Angela cried. ‘Maggie what would you do if you were me?’

  Maggie took a deep breath and said, ‘Though it goes against my conscience and tears the heart out of me to say it, I believe to leave her on the workhouse steps is the only thing to do.’

  Phyllis gave a gasp at the anguish in Angela’s beautiful eyes. There were tear trails on her face too and Angela felt as if her heart was breaking as she said in a voice husky with distress, ‘That’s what must be done then.’

  ‘Not you,’ Phyllis said. ‘If you’re sure, I will take her.’

  ‘No,’ Angela said. ‘I will take her.’

  ‘
You are not fit,’ Phyllis protested. ‘You are just days from giving birth. By rights you should still be in your bed, never mind gallivanting all over the place.’

  ‘If this heinous thing has to be done, it must be me that does it,’ Angela said. ‘She is my daughter and this is the last service I can do for her. I will be able for it, don’t worry.’

  There was nothing further Phyllis could say, but she thought Angela looked very white and strained. She owned that the worry about what would happen to the child would undoubtedly have contributed to that strain and yet still Phyllis thought that she was doing too much and too soon.

  She knew Angela wanted to be back home as soon as possible for the sake of the young daughter she had been separated from for many weeks. She could quite understand her impatience to be back with her, especially as the child was only four and a firm believer in the powers of Santa, and when Maggie had asked her what she wanted Santa to bring her she said she was going to ask Santa to bring her Mammy back home, that was all she wanted.

  Such earnest and heartfelt words from such a young child brought tears to Phyllis’s eyes and Angela had been broken up completely, so Phyllis knew, come what may, Angela intended to make it home by Christmas Day.

  ‘It’s how to do it bothers me,’ Maggie said.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well you can’t just walk up to the main gates if you’re trying to get in unseen. Chances are they’d be locked anyway and there’s a high wall around the rest of it.’

  ‘Then how am I going to do it?’

  ‘It’s a problem all right,’ said Phyllis. ‘They have very high walls at the front, but maybe they are not as high all around. Only thing to do is reccy in daylight. I’ll go into the town tomorrow and take a look.’

  ‘Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,’ Angela said quietly.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well what if I can’t find a way in tomorrow?’

  ‘Angela, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Phyllis advised. ‘And in the meantime, pray hard tonight before you sleep.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Phyllis was in a more positive mood when she arrived home from town the following morning. She was a little disconcerted though to see the baby in Angela’s arms, especially as she had said to Angela before she went that she had already changed her and given her a bottle of milk as well.

  ‘Angela,’ Phyllis said warningly, ‘you are only making it harder for yourself.’

  Angela tossed her head and said, ‘D’you know, I don’t much care how hard it is for me, because I deserve it to be hard. I can see from your face you have good news as regards getting into the workhouse grounds so these memories will have to last a lifetime.’

  ‘Oh Angela, I feel sorry for you and I wish there was a better outcome for both you and the child, but it isn’t your fault.’

  ‘Up until now it hasn’t been my fault, I agree,’ Angela said. ‘But getting rid of my child will be my fault, because it will be my decision and it’s wrong and quite possibly a sin.’

  ‘And the alternative is?’

  ‘That’s the devil of it, Phyllis,’ Angela admitted. ‘There isn’t one, but I’ll never forgive myself for what I am forced to do this night, not till the end of my days.’ She glanced at Phyllis and said, ‘You’ve found a way in haven’t you?’

  Phyllis nodded. ‘In Whittal Street,’ she said, ‘the road that runs alongside the workhouse down to St Chad’s.’ Angela nodded and Phyllis went on, ‘Part of the way down that road there’s an entry and at the bottom of the entry is a gate. It was fastened in some way though I couldn’t take too much of a look at it in case I was spotted. But even if you couldn’t open it, you could climb over it and lift the basket over because it isn’t a big gate. From what I could see it leads on to the place where a load of bins are stored at the side of the house. If you go after dark, and that’s four o’clock these winter days, you should get in without being seen. It’s important that you get away as soon as the door is opened because they might search for you and might work out how you got in, so get out as soon as you can and make for St Chad’s, for it’s unlikely that they’ll think of you making for a church, so you’ll probably be safe there. And if there is a hue and cry, and there might well be, wait until it has died down before you make your way home.’

  Angela knew that Phyllis spoke sense. The workhouse, she imagined, would take a very dim view of people dumping children on their steps and if she lingered in the yard and they gave chase she could be caught and that would never do.

  Never had a day seemed to drag like that one and while one part of her wanted to get the dreadful thing she had to do over and done with, another part of her wanted to hold back time, for after that day she would never again see the child she had given birth to, who was already entwined into her heart.

  Eventually the sky began to darken and Angela gave the last bottle she would ever give to the child and then changed her. They had planned this with care for the December day was raw. The basket was padded out with a soft, woollen blanket and she was dressed in a little vest and a winceyette nightdress and a thick woollen matinee jacket. She had bootees on her feet and mittens on her hands and a bonnet covering the black down on her head. More blankets covered her and Phyllis had even cut a piece of thin rubber that she had bought at the Bull Ring to go on top because she said, ‘Even if it isn’t actually raining the nights could very damp.’

  Then Angela was ready in the hall with her small case in one hand and the basket with its precious load in the other. She was very pale and her stomach growled for she hadn’t been able to eat all day through nerves and she was feeling light-headed. But when Phyllis said, ‘Are you sure you are well enough to do this?’ she answered her heartily enough, that she was.

  And then she said to Phyllis, ‘There are no words to thank you enough for what you have done for me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t agreed to help me. I know the outcome would have been totally different.’

  Phyllis shrugged. ‘You have been dealt one bad hand in life and yours might have been ruined, though you had done nothing wrong. So bless you my dear. Let’s hope and pray your young man comes home safe from this unholy war and you are able to settle down in peace and raise your daughter.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Angela cried. ‘Please God.’

  ‘Please God indeed,’ Phyllis said and though she wasn’t a demonstrative woman generally, she put her arms around Angela and held her tight for a few moments. She knew she would miss Angela because she was good company and she was glad she had been able to help her and she said, ‘I do hope it goes all right for you this evening. Will you let me know?’

  ‘Of course,’ Angela said. ‘I intended doing that anyway. I’m not going straight back to work. I want to spend a few days with Connie and Mary.’

  ‘I should think you won’t be rushing back to work,’ Phyllis said. ‘You have just had a baby. You should be resting.’

  ‘Well it’s true, not much rest is to be had in a munition works,’ Angela said. ‘So I’m having a break, so I’ll come up and see you the day after Boxing Day. Connie’s nursery opens then and we’ll be able to talk more freely.’

  ‘Oh I shall look forward to that.’

  Suddenly at the door, Angela leant forward and kissed Phyllis’s cheek. Phyllis gave a little gasp and put a hand to her cheek which was reddening into a blush. Angela went into the night carrying a case in one hand and the basket over the other arm. She knew both would get heavier with every step she took, but she couldn’t risk taking a tram for no one must see her abroad with a newborn baby on a bleak December night.

  If there was a bit of commotion about a child left on the workhouse steps and made the news, they might put two and two together.

  She continued to put one foot before the other while her aching arms began to throb with pain. She was taking the side roads to avoid meeting people and they were not that well lit, but now and again she would pass a hissing gasli
ght and the pool of light showed her the sleeping baby and her heart would constrict with love for the child she had to give away. She was immensely relieved that she didn’t have to go far because the workhouse was this side of town.

  It was on a road called Steelhouse Lane, the road named because of the large police station across the road from the workhouse and Angela imagined there would be few people about in that area at night.

  She was right, there wasn’t a soul about. She passed the front of the workhouse and thought what a grim and forbidding building it was. It was large with many floors, built of pale brick but looking dark, unwelcoming.

  A high brick wall surrounded it apart from the firmly locked gates in the centre which led to a short gravel path and then three steps to the heavy solid studded door. It almost broke Angela’s heart to think of her daughter spending her first Christmas in that miserable place, especially as she knew it was just one of many Christmases she would spend there.

  Angela averted her eyes from the edifice and made her way to Whittal Street which ran down to the right side of the workhouse. At the end of that short road was St Chad’s, which was Birmingham’s Roman Catholic Cathedral, where she might run for sanctuary if she was pursued. The nearer she got to the place where she must relinquish her child the worse Angela felt. Her whole body felt heavy and cumbersome and there was an agonising pain in her heart and it was only the thought of soon seeing Connie that sustained her.

  She found the entry easily enough, but it was like a big black hole for there was no light at all and the darkness was intense. But she couldn’t dither on the pavement and so she went in, shuffling along uneven cobbles cautiously, hearing her heart thumping in her breast and her mouth suddenly so dry she had trouble swallowing.

  When she came to the gate she laid down the case in order to have one hand free to feel all over the gate and try and work out how it was fastened and eventually on the other side of the gate she felt bolts, one at the top and one further down and they didn’t seem to be held fast in any way, but they were stiff.