Oh girl, what a dramatic arrival 60 years ago today

SIXTY years ago this morning I was in a right old panic.

The baby was in a hurry to be born, and we had nothing ready in our student flat.

The contractions coming at shorter intervals, I went out and called the midwife from a telephone box at the foot of Nottingham Castle.

Unlike the TV heroine, she declined to attend this drama. It was 6am and she wasn’t “due” for 10 days.

In desperation I rang the university medic, Dr Fisher. He was round with his black bag (yes, they really did have them in those days) in a jiffy.

Once we’d kicked our illicit lodger out of the spare room, and re-erected their bed in the kitchen (had to be in a room with a fire, you see), the Hope Drive maternity unit was up and running. Quite a lot of running around, I recall, and a fair bit of noise. Our little girl arrived while I was chatting to the doc over a cup of tea, discussing my books.

Dr Fisher did the business, then wrapped the post-natal gubbins in brown paper and told me to put it on the fire. Too much detail?

Welcome to the world, new daughter. She’s 60 today, and now the mum of two girls with two grand-daughters. Happy Birthday, Josephine! And many more of ‘em! Looking back, it seems like a different century. Indeed, it was.

That was the way it was. “You just got on with things,” says Mrs R.

Well, she didn’t really have much option. That came later, for her and women everywhere. And the good Dr F was there with the right advice.

I thought I’d share that bit of family history with you on a cold, dark January morning. Just like it was then.