The Pepper Girls Day 3

Nancy cooed to Mary Anne. “Daddy will be home soon,” she said, in an attempt to stop her daughter wriggling and wanting to explore everything with her tiny toddler fingers.

There was always so much to do, Nancy mused, as she looked around the cramped kitchen, the sideboard and table pushed together to make room for Mary Anne’s cot.

The birth of her daughter had been difficult, but Billy’s Catholic upbringing, despite the fact that he’d been excommunicated on marrying her, still meant that any form of birth control was out of the question.

She patted her swollen stomach. The thought of where they were going to fit another child into the tiny space, let alone find the money to feed another mouth filled her with dread.

Married life and having babies hadn’t been her idea of how life would be, but like the other women around her, it seemed to be her lot.

‘She’d made her bed, now she’d have to lie in it,’ was the stock answer to any complaint she voiced about the unfairness of it all and that, along with the directive that ‘hard work never killed anybody’ left her under no illusion that things were going to change any time soon, whether she liked it or not. This was definitely how life was always going to be.

Aroma of jute

The sound of her husband’s footsteps coming up the stairwell roused her into action. “C’mon Mary Anne,” she said, sweeping the child into her arms and depositing her in her cot. “Daddy’s home now, so be a good girl and let mammy get on with his tea.”

Billy Donnelly came into his home, bringing with him the overwhelming aroma of jute which clung to his clothes and hair.

For him too, life hadn’t worked out quite as he’d expected. He’d had dreams of travelling all over the Highlands and Islands and even working a small croft, far away from the industrial lowlands where he was rooted.

But getting Nancy pregnant had changed all that and now, with another mite on the way, any thoughts of going anywhere but to Cox’s Mill and back home again had been consigned to the dustbin.

“Good day?” he asked Nancy as he crossed the room to Mary Anne’s cot, tickling her under the chin and getting her agitated again.

“For goodness sake Billy, leave her alone,” Nancy chided, “she’s needing a sleep and I’ve the tea to get ready...”

She pushed past Billy impatiently and hushed the baby while Billy retreated to his chair by the hearth and threw some more coal on the fire to get a blaze going.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy muttered, glancing at her crestfallen husband, “it’s been a long day and this baby of yours has been moving like it’s wanting to be born right now, not in six weeks’ time.”

Billy hung his head, “I’m sorry too,” he said, indicating for her to sit down. “I’ve some news,” he began, “and it’s not good.”

Nancy sat down, folded her hands in her lap and waited. “The mill’s going on short-time from next week,” he said. “The work’s drying up and it’s either that or layoffs.”

Unfairness

Nancy felt her mouth go dry. “What does that mean for us?” she asked, now fearful of his reply.

“It means that I’ll only be working and getting paid for three days work a week.”

Nancy could feel the fear creeping through her entire body.

“Half-wages,” she whispered, “but we barely manage on full pay, Billy, and with a second baby on the way...” The reality of what she was saying silenced her.

“This isn’t my choice Nancy,“Billy told her, anger now beginning to build at the unfairness of their life, “but it’s all we’ve got, so let’s just get on with it.”

He picked up his recently discarded jacket. “I need to walk,” he said, heading for the door, “clear my mind. I’m sorry.” The door slammed.

Nancy had never felt so alone as the silence enveloped her, nor so helpless at their plight. That night she prayed fervently for help to arrive but the next day, the only thing that arrived were the beginnings of her labour pains.

Billy had come home late and gone to work early when the twinges she had felt during the night suddenly escalated.

Her ‘waters broke’ and a searing pain clamped around her womb. She staggered outside, barely able to stand, and hammered as loudly as she could on her neighbour’s door.

“Whit’s up,” came the bleary voice of Nan Duncan as she peered round the door, her hair in curlers and her flannel nightgown clasped at her chest. “The baby,” Nancy gasped, “it’s coming!” “Oh, my Goad!” Nan said, panic rising in her voice. “Rab,” she shouted into the kitchen, “get Dr Finlayson,” she ordered her husband, “Nancy’s bairn’s on the way.”

“C’mon,” she urged Nancy, “let’s get you to bed.” Slowly and painfully, the women returned to Nancy’s home.

Reassurance

“Rab’ll ha’e the doctor here soon,” she told Nancy, trying to bring reassurance into her voice, “jist haud on lassie.”

Dr Finlayson, a shrunken man carrying his black doctor’s bag, hurried in an hour later and took charge. “The baby’s crowning,” he stated, “it won’t be long now.”

The force of the baby’s push to be born was weak, but with Dr Finlayson’s encouragement, Nancy pushed with all her might, till she felt the squelch of her child slithering into the world.

The kitchen door banged open and Billy Donnelly rushed in.

“Nancy,” he called, hurrying to her side, “I didn’t know,” he whispered tearfully, “Rab came and got me. Why didn’t you say something?”

He looked at the tiny form barely moving and at the doctor. “Is everything alright,” he asked anxiously, “it wasn’t expected this soon.”

(More tomorrow.)

Married life and having babies hadn’t been her idea of how life would be, but like the other women around her, it seemed to be her lot

Sandra Savage