Read Online Who Was Angela Zendalic by Mary Cavanagh - Free Book Online Page B

suffer alone she forced herself to be controlled, and to breathe and pant through the heightened rise and fall of what were now gripping, closely timed contractions. No sooner had one ceased, another started, and her back became a locked block of agony. With all resolve collapsing she cried, she writhed, she called for Joseph, for her mother, for Ted, for anyone in the world to help her. Finally she prayed to God, that he would see her through the ordeal and the baby lived.
    The Irish nurse finally appeared again. ‘What a row you’re making. You’re nothing but a big baby yourself. Now up with your knees.’ She took a quick look with a bright angle poise lamp, looked Peggy in the eye, and whispered, ‘I can see the head. The black curly hair of a little pickaninny, to be sure. You stuck up bitches are all whores. Get yourself up and come with me.’ With the nurse not even offering her an arm to lean on she staggered into a small single room and was ordered to lie on the bed, flat on her back. Once again she was left alone.
    With the first, deep thrust of final stage labour all sense of control left her, and Peggy screamed. Another nurse bustled in, but this time she was a proper midwife in blue, wearing starched cap and cuffs. ‘Hello, Mrs Davidson,’ she said kindly. ‘I’m Sister James. Nearly there. It won’t be long now. Deep breaths – good girl – keep going – now, when I tell you, I want a really big hard push down.’ Peggy panted, she pushed, and she strained, her cries guttural and primeval, trying to will her body to release the baby. At last, with a sound of sloshing, and a muffled sneeze, the baby was born into the capable hands of the Sister. ‘A truly beautiful little girl, Mrs Davidson. Does she have a name yet?’
    â€˜Angela’, said Peggy. ‘Angela Josephine Fleur.’
    â€˜Well, she certainly looks like a little angel. Congratulations and well done.’
    Baby Angela was weighed as six pounds two ounces, wrapped in a tight white towel, and placed in her arms. So tiny, so dainty, but perfect in every way. Light coffee-coloured skin, a halo of silky black ringlets, and clearly with Joseph’s features; his high brow, his wide cheekbones, and the gentle curve of his chin. As dawn rose, and light flooded the room, the tiny little face was sheering her features with puzzlement, but then she seemed to make calm eye contact to confirm love at first sight between mother and daughter. All Peggy’s miseries evaporated and she closed her eyes. Joseph was with her in the room, sitting at the head of the bed in their shared joy. His lips kissing her cheek while his daughter’s strong, tiny fingers wrapped round his thumb.
    15th February 1954 – stop – Mrs Davidson delivered of a healthy girl – stop – mother and baby both doing well – stop

Early March 1954
St. Olave’s Home
    T ed carefully adjusted the baby in his large, clumsy arms, staring with an expression of benign tenderness. ‘Oh, Angela. What a little beauty you are. Thank God you’re not being shunted off to Barnardo’s. You’re coming home with us.’
    Peggy looked on proudly. ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she? And I thank God, I’m not going to lose her. I couldn’t be happier. All’s well what end’s well, as they say.’
    â€˜Too right. You should see the front room at No.55. Word’s got round and it’s full up with bags of knitted stuff, and shawls and bedding. And her room’s all ready as well – decorated by me and Stan. Pink wash on the walls, a brand new cot, and some lovely bits of oak furniture I picked up from old Wally’s on Walton Street.’
    Peggy, lost in her own gratitude for the future, smiled dreamily. Who could be more motherly than Edie? And Stan, too. So steady and kind, and had endless patience with Brenda. Angela was going to be really loved and