It soon became obvious that the underlying philosophy of the home was
that the women who ended up there deserved their fate. Deserved to be
punished. It was not a place of joy. But Maddie did her best to spread
cheerfulness among her fellow inmates. She’d taken to thinking of herself
and those around her as prisoners, because none of them had any real
freedom of choice. There were strict rules that had to be adhered to, and if
they weren’t, there were consequences.
One young mum-to-be had gone into the village without permission and
had been brought back in disgrace and confined to a separate room away
from all the others for a week. No company, no food. Maddie had smuggled
in bits of her own food to the poor girl but had been found out and had to
suffer a lecture from Matron about responsibility and Christian duty.
She’d thought it was her Christian duty to be kind and concerned for
those around you. But Miss Robertson’s ideas were different from
Maddie’s. Matron favoured the Old Testament values of fear, punishment,
retribution. Those were top of her list, which didn’t leave much room for
kindness. And the woman’s anger could indeed be biblical. She was also
very big on ‘atoning for your sins’ and took every chance she could to
remind her girls that they were sinners who needed to repent.
Maddie didn’t feel like a sinner. And she wasn’t a girl. She was a
woman. At twenty-three, she was one of the oldest there. Some of them
were just sad, confused children who had discovered their sexuality and
been taken advantage of. One fourteen-year-old had been raped by her
uncle. Where was the retribution for him?
Her determination not to be cowed into submission by Matron, and the
fierce midwife who had opened the door to her, made Maddie’s life more
complicated than some of the others in Rosemundy. Some were okay with
the place, were given an easier ride. Those who were prepared to turn up to
chapel every morning and tug their forelock. And attend all the patronising
lectures. But that wasn’t for Maddie. She didn’t want to be a hypocrite and
sometimes she made it worse for herself. She was not being awkward, or
arrogant, as they’d accused, only trying to keep her self-respect. But Sister
Bennett, the midwife, had taken an instant dislike to her. She had no idea
why. Jealousy, perhaps. For Maddie had stood on the doorstep in her ATS
uniform, towering above the small, rotund nurse, confident and unrepentant.
That was the first thing that had been stripped away from her. Her
uniform. It had been like losing a friend. It was taken away and, in its place,
she’d been given the uniform of the house: a dark brown, shapeless smock
with long sleeves and a white pinafore over the top, like a servant’s
uniform. It looked as if it came from another century. This was to be worn
for work and at meals and for walking out in the village, should permission
be given.
The new uniform got her into trouble. Unfairly. But then Maddie hadn’t
been expecting fairness. Showing too much leg! ‘A harlot,’ Sister Bennett
had called her. Most of the other mums and mothers-in-waiting were shorter
than her and their uniforms came to a respectful place in the middle of the
calf. More in keeping with the modesty that was expected. Maddie’s smock
came only as far as her knee. She’d let out as much of the hem as possible,
but it still wasn’t satisfactory.
Nothing she did would ever be satisfactory for the hard-nosed midwife.
Even so, Maddie set about her work every morning in a cheerful,
uncomplaining frame of mind, willing to take on the back-breaking work in
the laundry.
The laundry was far away from the main house, in a small outbuilding,
its antiquated equipment – including the heavy mangle and ancient copper
heated by a fire underneath –dealing with the immense amount of dirty
washing. It also held a huge concrete laundry sink, twice the length of a
Belfast and even deeper, with a massive draining board. Someone shorter
than Maddie would have trouble reaching to the bottom of that beast of a
sink.
She lit the fire under the boiler at night, soaked the sheets soiled with
childbirth and the nappies in the copper, rinsed them over and over again,
battling with the heavy linen. Put them through the mangle, hung them out
on the rows of lines in the garden if the weather was fine, or wrestled with
the pulleys in the laundry’s porch, filling the wooden racks with wet
washing and pulling them high up to the ceiling. A job that made the
muscles in her arms ache for days.
Some thought that working in the laundry was drudgery, a thankless
task. But Maddie was happy there. By herself. Away from everyone. And it
was satisfying seeing all those fresh, clean clothes flapping in the breeze.
She didn’t even mind the mounds of ironing with the old flat iron. And
when she came to the end of it, she felt proud of the tall piles of clean,
freshly ironed sheets surrounding her. She’d even found herself humming a
tune. One of Molly’s favourites.
When Sister Bennett overheard it, she’d immediately reported Maddie
to the matron. And her duties in the laundry room had been curtailed. She’d
been switched to floor cleaning. The flagstones were brutes to scrub and
after hours of it, Maddie had red, swollen knees and hands. This time, she
hadn’t just hummed, but sung: it made her feel better.
That was the first time Nurse Ryder had come to her. Ethel, her name
was. And she was the angel Maddie had seen in the nursery on her first day.
The girl was young, around eighteen, Maddie guessed, although she carried
herself with an assurance and dignity that spoke of an older, more
experienced woman. Someone who had seen and heard extraordinary
things. But someone who did not judge. She reminded Maddie of a younger
version of Morwenna.
‘You mustn’t do that, you know. They won’t like it. Although I do,’ she
added quickly, and smiled that serene smile of hers.
‘What?’
‘The singing. It sounds far too happy.’ The young woman chuckled.
‘You’re supposed to be sad and show remorse. They expect it.’ She nodded
in the direction of Matron’s office. ‘It’ll make your life a whole lot easier.’
‘I like to sing,’ said Maddie.
‘I know,’ said Nurse Ethel. ‘I’ve listened to you.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes. And I like to sing too. But the only singing they like around here
is hymns.’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘I guess so. Don’t you believe in God, then?’
‘I haven’t worked it all out yet,’ admitted Maddie. ‘I think there must be
someone out there bigger than us. But whether or not He’s directing things,
well – I don’t know.’
‘Sister Bennett says I’m to keep an eye on you. She says you’re a
heathen – and you need to be watched.’
‘Does she now? And is that because I sing, or because I don’t sing
hymns?’
‘Bit of both, I reckon. But you need to be careful, miss. You don’t want
to get on the bad side of Sister Bennett.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’
‘Don’t know about you,’ said Ethel, ‘but I wouldn’t fancy having her
help birth my baby. Know what I mean? I’ve seen it before. She doesn’t like
somebody, she makes sure they have a hard time. She thinks they should
suffer – for their sins, like.’
‘Sweet Jesus! What is this – the Middle Ages?’
‘You’re a nice lady. Confident, clever, with a mind of your own. They
don’t like that. They likes you to be humble.’
‘Not that clever, Ethel – am I?’ said Maddie. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t
have got like this now, would I?’ She wrapped her hands around her
stomach. Protecting the baby inside her. The baby she’d felt move in there
for the first time that day.
‘Unless the man was special, maybe.’ The nurse smiled. ‘And you loved
him. Did you love him, miss?’
Maddie tried to swallow but the lump in her throat made it hard. And
her breath came out in a small gasp. Shouldn’t breathing be automatic?
Except it didn’t feel like that, not now. A fine film of tears misted her eyes
and then slowly made their way down her flushed cheeks.
The nurse took hold of Maddie’s trembling hands. ‘You do love him
then! He must be a wonderful man. But why are you crying?’
‘Because,’ said Maddie, ‘you’re the first person here who’s asked me
that.
