It Shouldn't Happen to a Midwife! (3 page)

It was so like a precursor to a temperance and morals homily, I'd to check it really wasn't Auntie Rita giving a pre-holiday lecture – but Miss Harvey was real enough. In her own tutorial right she turned to the blackboard and tapped the three words there. ‘I'll be discussing these with you as soon as you swear your oath of allegiance. Matron should be coming in to oversee this formality as well as to meet you. She'll be any minute now.'

She consulted her fob watch, the wall clock for good measure, then looked around. ‘So as we've got a minute or two this might be a good chance to practise a bit of public speaking through introductions because, as you probably know, part of your training will be running antenatal classes. I need to make sure you're comfortable and clear doing this.'

There was a squeak of horror from Marie which was easily traced. ‘Let's start with you, shall we? Just a little personal stuff, please. No more than a few words.'

Reluctantly Marie stood up, face crimson. ‘I'm from Tip-pip-erary – and me name's Mary.' She gave a hysterical giggle, blew her nose and sat down.

Miss Harvey glimmered. ‘Well that was certainly brief and to the point, Mary.'

Cynthia's hand shot up. ‘She's actually Marie.'

Miss Harvey's gaze fell upon Cynthia; her tone was cool. ‘Apart from her advisor, you would be?'

Cynthia cleared her throat, stood up and advanced. ‘It's probably best for voice delivery,' she explained, elbowing the tutor aside. Then, placing her hands on the lectern, she addressed the class in full oratory mode. ‘I'm Miss Brown-Smythe – spelt with a “Y” – and I'm here today because I see midwifery training as an essential part of career progression in a caring profession of which I am proud to be a member. Now I don't want to take over,' she tucked her hair behind her ear then encompassed everybody with a grand sweep of her hand, ‘but I'd be happy to take any questions about myself from the floor.'

‘Thank you, Nurse Smythe, I'm sure there'll be plenty opportun- ity for that in the future but right now, unfortunately, we haven't that much time for such an honour.' Miss Harvey turned to Margaret who was straining at the leash.

I tuned out knowing she would be as big a gas bag as Cynthia and wondered what I should say.

Everybody said midwifery was hard work but I needed the qualification to be that district nurse which had always been the ultimate goal. The idea of caring for people well away from scary matrons and strict sisters held great appeal.

Surely birth couldn't be all that complicated even if doommongering colleagues in other training schools swore that studying to become a midwife was on a par with, if not worse than, actual labour. I wondered how career-minded girls bent on a child-free future would know.

Anyway, Belfast was sure to present a colourful change, an exciting prospect and somewhere far away where a bit of fun and adventure might soften the necessary training. I supposed I could hardly say that though.

‘Girl with the red hair, please.'

‘I'm Jane Macpherson and I trained in Aberdeen.'

Gales of laughter swept the classroom. I looked round, astonished by the reaction.

Miss Harvey was cool. ‘I've never thought of Aberdeen as being hysterically funny.'

‘It's just that Jane sounds like Janet in the telly's
Dr Finlay's Casebook
,' Margaret said, wiping her eyes with a man-sized hanky. ‘It's amazing. So like that cute old housekeeper.'

‘Wonderful, I'm sure, but I imagine she's her own person. Ah!' She started. ‘Matron! Sorry we didn't hear you come in.'

Some say you can grow into a job and since every district nurse I'd met was dumpy and cheerful I reckoned I was halfway there already. It was only a matter of passing midwifery to get the happy bit.

Matrons were different. Certainly the woman striding into the room, with her stiff manner, collar, cuffs and cap, looked as if she came from a heavily regulated past. Perhaps her career was influenced by crisp nannies with starch intent. Certainly, she was neither dumpy nor was she cheerful.

‘I'm not surprised with all that hilarity.' She purse-strung her mouth. She spoke quietly but her uniform was so royally blue it shouted authority. ‘We could hear you from my office – and that's upstairs!'

Behind Matron was someone no less important if a lot shorter. It was just as well he wore a red tie. With his measured tread and Bible clasped to his breast he could have been mistaken for an undertaker.

‘Good morning, Nurses,' began Matron, adjusting her brilliantly white cuffs before clasping her hands as if in benefaction. ‘For those of you not privileged enough to have been born in Ulster, let me congratulate you on coming here and choosing our fine hospital for your midwifery training.' She spoke to a distant object somewhere at the back of the lecture hall.

For a woman of indeterminate age with a job of huge responsibility , her brow was remarkably smooth and just fractionally creased as she paused to allow her companion, beadle-like, to advance on the lectern Miss Harvey was hurriedly lowering.

She took the floor again. Getting underway she spoke in the clipped tones of someone used to being listened to with respect. ‘As I'm sure you appreciate we may only be six counties, but the North of Ireland is a different country from the South and as such we governing bodies expect you to take an oath of allegiance to this part of the United Kingdom. We need to do this right away and are pleased to have Mr Coates from Stormont, our Parliament, with us today. He has the power and, indeed, authority to oversee this ceremony.'

Ensuring everybody's attention with a mine-sweeping gaze, she stepped back so that we could all concentrate on a lectern now occupied by a Bible capped with the bushy eyebrows of a very small person. ‘So, without further ado, I'll hand over to him.'

‘Oh, wait a wee minute.' Miss Harvey stooped to further adjust the stand.

‘Thank you,' he said curtly as if resenting her height, then, spearing his elbows enough to allow him leverage, he leant forward and tapped the Bible. ‘Now, I'm presuming nobody here has a problem taking this oath because if you do, this's the time to say so.' The eyebrows waggled like busy caterpillars.

A short silence was broken by Cynthia who put up her hand as if halting a convoy.

‘Yes?'

She held an eloquent silence, then drawled, ‘Even if I do come from across the water, I'm a British citizen and, as such, a loyal subject, so I'm not clear why I need to take this pledge, and I'm sure I'm speaking for everyone else.' Like a general mustering troops, she gestured to the rest of the class, which, sensing conflict, perked up.

Mr Coates's face went as red as his tie and he held more firmly onto the Bible. Then he stepped out from behind the lectern and stuck out his chin. His voice was combative as he huffed, ‘I'd suggest it's a courtesy at the very least and since you come from “over the water” [he made it sound like a contagious disease], you won't have lived with the problems of a divided country or realised the importance of unity in a working environment.'

There was a chilly silence broken by Margaret who stuck up her hand. She was sweetly reasonable and all for her own particular harmony.

‘Well, I'm from the South. Strong Baptist, actually, so I can see the necessity of it – so of course I'll be taking it.' She stood up then advanced on the lectern with a winning smile. ‘Now what do we do?'

‘Oh well – I suppose if we must, we must,' said Cynthia with bad grace.

‘We'll take you last,' the civil servant made a line of his mouth, ‘so that you have plenty time to consider making this pledge.' This allowed Cynthia, short of a drum roll, to eventually make her pledge sound the loudest.

‘He looks as if he could do with a big fart,' Seonaid muttered as, processing duties over, the man of God in government left, the Bible tucked under his arm giving him a righteous air.

We smothered a giggle whilst Matron, another tome to hand, was according it equal respect. Whilst her hands obliterated the author's name, the title in gold lettering was clear:
The Student Midwives' Guide to Midwifery.

‘I'd recommend you buy this textbook because it covers the first six-month part of your course and has all the necessary material for the exam which you'll have to pass before taking the second part.'

‘The girls may have already bought the
Myles' Book of Midwifery
,' Miss Harvey said. ‘It's very comprehensive, written by a Scots woman – an Aberdonian, in fact.'

Matron looked her up and down before giving a disapproving sniff. ‘Well, of course Aberdeen has a reputation in its own right.' Hostility was contained even if somewhere close a shillelagh and claymore might be readying for battle.

As well as having taken up half my luggage, the thick volume that lay on the desk before me had been recommended by
The Midwives' Almanac
. I hadn't properly looked at it, since the photographs of grimlooking nurses with hems trailing the ground were hardly pageturners . Added to that were graphic pictures of so many dire abnormalities in pregnancy and labour it would have had anybody demanding an early exit strategy and clamouring for contraception clinics. No wonder it wasn't on Matron's bookshelf.

I couldn't imagine or want any more information on the subject but the eagle-eyed Margaret had spotted the author's name on the book Matron was promoting.

‘Pardon me for asking, Matron, but would you have written this?'

‘Since you ask, yes.' The coy response was a prospect every bit as alarming as the stern countenance befitting the keeper of Belfast's great unborn, but I wasn't fooled by the careless shrug. She wanted us to buy that book.

‘I presume someone's putting your name down for you to buy the book?' Matron asked as Seonaid, legs a blur, was leaving the lecture hall.

‘Ach, no thanks. I'll buy it when I've the money. Now if you'll excuse me, I've a bit of an emergency.' She clutched her stomach, rolled her eyes, then sped off. For such a small person she left a big gap.

‘Money management is one of the crucial aspects of operating professionally,' said Matron coldly, ‘but if the rest of you want, you can put your names down now. Then you can be sure you'll get this book and have an appropriate reference right from the start.' She handed out a sheet of paper that we, drone like, signed.

‘They'll be ready for you this afternoon. My secretary will bring them along. What's that nurse's name?'

Miss Harvey seemed to have gone deaf but we got the feeling that Seonaid's card was already marked. As Matron turned to go, Margaret put up her hand and said, ‘It'd be nice to have your autograph.'

‘Surely that'd spoil it,' whispered Marie, already checking in her purse. Margaret's ingratiating way had put my teeth on edge. ‘Sook!' I muttered.

‘What's a sook?' Marie wondered.

I was lofty. ‘Somebody who sucks up to another person higher up, for personal gain.'

A bell with all the subtlety of a Klaxon rang as Matron, giving a gracious incline, left.

‘That's a sign there's an imminent birth,' Miss Harvey explained. She rolled up her sleeves. ‘You need to witness ten and have them recorded and attested in these books before you actually get any hands-on experience.' She started to hand out small jotters. ‘If you open them you'll see there's other things that you'll need to witness as well as do, so we can be sure you're getting an all-round practical experience to match the theory.'

The list was formidable and seemed to include everything from breathing to brain surgery.

‘Don't let it overwhelm you,' Miss Harvey advised. ‘After all, you've a whole year to get through it. Ah, Nurse Fitzsimons.' Seonaid had returned, looking perky. ‘You're just in time to collect your record book. Guard this one with your life.' She tapped it as if typing. ‘There's no charge, but it's the most valuable possession you'll have. If you look inside you'll see there's places for signatures from trained staff verifying you've completed these tasks. Without this book and without the signatures, you won't be allowed to sit the finals.'

‘Oh right!' Seonaid was sanguine as she took the book, tucking it carelessly under her arm. ‘And did I miss anything else?'

‘Only the year's bestseller. Now don't lose that one. Right! Let's get on.' Miss Harvey swivelled on her heel and pointed to the three words on the blackboard.

Intrigued, I leant forward, wondering what Cynthia and Margaret would make of them. With a bit of luck they'd have a punch-up over the ‘attitude' one and ease the way to an early coffee break.

The tutor picked up a piece of chalk, holding it like a conductor's baton. ‘It's amazing what babies get up to in the uterus,' she said and sketched a series of differently-shaped balloons, ‘considering the womb – ha ha!' With a sure hand, she drew a baby in each bubble, beguiling in activities ranging from frolics to resting in angelic slumber.

‘After a little practice, you'll learn how to identify “Lie”, “Attitude” and “Presentation”. See – this is the best lie, attitude and presentation for a baby to be in before birth.' She pointed to a little haloed person, perfectly curled up in its bubble, head down and patiently queuing as if waiting for a show to start. ‘Not like this.' She pointed to a party animal doing a moonie. ‘Not a good way to present.' She put a cross over its bum sitting over the exit. ‘Breech position! Wrong, babe. Wrong.' It sounded like a song.

‘Right now,' she continued, ‘impossible as it may seem, you're going to learn by observation and palpation,' her hand described a breadmaking pummel, ‘how a baby lies, and how easy its birth is going to be. Crystal gazing, it is not. No, it's the practice that's going to do it, and we'll make a start this morning after the coffee break when we go to the antenatal ward. Sister's got a couple of very different patients for us to see.'