The Midwife

This is a story poem about a fifties midwife working in the East End of London, the idea came from the TV programme ‘Call the Midwife’. I hope I have captured the times and spirit of those days 75 years ago, I leave it up to you to decide.

The Midwife

On that cold foggy morning in fifty-eight
Sue jumped out of bed, she was once again late,
Quickly donned the uniform of white and blue
rolled up her stockings, as a toe pushed through.

Cursing to herself she headed down the hall
jumped on her bike leant against the wall,
A cheery good morning to a passing friend
she cycled away toward the East end.

The old black bike was a real boneshaker
she had to be careful not to meet her maker,
Trying to keep control with a heavy bag
as Sue arrived she was starting to flag.

Dear Mrs Davies was heavy with child
eleven other children ran around wild.
Wearing ragged clothes and jam-stained faces
no running water in these dirty places.

She wondered how she’d manage, how she’d cope
with water in the yard and no sign of soap,
Then Jane turned up, there she stood at the door
her saviour had bailed her out once more.

Jane was a natural, a young fresh-faced girl
with perfect features, below a kiss curl,
Sue recalled the moment just three months before
when she’d stood on that step, staring at the floor.

She’d arrived at the mission house that afternoon
knocked on the door on a sunny day in June.
A young pretty girl said ‘Hi I’m Jane, hello
give me your case and I’ll take you below.

The hallway was spotless with bottle green tiles
the brown bare floorboards seemed to go on for miles,
They were highly polished shone just like glass
led to green doors with shiny handles of brass.

The room in the basement was dingy and cold
‘Here we are’ said Jane, ‘Welcome to the fold’.
A lumpy mattress lay across an iron bed,
not very welcoming for a sleepy head.

The kitchen upstairs was the warmest place
where they ate their meals after saying grace,
The Sister was strict, no heart, no messing
wouldn’t give anyone any sort of blessing.

The East End was appalling, slums all around
roads had holes so deep, a child could have drowned,
The homes were so bad we had to work in pairs
as everything was carried up flights of stairs.

With all the things needed our bags weighed a ton
climbing up those steep stairs was no kind of fun,
Fresh human excrement was lay everywhere
you’d soon come a cropper if you didn’t take care.

Sue managed to get used to it, soon found her way
got used to the routine, every single day,
Delivered her first baby within a week
a baptism of fire for someone so meek.

She thought nothing could shock her any more
till she visited a home upon the sixth floor.
The flat was filthy, the worst she’d ever seen
plaster hung from the walls, it was really unclean.

Baby was delivered with no fuss or ado
she turned to the mother asked her for the loo,
Said it wasn’t working it was blocked up again
back down those stairs, she poured the slops down a drain.

Those poor families just lived the best they could
most of them were friendly, wholesome and good.
One mother offered her a nice cup of char
first time she’d drank tea from an old jam jar!

Another house Sue went to – had a real bath
but they’d filled it with coal she really had to laugh,
They had a fireplace, that was all that could be said
she looked around the room, couldn’t see a bed.

Perhaps there was a bed, in the other room, maybe
asked the young mother -where she’d have her baby,
She pointed to the tot standing at the door
said she’d had that one, upon the kitchen floor.

Then a neighbour arrived, never said a thing
helped the young mother, took her under her wing,
Ushered her through a front door, across the way
then into a room where a pristine bed lay.

As the old woman spoke, she said no more
”She’ll not have my Grandson on a dirty floor”.
With the help of the mother, the birth went quite well
another baby born into a world of hell.

Sue was brought back by the sound of Jane’s voice
”Better light the fire, it’s as cold as ice”
Within half an hour the kids stared in awe
at their new baby sister snuggled in a draw.

With no law, no lighting, just bedbugs and fleas
babies born by candlelight chance of disease,
Yet a strong sense of community shone through
Eastenders ever faithful, loyal and true.

Deliveries numbered about thirty a week
times were so hard and the future looked bleak,
Then the birth pill came through in sixty-one
weekly births dropped to two, social change had begun.

Now those tenement slums have all long gone
but the violence and squalor still carry on,
With stabbings and murders most every day
not safe on the streets where the children play.

As sue sits – reflects – on those days long ago
watching her grandchildren playing in the snow,
Though her time in the East End was challenging
there’s one thing for sure, she wouldn’t change a thing.

Eric Harvey https://fromtheheartpoetry.com/poems.html or join me at From The Heart Poetry on Facebook