We Passengers

Chapter 20

Remember it like it was yesterday, I do. I was on the homeward leg when Mabel went into labour and, when I got back to Waterloo, little Patrick O'Malley was waiting for me and, off I went like a shot to the East End Maternity Hospital - a terrifying place if ever there was one! Over-run they were of course, like always and, when I first got there, no-one could tell me where she was. Up and down the corridors I went, feeling like I was in a war zone what with all the screaming and shouting going on. No place for a bloke that. When I came to another dead end, I fortified myself with a smoke before starting again, up and down the corridors that all looked and smelled the same but then, finally, I spotted her in a ward right at the end and I rushed inside, grateful that I wouldn't be walking those hallways forevermore. Rushing to Mabel's bedside, I saw that she was holding a little bundle and there was that immediate relief that all was well and that the little 'un had made it safely into the world and so it took me a few seconds to notice the other thing. I know that lots of women cry when they've just given birth; the nurse told us that when we had Wendy; something to do with hormones she said, although I couldn't make head nor tail of it myself. Still, I somehow knew instantly that this was different. Sitting on the little stool by Mabel's bed, I took her hand and peered at the bundle at her chest, thinking it looked alright from what I could see. She squeezed my hand without a word and then peeled back the little blanket and shifted it a bit so I could see properly.

At first, I saw nothing other than it was a boy and I knew I was beaming from ear to ear, over the moon that I'd finally got the lad I'd always secretly hoped for but then I took another look and, suddenly, I understood the tears. From the tip of his little bald head down to the pinkies on his left foot, he was a perfectly normal bouncing baby boy but, where his right foot should have been, there was just a misshapen lump attached to a leg that looked too thin to ever be able to support any weight. Course it was a shock - a thing like that, your first thought is about what kind of life the lad's going to have; whether he'll even be able to walk, let alone run about or kick a ball and, I worried that it was hurting him but the doctor soon put us right on that score. I'm happy to say that Jack did walk - and run and kick balls but, of course, his foot kept him out of the army proper and he was put to work instead on a desk, safe and sound in London. I'm not one for religious mumbo jumbo but I'm not ashamed to say I thanked God for the fact that my boy wouldn't be ending up in any overseas grave like some of his mates have. Still doing his bit as well isn't he, I always tell him, after all, what he's doing is just as important as sitting in a trench firing a gun at the jerries.

Of course our Wendy's husband, Alan, wasn't so lucky. One of the first lot shipped out he was, and him with a wife, a four year old and a newborn at home. Not bothered about any of that though, the army boys; if you're under forty and you've got two arms and legs and all your faculties then you're fair game as far as they're concerned so off to France Alan went. He's keeping his head and his spirits up according to his letters to Wendy but, then, he would say that wouldn't he? He's not going to tell her the full story, is he? She wouldn't sleep a wink if he did and she needs her energy to keep up with Emma and little Freddy who's still getting her up all hours of the night. Doing alright though, Wendy is and, of course, Mabel helps out where she can. We keep an eye on the kids every other Friday night so that Wendy can go off to the Criterion for the night with her mates. I worried at first that it wasn't right, her going drinking and dancing with her husband overseas but Mabel says she's only twenty five and needs to blow off steam once in a while. Suppose she's right; can't even remember twenty five myself but I can tell you things were different then. It's not just the war; everything's changed, even people but I suppose that's just what happens when you get old. Of course we get our share of old folk on this route just like any other but, not today. Today we've got mainly young women apart from the lad in uniform at the back who looks like he's seen more than a boy his age should ever have to. We're all told of course that the esteemed member of parliament, Charles Bradlaugh, took his last journey on this line but that was in 1891 or so, so before my time, old as I may now be. Mainly though, as I say, today is the women; pretty ones and plain ones and then the one I was telling you about; the one I noticed straight away.