Dolly's War by Dorothy Scannell Page B

flat we had left at Forest Gate. This needed all our persuasion for although my mother wanted to move into the same house with Marjorie, my father at first was adamant about leaving dear old Poplar and his friends. Finally when he discovered that at the end of the road was the Clapton football-ground, he fell in with our plans. So I was able, although with such honest parents so respectful of authority I was always a little apprehensive of their acting-a-lie ability, to tutor my mother and father into confirming I was still resident there when the health visitor called to check my residence qualifications for the local hospital. I tried to dismiss my worries by thinking that my father’s ‘talking with his hands’ act would so mystify any health visitor she might even have felt sorry for me for having such an eccentric parent living with me, and the authorities must have assumed I was still at Forest Gate for the great day came without any prior notification that my bed had been cancelled.
    It was only when the great day did arrive, and at the time I was so sure that within a few hours our family would be three in number, that I realised that I should have to journey from Goodmayes to Stratford for the happy event. Chas was late home and I knew I would begrudge him even a few minutes for food. Excitedly I told him my news. Coolly, as though he had been a top gynaecologist all his life, he listened to my ‘symptoms’, then announced, ‘Yes, it is following the correct pattern but I assure you it will be many, many hours yet before things become urgent, as it is your first child.’ Then, to my horror he continued, ‘I have a death claim to pay, the money is urgently needed, that’s why I am late, I have been to the bank. Just rest quietly and I will be back in an hour or so and I promise you we will go immediately.’ Off he went on his errand of mercy and ‘quietly’ I rested all alone, knowing deep down that he was right about my symptoms, but hoping that he wasn’t. Dramatically morbid I wanted him to return to find a collapsed wife, a newly born infant, a sort of ‘touch and go affair’. The fact that he hadn’t stopped one moment for a meal and had nothing to eat or drink all day stemmed not my feelings that he put duty above me.
    I sat in my darkening lounge. Men in other houses in that road – one or two even possessed maids – would be home from business and having dinner with their families. I was a stranger to them. How could I burst in in the middle of entree, soup, or even hors d’oeuvres and announce I was about to give birth? It just wasn’t done, that sort of thing. Finally I heard the sound of running feet. A breathless Chas burst in, grabbed my little case which had been packed for weeks and we clambered on to a very shaky 86 bus to Stratford. I was sure I would be accepted as an imminent case; Chas would be remorseful and friends and relations would listen wide-eyed with many ‘Oh Dolly’s’ at my ‘casual’ tale of near disaster. But the Sister in charge listened aloofly to my urgent story, then to my horror she did a ‘Chas’ on me and to my husband’s great relief she said in the tones of a very kind teacher to a fractious child, ‘My dear, FIRST babies take AGES to be born, you will be unable to get a wink of sleep here. [Sleep!] Go home and have a LOVELY night’s rest and come and see me in the morning.’ I was so desolate that she and Chas had ganged up against me. Sister patted Chas on the back with a look which said, ‘Good man.’ In my panic and frustration at being sent home I almost blurted out the confidential news that I lived, ineligibly, out of the district. My mother used to say accusingly to me when I was young, ‘Good liars, Dolly, need to possess extra good memories,’ and I used to feel very injured that of all her children I was singled out for this