Crying Is For Babies

By Tricia McGill

In the 1930s medicine was still very much a hit and miss affair. The surgeons were still experimenting and learning about the human body. This at a period when there was little in the way of pain relief.

This is one woman’s story about a childhood ruined by such surgeons, whose bad judgement confined an eight year old subsequently to bed for three years, and left her with a disability to last a lifetime. Nowadays she would have been given bed rest and pain relief, and in no time would have been up and running again.

Her strong will, and the love of a close family, saw her through the bad times, enabling her to go on and become the talented, remarkable person she was. I know because this woman was my sister.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Mar 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228607106

Book preview

Crying is for Babies

By Tricia McGill

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228607106

Kindle 9780228607601

WEB 9780228607113

Print ISBN

Amazon Print 9780228607625

LSI Print 9780228607632

B&N Print 9780228607649

Copyright 2019 by Tricia McGill

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

For my beloved sister Vi, who will always remain close to my heart. One of the strongest and bravest women I have known or will ever know.

Preface

I wrote Remnants of Dreams years ago, well before I knew I would be documenting my sister’s life. If you read that book and notice similarities between that and this one, please be aware that Remnants of Dreams was mostly fictional. Where certain occurrences are similar or the same as in this story, please bear in mind that it was based on our mother’s life, whereas Crying is for Babies is a factual account of my sister’s life. Everything documented here happened to her. The only part where I strayed away from fact is a few changes of names and the addition of certain characters to, as they say in the movies, add dramatic effect. For obvious reasons I could not name the hospital where surgeons ruined a young girl’s childhood but believe me the treatment my sister received from these callous surgeons actually happened. I can only hope and pray that along the line they sought repentance for their sins. Bear in mind that those were the days of surgical experimentation and learning, so presumably they had a reason for their butchery. All I can add is that what my sister endured in her childhood made her the magnificent, talented women she became, loved by all who knew her. A few people must be mentioned. The nursing sister that I have called Janet really looked after a frightened girl and spent many hours reading to her or combing her hair in the days where painkillers were unknown. Sister Witty continued to write to my sister until her death. Last but by no means least, Mr. Horace Sneddon, the renowned orthopaedic surgeon who ensured she regain her strength to enable her to walk again.

Chapter One

North London 1931

The wind blustered along the street as I plonked my wellie clad feet on the pavement and pouted. I was being my usual obstinate self, refusing to go to school.

Mum, Vi won’t come with us to school again, we’re leaving her here on the step, Dolly, my big sister shouted as she turned and wagged a finger my way, warning, You’ll cop it one day you little blighter. Mum’s too busy with the baby and little Davy to have to drag you to school every day.

I crossed my arms across my skinny chest where my Mum had pinned a fresh bit of rag earlier. Our Mum didn’t have a lot of rules that had to be obeyed but having a clean hankie to take to school was very important. She reckoned no one liked a kid with a snotty nose. Don’t care. I want to stay home, I argued. Ain’t feeling well.

There’s not a thing wrong with you. You’re a big girl now and you have to go to school. How you going to learn things? Dolly sighed.

I stuck out my bottom lip. You can teach me what you learned. And I ain’t big, you’re big, you’re nine but I’m only… I counted off fingers on my right hand, deciding, I’m three.

How do you think I learned to read and write, you little so and so. Dolly turned as our Mum appeared, pushing the pram. Mum, Jeany has already gone across, and I’m off now. You can deal with her. Dolly waved over a shoulder, waited as the rag and bone man steered his tired old pony past, and then dashed across the road.

Looking up at our Mum I knew full well I was about to get a good telling off. I’ll go if I get a biscuit, Mum. I’m hungry.

Violet Marsh, you’ll be the death of me, my girl! Mum wagged a finger, then reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a paper bag. Here, there’s some broken bits in there. Come on, give me your hand and I’ll come over with you. I thought I could trust you to go with Dolly and Jeany now. I don’t have time for this every day. I thought you was keen to learn your ABC.

I crammed the bits of biscuit into my mouth, swiped my hands together, stood and took hold of Mum’s hand. I was hungry, Mum. We were often hungry and deep down I knew I was a nuisance, but something always made me misbehave.

I’ll fetch you a bun at lunch time, how does that sound? Hang on. Mum nodded at the side of the pram, where baby Elly lay at the top end sucking her thumb. Little Davy sat at the other end with his legs dangling over the edge. As he giggled, I patted his knee and then grabbed the side of the pram.

Ta Mum. I loved my Mum, perhaps even more than our Dad and Dolly. Dolly and Jeany are in with the big kids, and Jimmy wants to play with the boys all the time. Don’t like the boys—they’re rough, I complained.

Well, you do your reading and writing like we taught you and you’ll be in with the big girls before you know it. As we crossed the street, Mum looked down and grumbled, Why you insist on wearing those blessed boots I don’t know. It’s too hot. Aren’t your feet sweaty in them?"

Nah, Mum. I ain’t taking them off—ever. I loved my wellies far too much. One of the other kids might pinch them if I don’t wear them. I even kept them close by at night so I could hop straight into them in the morning.

What did I tell you about saying that word? Mum sighed. There’s no such word in the English language.

What word’s that, Mum?

You know full well what I mean. I don’t care if all the other kids round here want to talk like gutters snipes, you were taught differently. Hear me?

Yes Mum, sorry I forgot. I are not taking them off. Is that right?

Almost, right, off you go now, and behave yourself. No cheeking to the teacher or she will give you the cane.

I was sure my teacher would never use the cane, almost as certain that our Mum would not actually use the cane kept on the mantelpiece at home. Bye Mum. Giving little Davy another quick pat, I ran across the schoolyard, where the other kids were making their way in through the door. Mum was right, I did want to learn reading and writing, but I liked to play a whole lot more.

* * *

The sun was warm on my head as I sat on one of the benches in the playground munching on the promised bun Mum brought across at lunchtime. Well it was really only half a bun but it had a few currents in it. I liked picking out the currants.

What you got? Maisie Green asked, swinging her legs back and forth. Maisie was my best friend at school and we always sat with each other at playtime.

A bun with currants. What you got.

A crust with lard. Maisie shrugged. Why d’you always wear them old boots? Ain’t yer feet hot in them?

Nah. I wiggled my feet as I looked down at the prized boots. My feet were really sweaty, but I wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, especially Maisie, who sometimes came to school with no shoes at all on her feet.

My Mum says your Mum has too many kids. Is that why you have two flats? How many are there?

It’s good having a lot of brothers and sisters. There’s always someone to play with or to take you out. Dolly and Jeany take me to the park. They are my big sisters, and the other sister is still a baby, that’s Elly. I wrinkled my nose as I counted them off on my fingers. Teddy is my biggest brother, and goes to work every day now because he’s nearly as old as our Dad. Then there’s Danny and Stevie who are in with the big boys class now and that’s Jimmy over there playing conkers with his mate. Oh, and Davy just learnt how to walk.

So, how come you live in two places? There’s a lot of us because our Gran and Granddad live with us, and our Auntie, but we only have one flat. I sleep in with my two sisters.

Well. I wasn’t really sure why the boys went next door to sleep, but thought I heard Dad say how lucky they were they all didn’t have to be squashed in one bedroom. I shared the big bed with Dolly and Jeany and sometimes little Davy who always wet and made the bed all soggy. He was supposed to sleep in the old cot, but he grizzled, so Dolly brought him in bed with us to keep him quiet. Dolly said this was so our Mum could get some sleep, but this meant Mum had to wash the sheet, which meant more work for her.

I was glad I was big now and never wet the bed, because Mum always had a lot of washing to do every day, and complained her hands were red. The tin tub was always filled with washing, except on Fridays when we all took turns for a bath. Sometimes one of the boys helped Mum put the sheets through the wringer. Baby Elly still slept in the pram at the bottom of Mum and Dad’s bed.

I think our Dad was allowed two houses because he works hard. I had no idea if that was true or not but did know he was always at work so it must be right.

The bell sounded the end of the break and we filed in with the rest of the kids, the boys all pushing and shoving. I liked my teacher. I heard Mum say that the poor woman was overworked with forty kids in her class. I wasn’t sure how many that was as I could only count up to ten, but they certainly made a lot of noise. So far, I’d never been given the cane. Jimmy probably got caned every day as he was always in a fight with someone. Dad was always putting his hands on his belt and telling the boys they would get a belting if they did something wrong, but I was sure he would never really hit them—he was too kind. Anyway, his trousers would fall down if he took his belt off. Stevie told me that.

* * *

Come on, let’s go to the park. Dolly sat Elly in the pram, and then lifted Davy up and put him on the end with his legs dangling. He could walk all right on his own now but it was a long way to the park and he was a slow walker, not like me. I loved the swings so much I sometimes ran ahead in my rush to get there before the others. Elly could walk now too, but she was still only small and because she was always sick Mum liked her to be pushed.

Jeany pulled her own coat on and then did up the buttons on mine. I loved my new coat. Mum was really clever. She went to the market every Saturday and got big clothes then brought them home and cut them down for all of us so we always had something new, even the boy’s trousers. Often we only had something for a little while before it went away. Someone told me the things went to the pawnbroker’s shop. I wasn’t sure what that was, except I knew it had something to do with getting money, which Mum was always short of, or so she said.

Maisie told me that her Mum took a lot of their things to this pawnbroker’s shop too and came back with enough money to buy them some meat for a stew. This pawn man must have a lot of money, I decided, as he gave it out in exchange for old clothes, and I wondered what he did with them. One of the shops in the High street had big balls hanging outside the door and Stevie told me that was where Mum took the clothes and got money. I didn’t like the look of that shop—it was dingy and dark and smelled funny, a bit like the ironmonger’s where one of the boys had to go once to get a new cane because he broke the old one playing with it. Mum was very upset and that’s why she made him go to the shop himself. I hoped I never had to go to that horrible shop to buy a new cane.

I was really annoyed because my feet had grown since Christmas and I finally had to own up that the old boots were getting so tight they hurt my feet. Davy wore them for a while but then they went, perhaps to this pawn man or to the rag and bone man who came along every week. I liked the rag and bone man and his old pony. He gave away fish in exchange for old stuff and I decided that one day I would get a goldfish. I would have liked a puppy, but we didn’t have a garden so Dad said I would have to wait until we got a nice house with a garden behind it. I didn’t think we would ever be rich enough for that, but Dad said it was always a good idea to have dreams and hopes. You never knew what was around the next corner, he said.

The swings were all full when we got to the park, so Jeany said, Come on Vi, we’ll go on the seesaw. Dolly helped Davy onto the roundabout and sat nursing Elly who had started to cry. She cried a lot. Davy never cried. He liked to laugh, Dad called him a clown.

As we headed home, I asked, Can we go for a dance, Dolly, eh? It began to drizzle, so Dolly pulled the shade up on the pram. Elly was asleep and Davy kept yawning so he must have been tired too.

All right, but only for a little while. Mum will start getting worried when it begins to get dark. You know she doesn’t like us to be out at night, Vi.

Why not? What happens after it gets dark? I’d never been outside once it got dark, except sometimes I went next door to tell the boys that Mum said to stop making so much noise and to come in for tea. Teddy never made a noise though. Now that he was working he was a man, and men didn’t shout and punch each other like Danny, Stevie and Jimmy did. Our Mum always said the boys were more nuisance than they were worth. I hoped I wasn’t a nuisance, although sometimes I misbehaved—I couldn’t seem to help it. Dad said I was a scamp, whatever that was.

Bogeymen roam about and frighten little girls at night, Jeany said, making a funny noise and waving her arms about. That didn’t frighten me—well not a lot. But the thought of bogeymen did scare me a bit, so I decided never to go out on my own once it got dark outside. Problem was that in wintertime it got dark almost as soon as school finished, so that meant no visits to the park then except on Saturday. That was my favourite day. The stars in the sky were nice though, we looked at them through the kitchen window up there twinkling. Dad said they were fairies dancing up there among the clouds.

Dolly put the pram in front of the shop next door to the pub, and pulled the brake on. I knew it was the pub because when I asked Dolly what the funny smell was that came up from the cellar she told me it was from the beer that the pub man kept down there. She also told me that men liked beer and the pub was where they went at night to spend their hard-earned money. I wasn’t really sure what that meant and didn’t think Dolly did either, but when I heard Mum say it too I knew it must be true. Mum also said that beer was the stuff that made some men fight and some fall over on the street. I was glad our Dad didn’t go to the pub but stayed home with us at night.

One day we passed the pub when this beer was being delivered in big wooden barrels. The tubs were all on the back of a huge cart pulled by the loveliest and biggest animals I had ever seen. The carthorses were gentle even though they were bigger than the milkman’s horse, and let me rub their noses while they stood waiting for the men to finish unloading. Their breath was warm on my face and smelt of the dinner the man put in the bags for them to munch on while they stood there.

The barrels went down into the cellar through these huge doors in the pavement. It was a big job, and lots of shouting went on between the man at the top and the one in the cellar. The doors were made of wood and this is where Dolly and Jeany loved to come to dance when the doors were shut. I couldn’t wait until I was big enough to dance with them.

Their