Farewell to the East End by Jennifer Worth Page B

They had come to do battle.
    ‘But Megan, I don’t know ...’
    ‘Me name’s not Megan!’
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ I fumbled with my notes to gain time.
    ‘My name is Meg, short for Margaret, see, an’ I’ll thank you to get it right, young lady.’
    ‘Oh, I see. Certainly. Now what is the trouble?’
    ‘The fillipin toobs is crossed.’
    ‘The what?’
    ‘Fillipin toobs. Don’t you listen?’
    ‘Yes, I heard you. But what are fillipin toobs?’
    ‘Call yerself a midwife, an’ you don’t know?’
    ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of them.’
    Both women drew in their breath and rolled their eyes backwards and sideways in an exaggerated expression of disbelief. ‘Shocking!’ ‘Sheer ignorance!’ ‘Never ’eard of ’em?’ ‘Medical incompetence!’ They shook their heads, groaned, rolled their eyes and tut-tutted to each other. One of them behaving in such a way would have raised a smile, but the two of them with identical body language doing it was indescribably funny. This is going to be rich, I thought to myself and perked up no end.
    ‘You will have to enlighten me,’ I said sweetly.
    ‘We’ve got to teach ve midwives, ’ave we?’
    ‘I’m only a student,’ I murmured humbly.
    ‘Shockin. An’ vey call this the National ’ealth Service.’
    They showed the whites of their eyes again and sucked in their breath, and I had to dig my fingernails into my skin to prevent myself from laughing.
    ‘Well, young lady, since you don’t know, I’ll ’ave to tell you. The fillipin toobs is ’ere in vis book.’ She opened a grimy old book at what seemed to be a very primitive sketch of the female genital tract. Meg pointed with a dirty fingernail.
    ‘Vat’s the toobs, an’ Mave’s, they’re crossed, see?’
    Mave put on her martyred look, and groaned again. Meg took her hand.
    ‘Vat’s what’s doin’ it. Makin’ ’er feel bad.’
    ‘I’m not sure that I understand you.’
    ‘No, you don’t know nuffink, you don’t. I’m tellin’ yer, the fillipin toobs is crossed, an’ it’s makin’ her bad. Now d’you understand?’
    ‘I understand the Fallopian tubes. But they can’t be crossed. It’s not possible.’
    ‘Course it’s possible. Don’t try no cover-ups. You can’t fool me, you can’t. They’ve tried that afore, but I’m too smart for ’em. Medical blunders, an’ medical cover-ups. Mave, she ’ad ’er ’pendix out when she was fourteen – show ’em yer scar, Mave.’ Mave obligingly lifted her skirts. ‘an’ vey sewed ’er up wrong an’ got the toobs crossed, an’ she’s bin sufferin’ ever since, see? Oooh, I could write a book on the sufferin’ she’s ’ad. Write a book, I could.’
    Both women started rolling their eyes again, and I had to stand up to control myself. Trixie had finished her afternoon’s work, and she sauntered over, sensing a bit of fun. ‘What’s up?’ she enquired.
    Meg described for her the whole saga of the ’pendix and the fillipin toobs, and the medical blunders that Mavis had suffered, starting with the withered arm caused by a midwife who should have known better, and welliclose weins stripped by a surgeon as didn’t know what ’e was doin’, and golf stones the doctor wouldn’t do nuffink abaht, and the fact that now Mave was pregnant she was sufferin’ because the toobs was all crossed.
    Trixie was an outspoken girl, short on tact.
    ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said bluntly.
    Meg leaped to her feet and clenched her fists. She would possibly have struck Trixie full in the face, had not the gentle Novice Ruth come up at that moment.
    ‘Ladies, ladies, please, what is the matter?’
    ‘Matter? She called me daft, vat’s what’s the matter.’
    Novice Ruth looked disapprovingly at Trixie, who shrugged. ‘You haven’t heard the story yet.’
    The nun turned to Megan’mave.
    ‘I apologise if one of our nurses has been rude to you. I assure you it will not happen again. Now, please tell me your troubles.