The Favourite Child by Freda Lightfoot Page B

saying that a doctor has told you what to do. A doctor who - who gave you something?’
    ‘Aye. You could say so.’
    ‘Tell me. I want to know. Need to know.’
    Violet’s eyes were like twinkling currants buried in folds of flesh but her mouth firmed into a narrow line of disapproval, round cheeks flushed rose pink though more likely from her efforts with the wash tub than embarrassment. It took a lot to embarrass Violet. ‘And why should I tell you, a single lass, or were last time I looked.’
    Bella chuckled, not offended by Violet’s assumption that her enquiry had been made for personal reasons. ‘You know me better than that. I’ve been asked by certain of my patients - clients,’ she corrected herself. ‘for help in that direction. And, of course, being unmarried as you rightly say, I’m ignorant of such matters.’
    ‘So you should be. Ignorance is bliss, isn’t that what they say?’
    Bella regarded the older woman with her direct, hazel-eyed, gaze. ‘Do you believe that to be true?’
    The slightest of pauses, then the fleshy jowls shook with firm vigour. ‘Not for a minute. It were ignorance what got me in lumber in’t fost place.’
    ‘There you are then, and there are so many of my ladies who are desperate for help and look to me to supply it. Couldn’t you give me a hint?’
    Violet considered the question with all due seriousness for a long moment. ‘Yer a funiosity, you. Thee calls yon women your patients but they’re not at all. Do yer know what thee should do? Go for training as a nurse.’
    Bella looked startled. ‘How did you know that I once had a fancy to be a nurse?’
    ‘I’m physic.’
    ‘Psychic.’
    ‘That too. Are you gonna put kettle on again or just throw long words at me. Never mind, I’ll do it meself.’ Violet heaved herself to her feet and swung the great black iron kettle back over the fire in the huge Lancashire range that almost filled one wall of the tiny kitchen. She spent most of every Tuesday morning scrubbing and black leading it yet every night, when she retired to the bed which she shared with her husband and youngest children, the cockroaches would still creep out from under the grate, much to Violet’s despair.
    Bella said, ‘I used to wish I’d been old enough to serve in the war but I was only a child when it ended. From time to time since I’ve often thought about nursing, though I knew Mother wouldn’t have approved so I kept putting it off. It never seemed to be the right moment to fight that particular battle and then I got too involved with my ‘ladies’ to have time to think about it. I certainly couldn’t leave home now.’ She explained about her mother’s stroke and Violet quietly took her seat again, expressing genuine sympathy over the news.
    ‘Oh, she’s improving but it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to leave home at the moment.’ Bella felt no desire to reveal her mother’s masquerade, or explain the politics of her domestic life, so merely shrugged her dreams away as if they were of no account. ‘Anyway, it’s here in Salford where I seem to do the most good. How could I leave all my ‘ladies’ who depend on me, to go off and be a nurse in some hospital or other that has any number of other nurses. No, I’ll stay here and help them as best I can.’
    Violet thoughtfully rubbed a reddened hand over her sagging jowls. ‘Suit thyself. But if you want to know owt about owt, as they say round here, thee’ll have to ask Dr Sydney. I’m saying no more.’
     
    The very next day Bella visited a book shop in St Anne’s Square, purchased a copy each of both Married Love and Wise Parenthood , reading them from cover to cover to absorb every detail. While there was still a great deal which she didn’t fully understand, the whole puzzle was becoming much clearer, and the answer now seemed obvious.
    She must set up her own Mothers’ Clinic, just as Marie Stopes and others had done.
    There was, however, one huge problem. She