The Midwife Trilogy by Jennifer Worth Page B

revived me, and the cycle ride dispelled my fatigue.
    The following morning, when I looked at the day book, I saw that I had to administer the penicillin injection to Lil Hoskin, Peabody Buildings. I groaned inwardly. I had known it would have to be me. The instruction was that it should be my last call before lunch, and that the syringe and needle should be kept separate from the midwifery case, also, that I should wear gloves. I didn’t need telling.
    The Peabody Buildings in Stepney were notorious. They had been condemned for demolition about fifteen years before, but were still standing and still housing families. They were the worst type of tenements, because the only water came from a single tap at the end of each balcony, where the only lavatory was situated. There were no facilities in the flats. My attitude towards Lil softened. Perhaps I would be like her if I had to live in such conditions.
    The door was open, but I knocked.
    “Come on in, luvvy. I’m expecting you. I’ve got some water ready for you.”
    How kind. She must have gone to a lot of trouble to get water and heat it up. The flat was filthy and stinking. Hardly a square inch of floor space could be seen, and small children, naked from the waist down, tumbled around all over the place.
    Lil seemed different in her own surroundings. Maybe the clinic had intimidated her in some way, so that she had felt the need to assert herself by showing off. She did not seem so loud and brash in her own home. The irritating giggle, I realised, was no more than constant and irrepressible good humour. She pushed the children around, but not unkindly.
    “Get out of it, yer li’l bleeder. The nurse can’t get in.” She turned to me. “Here you are. You can put your things down here.”
    She had gone to the trouble of clearing a small space on the table, and had put a washing bowl beside it, with soap and a grubby towel.
    “Thought you’d need a nice, clean towel, eh ducky?”
    Everything is relative.
    I put my bag on the table, but took out only the syringe, needle, ampoule, gloves and cotton swab soaked in spirit. The children were fascinated.
    “Get back, or I’ll clip your ear,” Lil said gaily. Then to me, “Do you wants me leg or me arse?”
    “Doesn’t matter. Whichever you prefer.”
    She lifted her skirts and bent over. The huge round backside looked like a positive affirmation of solidarity. The children gawped, and crowded in closer. With a shrill scream of laughter Lil kicked backwards, like a horse.
    “Garn. Aint you seen this before?”
    She roared with laughter, and the bottom wobbled so much it was impossible to inject it.
    “Look, hold on to the chair and keep still for a second, will you?” I was laughing now.
    She did, and the injection was over in less than a minute. I rubbed the area hard to disperse the fluid, as it was a large dose. I put everything into a brown paper bag to keep it separate. Then I washed my hands and dried them on her towel, just to please her. We carried our own towel, but I thought that to use it would be a conspicuous snub.
    She came to the door with me, and out onto the balcony, all the children following. “See you tomorrow, then. I’ll look forward to yer comin. I’ll ’ave a nice cup of tea for yer.”
    I cycled off with much to think about. In her own surroundings, Lil was not a disgusting old bag, she was a heroine. She kept the family together, in appalling conditions, and the children looked happy. She was cheerful and uncomplaining. How she had come to pick up syphilis was none of my business. I was there to treat the condition, not to judge.
    The next day when I called, I was so pre-occupied with wondering how I could decline the offer of a cup of tea, that when the door opened, I stood staring awkwardly, stupidly, at Lil, who was not Lil. She looked a bit shorter and fatter, the same slippers, the same hair curlers, the same fag - but different.
    A familiar screech of laughter revealed toothless