For a Mother's Sins (10 page)

Molly smiled at her daughter. Her father had said those same words to her when she was young. It was funny how the world turned.

‘Hold him down, woman! I’m never going to get his leg off if you don’t keep him still.’

Molly leaned all her weight into holding down the tunnel builder, who was screaming and thrashing about in agony, despite the dose of morphine he’d been given. Trying to avert her eyes
from the man’s ruined leg, she looked at Doctor Thistlethwaite. His brow was covered in beads of sweat as he sawed through the smashed limb. Beside him, the nurse was white-faced. Despite her
years of experience, the woman looked as if she might pass out.

It was quite an initiation into her new job at the hospital. Her first morning had barely begun when there was a clamour at the door and six strong navvies entered, carrying their injured
colleague on a stretcher. The doctor had ordered them to place him on the scrubbed pine slab that served as the operating table, then he had sent the navvies packing and summoned Molly to cut away
the man’s torn trousers. Seeing the smashed bone sticking through holes in the blood-soaked cloth, she had been afraid to touch the patient for fear of causing him more pain. But Doctor
Thistlethwaite had shouted at her to pull herself together and get on with it. Hands slick with the blood pouring out of the man’s wounds, she had done as she was told and cut away the
clothing to reveal the full extent of the damage. Trembling and fighting the urge to be sick, she stood back to let the doctor examine the injury. It took him only a moment to assess the damage and
then he began instructing the nurse which instruments to fetch and which drugs to administer. To Molly’s dismay, he’d announced that there was nothing for it but to amputate the leg,
and it would be her job to hold the poor soul down while the doctor did his work.

The smashed leg with the boot still on the foot was now lying on the sawdust-covered floor. It was more like working in a slaughterhouse than a hospital, thought Molly. She gritted her teeth and
watched as the doctor made sure the bandage was secure before stitching up what was left of the limb. When he was done, he mopped his brow and turned to her.

‘Molly, wrap that leg up in a sheet, tag it and take it to the outside mortuary. He’ll want it burying with him if he dies – and if he lives he’ll want to know where
we’ve buried it.’ Then he turned back to the nurse and instructed her to thread another needle so he could finish sewing up the wound.

For a moment, Molly stood frozen. She looked at the leg on the floor, feeling her stomach lurch at the thought of picking it up. The doctor must have heard the retching sound that escaped her
lips.

‘Go on, get out! I don’t want you being sick in here – there’s enough to clean and scrub already,’ the doctor yelled.

Molly glanced towards the operating table and caught the satisfied smirk on the nurse’s lips. She took a deep breath and told herself she could do this. After all, it was no worse than
handling meat.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch a sheet from the storeroom to wrap it in, then I’ll take the leg out.’ Gulping back the acid bile that rose into her
mouth, she walked unsteadily to the storeroom. After picking up the sheet she seized the opportunity to grab a few lungfuls of clean air, then she re-entered the ward, making her way past the other
patients in their beds. Hearing the man’s screams had forced them all to relive their own time under the surgeon’s knife. Some lay with their faces turned away or buried under the
covers, trying to shut out the horror. But one man was sitting up in bed, looking at her anxiously.

‘Nurse, is Bill going to be all right?’ he asked. ‘He looked in a bad way. I worked with him on the Ingleton line before we came up here. He’s got five children to
feed.’

‘The doctor’s doing all that he can,’ Molly told him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure Bill will be fine.’ She was lying through her teeth. How could he be fine
after this? Even if he lived, how was he going to support a wife and five children?

Molly drew back the curtain that separated the operating table from the rest of the ward. As she did, the patient moaned. At least he’d survived the surgery.

‘Right, let’s get him into a bed,’ said the doctor, satisfied with his handiwork. ‘If we’re lucky, he might just survive.’ The nurse nodded and set down the
tray of medical instruments. Doctor Thistlethwaite was reaching back to untie his bloodstained apron when he caught sight of Molly. ‘Get that leg moved,’ he barked.

Molly bent down, partly closing her eyes as she wrapped the leg in the cotton sheet. It was heavier than she had anticipated and she struggled with the weight for a moment, then began making her
way back through the ward past the other patients. She heard one of them say, ‘Bad sign that – poor bugger, they must have taken his leg off.’ Then she was outside in the sunshine
and clear fresh air.

Once inside the mortuary hut she set the leg down on a shelf, tied a label on it and wrote:
Left leg, 1 May 1870. Bill . . . ?
The doctor’s words echoed in her head:
‘He’ll want it burying with him if he dies.’ She couldn’t help wondering whether it would be better for Bill and his family if he died. At least then he’d be reunited
with his lost leg as he entered the gates of heaven. Better that than be left legless and with no income to feed his family.

She leaned against the mortuary door for a moment, trying to compose herself. People were busily going about their business as if it were an ordinary day: a tinker was shouting for people to
bring him any knives that needed sharpening or pans that needed mending, and the baker from Ingleton was leading his donkey, laden with freshly baked bread, selling loaves from door to door. Molly
reminded herself that life went on, mouths needed to be fed, wages earned. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to go back into the hospital.

‘You did well, Mrs Mason,’ said Doctor Thistlethwaite, who had been watching her from the doorway. ‘Not a pleasant start to your first day, but you seem to have passed the
test. Most women would have taken fright and walked out.’ He smiled at her. ‘His name is Bill Beecroft. Would you mind writing that on the leg tag, please.’

Molly smiled at him and nodded. When she’d finished writing the tag, she re-entered the hospital, filled with a new sense of pride. Though she still felt nervous about facing up to the
brutality of hospital life, she was more confident now of her ability to cope.

‘I thought for sure you were going to faint,’ sneered the dark-haired nurse. ‘Doctor Thistlethwaite doesn’t like women who faint at the sight of blood. He always
compliments me on my nerves. By the way, the operating table needs scrubbing and the floor needs washing down. You’ll find a mop and bucket in the corner over there.’

Molly shot her a look. Snotty cow! She might be a nurse, but there was no need for her to take that attitude. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘the doctor just complimented me on keeping
my nerve. Next time I’ll know what to expect and will take more notice.’

‘We have a special relationship, Doctor Thistlethwaite and I,’ preened the nurse, giving her hat a tweak before turning to walk away.

‘You mean, he sleeps with you when he’s desperate.’ Molly couldn’t stop herself. Obviously the woman saw her as a threat. Well, if she wanted to play that game
she’d give her a run for her money. One thing was for certain: she wasn’t about to let herself be bullied by this little upstart.

‘I don’t know what he was doing, hiring someone as common as you! You’re just a drunk who can’t even take care of her own daughter.’ The nurse glared at her with
hatred in her eyes.

‘Aye, I’ve got my faults,’ said Molly, ‘but at least I treat folk like humans and don’t look down my nose on folk that are not as privileged as myself. Don’t
worry, I’m not after your doctor.’ And with that she grabbed the bucket and mop and stormed out before she said something she might regret. She wasn’t about to risk losing her job
over a falling out with some stuck-up nurse. Better to shut up and get on with the job; she’d let her actions prove her worth.

Lizzie lay in her bed, pretending to be asleep but listening to Rose and Jim’s whispered conversation.

‘He’s not home yet, Father,’ said Rose anxiously. ‘He’s out gallivanting with that lass, I know it. That boy will be the death of me.’

‘Now shush, Mother. Our Mike’s a grown man, you’ve got to let him make his own way in life. Besides, she seemed all right to me.’

‘Aye, well she would, all that blonde hair and big doe eyes. I saw you looking at her, Jim Pratt. It doesn’t alter the fact that she’s a landlord’s daughter, not good
Methodist stock like us.’

Rose had always dreaded the thought of her boys leaving home, but this scenario was worse than anything she could have dreamt up. Imagine if Mike were to do the unthinkable and marry this
girl.

‘What will be, will be. You can’t alter life, Ma.’ Jim put his arm around his wife, comforting her. ‘Now let’s go to bed and stop thinking about it.’

But Rose couldn’t stop thinking about it. As her husband’s heavy breathing subsided into snores she lay staring up at the ceiling, listening for the sound of the door and Mike
returning. It was all right for Jim to talk, but Mike was her lad. Sons and mothers were supposed to be close, but now she was going to lose him to a floozy.

‘Where did you get to last night?’ Rose banged Mike’s mug of tea down.

The breakfast table went quiet. Lizzie stirred the porridge, thankful that she wasn’t sitting at the table with the family.

‘Don’t start, Mam. I stopped at Gearstones, all right. I’m twenty, I don’t have to tell you everything.’

‘I hear the mice play dominoes a lot at Gearstones. They’re always knocking on the walls,’ said John, spluttering a mouthful of tea over the table as he laughed at his own
joke.

Rose cuffed him over the ear. ‘Wash your mouth out, John Pratt! I may be old but I know what you’re saying – and we’ll have none of that before
any
of you are
wed.’

There was a uncomfortable pause and then Mike dropped the bombshell.‘Well, Ma, now you’ve mentioned weddings, I’ve something to tell you. I asked Jenny for her hand in marriage
last night, and her mother and father agreed to it.’ Mike watched his mother anxiously, knowing that this would not get a favourable response.

‘Congratulations, lad,’ said Jim, getting to his feet and reaching across to shake his son’s hand. ‘She seems a right grand lass.’ He turned to his wife:
‘Mother, what do you say?’

For a moment there was silence as Rose slumped in her chair, handkerchief pressed to her face. ‘I knew it! I knew when she was here on Sunday that I’d be losing my lad. Oh my dear
God, I’m losing one of my boys.’ Her voice rose into a hysterical wail. ‘Lizzie, bring me a drink of water. I feel faint.’

‘Now, Mam, don’t take on so. I’ll only be half a mile down the road. And you won’t be losing me, you’ll be gaining Jenny – she’ll be the daughter you
always wanted.’

‘She’ll never be my daughter – never, do you hear me! And you might as well leave today. Go on, go – now that you’ve broken your mother’s heart.’ She
broke off to sip from the glass of water that Lizzie had quietly placed in her hand. ‘Oh my poor heart, I think I’m having a heart attack.’ Rose’s face went red and she
clutched her chest as if struggling to breathe.

‘Mother, you stop this at once! There’s nothing wrong with you, nothing whatsoever. You do this every time you don’t get your own way, and I won’t have it any more. Do
you hear me? It stops now. Pull yourself together and wish the lad the best.’ Jim was a man of few words, but he’d finally had enough of Rose’s hysterics. He was right glad that
one of the lads had enough go in him to walk away from his mother’s apron strings. ‘It’s time our John started looking for a woman and all – he’s nearly an old fellow
now. And you, young Bob – high time you started talking to folk, else they’ll think you’re thick.’ As if astonished at his own outburst, Jim sat down without another
word.

The room fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the occasional muffled sob from Rose, still sitting with her hankie pressed to her face. Embarrassed, and feeling this was no place for
anyone who wasn’t part of the family, Lizzie crept outside. With nowhere else to go, she sat down on the steps. The shantytown was just beginning to wake and the smell of woodsmoke hung in
the morning air. The sun was slowly rising over Cam Fell, its rays filtering down like fingers from heaven, catching the flight of thousands of moorland insects going about their business. It
looked as if it was going to be a lovely day. Lizzie made up her mind to go for a walk later. Perhaps when Rose took her afternoon nap she could sneak an hour away, stroll down to Nether Hall and
sit on the bridge. The view down the Ribble Valley was spectacular on a good day.

The sound of the door sneck being raised jolted Lizzie from her mind’s wanderings.

John tugged on one of her plaits. ‘Coast’s clear, Liz. You can go back in – we’ve all had our lecture. Look after Ma today, will you? She’s bound to be a bit down.
Our Mike’s packing his stuff – he’s decided to leave the happy family home right away.’ He patted his cap before setting it on his blond hair. ‘If you see your mother,
tell her I’ll bring your bed back at the end of the week. Seems we have one too many now.’ He grinned at Lizzie, shoved his hands in his pockets and set off down the street, kicking the
dirt up as he went.

Lizzie made her way back in just as Jim and Bob were emerging on their way to work.

‘I hope you have a good day, Lizzie,’ Bob said quietly, blushing from the top of his head to his toes.

Lizzie was amazed: Bob had never spoken to her, he’d barely even acknowledged her. Jim’s words must have hit home.

‘You will take care of yourself, won’t you? I know I’ve said some harsh things, but I was only thinking of you, Mike.’ Rose was standing by the stove watching Mike pack
his few belongings.

‘I’ll take care, Ma, but I’ve got to go. I’m stifled here.’ He looked up at her. ‘You just don’t understand, do you? We’re not children any
more.’ Tying his things in a bundle, he slung it over his back then went to kiss his weeping mother on the cheek. ‘Bye, Ma. You know I still love you, but I’ve got to move
on.’ He ducked his head as he walked out of the hut, then turned back to wink at Lizzie. ‘Take care of her, Lizzie Mason.’ And then he was gone.