15 #2
Alex nodded. ‘Fair enough. But who’s this McCracken boy?’
‘You’re joking, right?’
Alex shook his head. While the name was familiar, he couldn’t recall exactly where he’d heard it.
‘He was one of yours – a Belfast Presbyterian. Founded the United Irishmen to rebel against English rule. Wanted a free independent Ireland to unite Catholic, Protestant, and dissenter. He led the 1798 rebellion here.’
Alex was frowning. ‘I know who you mean now, but I don’t think he’s approved of in my church. They don’t talk about him much.’
‘Aye, doesn’t surprise me. But he was proof that politics and religion don’t have to be tied together. There’s Catholics that are content to be part of the British Empire, and I know there’s Protestants who would rather have an independent united Ireland.’
‘You might be right.’ Alex thought for a moment. ‘What would you say would be the advantages of a united Ireland, then?’
Dan leaned forward, his eyes shining. ‘You might be sorry you asked me that, for I’m going to tell you, in great detail.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll tell you the disadvantages, too, never worry.’
As he spoke, Alex confirmed that Dan was absolutely not one of the Catholics that preferred British rule.
He was pretty certain Maisie wouldn’t either.
Having been raised in an environment where Father was pro-Empire, and where that was never, ever questioned, Alex found it an interesting exercise of the mind to explore a different perspective.
The conversation that ensued reminded him of other mind-opening conversations he’d had in Edinburgh.
One of his closest chums there had been a lad from a place called Patna in India who had told him all about the Jain religion, and he’d also been pals with a Muslim student from somewhere in Persia.
Neither had been a fan of the British Empire, with Alex’s Muslim pal explaining to him something called the Great Game – a complex rivalry between Russia and Britain for control over central Asia.
Their histories and their religions were so different to his own, yet followed by millions of people.
It had made Irish sectarianism look small, and petty, and parochial.
While he couldn’t imagine ever following a different religion entirely – he had been reared as a Christian and that’s where he felt comfortable – he knew himself now to be much more tolerant of inter-denominational differences than, say, his parents.
However, some of the political anxieties felt by northern Protestants remained valid, in his view, and he was interested in exploring them with Dan.
‘What about this thing of the Catholic Church being given special status in the Irish constitution?’ Father had had much to say about that particular amendment in Dublin.
Dan grimaced. ‘To be fair it was always going to be an issue. But at least they didn’t make Catholicism the state religion, and it was only included because it was the majority religion, not on the basis that it was the true church or anything.
’ He shrugged. ‘Everyone seems to believe that theirs is the only true church.’
‘Aye, you’re right there.’
‘Well, the Pope wasn’t impressed. Apparently he said he wouldn’t approve the amendment, which I think shows that the Irish government could have gone further, but didn’t. And the wording was welcomed by the other churches, who were all named.’
‘Were the Jews included?’
‘They were. And I’m glad they were. Just look at where anti-Jewishness has taken Germany.’
‘Aye. Bloody Hitler making a bogeyman out of nothing.’
‘Too right!’
Feeling entirely satisfied with the conversation, Alex and Dan parted soon afterwards to check in on the various women being supported in labour.
Mrs Duffy was calmer this time, and had less to say – a good sign.
Alex exchanged glances with Maisie, who seemed contented.
In the dim light her glorious hair was muted, the colour deepening to a rich auburn.
Her eyes looked dark and mysterious, the colour hidden.
He now knew, though, that they were hazel, with flecks of green.
Those eyes had been haunting his dreams.
He managed to complete his checks on Mrs Duffy with minimal disturbance, earning an approving look from Maisie.
He had kept his voice low too – reflecting that Fenton’s loud, over-jolly demeanour was both unhelpful as well as .
. . fake. The word came to him as he knocked on the door to room 5. Fenton wasn’t actually jolly at all.
* * *
By mid-afternoon Mrs Duffy had reached the serious stage of labour, and Maisie was delighted with her progress.
Her pains were coming one on top of the other, and she was constantly moving, rocking, trying to find a position where she could be comfortable.
The child’s heartbeat had remained reassuringly stable throughout, and Maisie was becoming increasingly confident in a good outcome.
Soon afterwards the woman began making strained noises, and Maisie nodded to herself in satisfaction.
Now that Mrs Duffy was in the pushing stage things might speed up.
Leaving the woman’s side for a moment, she poked her head out the door. Dan Sheridan was in the corridor, and immediately approached when he saw her.
‘Pushing stage. All good. Just letting you know.’
His frown lifted. ‘Ah brilliant. Do you need Alex yet?’ The Royal preferred it when two people were there for the birth – one for the mother, one for the baby.
On the district, midwives and handywomen often called upon the woman’s mother or sister at that stage if they were on their own. ‘Aye. It won’t be long now, hopefully.’
By the time Alex arrived, Maisie had prepared the birth pack and returned to Mrs Duffy, who was up on the bed at this point, sitting with her knees bent and her feet flat on the sheet.
Maisie bent to check under the woman’s nightdress.
‘I can see the head, Mrs Duffy. You’re doing brilliant!
And here’s Dr Lowe again. He’s here to help me receive the baby. ’
The woman nodded, her eyes closed, and Maisie’s gaze met Alex’s. She couldn’t help giving Alex a broad smile. This will be my first birth in Ireland, and Alex is with me!
He blinked, then smiled back. ‘All good?’ His voice was low, but Maisie knew Mrs Duffy would hear them, despite being so engaged in the work of pushing.
‘Aye,’ she confirmed. ‘Baby’s heartbeat is good, and the head is visible.’
‘Ah, that’s great news.’ He wheeled the cot forward from its spot in the corner, straightening the wee blankets. ‘I brought this.’ Taking a tiny rubber hot-water bottle out from under his arm, he slid it into the tiny cot to ensure it would be warm for the wee one.
‘You’re a star,’ she murmured. He really is.
‘Aargh!’ The head was crowning, and Maisie bent to check all was well, gloved hands ready. She was right to be alert, for two pushes later the head was out, and the baby was born with the next contraction.