Who Was Angela Zendalic (8 page)

A couple of days before the baby was due Peggy woke around midnight to find her sheets were soaked with the warm wetness of her broken waters. The instructions for any night time problems were that she alert the duty Sister, but as she walked downstairs the warmness turned to a cold clinging of her nightdress around her bare calves. Sister Grace offered no words of interest or concern. ‘Get dressed, change your bed, and wait in the lobby for a taxi. I trust you have the correct fare ready.'

The good doctor Read, in his chapter about mental preparation, had quoted, ‘
the husband, as a participating member of the birth team, is essential
' but as she stripped her bed, and struggled to replace the sheets in the bone-numbing cold, she could only ask God to join her humble team of one. Thus, holding a small packed case, and her folder of medical notes, she waited alone on the doorstep of St. Olave's.

Once at the maternity hospital an impatient Irish nurse booked her in, and knowing where she'd come from seemed to take more time than necessary to read her notes. Her cold eyes flickered up and down, staring at Peggy with a look of dumb censure. Was she finding the words, ‘
father an African negro
' a fact even more shocking than being unmarried. At least at St Olave's the residents were always grudgingly referred to as Mrs, and in her case she really was Mrs Davidson, but the hatchet-faced nurse took great delight in ignoring the fact. ‘Follow me, Miss Davidson,' she bellowed.

Carrying her case herself, and having to walk through the start of low back cramps, Peggy followed the fast steps of the nurse through many sets of heavy rubber doors into a labyrinth of dimly lit concrete corridors. ‘In here,' the nurse barked, leading her into a ward that smelled strongly, as was usual, of surgical spirit, evoking the fear of needles and the unknown horrors of medical procedure. In dim light she was shown to a bed in a row of others, the incumbents all pitifully groaning behind closed curtains. ‘Get undressed, Miss Davidson,'

After the enforced indignity of a rough shave and enema, and ordered to put on a flimsy cotton gown, she tried to rise above the cold indifference of the nurse, concentrating on the advice of Dr Read.
‘Labour is a natural occurrence, and should be approached with calm positive thought.'
But there was no hope of staying calm. She climbed up onto the high hard bed, pulling the thin sheets and counterpane over herself. Completely abandoned, so cold she shook, and no bell to ring if the baby started to come out.

Labour really did mean hard work, but she was determined to be brave. With every pain that rose she endured it with a stoic silence, begging it to reach its peak, and breathing with gratitude as it fell away, oblivious to the moaning wails of the others. After what seemed like hours a young doctor in a white coat appeared, with no introduction or explanation; a humiliating and painful ordeal of being pulled and pummelled, and poked in silence. ‘Doctor, is everything alright,' she asked timidly, but he just nodded his head and grunted. Being left again to suffer alone she forced herself to be controlled, and to breathe and pant through the heightened rise and fall of what were now gripping, closely timed contractions. No sooner had one ceased, another started, and her back became a locked block of agony. With all resolve collapsing she cried, she writhed, she called for Joseph, for her mother, for Ted, for anyone in the world to help her. Finally she prayed to God, that he would see her through the ordeal and the baby lived.

The Irish nurse finally appeared again. ‘What a row you're making. You're nothing but a big baby yourself. Now up with your knees.' She took a quick look with a bright angle poise lamp, looked Peggy in the eye, and whispered, ‘I can see the head. The black curly hair of a little pickaninny, to be sure. You stuck up bitches are all whores. Get yourself up and come with me.' With the nurse not even offering her an arm to lean on she staggered into a small single room and was ordered to lie on the bed, flat on her back. Once again she was left alone.

With the first, deep thrust of final stage labour all sense of control left her, and Peggy screamed. Another nurse bustled in, but this time she was a proper midwife in blue, wearing starched cap and cuffs. ‘Hello, Mrs Davidson,' she said kindly. ‘I'm Sister James. Nearly there. It won't be long now. Deep breaths – good girl – keep going – now, when I tell you, I want a really big hard push down.' Peggy panted, she pushed, and she strained, her cries guttural and primeval, trying to will her body to release the baby. At last, with a sound of sloshing, and a muffled sneeze, the baby was born into the capable hands of the Sister. ‘A truly beautiful little girl, Mrs Davidson. Does she have a name yet?'

‘Angela', said Peggy. ‘Angela Josephine Fleur.'

‘Well, she certainly looks like a little angel. Congratulations and well done.'

Baby Angela was weighed as six pounds two ounces, wrapped in a tight white towel, and placed in her arms. So tiny, so dainty, but perfect in every way. Light coffee-coloured skin, a halo of silky black ringlets, and clearly with Joseph's features; his high brow, his wide cheekbones, and the gentle curve of his chin. As dawn rose, and light flooded the room, the tiny little face was sheering her features with puzzlement, but then she seemed to make calm eye contact to confirm love at first sight between mother and daughter. All Peggy's miseries evaporated and she closed her eyes. Joseph was with her in the room, sitting at the head of the bed in their shared joy. His lips kissing her cheek while his daughter's strong, tiny fingers wrapped round his thumb.

15th February 1954 – stop – Mrs Davidson delivered of a healthy girl – stop – mother and baby both doing well – stop

Early March 1954
St. Olave's Home

T
ed
carefully adjusted the baby in his large, clumsy arms, staring with an expression of benign tenderness. ‘Oh, Angela. What a little beauty you are. Thank God you're not being shunted off to Barnardo's. You're coming home with us.'

Peggy looked on proudly. ‘She's lovely, isn't she? And
I
thank God, I'm not going to lose her. I couldn't be happier. All's well what end's well, as they say.'

‘Too right. You should see the front room at No.55. Word's got round and it's full up with bags of knitted stuff, and shawls and bedding. And her room's all ready as well – decorated by me and Stan. Pink wash on the walls, a brand new cot, and some lovely bits of oak furniture I picked up from old Wally's on Walton Street.'

Peggy, lost in her own gratitude for the future, smiled dreamily. Who could be more motherly than Edie? And Stan, too. So steady and kind, and had endless patience with Brenda. Angela was going to be really loved and she'd see her all the time. Cuddle her, and talk to her, and watch her grow up. Spending her weekends in joy and wonder; playing games, singing songs, reading to her, teaching her to play the piano, going on picnics and spoiling her with all the things that little girls wanted.
Her
little girl. As nearly hers as she could hope for.

Ted lay the sleeping baby back in her cot with a tender kiss, sat down and took Peggy's hand. ‘Look, Peg. Can you really afford the expense? Two pound ten a week's quite steep. If you can't, just say so and I'll chip in.'

‘There's no problem. Mr Agarowlia's staying on in the back bedroom when I get home, so his rent will more than cover the cost, and the library have offered me a post at Summertown. It's lower grade for now but they said I'll go up the ladder again when any vacancies arise. I'll make out to Stan and Edie it's a promotion, though. Summertown will suit me well. Short walk up Little Clarendon Street, and the No.2 bus from St. Giles takes me all the way there.'

‘It's really all come together, hasn't it. Everything's going to be alright.'

March 30th 1954

Dear Peg,

Re: the ‘handover arrangements' for next Tuesday. As we discussed I've hired a fully qualified nanny and a private car to take Angela down to No.55, so expect it to arrive with you around 11.00am. Stan and Edie are so excited – hopping around like two scalded cats! I'm pretty excited myself and I'm going to really enjoy being an Uncle. Peg, I can't wait to have you home again, but it might be a good idea to leave it a week or two before you make an appearance.

All my love, and a big kiss to our dear little girl from her devoted Uncle Ted.

April 2nd 1954

Dearest Ted,

My dear friend, I will never forget how kind you have been to me. Thank you so much for everything, and Tuesday morning is all arranged with the Sisters. It's going to be heart-breaking to hand my darling over, and I'm dreading it, but I just can't believe my luck that's she still going to be in my life, and only a brick's width away. Of course I want to rush back home so I don't miss a single minute of her settling in, but I've taken your advice. I've booked into a small hotel in Weston-Super-Mare for a couple of weeks, and my ‘exile' will probably do me good. To have some peace and quiet and to come to terms with everything, so expect me home towards the beginning of May.

Once again, I can't express my gratitude more strongly.

With much love,

Peggy

The time had come. A sleek, shining Rover pulled up at St. Olave's and the nanny emerged, dressed in a formal uniform of brown tweed coat and matching hat. The Sisters, in welcoming in the young lady, play-acted their deceitful roles of caring custodians, fussing and fluttering, and smiling like the motherly angels they certainly were not. But was Peggy there to hand over her precious daughter? Her beloved little girl that she'd fed and nurtured for six whole weeks. To ensure the nanny that she loved her, and she was only giving her up because her circumstances couldn't cope. To kiss her one last time and to whisper, ‘Mummy will see you soon, darling.' No, she was not. She was ordered into an upstairs back room shortly before the event on the pretext of her signing some papers, only to be swiftly abandoned and the key turned. Oh, what a fool to have been tricked! She knew the horrors of ‘the handing over ritual' from the pitiful screams of other girls who's babies were just off for adoption and had been removed ‘for their own good', but she'd never dreamed she would be treated so cruelly in the same way. She, too, shouted, and kicked on the door, and yelled with all her strength, but with exhaustion she'd fallen in a heap on the floor, crying, shivering and disgusted that she'd been treated with such inhumanity.

On Angela's arrival at Nelson Street a crowd of neighbours were waiting on the kerbside in full royal visit style, gasping with wonder at the sight of the fancy car and impressive nanny. Thereafter, nearly every mother in Jericho turned up to ooh and aah over the sleeping bundle; all to bring even more hand-knitted garments, or bags of ‘good' things their own daughters had grown out of long ago. A small white bible gifted from Father and Mrs Reynolds, a toy panda from Dr and Mrs Peck, and a satin pram eiderdown from The Mother's Union. They all stood in smiling delight over the adorable little infant, to touch her curls, to run their fingers down her smooth
café au lait
cheeks, and to declare in one voice that she was ‘a real beauty'.

‘Do you know,' Edie said, holding her up to the light at six weeks old, ‘I do believe she's going to have blue eyes. Who ever heard of that?'

Miss Glover, the health visitor, also took a look. ‘You might be right, Mrs Zendalic. That's very odd. I had quite a few coloured babies through my hands when I worked in London, but I've never seen it before. How stunning. She's quite light skinned as well, so I guess the mother must have been a real English rose.'

‘Miss Glover.'

‘Yes, Mrs Zendalic.'

‘Stan and I want to go forward with full adoption of her, all legal and above board. We've had a word with our daughter and she's ever so happy for us to go ahead, so we'd be grateful if you can start the ball rolling as soon as possible. We love her so much the thought of her being taken away is making us feel quite sick.'

‘One step at a time, Mrs Zendalic. Let's see how things go.'

‘No, Miss Glover. We don't want to wait. I'm off to see Dr Peck in the morning and I'll expect full support from you.'

June 1954
Jericho

J
une
18th, 1954
     Dear Mrs Davidson,

I have received a letter from Mr and Mrs Zendalic's solicitor concerning your daughter, Angela Josephine Fleur Davidson, who has been in their care for six months now. The letter states that
‘with every day they love the baby more and more, and it would break their hearts if the mother ever took her away.'

At the start of negotiations the Zendalics were apparently told that legal adoption was the long-term plan for Angela, and thus they have put themselves forward. They have been in discussions with their adult daughter, who is fully supportive of her parent's request.

The letter also states that character references will be provided by their local vicar, their GP, their child welfare officer, and various other people of trust including, ‘Miss Peggy Edwards, Senior Librarian,' whom I know to be yourself. This is a very odd situation indeed. However, I would like you to consider this option very carefully in the interest of the child, and naturally the whole matter will be treated with the utmost security.