June Goulding - The Light in the Window

CONTENTS

In 1951 the young June Goulding took up a position as midwife in a home run by the Sacred Heart nuns. What she witnessed there was to haunt her for the next fifty years.

It was a place of imprisonment and cruelty. A lace where women picked grass by hand and tarred roads whilst heavily pregnant. Where they were denied any contact with the outside world, denied basic medical treatment and abused for their sins. Where, worst of ll, mothers were expected to raise their babies for three years, at which point they would be sold by the nuns to adoptive parents overseas.

In this highly readable memoir June Goulding tells her story and those of some of he women who found themselves abandoned, treated harshly and then made to give away their children after three years of caring for them. It is also a story of the power of kindness and hope, and of the difference one ung woman can make to a great many lives.

To all those thousands of unmarried mothers and their babies who were incarcerated in that horrendous Home, especially those it was my privilege to nurse in 195152.

To Sister Hyacintha, who trained with me in 1950, and our friendship which was renewed many years later as the result of a coincidental meeting.

My special thanks to a schoolfriend from the Ursuline Convent in Sligo, who is a writer. She it was who typed the story from a pencil-written copybook. It could have ended up in the bin only for Mary Brennan Gaffneys encouragement.

A special word of thanks to my daughter Fiona, who keyed it into the computer, and who first joined the local creative writing class and got me to join soon afterwards. We were honoured to have Vincent McDonnell as our tutor. This book would never have been written without his guidance and enduring friendship. He gave me the confidence to send it off, and it is due to the enthusiasm and support of the late Kate Cruise OBrien that it is now published.

My thanks to my dearest husband Pat for his love, patience, quiet help and consideration; to my sister Paddy in Manchester for all her letters and constant support; my seven children for their love and patience, and my love also to my thirteen grandchildren, who think I am cool!

Last but not least, my thanks to Sister Louis-Marie (OConnor) who has been a constant friend. The saddest part of this dedication is that it was she who rang me in March of 1998 to tell me of Kate Cruise OBriens untimely death. I am at a loss to express my deep sadness, and may God comfort her husband Joe and son Alexander, and her friends and colleagues at Poolbeg Press.

To Kate: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.

Shakespeare.

Thank you, and God rest you.

June Goulding

IT WAS IN August 1951, while I was working as a nurse on a private case, that my school-friend had her first baby. Full of excitement, I went to visit her in the maternity hospital where I had trained as a midwife up to the previous April. I smiled to myself as I wondered what it would have been like if she had given birth while I was on duty.

The weather was glorious one of those hot days that we constantly remember from the summers of our youth and the bright sunlight hurt my eyes after the continuous night duty. I was actually living in at the house where Samus, a young man of twenty-four, was dying from tuberculosis of both lungs. He needed frequent morphine injections to calm him and help him to deal with the shortness of breath that squeezed the vibrancy from his body, and to offset any potential haemorrhaging. After some weeks of coming and going, it had been arranged that I sleep in an upstairs back bedroom, away from the traffic, so that I was on call. I had had no day off, in all the twelve weeks that I nursed him.

A familiar feeling washed over me as I arrived at the hospital. I felt like walking briskly up the corridor and to the delivery room it was difficult to credit that I was now simply another visitor bearing the customary bag of fruit and a knitted matinee coat. As I passed the Matrons office in the front hall I noticed that the door was ajar probably for air circulation in the stifling conditions.

Catching my eye, the Assistant Matron called out: You are the very one I want. How is your love life? She had known that I was going out with a dental student during my training.

Non-existent, I answered. Im on a private case since I left here last April.

Thats no place for you. Private nursing is very demanding and not very suitable for two lovebirds like you. Actually, a nun just rang a minute ago looking for a replacement for someone whos getting married. They want a nurse trained in this hospital and theres no night duty.

I found it hard to imagine a home or hospital without night duty. Half of my nursing career, which to date had included three years in general and one year in maternity, had been spent working the night shift.

Where is this hospital? I asked. I dont believe a place that doesnt require night duty actually exists!

Before I give you details, would you consider going for an interview? Then, at least, you can judge for yourself, she insisted.

I agreed to this but stressed that I could not leave my patient as he had become very dependent on me. She then gave me the name and address of a home for unmarried mothers and directions on how to get there. I can truthfully say that I had no idea that such a place existed.

I left the office, clutching the piece of paper with the details, and trying to remain calm enough to concentrate on visiting the newly-delivered mother. By the time I had reached the ward and kissed her in congratulations, it was easier to forget that I had made a commitment to go for this interview. She proudly showed me her adorable daughter with her wrinkled features and wispy dark hair and went through the account of her labour. I had learnt that it was important for mothers to recount how they had come through this event and did my utmost to listen intently to her story.

Back out in the fresh air once more, I had time to think. I was certainly intrigued by the no night duty detail and remembered vividly how frantic the nights had been during my midwifery training. It was a case of just collapsing into bed as we came off duty only to begin the same thing on the following night. I paid the fare to the bus-conductor and grappled with thoughts of a job nursing unmarried mothers who had their babies in the daytime. In my naivet, I thought that perhaps they might be different from other women. And I thought of Pat, my boyfriend, who was never able to meet me and take me for a drive or to a dance. I had no time off so we had to be content with communication by letters.

The next day, I wrote to him and told him of the job offer. Pat answered by return and said that he could never understand how my mother had allowed me to nurse an infectious tuberculosis patient as I had never contracted primary tuberculosis myself. He said that even though my lack of time off was upsetting him, he was far more concerned about the risk to my health. I hugged the letter close to my chest and thought that I was tired of conducting our relationship on paper especially in view of the fact that we were engaged to be married.

The following week, I arranged the interview. Feeling disloyal for not disclosing my destination to my patient, I went home first to change and then set off on my bicycle on roads that knew nothing of the traffic that pounds on them today.

My heart was beating quickly, both from exertion and trepidation, as I slowed to negotiate the entrance to the Home. There were wrought-iron gates which hung on limestone pillars and as I went through I saw a tree-lined avenue. Everything seemed peaceful as I passed along by the well-trimmed shrubs and lawns. There was a lake to the right of the curving avenue and as I turned left I saw a square cement building surrounded by high walls with a small metal gate.