“This is stunning. Memoir is such a fascinating genre isn’t it? And you write it brilliantly.”
Clover Stroud, author of four memoirs including the forthcoming The Giant on the Skyline The Red of My Blood: A Death and Life Story, on Held in Mind
In early March of 1959, The British Medical Journal reported on the recent delivery of identical twin girls – Twin One weighing two pounds and two ounces, Twin Two just one pound 12 ounces - and the succession of pioneering blood transfusions administered through the tiniest of veins in a bid to save them both. Only Twin Two survived those first few days. No matter, for theirs were classed as ‘live births’. A success at that weight; that gestation.
By May 13th 1959, Twin Two was 84 days old. She weighed 5lbs 4 ½oz and was ready to go home. These details are scrawled on the back of a black and white photograph taken by an unknown hand and stored in that electric blanket box, unseen for decades. The midwife who took care of Mum - Nurse Robertson – cradled her in the crook of her left arm and gazed down maternally at this fragile baby whose features are familiar to those who have known the wizened look of babies born too soon. The trees across the courtyard appeared almost in leaf; the day deemed warm enough for her to be taken outside onto the balcony for some fresh air. Her tiny sister’s grave, wherever they buried her in these hospital grounds, still fresh.
Where was this baby’s mother?
To the right of the scene, the back of the three-storey building that formed one side of the horseshoe centre of the hospital campus, recognisable for its bold cubic shapes, curved columns and whitewashed exterior. Between it and the swell of Nurse Robertson’s hair, the peak of Goat Fell could be seen in the distance. They must have been on a balcony of the old maternity home, decommissioned and partly demolished to make way for the construction of Woodland View, the in-patient psychiatric facility where Mum would spend the winters of her 60th and 61st year.