Chapter 28: A boy is born

A birth in our family...

There can be few things as important for a couple as having a baby, especially the first one which can be quite an adventure. When Rosemary had her first pregnancy confirmed, our immediate family in Australia was informed. Eventually there was a bump on display and her bosses at Costain and Press needed to be told that she would be leaving her job at some time in the coming months.

There was pride about the pregnancy, as you can deduce from this photograph which was taken in Shepherd’s Bush a short distance away from where we lived in a one-bedroom basement flat:

Extract from a letter to the family dated June 17, 1970:

Rosemary is still pretty fit. She has an occasional off day and gets tired very easily but is progressively feeling stronger as each day goes by. We are hopeful she will have a relatively pleasant pregnancy. She has plenty of cravings, but so far these have been short-lived. And I mean short-lived. On her way home from work one day, she got a craving for baked beans, so she bought a LARGE tin. But when she got home, she took one look at the tin and felt sick at the thought of eating them. She put the tin away in the cupboard, and they’re still there.

From a letter dated June 20, 1970:

Our doctor set a record the other day. He gave Rosemary a 15 second consultation. As she walked into the surgery the doctor began scribbling her name at the top of a prescription form. He asked her what was wrong [nothing serious] and she told him. He filled in the rest of the prescription form and off she went. As I said, all in 15 seconds.

I guess I was exaggerating, but not by much. The doctor was an unpleasant character devoid of sympathy and what might be termed “a good bedside manner”. It was extraordinary that even before she had come into the room he was assuming that all she needed was a prescription. On one of my visits I asked him why he was so abrupt, rude even. He tried to justify this by responding with the view that “most of my patients are stupid people, especially the black women”.

This is from the letter of July 11, 1970:

Rosemary is fairly apprehensive that because of the family history (on both sides) she will have twins. We toyed with the idea of insuring against them, but the minimum premium was £28 for a pay-out of £500. We can think of better things to do with £28.

Rosemary has begun making a few maternity dresses. She's starting to show a bit of tummy already and is finding it an effort to get into some of her dresses. I have a feeling she’s going to be a big girl. She’s certainly not going to be able to see her feet for her stomach, and the way things are going, she’ll be lucky if she can see her stomach for her breasts. She is enormous!

From a letter dated July 18, 1970:

Rosemary had her check-up on Friday and everything seems to be going well [with the pregnancy]. She’s had a craving for cabbage for a week or so. Not cabbage with meat or anything like that. Just cabbage. She even had cabbage for breakfast one day.

From a letter of July 23, 1970 about a time now long changed:

We are having an enthusiasm for homemade ice cream spider drinks. They’ve never heard of them over here, nor does the average Pom know what a milk shake is. A couple of big shops in the heart of London sell milk shakes, but they’re given very little shake and cost about 2/6 [two shillings and six pence] each. There are very few places in England where you can just walk in and ask for a cold drink. And the damned pubs are closed each day between 2.45pm and 5.30pm, so if you get a thirst in mid-afternoon that’s just too bad. It’s even hard to buy bottles of soft drink to take home. Very few supermarkets sell soft drink, except in a very small range of the 13oz bottles. The one local supermarket which does sell large bottles usually confines itself to lemonade and orange.

From a letter of September 24, 1970:

Rosemary is fit and well. At her last check-up the nurse said the baby appeared to be more advanced than at first thought and the estimated time of arrival has been tentatively brought forward to early January. It is now possible to see the little devil kicking his/her way out through the wall of the womb. It suddenly occurred to us that we were terribly ignorant about what was going on in there so splurged £4.12.0 on three good books that should make us a little more informed.

This is probably one of them:

From a letter of October 4, 1970:

Rosemary is sitting on the settee knitting her first “little thing”. Until now she has refused to go on a “little things” knitting spree — mainly because she wanted to be absolutely sure there was going to be a baby to put them on. They’re not joking when they call them “little things” — they are microscopic. Surely babes aren’t THAT small, but I am assured they are.

As you know, we’ve often wondered about the possibility of twins. Well, we recently bought a dozen eggs and about half of them had two yokes. An omen maybe?

From a letter of October 18, 1970:

Rosemary had planned to resign from Costain and Press at the end of the month and work for them for a few further weeks on a casual basis, but her boss told her there was no need to resign and that she could work 9-4 each day and take a day off mid-week if she felt the need — all on full pay. As for the date of birth, the clinic people can’t make up their minds. They now feel the baby could be three weeks more advanced than originally thought which would mean it could arrive late in December.

As you will detect from this, ultrasound scans weren’t yet available to pregnant women, thus there was no accurate information about the health and size of the baby or its sex.

From a letter of November 22, 1970:

Rosemary got a very pleasant surprise at work last week. She decided that she’d better give up work at the end of this month, so handed in her resignation. But her boss told her to tear it up because they’d decided that as the contract she was working on was almost completed she would be made redundant, This means that she will get a “golden handshake” of two months’ salary, tax free. A lovely bonus. The clinic now seems to be sticking with their estimated date of arrival, of about December 20. The kid is still extremely active, and it seems to like television and pop music.

From a letter of December 1, 1970:

Rosemary finished work yesterday but will stay on until the end of the week to assist a young Nigerian chap who is temporarily taking over her job. Tomorrow she is taking the girls to lunch and the next day is taking the boys across to the pub for farewell drinks. We were just thinking what a wonderful cartoon the pub scene would make — a very pregnant Rosemary surrounded by blokes with their glasses raised. They’ve been very good to her at Costains. She’s been given piles of things for the baby — too much really because it will be a bit of a problem to get it all home. Still, it’s very kind of them. I rather think that everyone at Costains feel the baby is theirs as much as ours because they’ve had Rosemary’s bulging tum around for such a long time.

Because Rosemary is being made redundant, the firm has to formally dismiss her. An official letter from the company Personnel Manager thanked her for her services but regretted that “we will be unable to continue to use your services”.

From a letter dated December 11, 1970:

Rosemary finished work last Friday. She was sent on her way with a cheque for £12 from a staff collection; a pile of babywear; a tear in her eye; and two jelly-like legs caused by a couple of stiff farewell gins. She is thoroughly enjoying what will probably be only a brief period as a Lady of Leisure.

Rosemary is still very fit. However, she has to spend Sunday night in hospital for sugar tolerance tests. A little sugar has showed up in her urine on a few of her visits to the clinic, and the doctors want to discover if it is a diabetic condition or a sugar lag. She went through all this business several times in Melbourne and the doctors there finally concluded that it was just a sugar lag.

Rosemary had a funny experience the other day while walking home. Two young chaps were walking behind her and she could hear them whispering favourable remarks about her back view. They drew alongside her and took a sideways glance. It was then than her condition became apparent. There was dead silence until the two chaps got ahead of her a bit, then she heard one say to the other: “Well, anyone can make a mistake!”

From a letter dated January 6, 1971:

Rosemary is still hanging on and still very fit, even though she has trouble sleeping because the kid keeps kicking her. She is still growing around what was once her waist and she keeps bumping her stomach into things.

From a letter dated January 14, 1971:

With a bit of luck, the next letter will contain some real news about the baby. Rosemary had a check-up at the hospital today, and she was told the baby’s head had engaged and that the birth should come within the next few days. She is getting a wee bit impatient but is remaining quite calm.

Last weekend, Rosemary took me to see one of the super-trendy boutiques in Kensington. It’s called Biba and is as much a show as a shop. It has gone all out for the 30s Look. You know, cloche hats, felt sou'westerns and crepe dresses in dull colours. The shop was like some setting for a film. Mirrored walls and antique furniture. It was a total effect. Very interesting. We also went to Harrods, which is nearby, but we were disappointed. Don’t know what the Queen sees in the place. It lacked style and a lot of the stuff wasn't very good quality. We bought a box of matches for 3d [three pence] and a pound of sausages for 4/4 [four shillings and four pence].

Harley McDearmid Richardson was born at Hammersmith Hospital on January 19, 1971. There was a mail strike so the relatives in Australia had to be informed by expensive phone calls.

This is from a letter dated January 24, 1971 and sent to Australia via a pirate postal service based in Holland:

Rosemary and Harley are both very well and should be home this week. Rosemary feels marvellous. As for Harley, he just lies there sleeping his head off. He cries only rarely. He weighed 7 lbs 9 1/2 oz (3.44 kilos in new money) at birth. He has an unruly mop of darkish hair about an inch long.

As it turned out, the doctors’ original date of birth, January 18, was almost correct. We had been up late on January 17 and were reading in bed until 1.30am when it became clear that her waters had ruptured. After ringing the hospital we gathered Rosemary’s things together, then to demonstrate to ourselves that we were not going to panic, we sat down and had a cup of tea, I drove Rosemary to the hospital at 3am. The weather was very still and quite balmy, almost like a summer’s night. It was hard to think it was mid winter. After Rosemary checked in, I was shunted off home.

Labour didn’t really begin until three in the afternoon — and then very slowly — so they attached one of those drip feed whatsits (forgive my medical ignorance) to her arm to speed things up. I was allowed to see her for a couple of hours in the evening, and by the time I was tossed out, the contractions were coming hard and fast. But the birth didn’t take place until 5.45 the next morning. You would have thought that 15 hours of being in labour and two near-sleepless night would have left Rosemary absolutely exhausted, but she was still very chirpy when I visited her at 8am. I was allowed to have a quick look at Harley. He still hadn’t been washed because the hospital kept its babies quiet for six hours after birth.

There was no possibility back then of my being permitted by Hammersmith Hospital to be present at the birth. How things have changed! The maternity ward sister and her nurses were unpleasant people. Totally unsympathetic to the mothers and babies. We have vowed that our next child will be born elsewhere, probably Queen Charlotte’s Hospital which has a good reputation.

I suppose you are wondering about the names Harley McDearmid. To be honest, neither of us can remember how we came by Harley. Maybe it was Harley Street [which was close to where our record producer friend Nat Kipner and his wife Alma lived] that gave us the idea. We just don’t know, but it seemed a nice strong name for a boy. As for McDearmid, that will be obvious to the Richardsons. [Nana Bessie Richardson was a McDearmid.] We felt it would be a good idea to perpetuate in a small way such a good Scottish ancestral name.

It was funny when I phoned the Batsons [Rosemary’s parents in Bendigo] to tell them the news. Only Gramps [Rosemary’s maternal grandfather Dudley James] was home. Gramps is not easily impressed -- certainly not by a telephone call from London. He enquired after the news, then informed me that Val and Jim were not home. Val was in Ballarat and Jim was across the road at the [South Bendigo] bowling green. He was all for suggesting that I phone back some other time when they were home. I told Gramps that perhaps it would be a good idea to pop over to the bowling green and get Jim. “Oh, I can’t do that,” said Gramps firmly, “he’s playing a competition match". Eventually, I convinced him that on this one occasion Jim wouldn’t mind his game being interrupted. I think Jim would have killed Gramps if he’d just hung up.

I jokingly mentioned in my last letter that Rosemary should go into business with Rent-a-Breast. Well, she has got so much milk to spare that the main maternity hospital in London wants it for their premature babies. They’re going to collect it from her twice a week. She will be paid three pence an ounce, but she’d be quite happy to do it for nothing.

Rosemary had a visit last Monday from her local Health Visitor (the British equivalent of the Australian Health Centre Sister). Her name, we were amused to learn, was Miss Titley.

From a letter dated February 15, 1971:

Rosemary is feeling on top of the world. Harley has still been sleeping quite well at night. Last night, he slept for 5½ hours in a stretch. He’s putting on weight quickly and we’re amazed at how strong he’s getting. His strength seems out of all proportion to his size. He’s turning into quite a wriggler and seems to spend most of his waking time grunting vigorously. We are getting some appreciation of the difficulty in not spoiling a child. When Harley cries, he looks so terribly sad, it’s hard not to give him too much attention.

From a letter dated February 23, 1971:

I gave Rosemary a terrible fright one night recently. I was having one of my “adventure dreams” (halfway between a happy dream and a nightmare). The dream involved my being chased by the Russian secret police, the KGB. It was quite exciting, but the time came when I found myself cornered. I decided to give a hearty yell for help. It was at this stage that the dream switched to reality. The ear-splitting scream woke both myself and Rosemary up. Rosemary said it sounded as though I was being strangled, and she got such a start, she had difficulty in getting back to sleep.

Still on the subject of the KGB, we noticed in the papers a week or so back about the chap who was arrested for taking a photograph with Leningrad Harbour in the background. Well, we have quite a bit of movie film taken of this harbour — and it includes long shots of Russian warships moored there. When I took the film, an official Russian guide was standing beside me and gave me permission to do so.

From a letter dated March 15, 1971:

Harley is fit and happy again after a recurrence of a cold. He had an unhappy time a few days ago, but is back to his usual self now and is winning our hearts with lots of broad smiles.

We were amused the other day by an Irish friend and neighbour. She decided that what Harley needed to get him off on the right foot healthwise was a sprinkling of holy water from Lourdes. She claims she was cured of a chronic leg ailment by a visit to Lourdes. We may be wrong, but we’re sure we’ve spotted Harley crossing himself.

We are assured by people who should know that Harley is enormously strong for his age. By clutching onto something with his hands, he is able to stand up, which seems quite amazing. He does a great deal of grunting and waves his clenched fist about in the manner of a Black Panther salute.

Finally, one of our favourite photographs of Harley as a five-month baby:

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Earlier chapters can be found HERE