Acme Time Travel Incorporated - Volume 1

Jenny had stopped to talk to her friend Margaret Cullen. She had seen Margaret pushing the pram along the street and had gone over for a chat. “How is the little chap?” Jenny had asked cautiously.

She could tell from Margaret’s face that there was a problem. Margaret’s boy had been born on the 8th July 1917. In a time of war, with daily tales of horrors overseas and a dreadful fear of receiving terrible news by telegram, the birth of a baby boy was due cause for celebration. John was Margaret’s first child, and she was naturally very concerned for his health.

“He’s ... he’s ... he doesn’t seem to be ...,” Margaret said, her voice trembling.

Margaret was obviously worried. Jenny was very concerned herself. She wasn’t ‘medical’ or anything like that, but she had brought up three of her own kids, one boy and two girls. Another two had died in childbirth, but those things happened. She counted herself lucky that she had survived herself. Some didn’t. Anyway, her three were all still alive and kicking, so she considered that she knew something about bringing up kids, and what things to look out for.

And now Margaret’s young baby was just over three months old. Jenny and her friends all thought that there was something wrong with the lad. All right, three months is maybe a bit young to tell for sure, but the lad always looked so ‘vacant’. Noises and things held in front of him didn’t seem to catch his attention. Jenny and her friends had discussed the baby amongst themselves (at some length), but they hadn’t wanted to tell Margaret their fears. They might be wrong, and Margaret seemed such a young girl to worry her if there was no need. Margaret was already a nervous wreck, what with worrying about her husband, off fighting the Kaiser and no-one knew where. They had barely been long married (but just long enough seemingly) when Margaret’s husband was called up, and he hadn’t even seen his son but once as yet. Maybe he never would. Things like that happened these days.

Jenny looked into the pushchair. The baby was laid down, wrapped securely in a white blanket. Its eyes seemed unfocussed.

“I’ve saved a bit of money,” Margaret said. “I thought that I’d take him to see ...”

“You’re taking him to see the doctor then, are you?” Jenny said.

Margaret nodded. She was trying to smile, but her smile looked thin and tinged with fright.

Jenny hadn’t had any use for a doctor, or more to the point, she had never had the money to pay for a doctor. She had never had a doctor out to see her. She hadn’t had a doctor when she had brought her own kids into the world, even when two of her poor mites died. She had had what everybody had. Good friends and neighbours. People who had brought their own kids into this world. Delivered them kicking and screaming. Hanging them upside down, a sturdy grip around the ankles, then a smart smack on the backside. That usually got the lungs going.

And if it didn’t ... then that was it.

She had been very lucky.

“How much is it?” Jenny had asked her. “I’ve never been to the doctor. I don’t know how much it is.”

“I’m not sure,” said Margaret. “I don’t know if I’ve got enough, but I’m so ...”

Jenny pulled her purse out.

“Maybe I can help out a bit,” said Jenny. “And I think my mum’s got a bit put by, just in case, you know.”

“That’s very ... very ...,” Margaret said.

“Come on,” Jenny said. “I’ll walk down there with you.”

. . . . . . .

Doctor Jennings lived on South Row. Everybody knew where he lived, even though there weren’t many people who could afford to use him. Some of the men-folk, the ones who were working, anyway, they paid a weekly subscription into a medical insurance; and there were the lucky ones who had employers who added to their subscription. If they got ill, then they might be alright, but ...

Anyway, the medical insurance didn’t extend to the wives and kiddies. Only to those in work.

When they got to his house, they could see that there was nobody waiting outside. The front door was slightly ajar.

Jenny went up to the door and knocked gently.

“Come in please,” said a female voice.

Jenny opened the front door a little wider. It led straight into the front living room. It looked just like her own living room. She wasn’t surprised. The doctor’s house was just an ordinary house, its only pretension being that it was an end-of-terrace. In the room there was a settee, big enough for three people and two simple wooden straight-backed chairs. A small table in the corner of the room had an aspidistra plant in a china pot. There was a small fireplace, made-up but unlit.

“Please sit down,” said a voice coming through from a doorway at the far side of the living room. “My husband will be with you shortly.”

Jenny turned back to Margaret, who was still standing outside the house, holding on to the pushchair. “I think that you should maybe take the baby out ... leave the pushchair outside ... there’s not a lot of room in here,” she said.

Margaret came into the house. She was holding the baby against her chest. She looked very frightened.

A middle-aged lady came walking into the room. She looked around, seeing Margaret and the baby; seeing Jenny.

Jenny nodded to her. She recognised the doctor’s wife ... but only from queuing in the shops. Walton was a small town. You might not know people’s names, but you probably knew roughly where they lived. And you certainly knew them well enough to smile and say ‘good morning’.

The doctor’s wife nodded back to Jenny, then turned towards Margaret. She guessed that Jenny was just here for support. She didn’t look like she needed medical advice.

“Why don’t you take a seat love,” she said to Margaret. “Carrying babies about ... well ... sometimes it’s good to just rest your back.”

“Thank you,” said Margaret, sitting herself down on one of the wooden chairs.

The doctor’s wife picked up a small notebook and a pencil.

“Maybe if I can just take your ...,” she said.

“Can you tell me how much ... how much it will be to ...?” Margaret said.

“We won’t worry about that just yet, eh love,” the doctor’s wife said. “I’m sure that we will be able to sort it out.”

Jenny had heard from one of her friends that sometimes the doctor would see somebody, but then not send them a bill. Not if he thought that they didn’t have the money to pay.

Jenny thought that counted for a lot. She could respect someone like that.

“It’s just that ...,” Margaret said. Jenny rested her hand on Margaret’s shoulder.

“Alright Joan,” a male voice called through from a back room. “Did you say that there was someone else to see me?”

“Just coming, love,” his wife said, then turning to Margaret, “Come on love, my husband’s just through here. Off we go.”

Margaret stood up and followed the doctor’s wife through into the back of the house. The doctor’s wife looked behind her as she went. She looked over to Jenny. “You might want to stay here a little while,” she suggested. “Maybe sit down and wait for your young friend.”

Jenny caught the knowing glance. She sat down and waited.

A short while later, Margaret came back. She was clutching her child to her bosom. Tears were streaming down her face. She seemed lost and frightened.

Jenny got up and went to console her young friend.