Well there we were half way through Day 4 of our pregnant pause stuck in south Manchester with nothing to do but wait. As recompense we were sitting in the lap of luxury. Two daughters and spouse went out shopping thinking it good therapy for the expectant mother, I sat and watched the third day of the 1st Test at Lords where I saw the new England team with I have to say some promising players being slowly and painlessly taken apart by a very useful New Zealand team. At close of play England are about 60 behind for the loss of two wickets. They will have to struggle to even draw on 2nd innings with two days left.
However the landlady beckons, she has made two superb fish pies for the assembled gathering of sons, daughters in-law and other grateful in-laws. The pies were washed down with Malbec and Carmenere and some cheery white stuff for the ladies and bottles of beer for the old timers and then followed the inevitable tot from the Cooley peninsula whilst we languished dans le jardin in the unusual early evening sun. With most gone for their various abodes, we settled round the chiminier with logs aplenty and time to spare and discussed the present and the future. There is something in the air in South Manchester, never have I seen so many pregnant women. This house I am in are expecting three new borns in the next couple of months and my son in Yorkshire who has South Manchester connections is waiting for his pregnant bride to deliver shortly. I feel like a nurse in an ante-natal clinic surrounded by blooming and shortly to blossom ladies. But enough, one has to remain aware in these anxious moments before the world powers become dismayed as another live birth upsets their Agenda 21 programme.
There are stirrings about 4.45am, things are about to happen. Lady in law, mine hostess, with husband, Lord in law, receive a call and slip off to baby sit the second row forward. Spouse and I wait anxiously sipping coffee and with one eye on a possible serve yourself breakfast as miracles are happening only a couple of miles away. It is the start of Day 5 or for our little mite Day 1. Names have been bandied about for the last few days but they are hanging in the air like the washing on the cloths rack. Will it be a beautiful girl or another second row man, I always say you need two of them in every team. However a little lady will temper the mix wonderfully. I stop here to weep with anticijoy. I am on my own for a few minutes. It is 6.30am we await news but decide at 8.00am to go round to the parents house to join in-laws and second row man.
At the door is Mrs in-law with a big smile, “It’s a boy, 10lb 1oz born at 7.40am and 54cm long (21.5″), big weight, average length, not a second row but possibly a prop. In all the excitement the 4th day at Lords starts, Lee chases a ball outside off stump and is out. There is a phone call from father. We can go down to the hospital, mother still in birthing suite but will be moving to ward shortly. We dash down and a site to behold, boychild just starting his third feed, latched on to mother’s milking apparatus and will not leave it for love nor money. Because he is a big baby they have to test for low blood sugars, so the pair will not be out until late afternoon. A head of dark hair and wide open eyes, this fellow knows what he wants.
The facilities at Wythenshawe Hospital Maternity Suite are now second to none. The mother had given birth silently and quickly within two hours of arrival in a birthing pool. Strangely his right hand came out first waving to the world, his head and rest quickly followed. Mother dazed, tired but swearing by the qualities of the pool. We left after 30 minutes and went and celebrated with another Dim Sum lunch in the Tai Pan and then a much needed rest.
The baby with no name munches merrily away and then falls asleep with the effort. Because he is such a big lad, they want to err on the side of caution and require three positive tests for sugars which have to be taken after each feed. The midwife suggests a formula meal which has little goodness in it which might keep him awake, the mother said “F… off Mrs Midwife” a common enough utterance in our house. So they kept the pair in overnight in the hope that the series of three tests might be achievable on his second day. Why they are worrying, heaven knows. He is fit to pack down for the country of his choice never mind tests for bloody sugar.
As it panned out with all the excitement, and by the way England recovered from hopelessness to probable victory thanks to fantastic innings from the captain and all rounder, me and the spouse were in bed for 9.00pm and I jumped out at 5.00am, the start of Day 6, lively as a cricket and hungry as ever and hoping mine hostess awakes soon. They were partying last night and things could get delayed this morning. I’ll be cheeky and make myself a cup of coffee and see what the day brings.
As I wait I ponder over recent conversations, the Mancunians consider that Manchester has become a tourist destination, that the vibrant heart of the city is booming out, hotels opening all over the place, class and distinction at its best. I tend to disagree. It strikes me that it is a town with a fur coat and no knickers. On the surface good but lift the hem and prepare to be shocked. For all the money the movers and shakers have ploughed into the tramway system and bright new inner city development, they have taken away funds for the basics. The road conditions are a disgrace and have been for the last six or seven years. The maintenance budget for resurfacing the roads must have been cut by half, leaving the roads in the West of Ireland far superior to this modern metropolis and as my daughter says they are something akin to the roads of Morocco. But let us try and be positive and mention the things that have impressed.
Definitely the trams but even they at rush hour reduce the population to sardines. The maternity suite at Wythenshawe Hospital as impressed beyond all expectation but as soon as you transfer to ward, you are met with the detrita of modern day living, emotional teenagers weeping into their pyjamas having paid the price of a drunken night of passion in the balmy air of August 2014 and looking into the adjacent cradle and wondering what the future will bring. But even here there is redemption, right outside the hospital is a tram stop to whiz you and sprog back to joyless seclusion in an inner city estate.
Be positive, be positive, my inner sense is saying and yes I admire the growth in community spirit and affairs, especially in the areas I am familiar with, that south city belt of Withington, Didsbury, Chorlton and Heaton Moor. Little festivals springing up complete with food and drink, hopefully making people proud of living where they do. Certainly the growth in numbers of restaurants suggests there is better money knocking about, people are out communing, rather than taking the boring way of cooking for one in a garret. The overiding feeling I get is that there now seems to be an opportunity today and for a long time that was missing but with opportunity there needs to be thought and hard work but certainly the entreprenurial spirit is alive and kicking.
I certainly have changed in the last ten years since leaving England. I have observed, researched and tried to remove myself from the cloying and desperate way central government are roping us off into deluded and easily controlled units. I have empowered myself and feel I have left an awful lot of people behind. I feel uncomfortable with what I see around me but feel that I cannot make changes. People can only change themselves.
But enough of Manchester, I would not swap my own little home in the west for all the tea in China. I have booked our passage home on Day 8 and look forward to quietness, solitude, comfort and a rigid diet. Funnily enough I learnt yesterday that my father, who at the age of 97 is entertained by the Little Sisters of the Poor in their care home in Longsight, does not take one gramme of medication. The nuns could not believe that when they admitted him 18 months ago he had no medical records. At the age of 95 he had never been to a doctor in his life. The doctor, who delivered him in 1918 a 2lb baby, threw him to the end of the bed and said “he’ll not last” was my father’s last brush with the medical profession. His only complaints are that his facilities are now closing down slowly as he strives for his century. The medical profession have no pills for longevity. I hope that I, who fought back from the pharmaceutical hordes that surround us all, can continue this amazing life style. Having eschewed Big Pharma nearly three years ago not a pill has passed my lips and now never will. Fair play to you Dad, may you attend several hundred more morning masses, although personally I could not recommend that course of action for myself.
Well Day 6 passed quietly, all of a bit of an anti-climax after the blaze of the birth. Mother and child are well both as fit as fiddles and eventually at 6.00pm they are let loose on society away from the cloying but caring arms of the NHS. We left the couple and second row man alone this evening, this first night, so that all four could bed in. The in-laws made a celebratory meal which went down well and so did the Amarone that accompanied it. On the table was a Sicilian ricotta cheese and what a splendid ricotta it was, there was a hint of sweetness with it that you do not get in other ricottas.
After a late night for me, 11.30pm was the witching hour, I was up at 6.00am ready for our last day in Manchester. The day for bringing back items of clothing that were bought yesterday. I have to say that everything I bought fits but other people presume they are as skinny and lithe as they were 50 years ago. I now understand the policy of large stores who say “if it does not fit, bring it back”. We brought a£2o pair of trews back and spent another couple of hundred on other stuff. Who is the mug?
Today besides looking in on Albie, yes the newborn now has a name, we are meeting for only the second time another grandchild, Hamza. The mother being of Bangladeshi extraction, the father Irish Cestrian make up, an interesting combination. I remember Hamza when born had the beautifully long fingers of an off spin bowler. We will see today how he has matured. Helena, his mother, is well into the final months of her pregnancy and looked lovely. a very confident young lady with a great sense of humour. I am honoured that she decided to be part of the Malpas family. Her baby when born will be a boy and they have named him Yahya, which is the Muslim name for John. Hamza’s fingers are progressing nicely and I would ask Yorkshire scouts to deal with me in a few years time.
Well Albie is our eighth grandchild with Helena to produce No 9 in August so after waving our good byes to the Bradford lot it was back to the digs where the matriarch of the family, great grandmother of Albie was celebrating her 89th birthday. Albie should not need to worry, on both sides of his family there are great genes. He should live to be a 100 easily unless of course Agenda 21 gets him first.
We are back to the Ould Sod tomorrow. booked on the 11.30 sailing out of Holyhead and the weather seems set fair. We should be home for 4.30pm providing we meet nobody on the way. It will have been a great eight days made especially memorable by the welcome the in-laws gave us with the run of their 5 star mansion in Didsbury. The cuisine, our digs, the wine cellar were first class and I would like to thank them for all their attentions. Don and Sue thank you for making our stay so wonderfully easy.
As usual I was up early, the crack of sparrow fart, it is called by many. We call in on Albie, it will be months before we see him again. There will be big changes. Albie’s mother and father are two lucky souls, having fine children and fine lineage. And so that was that, all goodbyes emotionally given we hit the road. A pleasant drive down to Holyhead, and an easy sailing to Dublin. We call in on Daughter No 4 in Dublin for a cup of tea, all is well in that quarter also and so off to Boyle and traffic free Roscommon. We are two lucky buggers also having a great family and having met some very decent people.