“You were born on the tabletop in a snowstorm, one minute you weren’t there and the next minute you were.” We had heard the story many times before. It was 1943 and it was the same table which was also known as the ‘Morrison Shelter’ under which we hid from German bombs as they detonated overhead. The house was opposite the Cherry Orchard where the doodlebug exploded and caused my Mum to flee with my brother and me to Cornwall.
The midwife arrived to see my mother on the back of her boyfriend’s motorbike. “I’m off to the pictures,” she stated. “I don’t want you to be calling me out, so I thought I’d stop by and check you over. Now, climb on the table and I’ll take a look.” By the time my mother was on the table my head was making an appearance. Needless to say it was a short easy delivery and afterwards the nurse went to the pictures. Job done!
At this time of year one can’t help thinking of Mary the mother of Jesus. She gave birth in a strange little town having travelled 111kms (69 miles) through a mountainous region on foot. Bethlehem would have been crowded with people all arriving for the census, hence no room. Who sent for the midwife? Did Joseph ask the Inn Keeper to send for one? Was it the Inn Keeper’s wife? We know that midwives were routine in Israel and probably in pre-Israelite history. Was the midwife aware that she was part of the most miraculous event in the history of mankind? What a story she would have to share, “I was there, I was the midwife and it was in a stable. He was a beautiful baby! He was the Son of God!”
Mum David and me