Star Birth. A baby is born in an inn

Nativity means ‘birth’. In the story of Jesus’ birth, one innkeeper generously relented and allowed Mary to give birth in the stable amongst the animals, the only place free of travellers. Tradition has it that two midwives were present. Now, with our modern knowledge of childbirth and hygiene, we know how dangerous birth in a stable would be, regarding infection for instance. Yet a child is born in the stable and as far as we know – safely with no harm to mother or child. I like to think of those midwives and how they might have coped with the situation.

 ‘Would you just look at the mess, here in the barn? I’ll get my girl to help me clear it up, though God knows she’s got enough work to do already. The place is still full. It’s down to those Romans with ideas about census or somethin’! They’re too clever for their own good, if you ask me! That’s why we had to put the couple in the barn.

The two of ‘em arrived here two days ago in the evening in a right state. They’d come for the census and hadn't bothered to book, consequently we had no room for ‘em. The fella had to push through a crowd of men hangin’ about outside waitin’ for breakfast – like they do – to get to the door. He rang the bell an’ when my husband answered he just looked at ‘em both and said, “No room at this inn. Can’t you see how many we ‘ave already?” Blunt he is. Soon gets harassed does my husband. “Try along the road.” Well…it was pointless sayin’ that ‘cos everyone knew they were in the same state as us. Anyway, I was inside peekin’ through the window and heard the man sayin somethin’ about not bein’ able to go further and then… I heard a moan from the woman. I pushed passed my husband and saw a space had opened up amongst men who’d been lookin’ up at a big unusual star but had had their interest  diverted by her… on a donkey. “Oh my Lord, she’s about to give birth.” I said. Well, you don’t ‘ave the job of village midwife without spottin’ pretty quick that a baby’s on the way. “Shoo, shoo,” I said to the crowd and they moved away like chickens. The lass was leanin’ over the donkey’s neck graspin’ its mane. I felt sorry for the poor beast. It kept flinching as bits of hair were pulled out each time a contraction caught her but it never moved, just stood. I guess it had been a mother itself. “Ere,” I said to the man, “follow me. All I can give you is dry straw in the barn. At least amongst the animals your lass’ll be sheltered an’ warm.” Which was more than could be said for our cold inn. My husband believes that when its full you don’t need extra heatin’, bodies is enough. Well, that’s as maybe but for a new born you need warmth. My husband said “Don't be daft woman, yer can't 'ave a lass in that condition in with the animals.” I just gave him one of my withering looks and said, with my hands on my hips, “Right then, what do you propose eh? She has the child here on the road, on front of these gawpin’ men, ‘cos she's very near?” That look of it’s women’s business, best leave well alone flashed over his face and he moved to go inside. “Oh no you don't,” I said. “Go an’ fetch Rachel.” He scurried off.

Rachel’s my pal. Between us we see-in, an’ see-out. Births an’ deaths. She mainly sees the deaths. We’ve done it for more years than we can remember. Aye… but births are not always happy times. Sometimes, often in fact, it’s seein’-in an seein’-out at the same time.  Death can come quick with childbirth. I'm getting on a bit now and I worry about not bein’ able to cope. I’m tired these days and felt ‘specially so two days ago with all the folk in the inn and extra cookin’ an’ cleanin’. Even so, when I think about it, it’s a good job the couple came to us and not the village further on. They’ve a strange midwife there; she uses mystical practices. Stick to the basics I say and let God sort it. Anyway, this lass seemed different somehow. You know how with some folk you feel a special kinship as soon as you meet? Precious, like. That was her.

Well, her man helped her off the beast an’ as soon as her feet touched the ground I saw her waters had broken. She looked too young for this, I thought, it must be her first. Her man didn’t flinch but held her tight and almost carried her into the barn. He was much older than she was with soft white hair and a short beard. I guessed he’d seen all this before and she wasn’t his first wife, if she was his wife at all! But I don’t want to comment on that. An old bloke loses his wife and takes a young one to keep him goin’, its natural… but she did seem very young.

Clearly, the lass needed to lie down. There was a pile of fresh straw in the barn that would make a bed, so I shouted to my maid to fetch as many cloths as she could find from the inn to cover it. Well, straw is money, not much grows around here, and life’s hard enough as it is. Once straw’s gone, it’s gone but cloths’ll wash. But God forgive me, that was a mistake because then I hardly had anything to cover the lass with… or the baby! I’d let my own selfishness get the better of me! When Rachel arrived, she looked at me with a raised eyebrow. Fortunately, she’d brought her bag and sighing with disapproval took out a shroud and tore it up for birthin’ cloths. I was relieved. And the lass’s man, he put his cloak over his wife. I expected him to leave then and join the men in the inn but no; he insisted on staying. It annoyed me because birthin’ is no place for a man in our faith, and anyway, there’s a lot to do without a worried father hamperin’ the work! The animals were the same; the oxen, the cows, they kept tramping over, nosing over the low wooden screen, blowin’ steamy breath, then going away and returnin’ a little later. Only the donkey remained still. At least the camels and horses were well out of the way. Even so, it was a bit chaotic. But…the lass, was as calm as you like. Just put up with it all. She kept sayin’ firmly, ‘It’ll be alright,’ again an’ again.

I was wrong about the baby coming quick. Progress was worryingly slow. Then by sunset, I knew the child was not coming into the world head first. I looked at Rachel and she understood. She has a better way of giving bad news than I do; I’m a bit blunt but she leads a person to it gently. So I left her to tell the man of the dangers and he looked really upset. Tears came to his eyes but he just nodded. It was down to me to tell the lass. And yes, I was blunt, spellin’ out the difficulties and possible results. Well... the lass seemed not to worry! I've seen many a lass panic but she was as calm as could be and kept telling Rachel and me, and her husband, that all would be well. The child would be born and born well. It left me puzzled.

The night went on. Rachel kept shakin’ her grey head and ringing her hands. Like me she’s getting on in years. She’s prone to panic nowadays. I started to worry about my oldest friend; she looked really distressed. As the night moved on, panic welled in my breast as well and I had the devil’s own job to keep it down. We got to a point when we feared both mother and child would be lost. The lass’s eyes looked sunken and dark. Her skin was pale and shiny with sweat, her body was limp one minute and tensing in agony the next with contractions. That was when the man held her to him, as close as he could. He seemed to be trying to pull her pain into himself.

Then… when it seemed that the lass was totally exhausted and the child lifeless inside her, I saw two little feet appearin’. Then the rest of the body an’ we saw he was a boy. Then came the difficult bit; the baby’s head. It’s bigger than all that went before, you see. I had to employ all my skills to control its slow entrance into the world. I said a prayer and did my best. Then suddenly, he was fully born; bloody and screaming. Amazingly alive, his little arms trembling and waving in either joy or fear of being let out of his comfortable home. He wasn’t a beautiful child but handsome enough. Your average. He wriggled as Rachel cut his cord and handed him to his mother, who smiled as the little hands found her face. “I told you.” she said.

Eee, you should have seen the father. He just managed to kiss his wife and then, poor soul, he collapsed beside her, all energy spent! And why not? Few children born bottom before top survive…or the mother. He kissed his wife who said she’d told him it would be alright and he should've had more faith. Rachel pointed to the child’s feet. “He's going to travel,” she told him. “Those feet are fit for walking.”

The father grinned at us and gathering some new energy, he turned on his knees and lifted the babe from his mother’s side and held him in his arms in a bloody cloth, stood up and sang an old lullaby. Then he took the child to the wooden screen and showed him to the oxen, the cows. The smell of new life is always interesting to them. Their heads lifted and they blew warm steam from their nostrils onto him. I had the feeling they wanted to warm him. The couples own donkey took everything in its stride, with that accepting way they have. It just stood head down, half asleep, waiting for either food or its next job. I tell you, I could hardly hold back a few tears. Rachel wept openly, wiping her eyes on the cloth she had in her hand from wiping the boy clean. Then the father turned away from the animals and held one arm around his small bundle and with the other shook our hands vigorously in gratitude. He had the cold hand of an ailing heart and it concerned me. Then he slumped on the milking stool. I only just managed to grasp the babe from him before his arms became limp with weariness. Rachel fetched him a beaker of ale.

I swaddled the babe in strips torn from the shroud and settled him in a manger– an old one we keep for small young animals and lined it with precious straw. I felt I could spare that much at least and hoped it would be warm enough. “I’ve heard shepherds are coming to see ‘im,” said my husband, perplexed.  I hope they bring a warm fleece for him, I thought.