Free Call Me Sister by Jane Yeadon Page A

heard his quiet breathing change. He gave a small cry. He had a shock of black hair, a perfect skin and until he opened his eyes, it would have been difficult to see he was different from any other baby.
    His father backed away when I tried to hand him over. ‘Oh, no – he just feels so floppy. I’m scared I’ll drop him.’
    â€˜It’s just because he hasn’t the greatest of muscle tone. But that’ll develop come time. You’ll see. Go on.’ I tried my most encouraging voice. ‘Take him. I need to fill his bath. Show you what the right temperature is.’
    â€˜You’re even bossier than Sister Shiach,’ Mr Ogg complained, nevertheless taking off his jacket, draping it over a nursing chair then putting out his arms. ‘Oh well, then!’
    â€˜Now chat to him, or sing,’ I instructed. ‘Babies like that.’
    There was a lot of huffing and puffing until Mr Ogg realised he could use this heaven-sent opportunity to deliver a complaining message about interfering district nursing sisters without interruption. ‘D’you know I think Andrew’s listening,’ he said with a note of wonder, then mischief. ‘It must be because I’m talking such a lot of sense.’
    â€˜No. You’re filling his head with nonsense. Now unless you were thinking of putting him in the bath with all his clothes on, you’ll need to take them off,’ I said, and threw a towel over the rug. ‘Do it on this. It’ll be safer.’
    â€˜It’ll spoil my suit,’ complained Mr Ogg, nevertheless getting down on his knees. ‘Och, Andrew, she might have dimples, but underneath she’s a hard woman.’
    Andrew, released from his nappy, kicked as if in delight, but his father was morose.
    â€˜With legs like that you’ll never be a sportsman.’
    â€˜I don’t know about that,’ I said, remembering someone I’d known who had a smile that embraced the world. ‘We’d a boy like Andrew whose mum was our primary school’s cleaner. She took him everywhere and he used to come to our school picnics. He won every race, fair and square. But nobody minded,’ I thought back and smiled, ‘probably because he always shared the sweetie prizes.
    â€˜What’s more, he’s still a lovely, happy chap,’ I continued and swished the bath water. ‘But come on, chaps, before this gets cold and, Andrew, who knows, one day you might become a top swimmer.’
    â€˜Not if I drown him first.’ My pupil said as he advanced, holding his son with the tight control of a sumo wrestler. As Andrew squealed in protest, his father paled. ‘See! I’m not the man for the job.’
    â€˜Och! That’s just rubbish.’ I said in exasperation. ‘Hold him gently and look at him. Tell him what you’re going to do. It’s a well-known trick not doing something well so you can avoid doing it in future, but honestly, if you only do it the once you’ll miss out on a whole lot of fun.’
    He sighed. ‘“Fun,” she says? All right. Whatever you say, Sister.’
    â€˜Put your hand under his furthest arm and keep a grip. That way you’ll support his back and head and he won’t slide under the water.’ I spoke slowly.
    A plainly nervous Mr Ogg snapped, ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’
    He held Andrew so that he was facing him. ‘Well, son, are you ready for the big dip?’ With immense care, he lowered him into the bath.
    Our charge relaxed under the feel of the water and his fretful cries stopped. He looked thoughtful as his father gently splashed him, then gazing up at him he gave a gummy smile.
    â€˜Oh, my goodness! He likes that,’ cried Mr Ogg, whilst a rogue tear sneaked down his face.

    â€˜Mission accomsplashed!’ proclaimed my pupil. Leaving the nursery in a fine dusting of powder, we’d moved to the kitchen. It was a