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BIRTH
‘I DON’T WANT AN ENEMA. IT’S NOT DIGNIFIED!’
MURIEL
‘IF YOU WERE THAT KEEN ON YOUR DIGNITY, YOU WOULDN’T BE HERE NOW.’
MRS HAWKES
Everybody has a birth story, whether it is known to them or not. I was – by coincidence – brought into the world by nuns, in a small private hospital in Liverpool. The delivery was notable only for its speed. But whenever a woman visits a newly delivered relative or friend, the talk swiftly shifts from the baby to the labour: ‘How was it?’ we whisper. And the details are divulged and sympathised with – and will be told, and told again, in years to come. Tales such as these – ordinary, homespun, heartfelt – are the lifeblood of every Call the Midwife episode. And that is as it should be, for each arrival in this world is totally enthralling, a repeat beat of the greatest story ever told.
Many of the births we feature are unusual by definition. In the first series, for example, we saw the birth of triplets to an unmarried mother living in a derelict flat. Lacking even a blanket for the third child, Chummy, played by Miranda Hart, stripped down to her petticoat and wrapped him in her nurse’s uniform. In another episode, she carried out a breech delivery alone, coaxing a petrified mother through the slow, controlled descent of the infant’s feet and legs.
But we wanted our first birth to be an ordinary one – raw, uncomplicated, intimate, exhilarating. We wanted the fifties’ trappings of the enema and shave, and the regulation left-hand-side delivery position. Above all else, however, we wanted to make it timeless, immediate and real. And so, in the opening episode of the series, ordinary unexceptional Muriel, attended by her mother, Sister Evangelina and newcomer Jenny Lee, gave birth to a boy without any complications or much fuss. It was a birth like hundreds of thousands before it, and hundreds of thousands to come – and therein lies its power.
As Pippa Harris, executive producer of Call the Midwife, comments, ‘There is something completely universal about birth; it touches us all. You don’t have to be a mother or even a woman to engage with it. All humans are drawn to it, time and again.’ Mulling over the huge success of the series, she adds, ‘The stakes are just so high; at any point the outcome can switch from one of joy to terrible sadness. Birth is inherently dramatic.’
No one who works on the show is more acutely tuned to the miracle of birth than Terri Coates, a midwife and lecturer of some thirty years standing. Terri, our peerless consultant midwife, has been involved with Call the Midwife from the start.
Terri first encountered Jennifer Worth after publishing an article in a midwifery magazine a dozen years ago, lamenting that midwives were ‘almost invisible’ in literature. ‘Maybe,’ wrote Terri, ‘there is a midwife somewhere who can do for midwifery what James Herriot did for veterinary practice?’
Among many responses, Terri received a letter from retired nurse Jennifer, who said the article had inspired her to write her memoirs. Some 18 months later, she wrote again, having completed them. Terri offered to read the manuscript and was duly sent it – to her surprise, it had been written by hand on an odd assortment of pages, which she describes as being ‘rather difficult to keep in order.’
‘It was a lovely story about women, and for women, and it was very powerful.’ Terri suggested to Jennifer that she might be able to correct some clinical errors in the text, and Jennifer – who had practised long ago and for only seven years – accepted the offer. A long and collaborative relationship ensued and, once I began to write the series, I too turned to Terri for support.
Hailed as a ‘baby whisperer’ by awestruck technicians, Terri is modest about her talents.
‘I don’t think babies are at all fazed by being on set. If you hold a newborn confidently they tend to relax and calm down very quickly.’
In fact, Terri admits she is more likely to cry than the babies, having been routinely reduced to weeping during filming. What’s more, she isn’t alone.
Philippa Lowthorpe, principal director of Call the Midwife, confesses: ‘When we filmed our first birth scene – the traumatic arrival of Conchita Warren’s desperately premature baby – it was such an intense experience. The film crew, Terri and I were moved to tears.’ For male and female witnesses alike, all birthing scenes have proved emotional. Philippa adds, ‘I have two children myself, so I should be used to it, but there is something so powerful and profound about showing a new life coming into the world, often in difficult circumstances. And, of course, these women gave birth at home, with virtually no pain relief.’
Sometimes it seems the only people on set who aren’t crying in the birth scenes are the babies. Tenderly nursed by Terri, and with everyone walking on tiptoe, they often sleep deeply throughout their time on camera – which isn’t necessarily what the script requires!
In real life most healthy babies are wakeful at the point of birth, and it’s great to capture open eyes and flailing, starfish hands. However, we would never, ever do anything to unsettle a contented babe and the crew are adept at working round unscheduled naps. Terri occasionally sanctions gently blowing on a dozing baby’s cheek, or softly tickling their feet, but if this doesn’t work shots are angled so the face cannot be seen. The sound of crying – carefully recorded when it spontaneously occurs – can then be dubbed on afterwards. In addition, I usually have some emergency dialogue scribbled down so that if I am phoned from the set with the panicky message, ‘It’s absolutely FAST asleep!’, I can supply one of the adult actors with some explanatory lines.
Newborn babies tend not to be on the books of modelling agencies, so we recruit them direct from the maternity wings of local hospitals. During the first series, Call the Midwife was unknown to the masses, and we sometimes struggled to explain what we were up to. Second time around we have been bombarded, with some expectant mothers calling us direct and e-mailing photographs. Nobody has actually sent us their scan pictures yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
The younger the infant, the better. In an ideal world, our babies would not be more than four days old, when they still have the glazed and curled-up look of the newly born. However, they must be licensed by their local council before they can appear on screen, and this protective procedure takes at least a week. Second assistant director, Ben Rogers, and his team try to get one step ahead by booking babies in advance of their due date, but Mother Nature has no respect for filming schedules. We are often undone by them arriving early or too late.
Despite the nightmarish booking process, the presence of a baby brings about a tingling hush that makes the day’s work special. As Pam Ferris, who plays Sister Evangelina, observes, ‘It changes the atmosphere completely, you can sense something extraordinary in the air.’
Babies can ‘work’ for no more than twenty minutes at a time. There is more leeway with twins, who can be used alternately, but these are seldom available to us. Terri ensures that the tiny stars are held properly, kept warm
