A Rare Find: Ethel Ayres Bullymore. Donna Mann

Austin welcomed Ethel on her arrival to his office and invited her to sit. He promptly asked if she were there to talk further about Elsie.

      “I am beginning to come to terms with your instruction, Doctor, although I think it will be the most difficult experience I will ever have in my entire life.”

      “I do not doubt that, Miss Kemp. I do hope it will not be for long.”

      Doctor Austin responded to Ethel’s questions about Canadian employment and attitude by reminding her of Alberta’s recently formed Canadian National Association of Trained Nurses, suggesting she find out about it and register with them.

      She would have liked to obtain her British midwifery registration before leaving England, but that opportunity wouldn’t happen for another year.

      “Do you think the medical association will license midwives in Canada too?” Ethel asked.

      The doctor responded, “Licensing is needed, as it regulates the practice and makes the midwives more accountable to a governing body beyond themselves.” Straightening his tie, he appeared certain. “The other side of that argument is that it limits the freedom midwives have to help other women.”

      Ethel knew there were many women that shouldn’t be attending births. Midwifery was such an old art—handed down from one generation to another.

      “In the beginning,” the doctor continued, “it was the most natural and expected service: women helping women. Over time, the church tried to take charge, and then the civil authorities.”

      “Midwives encourage women to labour more openly, don’t you think? As their bodies demand, you know. And many doctors, like yourself, have learned the value in that,” Ethel said without waiting for the doctor to respond. Shifting her position and raising her eyebrows, she continued rather boldly, “In the future, midwifery will be a natural part of nursing—without additional training. They should go hand in hand. It’s just instinct. Even in the time of Moses, God commended the midwives. I think this age or place is no different—just the laws and some countries. One day, nurses will be midwives with pride, and again, God—and country—will commend them. It’s just a matter of time. I hope I’m around to see it.”

      Doctor Austin laughed, appearing to enjoy her forthrightness and wit. “I hope so too. You just keep that grit and vigour. It’ll fit in fine over there. They need your kind in the cities and on the prairies. You’ll see.” He lifted his hand to shake hers. “I believe in you, Miss Kemp. You’ll probably change some attitudes. You know, women have been doing that a lot lately, both here and in Canada. When you get over there, listen hard. Keep in line with what’s expected of you, but look for opportunities to speak your mind. You’ll be fine.”

      Later in the afternoon, the train moved out of the station, hissing and chugging, giving Ethel an exceptionally rough ride home. She settled into the corner of the seat, hoping to brace her body for the jolting. Women came to her mind who had fostered her independent spirit, ones who had answered needs in communities by founding private nursing homes and opening clinics. She wanted that kind of opportunity too. She wanted to help other women labour, raise their children, make decisions and provide good homes. Someday she’d have her own clinic in Canada. When she arrived, she’d see about her nursing status as soon as possible, find other work in the meantime and take one day at a time.

      For now, Ethel vowed to spend extra time with Elsie and explain that the doctor wanted her to stay with her grandparents until she was completely healed. This would be a special time. Today she would tell Elsie that her mummy must go to Canada to find her pa, and together they would prepare a home where she would come as soon as possible. Ethel would promise her lots of letters and clippings of pictures from the local newspaper. In all of this, Ethel prayed that God would bridge the space between them and keep them bonded.

      Her shoulders relaxed, and she felt more peaceful—at least about some things. Pleasant scenes of gardens and cottages sped quickly by, and soon the gliding of the train along the tracks eased her into a restful sleep.

      Ethel and Mum planned the farewell meal; they organized games and a few gifts for the family gathering. After checking to be sure the loo, attached to the back of the house, had fresh tissue paper, Ethel watched Mum walk past her geraniums and climbing rosebushes, tilting her head, obviously enjoying their familiar fragrance. Pa had tidied the garden and set out a few chairs in case anyone wanted to sit there. Everything was prepared.

      The small house on Goat Lane filled to overflowing onto the front step. The sun warmed the air after a fresh rain, giving a comfortable temperature for the children to run in and out. Mum moved to and from the scullery, bringing food to the main living room to place on the big table. All nine of Ethel’s siblings, from five years of age to mid twenties, bantered back and forth, making entertaining conversation, finishing each other’s statements and sometimes overlapping their voices—chaos, but so like home at the best of times.

      A couple of Ethel’s sisters had asked to speak on behalf of the rest of the family, promising lots of laughter and tears to fill the afternoon. Ethel rehearsed the words she’d say, but she couldn’t even practice them without crying. Squaring her shoulders, acknowledging that the task ahead would be difficult, she took a deep breath.

      “You’ll be sure to write to us, Etty,” Ethel’s sister Florence insisted. “I’m soon going into service, but I’ll get home to read your letters.”

      “I will,” Ethel said. “I’ll write to all of you, and you can pass the letters around. And somebody please write and tell me all about Mabel’s wedding. She’ll be too busy being married to write…” The family’s laughter rose above the rest of the words.

      Mabel stood and bowed gracefully. “And that big day will happen on October 25th at the register office. I wish you were going to be here, Ethel, but I’ll excuse you, only because I’ll have my namesake here to carry the rings.” Everybody looked over at Elsie, who smiled back. “Remember,” Mabel continued, “my full name is Mabel Elsie Kemp. But folks, we’re here because of Ethel, so let’s ask her for a word.”

      All eyes turned towards Ethel. She took a deep breath and looked toward Mum and Pa and then across her siblings’ faces one at a time as if savouring each expression. Moving closer to Elsie, she said, “The time has come for me to leave for Canada, and Elsie will stay here with Mum and the rest of you.” She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “I can hardly bear it.”

      “I cannot imagine how heartbroken you are, having to go alone,” Mabel said, reaching out to take Ethel’s hand.

      “Maybe when she can travel, one of us’ll get to take her over,” Ethel’s 17-year-old brother, Ernie, added.

      “We’ll hold you to that, son,” Pa said. “Even though it makes me sad at the thought, I know there will be great opportunity for you in Canada.” He moved over and made room for the little girls to stand in front of him. “In the meantime, Horace’ll take good care of you, Etty. He’ll put you on the ship and give you a fine send-off.”

      Ethel smiled over at Horace, who looked back with a comical grin, and said, “And for you, dear brother, I’ll be eternally grateful. I didn’t relish walking those Liverpool docks on my own.” She looked back at Pa and then to Ernie adding, “Nothing will please me more than getting Elsie over and seeing whoever brings her.” Ethel put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “And, you’ve got a bed however long you want to stay.” She held her breath to keep from sobbing. Silence filled the room.

      “We love you, big sister,” Edith said. “We’re going to miss you,”

      “Come on now, everybody. I know you’ve all shed a river of tears, and there’s time for more later,” Mum said, “but right now, the food’s hot and waiting. Let’s make this a feast to remember.” Turning, she continued, “Pa, please ask God to bless the food, Ethel, her journey…and to sanction all these tears.”

      Silence fell around them as if hemming them in. The children moved in beside their parents, and some of them held hands. Ethel felt the preciousness