I wrote this fic/civics lesson as a thank you to Nonnatuns that made voting (whenever, wherever) a priority.  Initially, it was posted with a password for them, but I have opened it up to all.   Thank you!

Teddy Turner was not amused.  A man liked his routine, after all, and enough was enough.  The high chair meant food, or at the very least, a wooden spoon to band on his tray.  The wall of newsprint before him was a poor substitute for a warm slice of toast to gum and his mother’s pretty smile.  Gathering all his strength, he arched his body in protest against his high chair and kicked his feet.

The newspaper rustled as a voice hushed him from behind its barrier.  “Keep your shirt on, Teddy dear. Mummy’s nearly finished, you’ll soon have your breakfast.”

Not appeased, Teddy made to fuss again when he was alerted to the sound of reinforcements on their way down the staircase.

“What’s this?”  Patrick teased. He pulled his chair up to feed the disgruntled moppet.  “Has Mummy abandoned you for the Times yet again, son?” He stifled another protest with a spoonful of pablum.  “If Sir Alec doesn’t call for an election soon, you’re going to have to learn to make your own breakfast!”

With a huff, Shelagh refolded the newspaper.  “It’s a subversion of democracy,” she snapped.  “There’s absolutely no reason why that man doesn’t call for the vote.  There’s been no confidence in this government for months now.”

“I’ve never seen you so fired up about politics, Mum,” Timothy remarked as he and Angela took their places at the table.  

Bright blue eyes flashed behind Shelagh’s glasses.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Timothy.  I’ve always been interested in the state of the world.” She placed the paper beside her husband’s plate and stood to pour out tea.  “Cornflakes again, Angela?”

Timothy shrugged and swallowed a gulp of tea.  “It’s just that I’ve never seen you read the paper except to clip advertisements or coupons.”

Silence cloaked the room.  Teddy leant back in his chair, his expression matching the wary look on his father’s face.  Even Angela paused, spoon halfway to her mouth.

The teapot returned to the table with a muffled thunk.  Shelagh’s voice was controlled. “Simply because I don’t discuss a topic in your presence doesn’t mean I don’t have an opinion on it, Timothy.  I do exist outside this family.”

Even Tim seemed to understand he’d stepped in it.  “I know that, it’s…well…” His voice trailed off in confusion.

“I’ll have you know that I have voted in every single election since I came of age.  I’ve even canvassed for candidates.”

“Even when you were at Nonnatus?”  Timothy was incredulous.

“It’s like watching someone in quicksand,” Patrick whispered to Teddy.  The tot chewed his fingers in response.

“Certainly at Nonnatus!”  

Timothy flailed, his debate training abandoning him in the face of a superior adversary, and he resorted to vocabulary tricks.  “But—but I would have thought the nuns would be too busy with…with less temporal tasks than politics.”  

Shelagh was in no mood to encourage the teen.  “There are few things more “temporal” than tending to the sick or ailing, young man.  In order for us to take care of the community, we need support from the government. The best way to ensure that is to work is to help put those in office sympathetic to our cause.”

Shelagh stirred her tea.  “The Order of Saint Raymond Nonnatus is not a cloistered community–they strive to improve this life as well as the next.  Sister Monica Joan was a suffragette, you know. She was on the frontlines fighting for women’s right to vote.”

“I can remember the Nonnatuns coming in to the polling place back in ‘45, soon after I’d arrived in Poplar.  Like a wave of blue, determined to make a change.” Patrick smoothed margarine on a slice of toast as the natural order returned to the room.  “The Nonnatuns have the best voting attendance record of any group in Poplar, I imagine.”

Tim grabbed the lifeline, grateful for the distraction.  “Which groups don’t vote?”he asked.

Patrick lowered his brow in concentration.  “Young people. And women. The numbers are improving, I’ve heard, but—“ he shrugged in resignation.

“But young people should be voting!  We’ve got the most at stake, when you think of it!  Were the ones that will have to live with the consequences the longest.”  He slumped over his cereal.

“Yes, but many young voters aren’t engaged in the process.  They think it’s for stuffy old men.”

“That’s because it is stuffy old men.”  Shelagh sighed. “When nearly every politician looks and sounds like someone’s grandad, it’s hard to think there’s a place for others at the table.  Why, many women that do go to the polls simply vote the way their husbands tell them. It’s hardly inspiring.  Women need to see that they have their own voice, and they need to use it.”

Teddy was finished with both his breakfast and the conversation, and began to fuss.  Shelagh pushed back her chair.

“I’ve got him,” Patrick told her.  “Finish your tea.”

Shelagh watched as her husband released the boy from his confinement and sighed. “Too many women have so little support at home that there’s no time for them to think of the world beyond their door.  Im afraid the simple act of voting can be quite complicated when you’ve little ones at home.”

Teddy’s feet thundered over the kitchen floor as he ran in restless circles.  “See?” Shelagh asked. “Imagine toting a pack of children along to the polling place and then trying to concentrate on your ballot.  I’m lucky enough to have your father to help, and you, too,” her voice was warm. Her anger was gone.

“Voting is a good deal more than simply showing up, Tim,” Patrick returned to his own cooling tea.  

“I’m starting to understand that.”

“Timmy could babysit.”  Angela’s bright voice offered.

“Babysit?” Three voices answered in unison.

Without looking up from her breakfast, Angela offered a most reasonable solution.  “Timmy babysits for Teddy and me. If voting is so important, he could help the other mummies.”

“Babysit?”  Tim moaned.

Patrick chuckled,  “Civic responsibility has a price, Tim.”

Pounding feet came to a sudden stop, and with a wobble and a whoop of laughter, Teddy Turner settled next to his mother to finish his breakfast.   

***

Clinic was over, and as the last of the patients wandered out, the nurses began to gather in the small kitchen for a cup of tea before setting the place to rights and moving on to the next task of the day.  

“We’re lucky Sir Alec didn’t call for the vote on a clinic day,” Patrick said, leaning back against the countertop.  “This cold season is starting a bit earlier than I’d like, and closing the clinic, even for a day, could put us so far behind it’d be spring before we caught up.”

Shelagh unplugged the electric kettle and filled the teapot.  “Yes, that’s the problem with relying so entirely on one space for all our community needs.  Having the polling here makes it a tad bit easier for Timothy’s cause, however. We’ll have Fred move out all of the examination beds from the alcove and he can keep the children occupied there whilst the mothers come in to vote.”

As if summoned, the boy appeared in the doorway, haggard and rumpled from a long day of canvassing the neighborhood.  With a dramatic flourish, he dropped into a chair.

“It’s impossible!”  He bemoaned. “I’ve had dozens of mums sign up for the babysitting service, and I’ve no one to help!”

Trixie’s mouth puckered as she struggled to control a giggle.  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. Surely some of your friends will help.”

Tim leaned forward to rest his chin in his hand in defeat.  “That’s what I thought. I was certain the girls I asked would help.”

“No willing conscripts?” Trixie asked.

“I wonder if you’re aware of the irony that’s on display here, Master Turner.”  Phyllis Crane looked up from her clipboard. “Exclusively asking girls to help care for children is hardly supporting your cause for women’s voting rights.”

Tim rolled his eyes.  “I know that now.  Caroline Gillespie made her opinion perfectly clear when I approached them at the bus stop this morning.  But how am I to get boys to help take care of children?”

“You seem to be rather proving my original point, Tim.”  Shelagh crossed the room to pour him some tea. “These mums you’re trying to help, they have husbands—grown men perfectly capable of caring for their own children for an hour or so while their wives go vote…or do some shopping…or even get their hair done!” She stirred her tea vigorously as she continued.  “It’s not babysitting when they’re your babies!” She harumphed.

Patrick reared back in his seat, arms wide.  “Don’t look at me!” He defended. “I’ve given the littles a bath every night this week!”

“Yes, dear.  You’re quite liberated.”  Shelagh patted his hand. “Not all mothers are as fortunate as I am.”  Mischief gleamed behind her glasses.

Trixie giggled, then grew serious.  “You’re right, Shelagh. Somehow, there’s always another chore to be done, or person to be taken care of before a woman can stop being someone’s something or other and exercise her rights as an individual.”

Timothy squirmed in his seat.

“It’s all rather casual, this male chauvinism,” Phyllis removed her glasses to study the young man more closely. “It’s not like in America, what with those officials trying to block people from voting with poll taxes or literacy tests simply because of their skin color.  There, the enemy is out in the open, the lines are drawn quite sharply. In Britain, women have had the right to vote for decades, and because of the way society discourages our participation, we’ve yet to be a force within the polls.”

Patrick spoke up.  “I wouldn’t say women are discouraged, precisely, at least not officially…”

Three sets of eyes glared at him.  

“Then how would you say it, Patrick?”  Shelaghs voice was clipped. “Our paid workers—mostly men, mind you—are given time off from their places of employment in order to participate in elections.  There are no such opportunities for women that stay home to care for others. And how many political meetings have you attended that were held at men’s-only establishments?”

“I’ve offered to take you–“

“That’s hardly the point, and you know it.  It’s the way it’s always been done, and men have come to expect it to be the way things will always be done.”  Shelagh reached out and covered his hand with her own.  “I shouldn’t be so hard on you, dear. You’ve done tremendous work to help everyone have a voice.”

A glance passed between Trixie and Phyllis, and the older nurse stiffened her spine.  “Of course, we’re all grateful for the support we receive from men like you, Doctor Turner, but we’ve moved beyond that.  It’s time for the male population to recognize theirs is not the only perspective on the world.”

Patrick swallowed thickly and nodded his understanding.  

“This is all very interesting,”  Tim’s voice broke the tension. “But none of you have told me how I’m to find help taking care of all those kids.”

Chuckles broke the tension, and the group began to break up.  “You’ll think of something, Tim,” his father assured him.

“What if I told the other—“

Patrick placed a hand in his son’s shoulder, silencing him.  “You heard the ladies, Tim.” He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Do not tell the other lads it’s a good way to meet girls.”

***

Shelagh stood vigil at the community center doors, a worried crease between her brows.  There was no need to check her watch, the dwindling number of voters in the open space told her there wasn’t much time.  She pressed her lips together and held in a sigh. If he was late, there was an excellent reason.

“Good evening, Mrs. Turner,” Fred Buckle ambled in, tool kit in hand.  “Heard there’s been a good turnout today. Bodes well fer change, don’t it?”

“Fingers crossed, Fred.  There’s a fresh pot of tea in the break room if you’d like.  We can’t start taking down the polling booths until after the final votes cast.”  She craned her neck to peer around the large man.

Wisely, Fred kept his own counsel.  He tugged at his ear and said, “Right, then.  You’ll know where to find me.”

A rush of cold air filled the hall, and Shelagh turned expectantly to the entrance.  A woman burst in, a toddler on her hip and two young children dragging behind her in their pajamas.

“I’ve made it, ‘aven’t I?” She puffed.  “Himself only just left for the pub. I thought he’d never get out in time for me to come!”

Shelagh nodded, her arm outstretched to usher the woman in.  “Let me take the children. We have an eager group of teenagers ready to keep an eye on the wee ones as you cast your vote.”  She took the youngest in her arms. “Now come along, children. I think we’ve still plenty of coloring books that need an artist’s attention.”

An impromptu play area occupied the alcove they used for examination beds during clinic.  “Timothy, dear,” Shelagh called over. “We’ve got some little friends for you to play with.”

Tim unbent from the task of collecting wooden blocks from the low table.  Despite his fatigue, a broad smile crossed his face, and he held out a blue one to the littlest child.  “Brilliant. You can help me build London Bridge. Teddy keeps knocking it down.” He pulled out two chairs.

“Teddy always knocks down the towers,” Angela announced.  In an effort to prove his sister wrong, the little scamp snatched a crayon from the table and scribbled on its surface.

Caroline Gillespie scooped him up.  “Come on, little man. Let’s make the tower one more time.”

Shelagh smiled.  “Thank you, dear.  You’ve been a tremendous help this afternoon.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Turner.  Timothy May have told you, but I wasn’t…supportive of his efforts when he first told us about it.” She rolled her eyes in a way that made her feel for the girl’s parents.  “It seemed like he was only asking us girls to be babysitters! But as I passed by after school today, I watched Mr. Stacey try to climb the steps outside. He needed two men to help him manage, poor thing.  I never really considered how the world excludes so many, just with simple things like stairs.”

Teddy was impatient to get at the new block tower, and Caroline set him down again.  “Each day is a lesson, as my nan says.”

“Indeed,” Shelagh grinned at the girl’s serious tone.  “I’ll pass this little one off to you as well, if you don’t mind.  I’ll go start on clearing out the voting stalls. Angela, Mummy will be right back.”

A dozen wooden stalls lined the wall of the main room, offering privacy to voters as they filled out their ballots.  Most of the poll workers, all tired volunteers, were gathered in the break room. Shelagh paused at the ballot box table.

“You go get a cup of tea, Mr. Lewis.  It’s only two minutes to seven, I can manage any last stragglers.”  She held in another sigh. Patrick wouldn’t be voting this time around.

Her heels clipped sharply on the Lino as passed from stall to stall.  Really, she wondered to herself, how could people be so messy? She collected stray paper and gum wrappers into a bag and dropped the marking pens in a can.

At the far end, she noticed someone had written a campaign slogan on the wooden surface, a clear violation of campaign rules, but decided not to pursue the matter.  It was unlikely Mickey Mouse had much support in the House of Commons.

“Busy today?” Patrick’s husky voice startled her, and she spun around.

“Patrick! You made it!  I was so worried you’d get here past time.  Let’s get you a ballot then-“

He stopped her with an outstretched hand.  “It is past time,” he told her. “It’s just gone seven.”

She struggled to hide her disappointment.  “Oh. I’m sure it couldn’t be helped. You had a long list for rounds.”

“Yes, I did.  That’s why I stopped in right after surgery and voted then.”

Her smile was wide.  “You did! Oh, Patrick. I’m so glad!”

“I’ve only ever missed one vote, and that was during my training.  A rather large baby was reluctant to hurry his arrival. I learned then to vote as early as I could.  Besides,” his eyes were warm, “I know how important it is to you.”

Shelagh felt her cheeks flush.  Had they somehow moved farther back into the booth?  He bent, his nose close to hers, and said softly, “We should head home.”

She could not hide her dimple.  “I suppose we should. Fred might ask us to help with the take-down.”

“Mm-hmm…” Patrick murmured, tracing her downy cheek with the tip of his nose.  “Let’s get the children home and into bed. Poor Tim’s so tired, he’ll be asleep before Teddy.”  He tugged her earlobe between his teeth. “It’ll be hours before they announce any results.”

She sighed.  “Hours? I do hope they take their time.”