On the day that Fanny was born there was a record snowstorm, so huge that there wasn’t another one like it in England for a hundred more years.1 The bridges that the trains went over or under were “bone full of snow” and Phoebe’s husband, Will, couldn’t stay home to help her. He had to be on the job with his men, and the men under him had to stay at work clearing the tracks from Upton to Malvern Wells which is four miles or more.
One of Phoebe’s friends, Sarah, went all the way to the town of Upton on Severn, three-and-a-half miles, to get the doctor, and she sank so far down into the snow with each step as she went that the print of her bottom could be seen on the top of the snow all along the way.
Fanny was the eleventh child born into her family and the first one to require a doctor to help in the delivery, all the others had been delivered by the midwife. In those days the midwife was usually a knowledgeable older woman who took great pride in the trust placed in her, and who was clean and careful in her service. The country doctor may have given her some training which, in many cases, would save him having to hitch up his horse to the buggy and drive several miles over bad roads at night. He would know that the midwife wouldn’t send for him unless it was absolutely necessary.
This time it was very necessary for Phoebe to have a doctor for without his help she probably would not have survived. But all turned out well and Fanny arrived safely. She was christened at the Church of the Good Shepherd, Church of England, when she was one month old. Babies, especially new babies, were loved, petted, and adored by everyone in the family, and it must have been so for Fanny.
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