by Rachel Quinn
Aileen saw no reason to renege on that agreement, and so turned up to work at the gates of a modern, square-fronted building where they manufactured bandages, dressings and blankets for the Forces.
There was no induction period. There were no training sessions. A stern woman who didn’t introduce herself took Aileen’s name and address and led her to an empty seat in a room where women – a couple of hundred, Aileen estimated – busied themselves cutting pieces of lint bandage from a large roll and packaging them into gummed envelopes. To the right of each woman was a large wooden box into which the completed packages were being thrown.
Aileen sat down, spent a few minutes looking around and getting herself comfortable on the seat, then leaned over to the woman alongside her. ‘What are we supposed to do?’ she said.
The woman pointed to a table in the corner of the room. ‘Get your envelopes from there.’ She nodded to the reel of material in front of Aileen. ‘Cut that there lint to the right size and put the piece in the envelope. The size you need is printed on the envelope.’ She pointed to the teacup in front of Aileen and then to the corner of the room again. ‘Fill that cup over at that sink and use the water to gum down the envelope. The more lint you get through, the more you get paid, but be sure to seal the envelope tight else you get your wages docked.’
The woman then returned to doing exactly those tasks herself, at a speed Aileen would have thought impossible had she not seen it with her own eyes. Each envelope made a scuffing sound as it was tossed into the box, and the combined sound wasn’t unlike the hiss of an ocean. It sounded almost homely.
Aileen did as she was told and tossed the first of her envelopes into the cardboard box at her side. She was just a beginner and was probably the slowest woman there, but before long the bottom of the box was no longer visible.
Just as she was starting to get the hang of the work, a loud horn sounded. There were cheers from the women and they all jumped off their chairs, grabbed their coats and handbags and headed for the exit. Aileen put her coat on and steeled herself to make conversation with her neighbour while she turned around to pick up her case, but by the time she turned back the woman was gone.
Aileen followed the throng out into the darkness and stood shivering under a streetlight as she got her scrap of paper out and tried to get her bearings. She glanced back along the way she’d come only a few hours before, toward the railway station, where there was probably a train that would take her back home. She dismissed the thought and fifteen minutes later found herself standing outside 22 Kingdom Avenue, a neat and tidy but rather austere-looking terraced house. She glanced back along the street, then up at the house again, still unsure of how this was all working out. However, she had to admit that it all looked solid and well maintained, even if rather unfriendly.
She knew from her older sister Cathleen that in towns and cities people tended to lock their doors even when they were at home, so she gave the painted wood a couple of raps with her knuckles rather than try the handle.
The face that greeted her when the door opened couldn’t have been more different to the property itself. The woman was middle-aged and smiled sweetly as she spoke.
‘Can I help you?’ she said in a soft voice that was as different to a Wicklow accent as Aileen had ever heard. Well, apart from in the films and on the BBC wireless broadcasts.
‘I’m Aileen.’ She offered the official slip of paper. ‘They sent me from the—’
‘Ah, yes!’ It was then that the woman started to bow as though in deference, her face blushing as she grinned in welcome, said she’d been expecting her and introduced herself as Mrs McDonald. She told Aileen to come in and asked where she’d come from, whether she’d had a good journey, where she was working and whether it had got colder outside since the sun had gone down. Somewhere between the words she managed to grab Aileen’s case by stealth as much as force before Aileen realized what had happened.
They carried on talking – at least Mrs McDonald talked and Aileen tried to interject the occasional word – as they went upstairs.
‘Doreen will be home in a few minutes,’ Mrs McDonald said as she opened a door at the back of the house and ushered Aileen through. ‘You don’t mind sharing, do you?’
‘Oh, I’m used to sharing a bed,’ Aileen said.
Mrs McDonald giggled, her shoulders twitching despite her attempts to suppress her amusement, as she placed Aileen’s case on a bed. ‘Anyway, you must be very tired. Tea isn’t too far away but I’ll let you settle in first.’ She left and shut the door behind her.
Aileen stood in the silence and glanced around.
There were two beds in the room, a few feet apart, with a night table between. A wardrobe, a vanity table, an armchair and a window framed by floral curtains completed the inventory – apart from a picture of a galleon being tossed around an ocean. There were also the floorboards. Aileen had been upstairs in buildings before, but not very often, and had certainly never slept so far above the ground. It seemed unnatural and unnerving. But the most important aspect of the room was the two beds. Aileen still had no idea how many people she would be sharing the room with – or the bed, but either way it looked like paradise.
She kicked her shoes off and sat on the bed. It was softer than the one she shared with Briana back home and more comfortable by some distance. She lay down, curling a side of the bedcover over her and closed her eyes. Just to rest them.
The light was still on, but it had been an exhausting day. Aileen had travelled to somewhere that either was or wasn’t a different country depending on your politics, had worked attentively for three hours, and was now lying on an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar house. In an unfamiliar city.
She was asleep within a minute.
The creak of the door woke Aileen up. She lifted her head but needed to screw her eyes up against the stark light to see what was happening. A figure appeared to glide across the room in front of her and settle on the other bed. It was a woman – younger than Aileen by the looks of it.
‘Hello there,’ Aileen said.
‘Hello.’
The voice was light and nervous, the body language timid. This wasn’t a woman, it was a girl.
‘I’m Aileen.’
The girl turned to face Aileen but kept her head bowed, her eyes down. ‘I’m Doreen.’
Aileen tried to catch her eye and let out a light laugh. ‘Aileen and Doreen. We could be sisters.’
No reaction. Not even a smile.
‘Your mammy said you’d be here soon enough.’
‘She’s my aunt.’
‘Ah, right.’ Aileen waved a finger around the room. ‘Is it only the two of us sharing this room?’
A single nod.
Aileen thought for a moment. ‘Listen, Doreen. If you’d rather I didn’t stay here, I wouldn’t mind, honestly. I mean, if—’
‘No.’
Aileen waited for more explanation, but none came. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Good.’
‘Aunt Susan and Uncle Jack say we owe it to you.’
‘Well . . . I wouldn’t quite say that. You don’t really know me, so you can’t owe me anything.’
Doreen gave a half-hearted, glum nod. Then there was a knock on the door. Aileen looked at Doreen, but there was no reaction.
‘Come in,’ Aileen said.
Mrs McDonald’s head appeared around the door. ‘Tea’s almost ready,’ she sang, ‘if you’d both like to come down.’
‘Thank you,’ Aileen said. ‘We’ll be down in a minute.’
Before the meal was served, Aileen was introduced to Mr McDonald. She decided to stick with calling them Mr and Mrs McDonald rather than Jack and Susan until she was told otherwise. A large bowl of mashed potatoes and a smaller one containing peas and chopped carrots were placed in the middle of the table, and four plates of belly pork, steaming and shiny wet with grease, were set down. After saying grace, they helped themselves to potatoes and vegetables, with Mr McDonald i
nsisting he went last. There was a little small talk about how work had been that day for Mr McDonald, who was a wages clerk at a local factory, and what sort of a place Leetown was, but the meal was mostly eaten in a pleasant silence.
‘Is that an engagement ring I see on you?’ Mrs McDonald said as Aileen was finishing.
‘It is,’ she replied. ‘Oh, I was meaning to say, do you mind if my fiancé and my family write to me here?’
‘Well, you live here, don’t you?’
‘Thank you, Mrs McDonald.’
‘Have you any paper for me to write and tell him the address?’ Aileen asked. ‘I’ll give you the money for it when I get paid.’
‘Ah, no, you won’t,’ Mrs McDonald said. ‘It’s only paper.’ She pointed to a small cupboard in the corner of the room. ‘Help yourself. There’s envelopes too. I don’t think we have any stamps though.’
‘That’s grand,’ Aileen said. ‘I can buy stamps tomorrow. I should write to Mammy and Daddy too as soon as I can, so they know I’m safe and sound. They worry about me.’
At this, Mr and Mrs McDonald stared at each other and Doreen got up and quickly left the room, a few chunks of food left uneaten on her plate. Her feet could be heard thumping up the stairs.
Mr McDonald tutted, Mrs McDonald gave Aileen another sweet smile – although this time it came out a little twisted – and Aileen didn’t know what to do.
‘Is Doreen all right?’ Aileen said after a few moments.
Mr McDonald ignored the question.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Mrs McDonald said. ‘She’ll be . . . fine.’
Afterward, Aileen offered to help clear the table, but Mrs McDonald was having none of it and told her to make herself comfortable in the living room. Mr McDonald led the way, switching the wireless on as Aileen headed for an armchair. But as he reached for his pipe and tobacco she veered to the door, excused herself and went up to her bedroom.
Doreen was lying motionless on her bed, curled up like an infant, so Aileen crept over to her own bed, pulled Niall’s letter out from her luggage and read it just once more before tucking it under her pillow. Later, after writing letters back home and to Niall, she slept with her head above his letter. And she slept well.
The next day Aileen was woken up early, and after washing they all ate a breakfast of fried bacon, egg and potato farls. Doreen was still quiet but seemed in better spirits, and the upset of the previous night wasn’t mentioned. Aileen walked to the factory, taking a short detour to post her letters, much happier for telling her parents and Niall her address.
One thing she wasn’t happy about was Doreen. The girl hadn’t spoken more than a few words, so there was something going on there. But whatever it was, it wasn’t Aileen’s problem. They shared a bedroom, so if Doreen wanted to confide in her she would do so in her own time. Aileen had enough problems to cope with, getting used to a new city and her first-ever regular job.
At the factory, she filled her cup with water, grabbed an armful of envelopes, sat down and started work. After a while the work became automatic and her mind drifted. She reflected that she was glad she’d held firm and not turned back and gone home. Whatever was going on where she was staying, it could have been a lot worse and she felt lucky to be living with such a kind and hospitable family. It was strange not having to fetch fresh water from the well every day, but that was a chore she would not miss.
What she was already missing was her sister. Having a whole bed to herself had been a welcome luxury for one night, especially with Niall’s letter close by, but she still missed Briana. She missed the warmth of a body next to her, someone to hold when she felt downhearted. And now, only one day after leaving home, and despite the welcoming family she was staying with, there was a creeping sense of a loneliness to come.
Chapter 12
Aileen’s first few days in Belfast were pretty much the same. She would wake up, wash, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, have tea, listen to the wireless, try to avoid Mr McDonald’s pipe smoke, then go to bed.
But that was good. Aileen was starting to feel at home in a noisy, bustling city that at first felt like it could have swallowed her whole. She was a little bored at times, but felt secure. There was still hardly anything in the way of conversation from Doreen. Yes, she was young – fifteen, so Mrs McDonald had told her – but even for a young girl she seemed distant, like she didn’t belong, or didn’t want to belong. Aileen mentioned the weather, how good Mrs McDonald’s cooking was, where she was working, and more. But Doreen, although never rude, seemed uninterested in talking. Presumably in friendship too. Aileen’s initial urge to ask her what was wrong, to find out whether she’d done anything to offend or upset her, had now subsided. But something was wrong, and she decided she would ask the obliging Mrs McDonald. But only if it came up in conversation – there was no point in prying.
On the Thursday, Aileen got paid. It was her first proper pay packet. After years of being given a few pennies here, a few pints of milk there, or a mutton chop elsewhere for helping out on a farm, it felt good. It felt official. Grown up.
As soon as she got home she asked Mrs McDonald what the weekly rent was.
‘Ah, no,’ she was told. ‘Forget that.’
‘But I’d like to pay you,’ Aileen said. ‘Tis only fair.’
Mrs McDonald simply shook her head, forcing that same twisted smile, and walked away mumbling something about having housework to do.
The thought of insisting or even simply asking again felt awkward, so Aileen said nothing. There was a little embarrassment among the polite conversation during tea – that much was clear from the quietness of Mrs McDonald and the occasional knowing glances Mr McDonald gave her and Aileen. But he said nothing, and the next evening tea was again punctuated with polite conversation.
‘So, Aileen,’ Mr McDonald said as they all tucked into plates of boiled cabbage, roast parsnips and shepherd’s pie that they’d been warned contained no meat. ‘What are you up to at the weekend?’
‘I’m working tomorrow, Mr McDonald.’
‘Ah, they have you working six days a week. I see.’
And then, after a few seconds of silence punctuated only by clicks of cutlery on crockery, Aileen spoke.
‘What about you, Mr McDonald?’
‘Seven days for me. But we have a long break on a Sunday for Mass.’ He took a gulp of water, swallowed and gave Aileen a sideways look. ‘Talking of which, I’m supposing you’ll be attending the Catholic church?’
‘Jack,’ his wife said, a hint of scolding in her voice.
‘Sure, I’m only asking the girl.’
‘Well, what do you expect her to do?’
‘Please,’ Aileen said. ‘It’s grand. I’ve already seen where my church is.’
‘Of course,’ Jack said. ‘I was only, you know . . . well, I was going to tell you where it was, just in case you didn’t know.’
‘Thank you.’ Aileen smiled but kept her eyes low. ‘This is very nice, Mrs McDonald,’ she added. ‘Lovely mash.’
‘I had a little spare butter, so I did,’ Mrs McDonald replied, ‘and a spare egg, and besides that a half-pint of milk on the turn, so there’s stewed apple with a little custard for afters.’
‘Grand,’ Mr McDonald said.
The next day Aileen went into work, lining up to collect her envelopes and cup of water as usual. She set them down on her desk and went to take off her coat. She stopped for a moment, surprised to see a different woman sitting next to her.
‘I’m Mary,’ the woman said. ‘And yes, I am quite contrary, before you ask.’ She giggled. ‘People do. They make that joke. Mary, Mary, quite contrary.’
Mary looked older than Aileen, fuller in the face and with an extra line or two of experience. She also wore a skirt quite a few inches shorter than Aileen would have dared to wear.
‘Hello, Mary. I’m Aileen. Nice to meet you.’
‘I certainly hope it will be. And that sounds like a southern accent you have there. I
s that right?’
‘Tis. County Wicklow.’
‘Ah, well. The more the merrier, Aileen. We need all the help we can get here to cope with Herr bloody Hitler and his followers.’
A whistle sounded, and the conversation died down to a murmur as the women started cutting the lint and filling their envelopes. Even Mary, who sounded like she was never going to stop talking, quietened down to concentrate on keeping her work rate up.
They had a tea break halfway through the morning and it was as though Mary had been given fresh batteries.
‘How long have you worked here, Aileen?’ she said as they stood outside for a few minutes to get out of the stale air. ‘You look like you’ve been here a month, I would say. Wouldn’t bet my life on it, but if I did I’d be wagering on a month. Is that right? About a month?’
‘Only about a week,’ Aileen tutted, ‘but it feels like a month.’
Mary plucked a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and offered one to Aileen.
‘Ah, no,’ Aileen said. ‘But thanks.’
Mary shrugged. ‘You’re better off without them anyhow.’ She lit up and took a long drag, then held her arm out fully before tapping the ash off the end. ‘And what are you doing with yourself after work tonight?’
The directness of the question stumped Aileen. She hadn’t thought of doing anything differently to every other night she’d been in Belfast. This was a big city. There were no evening walks along the beach, no open-air dances. She just shrugged.
‘You could always come with me for a drink,’ Mary said. ‘How would you like that, Aileen? We could pick ourselves up some GIs.’
‘Some what?’
‘You know, the American soldiers and sailors. You must have seen them.’ She twirled a hand toward the factory floor. ‘Stuck inside there all day perhaps you haven’t noticed, but you can hardly move for them in the city.’