I sat quietly in the green chair watching the stylish American woman unpack her bags. She was placing canisters of tea and containers of dry fruit on the table when I caught her attention and she gasped.
“Mary Margaret?”
“It’s Peg,” Mrs. Hanley quickly cut in. “Peg, this is my sister, Hannah.”
I stood up and walked over to the table and extended my hand. Hannah grabbed me and hugged me tightly. Then took a step back and looked at me, scanning me from head to toe, making me feel very self-conscious. The awkward feeling was disrupted as the three boys came racing back into the house. The commotion made Mrs. Hanley nervous, but it didn’t seem to faze her sister. Granny took control and ordered them back out to the yard, and then she began to rock the pram to settle Rachel.
I sat at the table with the women drinking tea, quietly listening to their conversation. Hannah gave me two lovely frocks that buttoned down the front—she called them shirtwaist dresses. As I stood and held one of the dresses against me, I realized Hannah was the woman who’d sent me new outfits every year. Hannah asked me several questions about my classes and Mrs. Hanley sat quietly listening to my answers. When Hannah asked me about the industrial school I lived in, Mrs. Hanley interrupted before I could respond.
“Peg, would ya please go outside and mind the boys.”
I was relieved because it felt awkward talking about the industrial school to other people. I sat on the back step and watched as the boys ran wild about the yard. Hannah appeared at the back door with a plate of buttered slices of bread.
“Fer the boys,” she said as she handed me the plate.
“I helped Mrs. Hanley make the bread this mornin.”
“It’s lovely, I just ate a slice. Ya did a fine job.”
Granny appeared behind her, pushing open the rear door. “Hannah, I’ve got ta get back. Are ya ready ta go?”
“What’s yer rush?”
“I’ve got ta bring Father Cosgrove some eggs.”
“Mam, don’t ya remember? We stopped ta see him on the way inta town!”
They both went back inside and I took the bread over to the boys. The Americans were chattering away and I could see Ryan had trouble understanding their accents. Their visit lasted until late in the afternoon, and it was obvious Mrs. Hanley was relieved when they left. She was very quiet that evening and appeared to be distressed about something. I’d expected her to be filled with happiness after a visit with her sister.
The following morning during breakfast, Mrs. Hanley told me that Hannah needed my help with some shopping she had to do.
“I’d be happy ta help her.”
“Ya don’t have ta go.”
“Oh no, I’d like ta go.”
I gobbled down my breakfast and dressed in one of the new frocks. Then I brushed my hair the best I could, trying to flatten it down. To my surprise, Hannah arrived without her sons. I thought she needed my help to watch over the boys. Instead, I’d be spending time alone with her, something I’d hardly been able to do with Mrs. Hanley during this trip.
Hannah didn’t dress like anyone from Galway. She wore a bright, lime-green blouse with a gold pin on the collar. Her skirt, shoes, and handbag were all the same cream color, and her hair was twisted up behind her head and secured with an expensive-looking clip.
I looked at her admiringly.
Mrs. Hanley rolled her eyes. “Would ya look at the style of her!” she said, somewhat sarcastically.
As we left the house, Mrs. Hanley called out behind us, “Mind the time, I’ll be needin Peg back ta help me.”
Hannah walked at a quick pace and I moved as fast as I could to keep up with her. She drilled me with questions about the industrial school, asking me what we ate, where we slept, and what we did each day. In town she went in and out of all the shoppes, looking at linens and dishes. She made a large purchase and told the shop owner to ship them to her house in America.
“Peg, there’s nothin like Irish linens and china.”
We walked through Eyre Square and she looked at her watch. “It’s time fer tea. Let’s go ta the Great Southern.”
I could feel my heart pounding as we walked up the marble steps into the grand hotel. I felt awkward in the elegant lobby, where we were greeted by a man in a perfectly pressed blue uniform and white gloves.
“I’d like a table in the Oyster Grill Restaurant fer my niece and I,” she said.
Stunned by her words, I stood there speechless.
“Come on, Peg,” she said, as she headed toward the staircase we’d been directed to.
I followed her down the steps and into the restaurant, where a young lady wearing a crisp white blouse and black skirt led us to a table. Hannah ordered for us and then placed the cloth napkin on her lap before returning her attention to me.
“Peg, is somethin wrong?”
“I heard ya say, I was yer niece. Are ya my relation?”
She hesitated only for a second before responding.
“Well sure, Peg, yer like family. Aren’t we all related in Ireland? I want ya ta call me Auntie Hannah.”
“Do ya know my family?”
A waitress appeared before she could answer me and poured our tea, leaving the china pot on the table. Hannah never answered my question, quickly changing the topic.
“I’m famished,” she said.
The waitress reappeared with a three-tiered platter filled with an assortment of scones and buns, two types of jam, and pats of fresh butter. While we ate, Hannah talked about how wonderful it was to live in America. I had trouble paying attention because I kept thinking about her comment, “My niece.”
“There’s opportunity fer everyone in America. Especially if yer educated and a hard worker. It’s a mass mix of people, culture, and high energy.”
“It sounds like an exciting place ta live.”
“There’s loads of Irish and the clubs have grand dances fer the young ones ta meet up. Maybe when yer done with Secondary School ya’ll come out.”
“None of the girls go ta Secondary School.”
Hannah put down her cup and tilted her head thoughtfully, and then repeated my words.
“None of the girls go ta Secondary School?”
“Not that I know of. We go ta Sixth Class, then work in the industrial school until we’re placed in a situation at the age of fifteen.”
There was an awkward silence, and I felt as if I’d said something wrong.
“Well Peg, if yer ta come ta America, ya need an education.”
“We’ve got one more stop,” Hannah said as we left the hotel. I walked alongside of her until she stopped at a hair salon and opened the door. Inside a fashionable woman sat at the front counter.
Hannah pointed to my hair and looked at the woman.
“Can ya tame this mane?”
“We sure can.”
Hannah took a seat on a sofa by the counter and the woman took me to a chair, wrapped a cape around my neck, and tilted my head back toward a sink and washed my hair. Then she took me over to a chair in front of a large mirror. I had a full view of myself and smiled as I looked into my own bright blue eyes. For the first time I noticed how fair my skin was and that my nose was turned up at the tip. I gasped as the first snip of the shears sent a clump of my thick curly blond hair to the floor. When the woman was done, I had a short, curly bob that barely reached my shoulders. I smiled at the girl in the mirror. She looked pretty and fashionable. Slowly, I turned my head to the left and then to the right, trying to get a complete view. When I jerked my head back to the center, my soft, smooth hair fell perfectly into place. I felt like a different person and held my shoulders back and head high as we walked back to the house.
Hannah was quite pleased with my new look. Mrs. Hanley was not. She was stunned when we walked into the house and immediately sent me outside with Ryan. I stood by the back door, trying to hear the sisters argue. Mrs. Hanley said Hannah had no rights over me and it wasn’t her place to have my hair cut. Ryan kept tr
ying to get my attention, making it difficult for me to listen. I heard Hannah call Mrs. Hanley selfish and then she appeared at the rear door and stepped outside. I could hear Mrs. Hanley crying inside. Hannah said goodbye to Ryan and then hugged me tightly.
“Do yerself a favor, Peg. Learn all ya can and get out of Ireland. There’s nothin here fer ya.”
The rest of my visit was terribly awkward. Mrs. Hanley didn’t say much and I spent most of my time playing with Ryan while she tended to her new baby girl. Granny stopped in on Saturday and gave me a sixpence.
“Thanks, Granny. I’ll put it with the others in my red purse.”
“Ya mean, ya haven’t spent em?”
“Nope, I’m savin them.”
She nodded, looking very pleased. “Well, that’s good. Savin money is important.”
I gave her a hug and said goodbye.
Sunday morning after mass, Hannah came to the house and gave me a gift of a handsome plaid satchel. “For yer trip ta America someday,” she said, with a wink.
CHAPTER NINE
W hen my train arrived in Ballinasloe, I ran back to the industrial school to show off my new hair style. I could see the heads turn and hear the whispers of the other girls as I stepped into the yard.
“It looked better long,” said Mary.
“I like it,” said Patsy, “ya look older.”
“Well, the hairdresser said it’s the latest style,” I told them.
As we stood there chatting, I realized the other girls were eyeing my satchel, too, and I needed to put it away. On my way to the dorm, I looked down the corridor and, for the first time, really noticed how bleak this place was. I felt myself beginning to build a resentment. Why should I have to live here?
I encountered Sister Constance in the hallway. She looked me over scornfully from head to toe. After a few curt comments about my new hairstyle and fashionable satchel, she reassigned me to work in the laundry.
In the dorm, I slid the satchel under my bed and exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling oddly grateful that my punishment was just to work a harder job.
The following morning, I took a deep breath before entering the laundry, where I’d be working with girls who had a reputation for being “pissin mad!” Julia sent me over to the nun in charge, who assigned me to sort the clean, folded clothes by number. When I was done, she sent me over to help Angela.
“Well, aren’t ya turnin inta quite a looker!” said Angela, and then she motioned for me to grab the handle of a large wicker basket.
We hauled the heavy load of wet sheets out to the clotheslines by the orchard.
“Ya can be sure they’re watchin the clock on us,” she said, swiftly moving down the line, hanging one sheet after another.
On the way back, Angela waved to a girl who was laying small white rags out on the grass in the adjacent field. I asked her what the girl was doing and she said, “That’s where ya dry yer rags for yer monthly.”
I nodded, but had no idea what she was talking about.
Working in the laundry that summer proved to be quite an education. The girls cursed, smoked, talked back to the nuns, and spoke freely about their scandalous liaisons with the Garbally boys in town. They were a tough group, but I saw their soft side when they sang together to pass the long, hot work day.
In mid-August, Sister Constance relieved me of my penance, and reassigned me to polishing the pews in the convent chapel. On my way to the chapel each morning, I’d catch a glimpse of the renovations being made to add a new dormitory on the first floor in the convent. The dormitory would accommodate a dozen out-of-town students attending the Sisters of Mercy’s Secondary School. Very few of the locals could afford the tuition to send their daughters and they needed to increase their enrollment.
In September, a large round table was put in the industrial school refectory where the new boarders would have their meals. Their meals were prepared and served by Sister Simone, who was known to be a wonderful cook. My mouth watered each morning when she passed our table carrying trays of freshly baked buns.
The boarders were dressed in smart navy-blue pinafores over starched white blouses, with blue neck ties. Pretty ribbons and clips kept their well-groomed hair in place. Their voices sounded airy and light and they often giggled with each other while they sat at their table eating. I envied this group of girls that stood out so vividly in this dreary environment, and wondered what they thought of me, of us, the house children.
Sixth Class, our last year of formal education, was taught by Sister Eucharia, and listening to her daily lectures was brutal. The old, wrinkled nun waved a finger from her trembling hand as she warned us about sin and the evils lurking in the world. I spent most of my time in her class daydreaming, either about the times I’d spent in Galway or what the future held for me. Frequently, I reflected on the words of advice from Hannah, “There’s opportunity fer everyone in America. Especially if yer educated and a hard worker. Learn all ya can, and get out of Ireland.” And that’s when my desire to travel to America began to grow.
At the end of the school year we’d have to work for the nuns until we were sent out for our situation. Mary and I would often pass the time, anticipating where we’d eventually wind up working.
“I heard they’re sendin lots a girls ta Dublin, fer cleanin in the hospital,” said Mary.
“Ugh! I don’t want ta be cleanin fer people.”
“Maybe she’ll send ya ta a family ta care fer their children.”
“I don’t want ta do that either!”
“Well, unless ya can cook, I don’t know what else there is!”
“Maybe I’ll go to the States.”
Mary rolled her eyes, dismissing me and my “grand ideas!”
After the nuns left for their conference in Dublin, the sky opened and the rain came down in buckets, disrupting our plans for the brisk, cool October afternoon. Instead of jumping the gate, we went inside to find a place to sit among the chaos. Younger girls screamed as they raced up and down the hallways, while the older girls argued and fought in the rec room. Katie and Julia yelled threats at everyone in an attempt to gain order.
Mary, Patsy, and I escaped the madness up in the dorms, pushing two beds together and lying across them, where we could talk. Just as we were getting comfortable, Theresa came running into the room.
“Hey Patsy,” she said, “ya better get down ta the rec room. They’re beatin on yer sister, Grace.”
Patsy jumped up and ran downstairs, and Theresa lay down in the vacant spot beside us. She pulled her knees up to her stomach and let out a little moan.
“What’s wrong with ya?” Mary asked.
“Ugh, I’m bleedin!” Theresa said, “It’s the cramps, ya know.”
Our reaction told Theresa we were clueless.
“It’s yer monthly, when ya bleed from yer private parts.”
“Disgustin!” yelled Mary, pulling a pillow over her head.
“How do ya stop it?” I asked.
“Ya can’t. Ya stuff white rags in yer knickers, so it’s not dripping down yer legs. If the nuns see ya bleeding through yer clothes, ya’ll get a thrashin!”
Theresa continued giving us the details of adolescent development. She said we’d grow pubic hair and that our bosoms would grow.
“Some of the girls wrap rags around their chests ta try and stop em from getting bigger. But I don’t think that works.”
Theresa said it usually happens in the Sixth Class and then warned us, “Beware of Sister Agnes in the washroom. She’ll be snappin the towel off ya ta get a look. I think she’s queer.”
We began to check our bodies daily for changes.
In November, I received my second piece of mail. Mother Bernard handed me a light blue envelope. “From America,” she said with a smile. I looked at the return address on the back flap before tucking it in my waistband. It was from Aunt Hannah. I went straight to the toilet and took the letter out of the already opened envelope. An American five-dollar bill was in the f
olded sheet of writing paper.
November 18,1948
Dear Peg,
It was a delight spending time with you in Galway. You’ve turned into quite a young lady. I hope you’ve been able to maintain your new hairstyle, it makes you look so refined.
I know Norah enjoys your visits with her each summer. She has her hands full with the two little ones, and I can see that you’re a big help to her.
My boys had such a great time that they can’t wait to go back. I think they are farm boys at heart.
I hope you are doing well in the Sixth Class. Maybe the Good Lord will see to it that you go to Secondary School. Always remember, education is your key to a better life.
I’m enclosing some money for you to buy yourself something special.
God bless,
Auntie Hannah
As I reread the letter someone started banging on the stall door. There were only two toilets, and the other was broken, but I didn’t care. I turned the money over in my hand, and read the letter a third time. I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, not even Mary. I went upstairs and hid the letter and the money in my red purse.
I couldn’t pay attention to Sister Eucharia that day thinking about the five-dollar bill, but then she started banging her ruler on the desk.
“A former inmate of the industrial school, Rebecca Murphy, is entering a marriage today with a Protestant. Let us take this moment and pray for her.”
We bowed our heads and clasped our hands to pray for the Catholic girl, Rebecca Murphy, about to marry a Protestant boy.
“May the Lord have mercy on her.”
At the end of the day, Sister Eucharia told me to stay behind after class with Patsy and a girl named Clare. I didn’t know Clare well. The other house children made fun of her because she walked around with a book tucked under her arm all the time. The three of us sat looking at each other while Sister Eucharia dismissed the town’s children. When the classroom was empty she came over to us.
The House Children Page 9