The House Children

by Heidi Daniele

  We took the bus to O’Connell Street. I noticed the difference in the demographics once we crossed the Liffy River. The people and places didn’t appear to be as upscale on this side of the river. Marion took me into Clery’s Department Store, where she bought herself a dress. I eyed a section of the store that sold undergarments, but I felt too ashamed to look while Marion was with me.

  We walked further up O’Connell Street, looking into the shoppe windows. I stopped in front of Thom McAn. Their window had a large display of lovely shoes.

  “Let’s go in,” said Marion.

  Boxes of shoes were piled high against the walls of the store. In the center of the shoppe were a bench and tables displaying a wide variety of shoes. I felt like my world was changing as the salesman fitted me for a pair of slip-on black shoes with a modest heel. I gladly handed over my spending money. I proudly held the box tied with twine containing my new shoes while we waited for the bus.

  When I returned to my room, I slipped on my new shoes and danced. Like magic, my self-worth improved. After that day, my stride reflected a bit more confidence.

  The following week Marion invited me to see The Quiet Man. There were many articles about the film in the magazines we sold. I didn’t mention to her that I’d never been to the cinema before. We sat in plush seats and watched the color film projected on a large screen. I felt as if I were being transported into a new world.

  Afterwards we met up with two of her girlfriends at Cafolla’s for a bite to eat. I had no idea what to order. The girl sitting next to me ordered a mixed grill, so I asked for the same. Visually, I thought I blended in with the group. I began to think life in Dublin could work for me.

  It was mid-October when I had my first scare of being found out. I was down on my knees, stocking a lower shelf in the shoppe. A pair of flat, black, laced industrial shoes shuffled past me. I discreetly glanced up. It was Sadie! She was wearing a white smock over a black dress. Still on my knees, I crawled into the next aisle. Sadie purchased a pencil and writing tablet. I watched her leave the shoppe, then overheard Marion talking to the next customer.

  “I wonder what she bought that fer,” said Marion. “I doubt she can read or write.”

  “Poor thing,” said the customer.

  “Must be horrible ta be a skivvy in the hospital,” said Marion. “I could never do it.”

  “Well, she may have no choice,” said the customer.

  “Probably an orphan or an illegitimate,” said Marion. “That’s all they’re good fer.”

  I wanted to cry for Sadie. My heart started to race again, and my hands became hot and sweaty. What if Marion found out about me?

  When I returned from work, Miss O’Toole handed me an envelope. It was a letter from Mother Bernard.

  October 2, 1952

  Dear Peg,

  I’m glad to hear you are doing well. By now, I imagine you’re all settled.

  I’d like you to visit Mrs. Bridget McNamara and her daughter Patricia. Their address is 14 Dominick Street. They’ll be expecting you on Saturday afternoons.

  Take the bus to O’Connell Street. Then make your way up to Henry Street and turn onto Moore Street. You should bring something with you—perhaps some fresh fruit.

  Please give my regards to Miss O’Toole and Mr. Kerrigan.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Godspeed,

  Mother Bernard

  I threw the letter down on my desk, angry that Mother Bernard was telling me what to do. I was no longer in her care. I had my own plans for Saturday. Marion had invited me to watch a hurling match with her.

  “We’ll meet up with the gang at the field,” said Marion on Friday afternoon.

  “The gang?”

  “Sure—ya can’t cheer a team on yer own!” she laughed.

  I enjoyed Marion’s company, but wasn’t comfortable meeting up with more of her friends.

  “I meant ta tell ya, I can’t make it tomorrow. I’ve got a family obligation.”

  “Aw, I wanted ya ta meet my new beau. He’s bringing along a few other fellas.”

  “Maybe next time,” I said.

  I sat in my room on Saturday rereading Mother Bernard’s letter. Despite my feeling of resentment, my dutiful feelings won. Before leaving, I mentioned to Miss O’ Toole that I was going to Dominick Street.

  “Oh Peg, that’s a rough area. Please be careful. Those northern Dubliners will rob you blind. Be sure to head back before it gets dark.”

  I looked out on the Liffy River as the bus made its way across the bridge. I now thought of the river as the divide of classes in Dublin. I enjoyed walking up O’Connell Street. The thoroughfare was filled with people, cars, and rows of bicycles parked on the meridian. Musicians played their instruments on the street corners. I made my way to Moore Street, which was lined with produce vendors. I bought four apples and asked for directions.

  Dominick Street was filthy. Women in black shawls stood in doorways eyeing me. Ragged children wandered around aimlessly. The rundown buildings weren’t numbered. I asked one of the gawking women which apartment was number 14.

  “I’m not sure of da numbers, who’s it yer looking fer?” she asked, in a thick accent, unlike any I’d heard before.

  “Mrs. Bridget McNamara,” I said.

  “Ah, tis Bridie yer looking fer,” she said. Her dirty, crooked finger pointed across the street. “Right over dere, on da second floor.”

  There were no bells or name plates. I pushed open the door and went inside. The hallway was dark. It smelled of feces and vermin. I cautiously walked up the squeaking steps. A man opened one of the four doors in the narrow hallway.

  “What’re ya doin here?”

  “I’m lookin fer Mrs. McNamara,” I said.

  He pointed to the first door on my left and then disappeared back into his apartment. I knocked on the door. There was no response. I knocked a second time. Footsteps approached the other side of the door.

  “Who’s dere?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Mother Bernard of the Sisters of Mercy sent me.”

  The door swung open.

  A disheveled-looking woman opened the door.

  “Mrs. McNamara?” I asked.

  “No, I’m Patty.”

  “I’m Peg.”

  “Pleased ta meet ya.”

  She looked me over from head to toe.

  “Well, don’t stand dere. C’mon in.”

  I stepped into the tiny, one-room apartment and handed her the bag of apples. She took the bag and sat down at a table. I stood there not knowing what to do.

  “Sit down, won’t ya,” she said, motioning toward the only other chair.

  As I sat down, a frail, old woman watched me from a bed in the corner of the room.

  “Hello, dear,” said the toothless woman.

  I stood up. “Hello, Mrs. McNamara.”

  “No need fer airs and graces, dear. Sit down. Call me Bridie,” she said.

  Patty asked me where I lived.

  “Saint Stephen’s Green!” she exclaimed. “Ah, so yer one of da upper crust!”

  “Oh no,” I said. “Mother Bernard arranged for me ta board there.”

  Patty rolled her eyes.

  “Where’d ya get that fancy frock?”

  “America,” I said. “An aunt sent it ta me.”

  “They say the streets over dere are paved wit gold!”

  Patty was funny and the hour visit passed quickly.

  “We’ll see ya next week,” said Patty before closing the door behind me.

  I rushed back to O’Connell Street, where I felt safe. I passed Clery’s and looked at their display of coats in their window. Maybe next week I can buy one, I thought to myself.

  That night I prayed for Patty and Bridie.

  On Monday, Marion called in sick. Mr. Kerrigan put me to work at the counter. I enjoyed interacting with the customers, but I was constantly worried one of the house children that worked at the hospital might come in.


  One young man lingered after paying for his items. He watched me check out the customers. When the shoppe was empty he came back up to the counter. He introduced himself as Ben, a Trinity College Student. He was well-dressed, wearing a tailored shirt and beige slacks. His presence made me uncomfortable.

  “You’re quite a lovely girl,” he said. “I’d like to take you for pancakes at Bewley’s.”

  I was shocked by his words. They were so unexpected. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Don’t be shy,” he said. “I won’t bite you.”

  “I work every day.”

  “We can go on Sunday.”

  “I have ta go ta mass.”

  “How about after mass?”

  “No, I can’t go, but thank you.”

  When Marion returned to work the next day I told her about Ben.

  “Trinity College, he must be a Protestant,” she said. “Lucky ya said no.”

  I started to recognize there were many different classes of people in this big city. I couldn’t figure out which one I fit into.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I spent the following months trying to avoid Ben. He still lingered about the shoppe, trying to persuade me to go out with him. It wasn’t only that he might be a Protestant, or out of my social class that deterred me; it was also because I was fearful of socializing with men. It was the same reason I avoided spending more time with Marion and her friends. Connor and I still exchanged letters, but I’d always considered him to be a safe person. He knew about my situation and it didn’t bother him. I didn’t think people living in America were quick to judge others.

  My world in the big city was becoming very small. At work, I’d hide out in the stock room whenever possible. On Saturdays I would visit the McNamaras. On Sundays I attended mass, wrote letters, and took walks around the area. I was desperate for comfortable companionship. I wanted to be around someone who wouldn’t judge me if they knew where I was from.

  On the last Sunday in November, I strolled along the perimeter of Saint Stephen’s Green toward Saint Vincent’s Hospital. I was startled to hear a familiar voice call my name.

  It was Sadie, who was walking toward me.

  “Oh, Peg, it’s grand ta see ya!” she said.

  “Oh, Sadie, it’s wonderful to see you, too.”

  “Ya look so stylish,” she said.

  I was wearing the new coat I’d purchased in Clery’s.

  “Thank you,” I replied, feeling very self-conscious and somewhat guilty.

  Sadie looked down at her hospital uniform.

  “These are my work clothes,” she said. “They’re very strict at Saint Vincent’s.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Sadie, are Mary and Theresa working at Saint Vincent’s?”

  “Oh yes, there’s a lot of us here. We’re all workin and livin together. The Mercy nuns provide housing for all of the hospital’s domestics behind their convent on Baggot Street. There’s about twenty-five of us!”

  “Wow, that sounds grand!”

  Sadie leaned in toward me and whispered, “We’re all house children, but some of the girls are from other counties.”

  “I’d love ta come fer a visit.”

  “Ah Peg, the nuns won’t have it.”

  “What a shame,” I said, “that’s terrible!”

  Sadie smiled, as if dismissing my sympathy. “Tisn’t that bad. We’ve got a big open room where we spin records and dance in our free time. It’s great fun, and we’re all together.”

  Sadie appeared to be genuinely content with her situation.

  “Will ya tell Mary that I’m here in Dublin? I’ve been keepin an eye out fer her.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  I left Sadie, feeling oddly envious of her living situation. I yearned for the camaraderie she shared with the other girls.

  That evening, Father John joined us for supper to celebrate the first Sunday in Advent. His presence at the table made me nervous at first, but he was friendly and very talkative.

  “Did ya hear about the fire this morning on the other side of the Liffey?” he asked Miss O’Toole.

  “I did,” she said. “I meant ta tell Peg.”

  “Fire?” I looked up from my plate.

  “Yes, on Dominick Street,” said Miss O’Toole, “in the tenements.”

  “One of the residents was burning garbage to warm the place up,” said Father John. “They’ve got no heat. Several buildings burnt to the ground.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No fatalities,” he said.

  I was deeply concerned for Patty and Bridie, but I knew I wouldn’t have time to check on them until the following Saturday.

  Father John interrupted my thoughts.

  “Will you be going home for Christmas?” he asked me.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered, wondering what, if anything, he knew about me.

  “You’re welcome to celebrate with us,” said Miss O’Toole.

  “Thank you,” I said. Surely, she was aware of my situation.

  “Aunt Sheila makes a fine goose,” said Father John.

  The next morning, I read about the fire in the newspaper at Kerrigan’s. It was difficult to figure out if the McNamaras had been affected. The only way to know for sure would be to go to Dominick Street on Saturday.

  The weather turned horrific that first week of December. Heavy rain storms pummeled the city. The north of Dublin was hit the worst. Businesses and services were shut down. There was no way for me to check on the McNamaras. No mail was delivered until the following Friday, December 10th. I received two Christmas cards.

  December 4, 1952

  Dear Peg,

  I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Thankfully Mother Bernard sent me your address in her last letter. She said you’re doing well.

  Dublin must be very festive during the holidays. I’ve started a sweater for you, but I don’t think it will be finished by Christmas. I’ll put it in the post as soon as it’s done.

  Thank God we’ve all got our health this winter. Granny eats a raw egg every morning. She said that’s what keeps her going. The children are doing well and very excited for the holiday season.

  Merry Christmas,

  Love, Mother

  December 6, 1952

  Dear Peg,

  I’ve received information from the Sisters of Charity about the flooding in Dublin. They have arranged for relocation of many of the residents, including the McNamaras. I understand the situation is very bad. I suggest you avoid the area.

  I’m sure if you check with the Marist Church they will find a charitable act for you to pass your free time.

  I’ll be in Dublin for business at the end of January. I’d like you to meet me at Bewley’s Cafe on Grafton Street at noon on Saturday January 29.

  Please write to your mam. I know she is concerned. Merry Christmas.

  Godspeed,

  Mother Bernard

  I wondered for how long they’d been corresponding with each other. My feelings for both of these women were complex. Their acts of kindness through the years seemed loving but also somewhat selfserving and on their own terms.

  The following week, I received a Christmas card from Connor. The return address and postage indicated he was still living with his parents in the Bronx.

  December 8, 1952

  Dear Peg,

  Thank you for your last letter. I’m glad all is well on your side of the pond.

  I haven’t written because I’ve been so busy with my classes and college events. The lessons are rigorous, but the parties and dances make up for it. There are lots of girls, but I haven’t met anyone as pretty as you.

  Fordham is a great school, but I’d prefer to be in the Air Force. It’s always been my dream to fly. Hopefully, one day I’ll enlist.

  I know you said Dublin is grand, but I still think you would like New York. Maybe you’ll make your way over someday and let me show you a good time. Surely, my mom and Auntie Hannah would help ya get settle
d.

  Have a Merry Christmas.

  Fondly,

  Connor

  I didn’t like reading about the parties he attended. I wasn’t sure if I felt envy about the socializing he did, or jealousy that he was meeting girls. Connor’s brief and infrequent letters always left me confused. Was he encouraging me to come to New York to be with him?

  Mr. Kerrigan closed the shoppe at noon on Christmas Eve. He gave us a little extra in our wages as a holiday gift. Marion grabbed my arm as we stepped out onto Leeson Street. “Let’s go shopping!”

  Since it was just the two of us, I agreed.

  “The shoppes close at three today,” said Marion.

  Marion walked swiftly down Grafton Street and turned onto Wicklow Street. She finally stopped at the end of a long line of people waiting to get into Butler’s Chocolate Cafe.

  “I’ve got ta get a box of these chocolates fer my beau’s mam,” said Marion. “I’m desperately trying ta impress her!”

  The line moved quickly. Once inside the shoppe, I ogled the exquisite displays of chocolates in the long glass cases. The rich aroma was intoxicating. Marion ordered a box of the Christmas assortment. I did the same, turning over my entire Christmas bonus to the woman behind the counter.

  “Who are ya buying them fer?” Marion asked.

  “I’m giving these to Miss O’Toole,” I told her—although I hadn’t really thought of that when I made the purchase.

  “Why, that’s very generous of ya!”

  “Well, I can’t make it home, so I’ll be spending the holiday with her.”

  I hated myself for lying, but I couldn’t tell her the truth.

  That night after Christmas Eve mass, I gave Miss O’Toole the box of chocolates.

  “Thank you very much, Peg. I do have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  She opened the box and offered me one. I eyed the fancy variety, wishing I’d kept them for myself. The smooth, decadent chocolate melted slowly in my mouth. It was unlike anything I’d ever had before.