A Distant Dream

by Vivienne Dockerty

  Chapter Twenty Two

  It had come as a bit of a shock when Kathleen, hearing the knock on her cabin door the next morning, found that not only was Patrick grinning from ear to ear before her but Mel, the girl who had caused so much anguish to the poor fellow, was standing right behind him. Looking a bit sheepish admittedly and rather windblown as if she hadn’t had access to a brush since waking, she stood without speaking whilst Patrick explained her presence there.

  It appeared that Sue, the girl with whom Mel had been sharing a cabin with, had pleaded with her during the terrible storm the night before, to allow her boyfriend to share their quarters to keep them safe from harm. He was not a man that Mel had much liking for, as arrangements had already been mooted, thanks to him, for Mel to continue alone on her European journey, whilst Sue and her crewman beau, who was going to ask for his discharge papers at the end of the voyage, were planning to look for work together in London. Here Patrick wavered in his explanation, causing Kathleen to have the horrible suspicion that it hadn’t been three people who had shared the young ladies’ accommodation, it had been only two.

  “So we wondered –” Patrick stuttered a little, not used to telling lies to Kathleen. “Well, Mel and I met up this morning when the captain said we were allowed to move about the ship freely. Mel was sitting in the salon and I passed her by when I went up deck. We wondered if perhaps she could join us, Kathleen, now that she’s on her own, that is? She’d be happy to travel to Ireland with us and if we were to get a bit of a move on, we could all be there to celebrate the new year.”

  *

  It was the hour of disembarkation, something that the passengers and crew had prayed for, as many had thought that their time had come and they wouldn’t reach the safety of the docks at Tilbury. It was also decision time. Kathleen and Harold had talked about the situation often, once they had realised that the feelings between them were reciprocated. Suddenly Kathleen, she who had thought that her days as a spinster would be played out as the Aldridge pioneer of travel and Harold on his part, knowing that Australia held too many painful memories of watching his wife affected by the horror of cancer, were faced with a dilemma. It would feel like abandonment of the chick that had fulfilled her yearnings of motherhood if Kathleen was to choose Harold. Patrick was penniless, of no fixed abode and she couldn’t see herself cutting off the apron strings and allowing him to go to Ireland alone. Harold could picture a future. It was one where he and Kathleen moved to his parents’ farm, married, settled down and perhaps even started another family. She’d be an asset, someone who would work as hard as he did to make the place prosperous. His cousin could buy him out from the construction firm that they ran together and there’d be a bit of money in the bank. But what of Patrick?

  It seemed to Kathleen that now it was Mel that was pulling Patrick’s strings. He was a gentle soul, rather naïve, unused to the wiles of women and she wondered if perhaps this sudden wish to be together was on Mel’s part, a calculated ruse. How long would she stay when she realised that Patrick hadn’t got a penny to his name and that the very clothes that he stood up in had been bought and paid for by her, his benefactor? And did she want to part from Harold, journey to Ireland for the sake of a promise that she had made to Patrick, when now there was this Mel in the young man’s life? As Harold had said to Kathleen after she had cried in frustration upon his shoulder, when he had come to check that her luggage was ready for the porter, parting from the very person who had made her life worth living for the past ten years was a tough decision, but there was nothing much that she could do. He was twenty two, a young man who imagined himself to be in love with the young woman and objecting may well cause a rift forever between the two of them.

  *

  As Kathleen waited with Harold in the warmth of the salon, all dressed up in their heavy overcoats, Harold wearing a trilby and Kathleen a felt-brimmed hat that would keep her recently styled Marcel wave in place, whilst they listened for their call to disembark, Patrick and Mel stood on deck looking out across the busy dock land, with its ocean terminal, grain stores and a dry dock for ship repairs, towards the iconic River Thames with all its ancient maritime history. It was an awesome scene, especially for Mel, whose nearest city of note had been Adelaide, with its history no older than a hundred years. Patrick, for whom places had no appeal unless it was a town or village in his homeland, was anxiously scanning the cloudy skies for the threat of snow. If he was to be in Ireland with the intention of celebrating New Year there, he didn’t want a downfall of snow to disrupt his plans, nor his methods of transport to be delayed in any way.

  Mel shivered as they stood there in a temperature of five degrees, both used to the summer temperature that they had left behind six weeks before. She wasn’t as warmly dressed as Patrick was in his thick three quarter length coat. She had just a blue, single breasted jacket which she wore with black, tailored trousers and a pair of black ankle boots. She tucked herself under his arm where he drew her trembling body to his to keep her warm.

  “I’ve been thinking Patrick,” she began, not wanting to upset his plans in any way because of her presence, but wanting to clear up a few misunderstandings that might occur over the next few days. “We haven’t really talked about it but if you and I are going to travel on together, where does that leave Kathleen and Harold? I know that Harold wants to travel back to his farm in Lincolnshire. He told me so when he and I first met and I thought that Kathleen would want to accompany him, not trail along with us, when she has the chance to hook up with him.”

  Patrick nodded. It was something that had passed through his mind too. Was it fair to expect Kathleen to continue her substitute motherhood, when she had a life of her own that she was entitled to?

  “Is it money, Patrick?” There she’d come right out with it. She knew of his background, the orphanage, the petty Uncle Joseph who had never given him a penny piece for his labour on the farm. “If it’s all down to money and having Kathleen along means that money won’t be a problem, well I’ve got plenty. I only have to send my dad a wire and he’ll send me more if needs be.”

  Patrick stiffened and took his arm away from Mel’s shoulder.

  “So that’s it” he said rather sharply. “You think that the only reason Kathleen’s in my life is because of her money. I am not a parasite. I worked long and hard on the Aldridge Farm and it wasn’t my fault that Kathleen’s brother was stingy. I was given bed and board and love from a good woman, who by a twist of fate was never given the chance to have children. No, it’s not down to money, I just don’t want Kathleen thinking I’m abandoning her, just because I have given my love to you.”

  His face softened after he had said those words, on seeing her surprise at his reaction. It wasn’t right to take his frustration about the situation out on her. “You know how I feel about you, Mel, don’t you?” He said quickly.

  “I do, Patrick and I didn’t mean to have come out with it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just –”

  “When Joseph asked me to leave the farm, it was Kathleen who decided that she wanted to come with me. She knew that I would never have made it back to Ireland on my own. As you know, I’m not very confident. I suppose in her eyes, she was finishing the job, taking me back to the place where I was uprooted as a lad. To me she’s worth her weight in gold.”

  “Then I’ll finish the job on her behalf, Patrick.” Mel reached up and kissed his cold cheek, the temperature having plummeted, whilst they waited to disembark. “Let’s go and see what she has to say about our plans.”

  There was that heartrending moment, when saying goodbye would last in the longest of memories. Saddened by their parting, there was a sorrowful silence as the taxi made the twenty five mile trip to Euston Station, where Patrick and Mel would catch the train to Liverpool and Harold and Kathleen would book into a small hotel on Earls Court Road. Not even the thought of being shown around the sights of London, could cheer Kathleen.

  She fussed, whilst they stood in th
e queue to buy the tickets, two for the train journey to Liverpool which Kathleen insisted that she pay for and two platform tickets so that she and Harold could wave the couple off. Had Patrick remembered the name of the village where he was born? Did he remember if there were any relatives living close by? He was to write to her, the minute he had access to a pen and paper. Harold’s address was an easy one; the Cooper Farm at Nethercote. Lincolnshire. As Kathleen held him close, murmuring in his ear that she would always love him and would always have a home for him, she slipped an envelope into the pocket of his coat.

  *

  It was to be a seven hour journey from London to Liverpool, changing at Crewe and travelling aboard a steam train that pulled along five carriages with corridors. Once aboard, it was difficult to find a compartment that they didn’t have to share; it was so full of people returning from a visit with loved ones at Christmas, or travelling to stay with family for the New Year. Feeling strange, disorientated after spending six weeks on sea legs, they stowed their luggage on the overhead rack and as the train steamed north towards their destination, the swaying of their carriage began to mimic the rhythm of the ship. It wasn’t long before they slept.

  It was as they were pulling into a major station, when a woman caused a blast of chilly air to wake the sleeping couple, having lowered the window to see if a member of her family was waiting for her on the platform. Mel’s watch, having been set to Greenwich Mean Time, showed that it was still some hours to their destination. Dusk was on its way, as the compartment lights were beginning to brighten up. She yawned, then got up to search in her vanity bag for a wrap of sandwiches that she had bought from a kiosk at Euston. It was hard not to hear the sound of rumbling in Patrick’s tummy and she was feeling quite hungry herself. The compartment, recently emptied of its passengers, except for an old woman who was reading a magazine on the seat opposite was silent, but for the clink of the engine as it waited in the station. A screech from Mel brought Patrick swiftly to his feet.

  “It’s gone! Oh Patrick, my vanity case! It’s got my money, my passport, all the things I need for–”

  Her words hung in the air, as Patrick shoved his arms into his overcoat. He was out of the carriage like a gun salute, searching for the stupid woman who must have mistakenly picked it up. Though where to look? There were a couple of dozen passengers milling on the platform, some walking along to the exit and some others were waiting to board the train.

  His heart was in his mouth. He could feel it beating, threatening to overwhelm him as he searched high and low for the woman, whom he remembered had red hair. Then, just as the guard had checked his fob watch, blown his whistle and waved his flag in the direction of the engine driver, the woman appeared, full of apologies for her lapse of concentration. She had been looking for her son who was to drive her to Solihull, as she was staying with him and his family for the New Year.

  Without a word of thanks as he felt so angry, Patrick turned to see the train pulling out of the station, with Mel frantically waving from out of the window, asking if she should pull the communication cord. As he ran, feeling the weight of the case pulling on his arm, as Mel had stowed her makeup and toiletries inside it as well as all her valuables, the squeal of the wheels as the driver slammed on the brake and the whoosh of steam that escaped from the funnel, was music to his ears. The guard, shaken by events, after seeing the young man running and the young lady waving wildly from the carriage window, raced to the end of the platform and along the track until he had reached the stationary engine, where after mounting the steps he found the driver to be very shaken up indeed.

  “I could have killed her” the man said in a wobbly voice, sitting on the bucket seat with his head in between his hands. “Came right out of nowhere, like an apparition if I believed in such a thing. A little girl with long, brown hair, wearing a long white, dress with black boots on.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  It was early evening when feeling tense and exhausted, they emerged from Lime Street Station, where street lights shone weakly through a misty fog. After their fright at nearly losing Mel’s vanity case, and grateful to whoever had pulled the emergency cord so that Patrick could climb aboard again, they had spent the journey in a bit of a dither, whilst checking that their luggage was never out of sight.

  Patrick, upon talking to a soldier that had joined the train at Birmingham, who had a three day pass to visit family in Liverpool, learnt that the ferry that would take them to the port of Dunleary, a short train ride from Dublin, left from the dock nearest to the landing stage at the Pier Head. He seemed to think that an Irish mate of his always caught the ship at 9pm, which got him to Ireland in the early hours of the next day.

  “I’ll walk yer there, if yer like,” said the soldier, quite keen to be seen in the company of this handsome couple, especially the Aussie girl, who if she hadn’t been courting, he wouldn’t mind a crack at. “I could see me mates in the Baltic Pub, that’s just up the road from where you’re goin’.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find it” said Mel, answering for both of them, as she had seen him leering at any pretty girl who had passed them by on the station platform. “If the ship doesn’t sail until then, we’ve chance to get a bite to eat, Patrick.”

  “There’s the Kardomah, or Lewis’s has a restaurant, though it’s probably shut by now. Oh and there’s a chippy just down the road from here, over across the road. I’d come with yer, but I fancy a pint not a coffee.”

  The soldier gave a mock salute, then ducked into a public house that was standing on a nearby corner.

  “Do you remember any of this, Patrick?” Mel asked as they set off down the road towards the city. “Perhaps the funny accents? I could hardly understand that soldier or the woman who sat across from us. Look at those streets full of houses, they look so narrow and mean. I much prefer our stone built houses, with our wooden verandahs and slated roofs.”

  “Terraces, yes I remember they were called terrace houses. We lived in one in Bootle. That’s where I lost my parents because of the bomb. Then they moved me to a place in Walton. That’s when they let me out of the children’s ward and put me into Dorricott House, which was an orphanage.”

  He shuddered, more from remembering the terrible time that he’d had in the children’s home, when his accent was mocked so badly that he never bothered to speak in case he was jeered at, than because of the bitter wind that was whooshing up from the Mersey and starting to attack his bones.“It’s a city though. You’ll see a difference when we get across to Ireland, you’ll never want to leave the place once you’ve seen the lovely loughs and glens. I’ll show you the Round Tower, the village of Killala and the town of Ballina. We’ll walk along the headland, look across Killala Bay and sit on the banks of the River Moy.”

  “Whew, Patrick,” said Mel, changing over her case to carry it in her left hand in an effort to get closer to him, as her body was also beginning to shiver. “ I’m feeling dizzy with all this talk of the sights that you’ll be showing me. Let’s go and get a meal at that cafe.”

  It had been while Mel was visiting the ladies room, after eating their meal of fish and chips in a cafe with red gingham tablecloths, that Patrick searched in his pocket for the envelope that Kathleen had hidden there. He whistled in surprise when he saw the white pound notes and a couple of fivers nestling within it. As it didn’t do to bring attention to himself by sitting there counting lots of money, he put them back in the envelope again. There was a rush of love for the woman who had taken him to her heart so easily, tinged with a tingling of excitement, when he realised that she must have put at least twenty pounds in there. It seemed a fortune, which would pay for their dinner, the boat and may even last him until he got a job, if he was careful!

  They window shopped, as they strolled down the street towards the River Mersey. Stores in readiness for the coming New Year sales were lit up brightly, advertising all the things that they hadn’t sold at Christmas at knock down prices. Mel quivered in her
jacket, as she stared at a fox fur coat in the window of Littlewoods and boots that looked warm and cosy, which she knew she couldn’t afford. Oh, she had money and could always wire her father and ask for more if she wanted to, but what if she needed funds in an emergency? She might not like this place that Patrick was intent on taking her to and she might decide she didn’t want to stay. Not that she had said any of this to Patrick, who was looking with studious interest at the wedding rings that were on display in a jeweller’s window. He was under the impression she was his forever and was it fair to hurt him, when she hadn’t made her mind up either way?

  *

  They’d made it. On the 29th day of December, in the early hours when dawn was still some hours away, Patrick Mayo walked down the gangplank of the Dublin ferryboat. It was hard to stop the tears of joy weeping from his eyes, as he and Mel stood hand in hand on the upper deck, looking out across Dublin Bay to the shapes of Dalkey Island and the Muglins. He was back in his beloved homeland. Even the air that he was breathing seemed fresher here and he loved the lilt of the Irish voices. They’d take the train along the coast to Dublin, where they’d inquire about how to get to Ballina, the town that Patrick remembered fondly from his youth.

  This was the boy who would take her home, back to the green fields of her hamlet, the sparkling river that ran down the side of the hill and to the little church which overlooked the crashing waves of the sea. She would meet her beloved sister either in her native Killala or in the spirit world of the dead.

  *

  It was eight o’clock before the train chugged into the little station, with many miles of countryside travelled on the way. Cattle grazed on lush, green pasture. Forests, dark and eerie, lay at the foot of the many hills. Whitewashed farms and small holdings, still using their peat beds for fuel, villages and towns, rivers and loughs abounded throughout their journey and Mel, warmly dressed now after making a quick visit to purchase a thicker coat from Switzers in Dublin, thought it was the prettiest place she had ever seen.