She could see him now, sitting on the end seat of a nearby row, and she gave him a quick wave. He smiled and gave a thumbs-up sign, then they both looked up to the stage as the MC unfolded the sheet of paper with the winners’ names.
‘In second place, the winner of the silver medal is Miss Kathleen Brogan.’
There was applause in which Nora and her mother joined politely. Nora was unsure whether to be pleased or not. No one really liked Kathleen Brogan, and it would have been nice to see her out of the medals for once. Still, she hadn’t won the gold, so Nora still had a chance of beating her. She waited anxiously as Kathleen, all simpering smiles, mounted the stage and collected her medal. The MC consulted his list again. Nora could see Liam straining forward in his seat, and she hoped that the prize would go to him if she didn’t win.
‘In first place, the winner of the gold medal is …’ The man paused dramatically, and Nora felt irritated by his self-satisfied smile as he made the contestants sweat it out. Eventually he looked out into the auditorium and called out the winner’s name ... ‘Master Eamon Fitzgerald!’
Nora’s heart sank. A thin boy with dark, curly hair approached the stage to claim his prize. He had sung well, and the judges must have felt that over the two pieces his was the highest standard. She was disappointed, but at least she had avoided getting into trouble, she would probably get a good written commendation from the judges, and she had made a new friend in Liam.
She looked over at him now, and he made a face at her as if to say, ‘Oh well’.
She shrugged and smiled ruefully at him, then turned back as her mother spoke.
‘That’s disappointing, Nora.’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought you had a good chance of winning the gold.’ Her mother made an effort to be cheerful. ‘Well…maybe next time, dear.’
Nora gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. Despite being very strict about some things, her mother never scolded her after a competition or pointed out her faults, like she had heard some mothers doing.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw Liam rising from his seat. He made his way in her direction and smiled as he reached her.
‘I’ll see you, Nora. I’m just going to get my letter from the judges and head off.’
‘Right.’ Nora felt torn. She had gotten to like him in the brief time that they had known each other, and she really ought to introduce him to her mother. But another part of her wanted him to go away as quickly as possible, in case he let slip about the sheet music.
Liam looked expectantly at her mother, and Nora knew that she had no choice.
‘Mummy, I’d like you to meet Liam.’
Her mother held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Liam?’ she said as they shook hands.
‘I’m grand. And yourself?’
Nora could see that her mother was slightly taken aback by Liam’s response.
‘I’m very well, thank you.’
‘That’s the best day you’ll ever see.’ Liam grinned. ‘That’s what my granny always says.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Anyway, I better run. See you at the next feis, Nora.’
‘Yes, see you, Liam.’
He nodded to her mother. ‘Nice meeting you.’
‘You too.’
Nora was relieved that Liam had given nothing away, and she smiled as he gave her a conspiratorial wink before moving off.
‘How did you come to meet this boy?’ her mother asked.
‘We, eh … we got chatting backstage,’ Nora answered, wanting to avoid telling an outright lie.
‘I don’t wish to be harsh, dear, but he’s not really our kind of person.’ Her mother was speaking in the quiet but firm tone that she used when she felt strongly about something.
‘I dare say he’s a pleasant, friendly sort of boy. But it’s better to choose friends from one’s own background. Better all round, from his point of view as well as yours.’
Nora felt like asking how it could be better for Liam, or for her for that matter, if they weren’t friends the next time they met at a feis, but she didn’t argue. Her mother could be snobbish – much more so than Daddy – when speaking about poorer people. And she supposed that her family was reasonably wealthy. But why hold that against Liam?
Nora remembered how shocked she had been when her father had allowed her to come with him once on a visit to his company’s wine vaults in Sheriff Street, in the city centre. She had seen filthy, barefoot children playing in the gutters, children who looked sick and hungry. Compared to them, Liam clearly came from a family that wasn’t doing too badly.
Liam had saved her from big trouble, he had been good fun to talk to, and she was really glad she had met him. She would have to keep it a secret from her mother, but they were going to meet again, and when that happened they would still be friends.
Chapter 2
Liam was biding his time. If you wanted to get his da’s approval for something, it was important to catch him in the right mood. Liam sat in a corner of the front room, pretending to read a library book, while his parents occupied the two slightly battered armchairs on either side of the fire.
Liam waited until his four sisters had gone to the kitchen, where nine-year-old Eileen – who was almost as good a cook as their mother – was helping the other girls to make apple tarts. His mother was sewing a dress for Peg, his little sister, while Da spoke excitedly about the latest conflict between Larkin’s union and the employers.
By this stage Liam knew the arguments by heart: how Dublin had worse slums than Calcutta, how labourers desperate for work slaved for up to seventeen hours a day, how the dreaded disease of tuberculosis, or ‘the consumption’ as his granny called it, was fifty percent worse in Ireland than in England or Scotland because so many workers lived in filthy, crowded tenements.
He glanced over at his father and felt a sudden stab of pride at having a parent who was always willing to fight for the underdog.
‘Jim Larkin is right, Kitty,’ said his da. ‘We’ve got to get off our knees. The bosses will walk on us till we do.’
‘I know,’ said his wife. ‘But it’s one thing to strike against your own boss. Joining other workers to go on strike against their employers, though …’
‘It makes them take us seriously.’
‘Maybe. But it’s also made them band together against the workers. I hope the union hasn’t bitten off more than it can chew.’
‘Jim Larkin will see us right, never you fear.’
His father said it with conviction, and Ma seemed to accept the assurance, and returned her attention to her sewing. Then Da reached into his pocket and took out his pipe, and Liam felt the time had come to ask his question. He hesitated, anxious to get the tone just right. If he asked too casually his father might dismiss him. But if he made it sound like he was asking for something really big, his da might look at it seriously – and find a reason to say no.
Only one way to find out, Liam thought, as he put down his library book.
‘Da?’
‘Yes, son?’
‘When I was at the feis I met a man called Brother Raymond.’
‘Did you? And who’s Brother Raymond when he’s at home?’
‘Billy,’ said his wife chidingly, looking up from her sewing.
Ma was always very respectful of anything to do with religion. Da was a Catholic too, but he wasn’t pious, and he disliked the kind of blatantly holy people he called ‘craw-thumpers’.
‘He’s a Capuchin friar who’s starting a new choir,’ explained Liam. ‘He heard me singing and asked if I’d like to join.’
‘Did he now?’ said Da, pressing the tobacco into the pipe with his thumb before looking enquiringly at Liam. ‘And what did you say?’
‘That I’d ask my parents.’
‘Maybe Brother Raymond should have been the one to ask us.’
‘Don’t be like that, Billy,’ said his wife. ‘Picking Liam is a big compliment.’
‘And what
about you, Liam? Do you want to join?’
Liam nodded. ‘It sounds good. He said he wants to make it into one of the best choirs in Dublin.’
His father seemed to consider this as he continued lighting his pipe, but Liam sensed that he wasn’t quite convinced, and so he tried to sell the idea a bit more.
‘A boy I met at the feis is in a choir in Rathmines. They sing at weddings and funerals; you can make a few bob from it.’
His father smiled as he drew on his pipe, and Liam felt his hopes rising.
‘You’re a right little moneybags, aren’t you?’
Liam wasn’t sure that this was a good response. ‘I just thought I could bring in something for the family,’ he said.
‘Right.’
‘So, can I go, Da?’
Liam waited anxiously as his father puffed vigorously to get the pipe going. Finally he lowered the pipe and looked at Liam.
‘All right then. On one condition.’
‘What?’
‘They sing free of charge at my funeral.’
‘Billy!’ said Ma, but she was laughing even as she scolded him.
Liam laughed too. ‘Thanks, Da,’ he said, ‘that’s a deal!’
Usually, Nora loved Sundays with her family, especially lunchtime when they would all sit down together at the dining room table, with linen napkins, shining glasses and the best damask tablecloth. Cook made an extra effort for Sunday lunch: Beef Wellington, or poached salmon, roast stuffed chicken with delicious gravy – and always roast potatoes. Golden brown and crisp on the outside, but soft and floury in the middle, they were Nora’s favourite food in the world.
Hazy April sunshine streamed in through the tall French windows as she sat between her two brothers, David and Peter, and finished her last roast potato. Despite the good food and the happy family atmosphere, Nora’s mind was slightly clouded by outside events. She looked across the table at her father, hoping that he could put her mind at ease.
‘Daddy, can I ask you something?’
‘Of course, dear.’
‘Why were the suffragettes put in jail?’ Nora had heard about a group of women in London who called themselves suffragettes and who were demanding rights for women.
‘They broke the law, Nora,’ answered her father.
‘How?’
‘By agitating and protesting.’
Nora looked at him, not understanding what was actually wrong with that.
Her father must have realised that he hadn’t explained enough, for now he put down his knife and fork and spoke patiently.
‘You know that every few years the people elect a government?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, the suffragettes are saying that every woman in the country should have a vote. Demanding it, in fact.’
‘But, Daddy…what’s wrong with women voting?’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ said her brother.
‘Manners, David,’ corrected their mother.
The best way to annoy her eight-year-old brother was to ignore him completely, and so Nora looked instead at her father, who smiled indulgently.
‘That’s not how things are done, Nora,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s not a lady’s place to get involved in such things,’ said her mother.
‘Miss Dillon says a girl should be free to pursue any goal,’ answered Nora, quoting her teacher, whom all of the girls in school admired.
‘Miss Dillon should have a care,’ her mother said warningly. ‘She’s not employed to undermine the social order.’
Now Nora was sorry she had said anything. The last thing she wanted was to get her favourite teacher into trouble.
‘These are not things for you to worry about, dear,’ said her father soothingly. ‘Time enough for all that when you’re older. All right?’
‘All right.’
But now Nora did have something to worry about. Suppose her mother wrote a letter of complaint about Miss Dillon? The nuns who ran Nora’s convent school held all the power. If they weren’t happy with a teacher they could dismiss her. And then there were the suffragettes. Easy enough for Daddy to say not to worry. He had a vote. Nora was determined that one day she too would vote, it was only fair. But the idea of being locked up in prison like the suffragettes was really frightening.
‘Lemon meringue pie for dessert, Nora,’ said her father with a smile.
She realised that he was trying to distract her, but she also knew that he meant it as a kindness.
‘Great,’ she answered, trying for a smile in return. But though she loved lemon meringue, she just made a show of pushing it around her plate when it came. Somehow she had lost her appetite.
Chapter 3
Liam set off excitedly for the first meeting of the choir. His family lived on a road of terraced cottages near where the Royal Canal branch line ended at Broadstone railway station, and he had allowed himself enough time to walk the short distance into the city centre. He made his way across Mountjoy Street, happily skipping from point to point over the cobblestones to keep his boots free of horse dung.
He skirted St Mary’s Protestant Church, known locally as the Black Church. It was said that if you ran around the church three times at midnight you would meet the devil. Liam wasn’t sure if he believed that – though he had no intention of ever testing it – but even on a bright spring evening like this he didn’t linger at the Black Church.
He carried on towards Dorset Street, then stopped to watch as two tall police officers manhandled a prisoner out through the doorway of a foul-smelling nearby tenement. Their captive was a shabbily dressed man who was pasty-faced and gaunt-looking, but who still carried himself with an air of defiance.
A striker, Liam thought. He knew from listening to his father that the police were tracking down strikers to where they lived. And some of the constables weren’t slow about handing out a beating. At least this man hadn’t been beaten and still had his pride, Liam thought with relief, as he watched the prisoner being taken in the direction of Phibsboro police station.
Liam continued on towards town, going past the Rotunda Maternity Hospital where he and his four sisters had been born. He turned into the top of Sackville Street and walked down towards Nelson’s Pillar, his mind on what lay ahead. He was flattered that Brother Raymond had picked him for this new choir. At the same time he was a little nervous. Who knew what it would be like practising with Brother Raymond? The Brother had seemed friendly and outgoing the day they had met at the feis. But maybe that was to get people to join. Maybe when you were a member he would be really strict, and quick to anger.
Caught up in his thoughts, Liam turned into Sackville Place, followed the house numbers, and suddenly found himself outside the building where the rehearsal was to be held. He hesitated a moment, then he readied himself, reached out and knocked firmly on the door.
Nora’s spirits lifted when she saw Liam entering the rehearsal room. There were lots of young people here that Nora had never seen before, but several of the other contestants from last month’s feis in the Fr Mathew Hall were also present, and she had hoped that Liam would be among those chosen for the new choir.
She wasn’t quite sure why she was so pleased to see him. Part of it was how kind he had been over the sheet music, and he had been good fun. But there was also the fact that her mother had warned her off him, unfairly, Nora felt, and that gave being friends a certain thrill.
In fact, things generally were looking up. Her earlier fears that her mother might report Miss Dillon appeared to be unfounded. At home Mummy had said nothing more on the matter, and Miss Dillon continued to behave in the confident and inspiring way that the girls in school found so exciting.
And then there was tonight’s breakthrough, when Nora had persuaded her parents to let her travel alone into town. She had pointed out that she was ten, she was responsible, she made her own way to school every day. It was a simple matter of going around the corner, catching a tram into to
wn, attending the rehearsal and then getting another tram home. And, Eureka, her parents had actually accepted her arguments!
Nora had felt very grown up paying her own tram fare, and she had relished the sense of freedom as she travelled into the city centre on the upstairs section of the tram. Now she looked across the room and caught Liam’s eye, and he smiled and approached her.
‘Nora, how are you doin’?’
‘Hello, Liam.’
‘Got your sheet music tonight?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Sheet music?’ Nora felt a tiny stab of anxiety. ‘Were we supposed to bring some?’
‘Relax, I’m only messing.’ He looked around. ‘I see a few faces from the Fr Mathew.’
‘Yes,’ answered Nora, ‘Brother Raymond must have been picking and choosing.’
‘No sign of your woman, Kathleen what’s-her-face?’
Nora laughed, never having heard this expression before. ‘Kathleen Brogan?’
‘Yeah, Little Miss Perfect. I’m surprised she wasn’t picked.’
‘I’d say she was,’ Nora said.
‘And what, she’s too full of herself to join?’
Nora knew that it wasn’t very polite to talk about people this way, but she couldn’t help but enjoy Liam’s lack of regard for Kathleen Brogan, who was a bit stuck-up.
‘Probably. She’s already in a couple of choirs, she doesn’t need this.’
‘And what about you?’ asked Liam.
‘I’m in the school choir. But that’s sort of like school, so I thought this might be more fun.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Are you in any other choir?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Sure it’s only in the last year that I’ve started singing much.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. How long are you doing it?’
‘I’ve been having lessons since I was around six.’
‘My da couldn’t afford lessons,’ said Liam without any hint of discomfort. ‘There’s a new teacher in my school, though, and he said I’ve a good voice. He’s been teaching me a bit – it was through him I entered the feis.’
Across the Divide Page 2