Dreams Can Come True

by Vivienne Dockerty

  Jack came across the foyer as Maggie and Hannah reached the bottom of the stairs. His face was creased with anxiety as he guided them to a secluded alcove in the room.

  “I think we’re goin’ to have ter change our plans about staying a while in the city. The fella I’ve just spoken to says we’d be fools ter stop here, and to get out right away.”

  “But I thought all that was done with,” said Maggie, her face becoming red with annoyance. She had been looking forward to the delights that Dublin could offer, especially the musical recital to be held in the hotel.

  “Jack, according to the Chester Courant, the raid on the castle was foiled by an informer and the Fenians never managed to get the arms they wanted, so how are we in peril here?”

  “The man said there are small pockets of rebels that are making trouble. There’s been a huge explosion in Tipperary, sabotaging of railway lines and attacks on lots of police barracks. If they come into Dublin we could be caught up in it all. We’re safer out of the way.”

  “Do you think we should go home?” Hannah’s quiet voice broke into their discussion and startled, the couple turned to stare at her.

  “Why should we? Why should a handful of hot-heads spoil our visit back to our homeland? Jack, did the man say there was any trouble in Mayo? Around where we’re goin’ ter stay?”

  “I never thought ter ask him, I was so worried about you both back here. He’s willin’ to take us in his carriage as far as Foxford. He said he’s got a delivery there. Then maybe we could find another driver, willin’ to take us further. A local farmer or a carter mebbe. I’ll have to forget me trip ter Wicklow this time. I’m not goin’ to put us in the face of danger, as it’s not too far away from here. No, we’ll spend a few days on nostalgia, then back as quick as we can ter Liverpool. You’ve never bin there, Maggie, so that can be part of yer holiday.”

  “I’d rather we went back home, Papa. It seems very dangerous to suggest we continue with our journey and I think it would be very agreeable to have a look around Liverpool.”

  “As yer mother says, Hannah, we shouldn’t let a group of anarchists ruin our holiday. We’re not the targets, it’s the government, but unfortunately innocent people get in the way. If we abandon our plans, we may never get the chance ter visit Ireland in the future and it is your heritage, me darlin’, even if yer don’t see it that way.”

  “Your father is right, Hannah and it will do you good to breathe in the fresh country air while yer about it. You’ve still got that pale look, you’re usually so bright and pink-looking. We’ll order some tea and drink it here in the foyer and perhaps have a few cakes, before we venture along the banks of the Liffey.”

  “Are you sure it will be safe, Mother? I don’t feel very safe with what Papa has just been saying and I’m not feeling well. Perhaps I should just lie down in my room.”

  “Tosh! Look through the window at the hustle and bustle. It isn’t stoppin’ other people getting’ on with their lives. Do as I say, Jack and order us some refreshments. It will be another few hours before we have supper and I for one think we should be fortified.”

  Next day the family was woken early as arranged, by the night porter. Instead of breakfast, they were given a food parcel to eat along the way. It appeared that Keva, the man who would be their driver, was anxious to make an early start. He had parcels to deliver on a route that was not particularly profitable and was glad to carry passengers, if only to pay for the feeding of his horse.

  Their hearts sank when they saw the ramshackle vehicle they were to travel in. The hood was ripped in places, the door was askew on its hinges and the horse looked as if it was ready for the knackers’ yard.

  “Smile will yer, you two,” hissed Jack, when he saw the horror on his wife and daughter’s faces.

  “This is all I could manage at such short notice. It was this or walkin’, there isn’t an overland train!”

  The man named Keva stowed their trunk on the already loaded roof rack, then helped them all aboard, passing an old blanket to the ladies to drape over their knees. He was a big man with a roguish grin, a heavy weight who looked as if he could defend himself in times of trouble. Maggie felt herself relax and vowed to enjoy the journey; she had Jack as well to protect them. No ruffians would get past these stalwart men.

  “The first stop is Mullingar, Sir, so it is. A farm on the outskirts, but we’ll stop in the hamlet for a drink and to rest old Rebel here. Not that he’s much of a rebel anymore, but I’ve heard he was in his younger days.”

  Hannah shivered in apprehension. Even the horse was called Rebel. What kind of place had her parents brought her to? Still, it was taking their attention away from her for a while. It was beginning to dawn on Hannah that what Jeremy had said, about not getting caught the first time with a baby, wasn’t remotely true!

  The carriage manoeuvered its way down busy Balfre Street with its dray carts, pedestrians and shoppers all getting in the way, through Grafton and onto the quieter roads that would take them out into the country. They sat in silence, staring out of the carriage, as the morning light began to filter through the darkened clouds.

  “Papa,” Hannah began hesitantly. “Papa, why are these people rising up against the government and making trouble? Mother said they were trying to cause problems in Chester a few months ago. What has it got to do with people like you and me?”

  “Shush, Hannah, keep yer voice down. We don’t know which side this man supports, we don’t want him turning on us. The problem goes back fer years, because a lot of Irish people think they’ve bin treated badly by the British government. They want to be independent, set up a sort of republic. That means to rule themselves, without the Queen. And it’s true, the Irish have suffered for decades. Think of the famines that Ireland has had. The very reason why me and yer mother left our homeland. There’s never been much help given from London. In fact at one time if it hadn’t have been for voluntary groups, a lot more people would have starved. The Irish have bin left to fend fer themselves on many occasions and that’s why they resent being ruled by uncaring politicians and greedy landowners, who only think of themselves.”

  “But how does blowing up railways and stations help their cause?”

  “It’s a way of bringing attention to themselves, their aims and justifications. When I was in America, a lot of the emigrants joined the Fenian Movement, raising money to support their brothers who had stayed in Ireland. The money went to purchase weaponry and food, because a lot of the men had no employment or were on the run from the authorities.”

  “That’s enough now, Jack. I think Hannah has bin told all she needs ter know about the situation. She’ll be havin’ nightmares if yer continue. It’s best if we can, to steer clear of all these politics.”

  “I was only answerin’ her question, Maggie. I agree with yer, but we were very lucky to get away like we did. It could have bin us, struggling ter survive when the crop failed again that summer. As it was, we’ve done alright fer ourselves, but there are many thousands that aren’t here, to be able to tell their tale.”

  Jack’s words were bitter. If the truth was known he had supported the Fenian Brotherhood when he was in America. It was hard not to do so, when tales of evictions, poverty and starvation due to the high prices of corn reached the emigrants’ ears. They heard of the callous indifference shown by the British government to the plight of the Irish, heard of their refusal to provide cheap food, heard that the problem was transferred to the Irish landlords, who seized on the chance to evict as many poor tenants as they could. Healthy Irish fields were given over to cereal growing and pasturing livestock, gone were the smallholdings that relied on the potato yield. Demand for Irish produce was at its highest ever, but it was hard for a starving peasant to see cart loads of grain and other products being shipped over to England, while all they were offered was the grimness of the workhouse to ease their woes. The country became a hot bed for the revolutionary. It had worked in France, the overthrowing of an uncari
ng hierarchy, it could happen in Ireland as well. Names like O’Connell, Mitchel, Meagher and O’Brien were spoken of in reverent tones by the peasants. These men were their only hope of making Ireland great again. Then O’ Connell died and the other men were transported to Australia. Another generation had to grow before the Fenians became strong again.

  “How long before we make our first stop, Jack?” asked Maggie, when they had been travelling for about an hour. “I could do with the privy and this seat is giving me jip. A cushion or two would be welcome as well.”

  “Be thankful you and Hannah are wearing all them underskirts. How do yer think my bum is feeling with just me trousers on? I’ll shout up and ask if we can stop at the next village. I don’t fancy stopping here. These trees are so tall and thick, who’s ter know who’ll be hiding behind them.”

  For many miles that morning, they had been travelling through lush and green countryside. There was certainly no evidence of a land blighted or spoiled. Cattle grazed on pasture, crops were beginning to show their heads and everywhere looked peaceful. Hard to imagine that very scenery just twenty years ago. Now the carriage was taking them through the forest at the foot of the Kilcock Hills. An eerie place; dark, shadowed and spooky. Not a spot to linger in, if you were able to choose. It was a relief to see the sun again when they eventually drove from the gloom.

  “We’ll be making a stop at Enfield,” shouted Keva, from his place above. “This old nag’s started a quiverin’. I’ll have ter give him a rest.”

  “Thank heaven fer that then,” said Maggie. “And perhaps we can eat some of this food we’ve bin given. The way this thing is rattling, our tummies must be all tangled up!”

  The carriage drew to a stop in the middle of a small village, a hamlet really as it didn’t boast a pub’. Keva jumped down from his platform and helped to get his passengers out.

  “There’s a privy over there, ladies, behind Widow Cusack’s shebeen. Me and your man will wet our whistles while yer gone, if it’s all the same ter you.” With that, he unharnessed Rebel, letting the horse wander to a water trough that was sited outside a cottage further up the road. Hannah went to pat him, as he greedily drank his fill. How sad he looked, she thought, an old horse forced to continue with its labours. If it was up to her, Rebel would be in retirement, spending his last days in a grassy field.

  She followed her mother behind the widow’s cottage, where Maggie had already finished her ablutions in the small brick building and was on her way back.

  “ Shebeen is the Gaelic for an unlicensed house that sells liquor, if yer were wonderin’, Hannah,” she remarked, as she passed the young girl by. “A place that attracts men like bees round a honey pot for some reason. Though I’ve never found out why that is.”

  Maggie stood outside the carriage, chewing on a piece of cheese and looking over at the view. The fields were vast and full of crops, whoever owned them must be doing very well. It was all so different from the way she remembered her beloved country. In those days, these fields would have been divided into smallholdings or tenant farms of less than thirty acres. Potatoes, rather than these cabbages, would be planted here instead. There were workers dotted around the fields, stooped low at their task of weeding or throwing some things onto a farm cart, though she couldn’t see what it was. The overseer astride his horse watched them all vigilantly. It reminded Maggie of the slaves she had read of in Mikey’s story book. Her heart went out to each one of them.

  “A bit different to when we were children growing up, eh, Maggie?”

  Jack had come up behind and rested his chin on her shoulder, in order to share her view.

  “See those workers, they’re what they call itinerants. Keva was just tellin’ me. They’re dispossessed folk, too poor to find the money for emigration or to find the rent for a bit of land. Instead of being housed and fed by a caring master, they wander from place to place finding work, in return fer a daily pittance. It’s a brutal life by all accounts, out in all weathers, never knowin’ what the next day will bring. It’s a changin’ world, Maggie, from the one we knew. Now anyone can buy up the land if they have enough money, thinkin’ just of profit and not their fellowman.”

  Maggie turned to him, seeing the sadness in his pale blue eyes. She wanted to hug him for his sense of underlying goodness, tell him something to heal the hurt that he was feeling for his fellow countrymen.

  “Jack,” she said laying her hand comfortingly on his arm, keeping her voice low, as Keva began to wander by.

  “Jack, I feel very humbled when I take a look around me. It could have bin us if you’d not taken your chances the way that yer did. Though until today I would certainly not have admitted it, yer did me a favour when ye dragged me off to a foreign land.”

  He laughed out loud then and slapped his hand on his thigh with delight at what he was hearing. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and she noticed that a tear had come into his eye.

  “You made me the happiest man alive when yer took me back again, me darlin’. It was a dream come true fer me, when yer decided to forgive the way yer did.”

  Chapter 6

  They arrived at Longford in the early evening, having lunched in Mullingar, while Keva had gone off to deliver a parcel to his customer at a farm. He had left them to sit on the shore of Lough Ennell, where they had finished off the remains of a cold chicken provided by the Shelbourne Hotel.

  The skies were growing dark as the carriage pulled up outside the “Pot of Gold” tavern, a small creeper-covered building on the edge of a deep silent glen. Keva jumped down to inquire of the landlord if there were any rooms available, then came back to tell them there was one, but he himself would have to doss down in the tap room. He didn’t mind, he was used to sleeping on a washing line, but there was no way that he was going to risk life and limb by continuing on in the dark! And Rebel needed to rest as he was all aquiver again. Not that Keva was worried about being set upon by foot pads or vagabonds, as he told his weary passengers, but it was remote and desolate terrain on the way to Ballaghadreen and they would need daylight to see that they kept to the road.

  The landlord of the small but homely hostelry gave them a cheery welcome, setting his wife to preparing a meal of soda bread and mutton for his unexpected guests. The bedroom they were given was tiny, no bigger really than their storeroom at Selwyn Lodge. The rickety bed was just big enough for all three of them to share. Hannah couldn’t believe that there was no bathroom provided by the tavern, just some scummy water in a basin and a chamber pot in full view! Jack, sensing her discomfort, suggested he join Keva. His daughter had been brought up very differently from the surroundings she was experiencing now.

  “You’d have bin horrified to live in me old place, Hannah,” remarked Maggie, as she rummaged around in their trunk to find a nightdress each for them to wear. “With an old palliasse to lie on and that was on a mud-packed floor. The only time we had a bath was in the river and that was usually once a year. It makes me shudder just to think of how we used to live, compared to the luxury we live in now.”

  “I don’t know how you managed it, Mother. I’d die if I had to live in the squalor you must have lived in. Though what could you expect, if what Papa was saying was true, that you had to rely on your landlord to provide housing and such things.”

  “We didn’t know any different. We were brought up in the cottier system, where we rented land and relied on the potatoes to give us our food. Oh, there were many other people better off than we were. The farmer that I worked for, for example, my friend who had her own cottage and the inhabitants of Ballina, the artisans and the shop keepers. But you just made the best of the life you were given and most of the time we were happy. It wasn’t until I was fourteen and went to work at the Filbey’s, that I realised we were having such a miserable existence down in Killala. Then the blight affected our crop. And yer know the rest of the story, yer father took me off to be his wife.”

  “Were you happy, Mother, when Papa took you away from
Killala? Michael told me once when we were younger that you missed your birthplace greatly and didn’t know where your sister had gone.”

  “Tis true enough, Hannah. I mourned for me homeland for ages after and it wasn’t until Michael was born that I felt settled. He seemed to replace the need I had, to be lookin’ after a little one like I used to look after Molly. But I know she’s well and cared for, someone told me where she had gone.”

  “How old would your sister be now? Perhaps she’s married and got a family of her own.”

  “She was three when I left Ireland, so she’d be twenty three or four. Not much older than you are really. I do hope she’s found someone considerate and kind if she did marry. Come, we’ll go and see what the landlord’s wife has provided fer our dinner, then we’ll leave the men to their drinkin’ and you and I will retire.”

  “So what brings yer to Longford?” inquired Jimmy Naylor, the dark-bearded landlord of the Pot of Gold. Maggie and Hannah had gone up to their bedroom and the three men were talking alone. He passed Jack a jug of the local brew and topped up Keva’s glass of whisky that he had already started on.

  “We don’t have many passin’ travellers, just the labourers from the Fanshaw estate and the odd tinker now and again. Keva here, of course has been known ter visit, but we’ve not seen him in a while.”

  “We lived in Mayo until twenty years ago,” Jack explained, settling himself comfortably on the settle near the fire. “Both our parents were cottiers, but as you’ll know fer yourself it was either emigrate or die. We got the chance ter go ter England and that’s where we settled. At least me wife did, I’m a bit of a wanderer and spent some time in Chicago, but as they say, ‘ Love conquers’, so I felt meself being drawn back ter me wife again. Then as time passed by we had a hankerin’ to visit our homeland again and here we are, but it seems very different from when we were here before.”