by Anne Bennett
‘Why the shock?’ Cathy asked. ‘I’m sure they have cinemas in Birmingham.’
Molly laughed. ‘Yes, of course. The Palace cinema was just up the road, on the High Street of Erdington and there were any number if you went as far as the town, and music halls and theatres, but somehow I thought—’
‘That backwards old Ireland couldn’t have such a thing; that we share our hovel with the pigs.’
‘Cathy, I never said such a thing, or thought it either.’
‘Good job too,’ Cathy said with a grin and added, ‘Some people do, you know – English people, of course. Actually, Buncrana is a thriving little place. We have factories and mills and all sorts. In fact,’ she went on, pointing down the other side of the hill to the large grey building at the bottom of it, ‘that’s the mill my father works at. We’ll go and take a look, if you like.’
‘Oh,’ Molly said as the two of them began walking down the hill past the numerous little cottages that opened on the street, ‘he doesn’t work in the post office then?’
Cathy laughed. ‘Daddy would be no great shakes in the post office; more a liability, I think, for he can’t reckon up to save his life. Mammy is going to train me up for it as soon as I am sixteen. Till then, once I leave school for good, I will man the sweet counter and deal with the papers and cigarettes. Mammy has someone to do this now but she is leaving to get married next year, which couldn’t be better timing.’
As they walked, they met others out, some standing on their doorsteps taking the air like themselves, or groups of children playing, and most had a cheery wave or greeting for the two girls. Molly felt happiness suddenly fill her being. It was the very first time she had felt this way since that dreadful day that the policeman had come to the door, and she gave a sudden sigh.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ Molly said. ‘That’s why I am sighing.’
Cathy smiled at her and then said, without rancour, ‘You’re crackers, that’s what. Clean balmy.’
Molly nodded sagely. ‘I know it,’ she said. ‘It isn’t so bad if a person is aware of it.’
Cathy began to laugh, and her giggle was so infectious that Molly, who had once wondered if she would ever laugh again, joined in.
‘Did you see the faces of those we passed?’ Cathy said, when their hilarity was spent a little and she was dabbing at her damp eyes with a handkerchief. ‘If we are not careful, they will have the men with the white coats carry us away to the mental home in Derry.’
‘Rubbish,’ Molly said with a grin. ‘It made them smile too. Laughter is like that.’
‘My mammy always says it’s good for a body,’ Cathy agreed. ‘She says she had read somewhere that if you have a good belly laugh it can lengthen your life.’
‘Goodness!’ Molly said. ‘Can it really? I wonder by how much.’
‘Maybe we should have a good laugh every five minutes and live for ever,’ Cathy suggested.
‘Now, who is the fool?’ Molly smiled.
Cathy didn’t have time to answer this, for then they passed under the bridge carrying the railway line and there was the mill in front of them.
It was built on three levels, the largest of these having a tall, high chimney reaching to the sky. It didn’t look a very inspiring place to work in, but Molly reminded herself there were probably worse places in Birmingham, and she supposed that if it was work there or starve to death, one place was as inviting as the next.
‘Awful, isn’t it?’ Cathy said. ‘Daddy always said he didn’t want any of his children near the place but my brothers, John and Pat, had to work there for a bit. Then the place went afire four years ago. No one knew for a while if anyone was going to bother rebuilding it, and anyway, the boys didn’t stay around to find out. They both took the emigrant ship to America from Moville and Daddy said he didn’t blame them. They are in a place called Detroit now and, according to their letters anyway, have good jobs there in the motor industry.’
‘Didn’t your mother mind them going so far away?’ Molly asked.
Cathy nodded. ‘It was worse, of course, when my sisters left just a year after the boys to work in hotels in England. They say it is great, the hotel provides the uniforms, a place to stay and all their food, and all they need to do with their money is spend it, though they do send some home, and the boys too. It’s not the same, though. It isn’t that Mammy isn’t grateful for the money, she just says it’s hard to scrimp and scrape, working fingers to the bone raising children only for them to leave as soon as possible. She was married at seventeen, you know?’
‘Was she?’ Molly said. ‘It seems awfully young.’
‘I’ll say,’ Cathy said with feeling. ‘I certainly don’t want to go down that road at such an early age. My sisters don’t either. They say they are having too good a time to tie themselves down with a husband and weans, and that is what happens, of course, as soon as you are married. I mean, Mammy had my eldest brother, John, just ten months after they were married and he’s twenty-six now.’ She smiled and went on, ‘Mammy was glad that it was ten months. She always said the most stupid people in all the towns and villages of Ireland have the ability to count to nine.’
‘You can say that again,’ Molly said, for the girls were well aware that to have a baby outside marriage was just about the worst thing a girl could do, and to have to get married was only slightly better.
‘Anyway, Mammy hates my sisters writing so glowingly about their lives in England,’ Cathy continued. ‘She’s thinking, I suppose, that I might be tempted to join them.’
‘And are you?’
‘Not at the moment, certainly,’ Cathy said. ‘I like it here and I am set to have a good solid job helping to run the post office and probably going to take it on in the end. I don’t want to throw that in the air now, do I?’
‘Only if you were stupid,’ Molly said. ‘I really envy you to have your life so mapped out. But I will not bide here for ever. I will leave here as soon as I am old enough and be reunited with my young brother. I really miss him.’
‘Well, there in front of us is the railway station you will have to start from,’ Cathy said. ‘But you probably know that already.’
‘No. Why would I know that?’
‘Didn’t you come in there on your way from Derry?’
‘No,’ Molly told her. ‘Uncle Tom brought us home in the cart.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that,’ Cathy said. ‘It was probably just as well, for Derry is only six miles away from here, and the trains are far from reliable. They carry freight as well, with the passengers in a sort of brake thing behind them, and of course stop at every station to unload.’
‘I would have travelled in anything at that time,’ Molly said. ‘I was so worn out. We had been on and off trains and boats since early morning.’
‘Were you sick on the crossing?’
‘I’ll say.’ Molly added with a grin, ‘It was a bit of a waste too, because we had both had breakfast on the boat and we brought it back just minutes later and everything else that had the nerve to lie in our stomachs.’
Cathy nodded, ‘My sisters said they were the same, and my younger brother, Pat, was so ill, John thought he would die on him. I bet he was more than glad to reach land, because they were at sea for ten days.’
Molly gave a shiver. ‘Poor thing,’ she said. ‘I had three and a half hours of it and that was enough.’
‘I bet,’ Cathy said with feeling. ‘Well, this now is the station. The roof looks bigger than the building. And I know where you get the tickets, because I came to see my sisters off.’ She led the way to a two-storeyed, flat-roofed building housing the ticket office, adjoining the main body of the station, and then past that and on to the platform. Molly followed and looked about her with interest. She tried to imagine the time when she would board a train from there to take her home.
‘What’s that mass of green in front?’ she asked Cathy.
‘The golf course.’
/> ‘Golly, don’t they lose their golf balls in the water ever?’ Molly asked, because she could see the glistening waters of the Swilly just beyond the course.
Cathy smiled. ‘Probably lots of times.’
‘And what’s beyond that on the other side of the Lough?’
‘Rathmullen,’ Cathy said, pointing. ‘And just a bit further up, Glenvar. Come on now,’ she urged. ‘I want to show you the harbour where the fishing boats come in.’
Molly was impressed by the harbour and all the fishing vessels vying for space at the dockside, and she was charmed by the Lough, which she thought was just as good as the stories she had heard about the seaside because, just along from the harbour, she could plainly see large rocks and sandy beaches.
Cathy hailed two friends, Bernadette McCauley and Maeve Gilligan, whom Molly had met at Mass. Then Cathy pointed out the diving board and chute on the far side of the Lough. ‘My brothers learned to swim there,’ she said. ‘Most boys did, but of course we girls were forbidden to go near.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, some boys swam with no clothes on,’ Cathy said. ‘Not my brothers – Mammy wouldn’t let them – but some, and that is not a sight I would like to see.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ murmured Bernadette. ‘That surely would depend on the boy.’
‘Bernadette McCauley,’ exclaimed Cathy and Maeve together.
Cathy went on, ‘Confession for you, my girl. Impure thoughts and all.’
Bernadette just laughed. ‘I am telling no priest the thoughts that pop up in my head,’ she declared. ‘The poor man couldn’t stand the excitement. God, I’m sure his hair would stand on end.’
The girls exploded with laughter at the image conjured up, and then suddenly Cathy noticed how low the sun was. She said to Molly, ‘We’d best get on if you want to see Swan Park, for your uncle will be waiting for you,’ and with a wave to the other two girls, she led the way.
‘This sort of goes back the way we came,’ Cathy said. And we will go a little bit along here to show you and then make for home. All right?’
‘You bet.’
‘We have to go across Castle Bridge, which you can see in front of you now. It spans the Crana River where the town got its name from.’
‘And what’s that wall on the other side of it?’
‘Part of the grounds of the castle, which you will see once you are on the bridge.’
As they stepped off the bridge, to the side was a crumbling tower, which Cathy said was called O’Dohery’s Keep, dating back to the Middle Ages, but the building that Cathy had referred to as a castle was just a three-storeyed, slate-roofed house. It was made of brick and had a protruding wing on either end of it. Wide steps led up to the front door with ornamental railings either side, but it still wasn’t Molly’s idea of a castle.
‘Well, I know,’ Cathy said. ‘Not officially, it isn’t. I meant it was only built in seventeen something, but it’s a sort of custom in Ireland to call large houses castles. Now, if we take this pathway through here, then we can get to the Swilly and there is a walkway that we can take.’
The path was overhung with trees, heavy with leaves and blossom, and the hedgerows alive with flowers. Molly felt very much at peace with the world as she followed behind her new friend. And then the Lough was before them, shimmering like gold in the waning sun.
‘Let’s see if we can get as far as the fort before we turn back,’ Cathy suggested. ‘We can do it if we put a spurt on.’
They hurried on, greeting those they met, but not stopping to chat, and in no time at all they had passed the boathouse where the lifeboat was kept, and then the fort.
‘Built in Napoleonic times,’ Cathy said as they surveyed the massive structure. But they had no time to linger, for the sun had sunk lower still. They retraced their steps and were soon on Main Street again.
‘Plenty of pubs along here,’ Cathy said as they climbed the hill, ‘and they have all been here as long as I can remember, so they obviously do good enough trade, but then,’ she said, wrinkling her nose, ‘as Mammy said, any number of pubs would do good trade in Ireland, the only business where you would be sure to make money.’ And then she laughed and said, ‘Daddy goes to the pub sometimes – Grant’s Bar usually – and he says he goes not as often as he would like, yet far too often in my mother’s opinion.’
‘Do they argue over it?’
‘No,’ Cathy said with a smile. ‘It’s just an ongoing theme, you know? Anyway, here we are home again and I hope your uncle isn’t cross if he has had to wait ages.’
‘Oh, Uncle Tom won’t be cross,’ Molly said with confidence. ‘He never is.’
Tom and Jack were sitting chatting and drinking deeply of the malt whiskey that Jack had produced. Molly had never seen her uncle drink anything but tea, water or buttermilk before. She had thought maybe he didn’t care for alcohol and she asked him about it as they walked back together.
‘Oh, I suppose I like a beer as well as the next man, and I love a drop of whiskey now and then,’ Tom said after a minute or two’s thought. ‘But it all costs money, and apart from that, when I have done a full day’s work, I am not up to trudging over to Buncrana, especially when I have to get up early for the milking. Sunday is the one day when I take things easier. What about you? What sort of a day have you had?’
‘Wonderful,’ Molly said, and even in the dusk, Tom saw a light behind Molly’s eyes that he had never seen before and he vowed he would do all in his power to keep it there at least once a week. ‘I really like Cathy,’ Molly told her uncle, ‘and I wish I had been let go to school.’
‘So do I,’ Tom said. ‘And Mammy would be in big trouble if the authorities got to hear about it. I can’t do anything about that, but you can still be friends with Cathy. How would you like to go to the McEvoys’ for tea next Sunday too?’
‘I would love it if I am asked, but your mother—’
‘Leave my mother to me,’ Tom said. ‘Nellie and Jack said you are welcome every Sunday evening. You made quite an impression, and I will come over to fetch you home.’
‘There is no need,’ Molly said.
‘There’s every need,’ Tom maintained. ‘Anyway, the walk will do me no harm at all and give me the chance to sink a few pints with Jack in Grant’s Bar while I wait for you. It will do me good as well to get out and meet people. A person can be too much on their own and this will be a fine opportunity for the pair of us.’
NINE
The following day at tea-time, Tom saw that Molly was exhausted. He had done what he could to help her that wash day, hanging around the cottage, doing jobs near at hand so that he could help bring any water she needed from the well. Later, he had helped her turn the mangle and put up with his mother’s sneering comments that he was turning into a sissy, doing women’s work.
He knew, however, that his mother had been particularly vicious that day and rightly guessed that it was her attitude that had worn Molly down so badly. While Molly had sort of expected some backlash for her visit to Cathy, she soon found that expecting such censure and dealing with it all day were two very different things.
In the end, while they were eating the last bowl of porridge before bed, she suddenly felt as if she had stood more than enough and she looked at her grandmother and asked candidly, ‘Why are you always so horrid? I sort of expect you now to find fault with everything I do, but you have been worse than ever today.’
Biddy was astounded and outraged. She had never been questioned in this way before. ‘How dare you?’ she burst out. ‘I have no need to explain myself to you, miss.’
Molly showed no fear, though her stomach was tied in knots. ‘I need to know, if I am on the receiving end of it. The point is, I can’t see that I have done that much wrong today anyway.’
Tom hid his slight amusement as he watched his mother open and shut her mouth soundlessly for a few seconds, too stunned and taken unawares to make any sort of reply. He was absolutely astounded himself at Mol
ly’s temerity.
‘Are you going to sit there like a deaf mute and let this brazen besom talk to me like this, Tom?’ Biddy screeched, turning her malevolent eyes on her son. ‘What manner of man are you at all?’
Listening to his mother’s disdainful whine, it was suddenly clear to Tom why Molly could speak with such assurance and courage and that was because of the confidence she had in herself. He would guess that that confidence was gained by being loved and valued by her parents, while he, on the other hand, had been verbally and physically abused almost since he had drawn his first breath and so now he said, ‘I am the manner of man that you made me, Mammy, and as for Molly, she has not been disrespectful to you in any way.’
‘I will act as I see fit in my own house,’ Biddy said mutinously. ‘No one has the right to refute anything I say.’
‘Dad used to say if everyone was able to do just as they liked, we would have something called anarchy and those who were more powerful or violent would rule over the others.’
‘God, I wish I still had my stick,’ Biddy ground out. ‘You would find the sting of it this day.’
‘That would just prove the point, though, wouldn’t it?’ Molly said.
‘It’s not right for a young girl to be speaking in such a way – and especially not to her elders and betters,’ Biddy snapped. ‘I only took you in because there was no one else suitable, but I dislike you intensely, and have done since the day we met.’
Molly shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t mind about that because, as I said before we left Birmingham, I feel the same way about you.’
The slap knocked her from the stool and she lay on the stone floor. Tom was by her side in a moment. ‘Mammy, I told you there is to be no more of this.’
Molly got to her feet and faced her grandmother, her gaze steadily, enraging the old woman further.