by Anne Doughty
She checked that John had been given his piece as she tucked Rose and Sam’s into their satchels. She kissed them both, wished John good luck and walked out with them into the bright April morning to see them off.
When they all turned back at the foot of the hill to see if she was still watching, she waved to them, thinking yet again how extraordinary it was that John and Sam could look so like brothers and what a happy thing it was that Rose had now begun to treat him as if he really was.
There was even more to do than Hannah had noted on her mental list and she was already beginning to think longingly of taking a basin of warm water into the bedroom and changing out of her working clothes when she heard a step outside and a shadow fell across the table where she was preparing the first of two batches of dough.
‘Shemmie,’ she said, surprised and pleased. ‘It’s a long time since you’ve been. Has the fishing not been good?’
He lowered his heavy bag by the open door and came gratefully to sit by the fire, holding out his wrinkled hands to the warm glow. The morning was bright and there was no wind. Hannah was perspiring with heat and effort, but Shemmie looked half frozen.
‘Wou’d ye have a wee crust o’ bread, missus dear? Fer I got no breakfast. The carrier was passin’ and it was that or walk all the way and it’s a brave way from Dunfanaghy.’
‘It is indeed, Shemmie. You look frozen.’
‘Aye well, the fish is cold and the cold gets inta me.’
‘Now there’s no bread baked yet, so I haven’t a bite to give you, but would you eat a bowl of porridge? It wouldn’t take long if I stirred up the fire.’
‘Boys, that would go down well,’ he said, his voice full of relief. ‘An’ I’ll make sure you get the biggest fish in the bag,’ he went on, his usually expressionless face producing the beginnings of a smile.
She covered the dough with a clean cloth, moved the griddle from the chain over the hearth where it was heating and replaced it with a small black pot. Once she’d measured the oats and water and mixed them thoroughly, she poured them into the pot, stirring the fire beneath so that the flames licked round the sooty bottom. Within minutes the water began to steam very gently.
‘There’s not much wind this morning, Shemmie, so it’ll take a wee while. Do you often have to walk the whole way?’ she asked, as she dusted her hands and came to sit down opposite him.’
‘T’tell you the truth, missus, I’m not fit now to walk the whole way, so I have to keep lookin’ out for lifts. Sure, the men that knows me is good enough about that but they can’t always tell where the job is goin to be till the mornin’ itself. They might be for Letterkenny, or Derry, or Gortahork. They mightn’t know, no more than I do, if I’m goin’ t’ have fish. Alls for it is I get up if I hear a cart. But sure, maybe it’s not goin’ anywhere I’m known. People don’ like buyin’ fish from a man they don’t know. Aye, an’ there’s fewer boats about. Sure, there’s only coracles down on this part of the coast and the slightest bit of wind and they’re up an’ over. They’re really only a summer thing. That’s why I’ve not bin here for a while. There’s no shortage of fish.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that. I thought you just hadn’t any to sell.’
‘Na, na, the few old men that had proper fishin’ boats say the waters be teemin’ in these parts, but they’re too old to haul in the sails, an’ pull up the nets, an’ their sons is away foreign, so they’ve had to give up. So now there’s only the coracles left.’
Hannah leaned forward and stirred the porridge. She wondered how Shemmie managed to make enough money to buy oats and turf.
‘To tell you the truth, missus,’ he said, his face resuming its sombre look, ‘if it weren’t for one of m’ sons away over in London who sends me the odd postal order I’d hafta to go to the workhouse. God forbid,’ he added, hastily crossing himself.
Hannah wondered how she could possibly help him. Yes, she could buy his fish but only what she could cook for tonight and tomorrow. Then she thought of Aunt Mary.
‘Will you go up as far as Warrenstown today, Shemmie?’ she asked, as she fetched a bowl and a jug of milk.
‘Not if I can help it,’ he said promptly. ‘It’s a brave steep climb.’
‘Yes, it is, but if I buy fish for Patrick’s Aunt Mary, I can send the children up to deliver it.’
‘Ah, good luck to you for a kind lady,’ he said, as she handed him his bowl of porridge and left the jug of milk within reach. ‘Sure every fish is another meal between me an’ poverty.’ He stirred his bowl and added some milk.
She watched him as he ate his porridge, savouring every mouthful. How fortunate she was to have a good husband who sent her all he earned and a father who sent her gifts of money at Christmas time. Unlike so many of her neighbours she was not short of money. Most of them had only the bit of bog and the potato garden that went with the house, but if they had a large family to feed and could get no other work, it simply wasn’t enough. There was always the next lot of rent to pay, extra meal and flour when the potatoes were all used up, clothes for the children. Only the better-off families could think of finding the pennies to send their children to school. Those were the families that had money coming in from America, or Australia, or England.
That was what Daniel had said so firmly when he first admitted he wanted his pupils to learn English but couldn’t see how he might go about it.
‘A child that has English can travel,’ he’d said to her, his tone sombre. ‘He, or she, can earn far more in a week than their brothers and sisters can earn in a month, left behind to labour on the family’s bit of land.’
Tomorrow, she and John would begin the English lessons, though how they would begin, and what they would do, she had no idea. That was something else she had to give her mind to when she’d chosen her fish, counted out her pennies and sent Shemmie on his way.
*
Fish was a rare treat for Rose and Sam and they tucked in energetically when suppertime came, but for John, who politely said how nice it was, he admitted it was a regular meal, one they had often at home in Kilkerrin.
Some of the coastguards on the station went fishing when they were off duty, he explained, both on the bay and on some of the nearby rivers. Fish was always available. Sometimes, he added honestly, the catch from the bay was so good that everyone got tired of pickled fish and would start thinking quite longingly about the familiar bowl of champ.
After their meal, Rose and Sam heard the sounds of laughter and asked if they could go out to play. They could, Hannah agreed, but only for an hour. It was clear they had both forgotten they had homework to do.
‘Well then, John, how did things go today?’ Hannah asked, well aware that they had only the hour before the children came back and they had as yet no plan at all for how they might introduce the first English lesson.
‘It went well,’ he replied soberly, ‘but the children are at such a disadvantage by not having enough proper seating. I asked Mr McGee if he would mind if I organised something temporary until we saw what the Dublin people could offer us.’
‘And what did he say?’ Hannah asked, wondering what Daniel had made of the unexpected request.
John smiled happily, his eyes bright. ‘He said, “Good man yourself. If you see something that you can improve, just go right ahead. I’ll not be standing in your way.”’
Chapter 10
The pleasant weather of late April that had brought greenness to the hawthorns and tiny blooms to the first wildflowers in the grass took a sudden dip towards the end of the month and into the beginning of May. Rain swept across the mountain in grey curtains, blocking out the view of the lake, making the rocky paths look like streams, while the wind swirled around the cottages, blew down the chimneys and on occasion filled the schoolroom with smoke.
Bad weather always made more work for Hannah. School clothes had to be dried overnight, the floor had to be washed more often, and now that she was teaching three mornings a week she seldom had time to
sit by the fire. If she did find a quiet space to sit and reflect, she was already far too tired to think of sewing. At times, she even had to press herself to write the daily instalments of her letter to Patrick.
But despite the problems of fitting in everything she had to do, she could not help feeling a surge of delight when first one, and then another, large box was delivered to Daniel’s cottage in Casheltown. The boxes had come from Dublin, as promised, by Jonathan Hancock. The first one contained stationery: pencils, pens and ink, rubbers and blotting paper, drawing paper and both crayons and coloured pencils.
She would never forget the look on Daniel’s face as the pupils clustered around him and she and John opened that first box, passing over the items, which came out one by one, for him to inspect. She watched him stroke the covers of exercise books, sniff the unfamiliar odour of crayons and feel the sharp points of pencils and pens.
Later, when the second box came, he clutched the shiny copies and asked first one pupil and then another to open at random and read him a paragraph. It was difficult to tell whether it was the pupils or the teachers who were most excited.
By the time the weather improved enough to sit again on the stone bench and look out at the snow-like dusting of blossom on the hawthorns, a great deal had happened to secure the future of the school.
To begin with, the elderly Quaker in Richhill to whom Hannah had written, was able to assure her that it was just a matter of time before Daniel’s pension was restored. He explained, as simply as he could, that a trust had been set up soon after Daniel’s birth when it was clear that he was blind. As he was still blind, and as the source of the funds from which his pension came was in such good heart, there could be no reason for his pension being withdrawn. It might take a little time to have it restored, but even if this were so, she could be assured that all the missing payments would be refunded.
Daniel, relieved and delighted, worked out that he could pay Marie from what he proceeded to call his ‘back pay’ and would be able to make John a small allowance until his promised salary from the Quaker Charitable Society had been arranged.
It really did feel as if the sun was shining on all their efforts – from John’s attempts to beg, or borrow, benches to seat their pupils properly, or the first endeavours at ‘teaching Scotch’, something they had delayed because of an outbreak of flu, which kept many pupils at home just when the bad weather began.
Neither Daniel, nor John, nor Hannah, had had any idea as to how their pupils would react to learning English. They did agree that handing out the grammar books and proceeding formally might not be the best way. Daniel and Hannah talked about it when they took a short break mid-morning, and John and Hannah shared their thoughts after their evening meal on the fine evenings when Rose and Sam went out to play.
Daniel suspected that some of the children did, in fact, hear English spoken by people like the rent collector, or the land agent. Much would depend on the nature of those people. There might be some hostility or there might be acceptance.
That was when John suggested taking a light-hearted attitude to begin with, then see if they could engage their interest by trying to make use of any small familiarity with English the children might discover they already had.
Daniel thought it worth a try and Hannah, though not entirely easy about the part she was to play, was more than willing to see how John’s plans might work out. And so they began.
In the small space at the front of the class, after their usual morning lessons, John produced an old and very battered hat, put it on, and stood looking around him, rocking on his heels and whistling. From time to time, he looked down anxiously at something on the ground beside him. Then Hannah stood up, picked up a basket she had brought to school with her and came to look critically at the space behind John’s legs.
‘How much are you wanting for the chickens?’ she asked, speaking slowly in English, and looking him straight in the eye.
‘Ah, they’re great chickens,’ he replied, shaking his arms as if they were wings, and looking down at them. ‘They’ll be great layers. Eggs galore,’ he went on, cupping his hands round a large imaginary bowl. Say ten shillings for the box, and cheap at the price.’
‘I’ll give you five,’ said Hannah sharply.
For the first time, the class, who had been unsure what to make of the ongoing scene, laughed aloud. They listened, fascinated, as John and Hannah continued to bargain and after much haggling Hannah finally got her imaginary chickens, which she carried off and deposited with her basket beside the chair where she sometimes sat.
‘So do you think perhaps learning English might not be too bad?’ John asked, addressing the class now in Irish.
‘Did you understand any of the words?’ he went on, looking round the class who were still smiling.
From a variety of children, words were offered. ‘Chicken’ and ‘shilling’ and ‘egg’. They were repeated and written on the blackboard.
And then Daniel repeated the new words. They were the first words his pupils had ever heard him speak that were not Irish. He agreed with them that Scotch wasn’t that difficult after all. ‘A few words every day,’ he said, ‘and in a wee while you could go anywhere and talk to anyone.’
*
Sitting together on the stone bench while John finished the morning’s lessons, Hannah knew that Daniel was delighted with the success of John’s plan.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I once had a friend, a teacher himself, who used to say, “The secret with children is to work from the known to the unknown. Find a link to the child’s own experience. If you can make a connection, however slight, it’s like a beam of light to their path and you’re halfway there.”’
‘I wasn’t too sure when John suggested our dialogue,’ began Hannah honestly, ‘but I’m impressed. They’re all so excited and they thought it was wonderful when you said the words too. Was it difficult for you?’ she asked, breaking off, remembering his own unhappy relationship with the language that he’d once admitted to her.
‘No more than it was for young John,’ he said promptly. ‘If you hadn’t told me his father was from County Down and didn’t think to learn any Irish, even when he took an Irish wife, I might not have understood him so well. Knowing his background, I’ll do everything I can to back him up. He deserves all the help he can get. What would I do without you both?’ he added, rather sadly.
‘And who was it started the school in the first place?’ she came back at him. ‘Who was it tramped around trying to find enough money for a blackboard and a few books, and now look what we’ve got.’
He smiled. Hannah always gave credit where credit was due, whether it was the children, or anyone else. If he could have had a daughter, he would have wanted one like Hannah.
*
Later that day, when Rose and Sam were playing in the sunshine with some of the other children in Ardtur and John was reading newspapers to Sophie, Hannah cleared up after their evening meal and took out Patrick’s last letter from the drawer in the kitchen table.
He apologised, as he so often did, for having no ‘news’ of any kind and then went on to tell her of the work they were doing, the state of the crops, the kindness of the weather and the good-heartedness of her father’s new housekeeper, who had been so caring to the youngest member of the team, away from home for the first time and clearly feeling homesick.
She smiled, picked up her pen, scanned what she’d already written to him earlier in the week and continued.
You would have been so proud of Rose and Sam today when we had the first English class. I had explained to them that the other children might have no English at all and they must be careful not to speak up just because it was easy for them. So they said not a word until John began writing on the board, and then they just joined in when the class practised the first words and some simple sentences.
Do you remember, my love, how you used to sit at the kitchen table in the farm and I had to coax you to speak? You seemed to be
so shy. It was only three years later you confessed it was not the English that was the problem, you were afraid if you said anything you’d give away your love for me. Three whole years, you kept me waiting! But in that time my father came to know you better. In the end your thoughtfulness was rewarded when he gave us his blessing. You were right indeed, for I was only just seventeen when you first arrived.
She put her pen down and stretched her aching shoulders. Between carrying turf and water for the house and writing on the blackboard in school, she often had a pain in her neck by the end of the day, but she had no complaints to make. Sometimes she saw Sophie, or Aunt Mary, struggle to lift a bucket less than half full. It meant they had to go to the well two or three times every day and all their everyday tasks took longer.
She tried not to think about growing old, or about losing her dear Patrick. She wondered if all women had such fears, or whether it was only because she was so happy in her love for Patrick, that she was so aware of just how much she had to lose.
She wrote a little more, decided that she must post the letter tomorrow before it got any longer and took out the shiny, new English book that they would use in the morning. It was as she opened it that she thought of Jonathan Hancock who had told her where to write and what to ask for. Without that visit of his so much would be different.
‘I wonder does he know about coracles?’ she said quietly to herself.
The children would be back soon and bedtime was close, but when she had tucked them up, she’d make the effort to write and tell him all she’d learnt from Shemmie the fish man. He’d helped her and many people would benefit from his help; perhaps there was something she could do to help him in return.
*
In the seven weeks that remained of the school year, all the pupils in Daniel’s school made good progress, not only in the new venture into English, but also in all the other subjects Daniel and Marie had introduced to them. It was as if the new books, now carried home at night with such pride, had encouraged even the most reluctant of pupils. Confidence had grown and it seemed as if new discoveries were being made all the time.