by Martha Long
Right, have I got everything? I looked down at me handbag and suitcase sitting on the bed and checked me pockets. Me cigarettes and matches! I left them downstairs under the counter for when Molly’s back was turned. Then I usually had a quick puff. Huh! I’m not leaving them behind.
I raced down the stairs and into the shop, coming up behind Molly staring at herself trying to squeeze out a blackhead in the mirror over the wall advertising Coca-Cola. ‘Don’t waste yer money on face powder, Molly! It’s Polyfilla you need for the bleeding cracks!’ I shouted up behind her. She screamed and jumped with the fright.
‘Aaah! You nearly frighted the life out of me!’ she roared.
I grabbed me cigarettes from under the counter and waved them at her, saying, ‘Mine! Tell aul Murphy yeh don’t want a cheap aul pine coffin when they carry yeh outa here, Molly. And don’t forget teh tell someone where yer burying the money yeh never spend. She might spend a bit of it on a headstone for yeh. Otherwise she’ll fling yeh inta a pauper’s grave, yeh aul haunted and hunted-lookin spinster! Stick yer shop up yer fat arse!’
Then I was gone, hearing her spluttering insults after me, tearing meself back up the stairs and making for me suitcase. No, wait!
Them fuckers are not having the last word. I rushed over and whipped up the mattress, looking at the spring. Yeah, as I thought. The springs all tie in together! I uncurled them, taking out as many springs as I could, and put them in me bag. Then I went over to Molly’s bed and pulled up the mattress. I took out seven springs, leaving a great big gaping hole in the middle, then I let the mattress fall down. It sank right in the middle, falling through to the floor. Then I flew down to the kitchen and brought back a pot of cold water and soaked the two mattresses. Now, see how you like being without a bed tonight, Molly, seeing as you’re doing the same to me. And yeh can’t even sleep in mine, because that’s gone the same way. You too, aul Murphy. You’re going to have to go out and buy a whole new bed, just to shut Molly up. That should put your nose out of joint, having to part with a few bob. Hah!
I tightened the belt around me coat and took off down the stairs again and out the side door, not letting Molly get the satisfaction of seeing me go. I stopped down the road on the way to the bus stop and took all the springs out of me pocket and handbag. Then I emptied them into an ashbin waiting outside a house for the dustbin men to collect.
Right, I’m off. I picked up me suitcase and handbag, heading down to the bus stop to wait for the bus. I better go straight into town and get the evening newspaper! Hope there’s a job waiting for me. I still can’t understand why they threw me out. Too much trouble? Too young? What trouble? Young? What’s that got to do with anything? I did me job.
Ah, teh hell with it! Molly just didn’t want me there. So forget it. Let’s see what turns up next.
Right! Which way first? I need the evening papers. I think the Evening Herald is the best one for all the jobs. That won’t be out for hours yet! I can go round to the delivery depot, at the back of Woolworths, when they come in. Get one before they start their deliveries. Then I’ll be well ahead of the posse for any jobs going. So, what will I do for now?
I looked up and down O’Connell Street, thinking. Feeling like a lost culchie just arrived up from the bog with me suitcase in me hand. Me eyes landed on the brass-plate sign beside a hall door. ‘Nelly Dobbins Domestic Agency.’ Oh! She had advertisements for jobs in the newspaper last time I was looking. I’ll give her a go. I went in the door, seeing it was open, and up the old rickety stairs and onto a landing. Then turned and up another flight, seeing a foggy glass door with a sign outside saying ‘Nelly Dobbins, suppliers of domestic servants since 1850.’ Yeah, this is it!
I knocked on the door and a woman’s voice said, ‘Come in!’ I pushed the door in, bringing me suitcase in behind me.
‘Hello,’ I said, making for an elderly woman with silver-white hair tied up in a bun behind her head and a white face with the cheeks hanging down. She was wearing a navy-blue frock with a matching jacket, and a snow-white blouse underneath, with a lovely ruby and diamond brooch pinned at her throat. She smiled at me, looking over her half-moon glasses sitting on her nose.
‘Can I help you?’ she said, in a lovely old lady’s voice.
‘Yes, eh, Missus Dobbins, Nelly!’ I said, sitting meself down on a chair in front of her big mahogany old desk. ‘I’m looking for a domestic job, Nelly.’
‘Eh, excuse me!’ she said, getting a good look at me by holding down her glasses hanging on her nose. ‘I’m not Nelly Dobbins,’ she said, smiling at me.
‘Yer not?’
‘No, she was my grandmother.’
‘Oh!’ For a minute I was confused, wondering where I went wrong. ‘Oh, yeah! Sorry! Of course you’re not. Ha, ha! That would be over a hundred years ago. Sorry about that.’
‘Well. You are not the first. You would be surprised the amount of women come through that door mistaking me for my grandmother! Mind you, I am called Nelly. So was my mother. The name has carried on through. So, what can I do for you?’ she said, lifting her pen ready to write down me answers. ‘Now, what sort of job are you looking for?’
‘Eh, mother’s help.’
‘Do you have experience?’
‘Eh, definitely. I have years of experience.’
‘Oh, what age are you?’
‘Eh!’ I was trying to think. Should I make meself older? She might ask for me birth certificate. Then see I told her lies. ‘Sixteen.’
‘Hmm! You are very young. What was your last job?’
‘Eh, children’s nursing.’
‘Oh, how long was that for? You are, after all, only sixteen!’
‘Yeah, eh, I lasted a few weeks.’
‘I see. What was your job before that?’ she asked, looking a bit disappointed.
‘Eh, I worked in a shop!’
‘Oh, we don’t do that sort of work here.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. I’m looking for something indoors. I need a live-in job.’
‘Do you have references?’
‘Eh, yeah . . . no!’ I didn’t want to show her the one from the convent.
‘I don’t see how I can fix you up with a job without a reference,’ she said, putting down her pen, looking disappointed. Me heart sank. ‘How many jobs have you had?’
‘Well, I was a mother’s help out in Malahide until not too long ago,’ I said, hoping that would help.
‘How long was that for?’ she said, picking up her pen again.
‘Eh, five weeks.’
‘No, that’s not very long. Our clients are professional people. They need a mature woman, a highly experienced housekeeper to take charge of the running of the household. Including any other staff they may employ. Like the cook, and gardener. But not all, of course. Some have small households, and may only need a general dogsbody. Someone who will cook and clean.’
‘I studied cooking,’ I said, thinking I had to cook for meself in the shop. ‘For a little while,’ I said, in case she thought I was qualified.
‘How long?’ she asked me, holding her breath. Not bothering to pick up the pen again.
‘Eh, a few weeks.’
‘Hmm, I’m sorry, but I have nothing to offer you,’ she said, lifting her chest, pushing it up with her fists held together. Then letting them sit on her lap, making big sighing noises out through her nose, and looking around at her papers. Then looking up at me, widening her mouth, keeping her lips clamped together, like she was disappointed, too.
‘All right! No harm in trying,’ I sighed, peeling me eyes away from her, seeing no hope in her face and standing meself up. ‘Thanks anyway.’
I picked up me suitcase and went out into the cold, foggy late morning. It must be hitting the twelve o’clock mark. There weren’t too many people or cars around. Just buses and delivery vans flying up and down. Everyone was at work.
I stood, feeling a bit lost in meself, looking up and down the Liffey, staring into the rushing water pass
ing under the bridge. Hearing the mournful sound of the fog horn crying, from way out at sea. The sound was getting carried up the Liffey, making itself heard loud and clear. It cut through me then lingered on the air. I listened, holding me breath, hearing it sigh away. Leaving me with the terrible feeling of loneliness and the empty streets. With little sign of life around me, to help block it out. What can I do in a hurry to find a job? Nothing! I’ll just have to wait for the newspapers.
At last, I’ve got the newspaper! I hurried out of the lane and around by the GPO and stopped at the footpath, with me head flying up and down the street, getting ready to dash across the road. I took off, ducking in and out of the traffic and across the road into Caffola’s.
I grabbed a seat at the back, putting down me suitcase and left me handbag sitting beside me, and whipped open the newspaper. Vacancies! What page? Here we are. Me eyes slid up and down the pages, looking for ‘Domestics Wanted’. ‘Housekeeper.’ No! ‘Woman wanted for cleaning and some light cooking. Live out.’ No! ‘Mother’s help! Girl wanted to help mother with children, live in. Tipperary.’ Fuck! No good. I’m not living in the country. ‘Cleaning woman, afternoons or mornings. Must be flexible. May be asked to do occassional plain cooking.’ No! ‘Training given to factory girl. Good starting wage. One pound ten shillings per week.’ No good.
Fuck, there’s nothing! Sweet divine Jesus! There’s no job for me. What am I going to do now? Even factory work doesn’t pay. Young ones like me are usually classed as training, they don’t pay much and, anyway, the girls live at home. Damn! I haven’t even got a reference. Except the one from the bloody convent. That will only get me housework anyway. Then they make an eejit out of yeh! I heard that too often from the other big girls when they came back. Even the aul fellas, the husbands, tried to get their hands on them. Some of the girls sit, nursing themselves for weeks trying to get over the shock of it. Fuck! I’d like to see one of the aul husbands try that one on me! They would be fucking limpin for the rest of their life. Hmm, I wonder! Maybe the nun in charge of the children, Sister Mary Ann Augusta, will take me back for a little while, just until I get a job. It will only be for a few nights! I should have something by then. Yeah! Please, God, she’ll let me. I have nowhere else to go!
Right! I whipped up me suitcase and made for the other side of O’Connell Street again. Flying into the GPO. This place is great for making a phone call. They have lines and lines of boxes where you can shut the door and talk in private.
I dropped the two pennies into the coin box and dialled the number. I waited, hearing it ring, and held me breath, me heart going like the clappers. Jaysus! Wonder what she will say to me? It’s an awful pity Sister Eleanor is away. ‘Hello, yes? Holy Redeemer Convent.’
I pressed the A button, trying to get me breath. ‘Eh, hello! Can I speak to Sister Mary Ann Augusta, please?’
‘Who is this?’ I listened to the voice. Fuck! It’s Sister Benedict, the nun in charge of the chapel. She will only want to know me business.
‘Eh, it’s personal!’ I said, not breathing.
‘Is this one of the children?’ she roared.
‘No,’ I squeaked, knowing the nuns wouldn’t come to the phone for one of us.
‘Speak up! I can’t hear you!’ she roared down the phone at me.
‘Is Sister Augusta available?’ I asked in a high-pitched voice, trying to change me voice and sound like someone important.
She listened, I could hear her breathing. ‘MARTHA LONG! Is that you?’
‘Eh, yeah, Sister Benedict. I’m looking for Sister Eleanor or Sister Augusta.’
‘They’re not here! Sister Eleanor is away getting her retreat, and Sister Augusta is out getting her office. She’s praying along the cloister walk. What do you want? Is it important? Will it wait?’
‘No, Sister Benedict. Could you please get her for me?’ I asked, wanting to get hopeful.
‘No, hang on. Here’s the reverend mother. You can speak to her.’
I listened as she dropped the phone and shouted to the reverend mother, ‘There’s a phone call from Martha Long, mother. She wants to speak to the sisters in charge of the children. I told her Sister Eleanor is away, and sister-in-charge is getting her prayers. She won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Really!’ I heard the reverend mother breathe, making to take up the phone. Me heart stopped, and I dropped the phone back into its cradle like it had scalded me. I picked up me suitcase and took off out of the phone box, dashing to get out among people again. No! I want no part of them nuns. They start treating you like they own you, if they think you can’t manage. It’s better to stay out of their clutches. There’s no point in turning back. So what goes for Jackser, goes for them. I can add them to me list.
What was I bleedin thinking? Just hearing them speak brought back all the years of Jackser and being locked up with them. I’d rather sleep on the bloody streets than ask them to take me back. But they have jobs coming in occasionally. That would be my best bet. Ask them if any jobs came in from people looking for girls. Right! But I’ll ask Sister Eleanor when she gets back. Damn! When will that be? I didn’t even get to find that much out. Bloody eejit, Martha, wake up. So, now I need to find somewhere to live.
‘How much is it for bed and breakfast for one night?’ I asked the country woman with the sleevin eyes. Narrowing, taking me in, and wondering how much she can rob me for.
‘Thirty shillings bed and breakfast,’ she said, with a greasy smell coming off her, and the sudden whiff of bad breath, from a mouthful of rotten teeth. She’s not very clean, I thought, pulling back as she moved herself closer to me. Bringing the sour smell of cats’ piss and rotten cabbage with her. I stared at her as I was thinking about it. While she held the door half-shut, pulling it out behind her. Then she folded her arms and leaned out, whipping her eyes up and down Talbot Street. Then pinning them back on me, waiting.
‘No, thanks! That’s too dear,’ I said, walking away from her.
‘Suit yourself,’ she said, slamming the front door shut after me.
‘Fuck you too, missus! Yeh money-hungry-fucking-looking aul cow!’ I fumed. Feeling dead tired after walking the length and breadth of the streets, knocking on one bed and breakfast house after another, looking for something cheap.
Ah, bloody hell! There’s no way out of it. I think I’ll take the boat to England, I have a better chance of getting a job over there. I walked on, heading back up to O’Connell Street. Going nowhere in a hurry, and slowed down to think about it. I could take the boat to Liverpool and the train to London. When I get to Euston Station, the first thing I should do is look for a room to stay. Then go out searching for a job. Right! That’s what I’m doing.
I took off, hurrying to get over to the ticket office on Westmoreland Street before they close. Jaysus! It must be after five o’clock. I wonder if it’s half-five or six o’clock they shut. What time is it? I don’t want to spend another night in this fucking kip of a country. It’s run by greedy, grasping fucking culchies! The Dubliners never get a look-in. I felt raging in meself, not knowing who or what I was raging with. With meself for losing the job, and everyone else for looking out for themselves. Especially that fucking Molly one! Ah, let them. I’ll get there! I know something will turn up. Yeah, England is me best bet. I felt meself lifting, knowing now I knew what I was doing and where I was going.
I crossed over O’Connell Bridge and made me way onto Westmoreland Street. Stopping to wait for the traffic lights to change, so I could get over to the booking office on the other side of the street. Suddenly, I heard me name shouted. I whirled around with the shock, wondering where the voice was coming from. ‘Martha Long! What are you doing? Where are you going?’ I looked up in shock at the face staring at me, looking from me suitcase then back to me, a smile plastered all over her face.
‘Laura! It’s great to see you,’ I shouted happily, delighted to meet someone I knew from the convent.
‘Where are you off to, Martha?’ she s
aid, looking at me puzzled, seeing me suitcase.
‘Ah, Laura, I lost me job, and I’m stuck. I’m heading off to get me ticket to take the boat to England. I’m going to London.’
‘No, you’re not!’ she snapped, grabbing the suitcase out of me hand. ‘Come on! You’re coming with us.’
I looked at Anna Brennan, standing beside her, ‘Yeah, why not! The more the merrier,’ she laughed, shaking her head.
Then Laura wrapped her arm around me shoulder, pulling me into her. ‘Listen, Martha,’ she said, shaking her head slowly, looking very serious as she leaned her head closer into me. ‘London would only swallow you up! It’s a very big place, and you don’t know anyone there. An awful lot of people from the convent get lost there. Some of the girls who went from our group have got themself into a terrible lot of trouble, and that’s only the ones we hear about. I heard of one girl turning up with a baby in her arms. The fella she was living with dumped her. The nuns turned her away from the door. Now she’s on the game. Some of them have even ended up shut away in the laundry. But they’re a bit before our time. No, forget that idea. Give it a few years, you are still only finding your feet.’ Then she pulled me tighter into her and dragged me off down the road, away from Westmoreland Street and the ticket office for the boat to London.
I hesitated, pulling away from her, looking back at the ticket office. ‘Ah, yeah, Laura, I know what you’re saying. But it would make no difference to me. I don’t know anyone even here. Never mind London. I have a better chance of getting a job over there,’ I said, looking at her watching me carefully. I wanted to believe she was right I should stay here. But I still thought I should take the chance.