Suffer The Little Children

by Frances Reilly

  ‘Yeh, I’m sure. Now hurry up before I change my mind.’

  Glancing furtively behind me, I scraped my dinner onto her plate and watched in amazement as she cut up the fat and gristle and swallowed each piece, without chewing it, until the plate was empty.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Farm

  ‘Come with me, Reilly.’ Sister Thomas’s spiteful voice sent a shiver through me.

  What had I done wrong this time? ‘Yes, Sister.’ I jumped to my feet and threw my scrubbing brush into a bucket.

  She walked briskly ahead along the corridor, and I had to run to keep up. Girls weren’t supposed to run, so I was lucky she didn’t notice. On the other hand, I’d be in trouble if I didn’t match her pace. My knees were aching, and my hands were frozen, wrinkled and wet. I wiped them on my skirt as I hurried along.

  Soon we arrived at a large, unfamiliar room, where groups of nuns stood at big wooden trestle tables sorting through all manner of items donated to the convent. Most of it was children’s clothing, but there were also boxes of toys, bedding and all sorts of other knick-knacks. On one table, I spotted some really pretty dresses; on another, a beautiful coat, and I thought how wonderful it would be to change out of my drab convent clothes and to dress like an ordinary child for once. Sister Thomas must have read my thoughts.

  ‘You won’t be getting anything like that to wear, Reilly, so take your eyes off them.’

  She told a small, thin nun that a good Catholic family from outside Belfast was taking me out, and I needed some sensible clothes, plus a small suitcase, ‘but nothing too fancy, mind, she’s one of the Reillys’. The thin nun gave Sister Thomas a significant look and wandered off to a huge cupboard where she began picking out skirts and jumpers. Sister Thomas told me to strip down to my underwear. Soon the other nun was back with an armful of clothes.

  ‘Try these on,’ she said.

  Sister Thomas selected the items she felt were appropriate for a Reilly. The thin nun returned with a small, tattered but functional brown suitcase, which she handed to Sister Thomas, and a coat, which she gave to me. The coat was double-breasted, beige, with a brown collar and six large brown buttons. It felt heavy and itched against my bare arms and legs, but I didn’t mind a bit. Not only was it much better quality than anything I normally wore, but it was also a symbol of the world outside the convent.

  ‘That will do fine,’ Sister Thomas said to the thin nun. She packed the clothes into the suitcase, along with a hairbrush, comb and toothbrush, closed the case and handed it to me. ‘Take this to the dormitory and wait there for me.’

  On my way to the dormitory I passed a group of girls working on their knees. Each girl had a bucket by her side and a large wooden scrubbing brush in her hand. The familiar smell of Jeyes Fluid filled my nostrils. The girls stared up at me as I walked by with my suitcase and coat, as if to say, ‘Where are you going?’ But no one dared speak. I felt very strange. It was clear that I was going somewhere, but I had no idea where.

  I wondered whether Loretta or Sinéad were coming with me. Although we were often kept apart inside the convent, it was comforting to know that they were close at hand, and I’d got used to Sinéad being with me again since she’d moved up to the juniors. To be separated by many miles, and perhaps for several days, was a frightening prospect, but I tried to push the idea out of my mind.

  The dormitory was empty. I put the suitcase on the floor and placed the coat neatly at the bottom of my bed, then sat on the edge of the bed and waited, feeling quite bewildered. A few minutes later Mary came in to get something from her locker.

  ‘Are you getting out?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I think it’s for the weekend, but I don’t know for sure.’

  ‘Well, good luck. I wish it was me.’ She seemed even more fed up than usual, which didn’t surprise me – we all had our own dream of what it would be like to get out, and seeing someone else going, no matter how pleased you might be for them, made you feel even more trapped.

  Mary left, and I sat alone waiting for Sister Thomas, worrying about what might happen next. After about half an hour I heard the approach of heavy footsteps. I jumped up, tidied the bedding and was waiting smartly by the bed when she entered the room.

  ‘You’re staying on a farm for the weekend with a family called the Murphys. You will be on your best behaviour, Reilly! You will say nothing bad about the good sisters who have taken you in off the street and cared for you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  I tried to picture where I was going, what would I see and whom I’d meet. I was apprehensive but also very excited. I found it hard to imagine what the countryside looked like, although I’d formed a rough idea from talking to the other girls, most of whom came from rural backgrounds.

  ‘Remember, God watches you all the time, and we will be getting reports from the Murphys.’

  She didn’t seem happy that I was going on a trip and continued with her list of instructions. Mostly it comprised things I was not to talk about and how to answer questions. I listened carefully. I didn’t want to get anything wrong, as I was terrified about what Sister Thomas would do if the Murphys said anything bad about me. They were obviously friends of the convent, so I was going to have to pretend that the nuns were great.

  Just as I was beginning to feel that the list of dos and don’ts would last forever, she said, ‘Get ready now, they will be here soon.’ She placed the suitcase on my bed and opened it. Fumbling about inside it, she pulled out a set of clothing. ‘Put these on. Quickly, Reilly! I’ll be back for you when they arrive. And don’t forget all I’ve told you. God is watching you, Reilly.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief as she left – at least now I knew what was happening. As I got dressed, I went over everything she’d said. The list of instructions was long, and I couldn’t remember everything, but the general idea was clear enough. I was to make out that the Poor Sisters of Nazareth were angels and that all the girls, especially the Reillys, were so grateful and lucky to have been taken in and looked after by them. If it weren’t for the nuns, where would we be?

  Sister Thomas needn’t have worried. In spite of how much I hated the nuns, especially her, I’d been in the convent long enough to know the rules and understand that it was pointless trying to go against them. No one would believe me if I said anything bad against the Poor Sisters. And if I dared to criticise them, I knew I’d be severely beaten.

  Suddenly feeling sick, I sat on the edge of the bed wondering why I wasn’t happy and excited to be getting out of the convent for the first time. But putting on the strange clothes had made me feel like a different person – the yellow dress and white cardigan felt good but alien to me. For as long as I could remember I’d worn nothing but regulation convent clothing, so wearing something different was going to take some getting used to. In fact, I was so preoccupied with my new outfit that I didn’t notice Loretta come into the dormitory. Standing right in front of me, she held out her hands to give me a hug.

  ‘I heard you were getting out for the weekend. Take care of yourself now, and bring me something back if you can.’

  We hugged, and suddenly, I felt a whole lot better.

  ‘If I don’t see Sinéad, tell her that I’ll try to bring something back for her, too – and that I’ll see her as soon as I can after the weekend,’ I said.

  ‘I will. Now you go on and enjoy yourself. I’d better be gone. I’m not supposed to be here. ‘Bye, Frances.’ Loretta dashed off.

  I was used to our brief meetings – she’d become skilled at sneaking away to find Sinéad or me. If caught, she would be in big trouble, but the risk was worth it. Explaining to the nuns that she was just saying goodbye would have been a waste of time, though. What did they care? No sooner had she left the dormitory than Sister Thomas returned.

  ‘They’re here for you. Now remember, Reilly, don’t embarrass the convent. Follow me!’

  I picked up the suitcase and coat and followed her down se
veral flights of stairs towards the entrance hall. As we approached the main door, I saw the Reverend Mother talking to a middle-aged man. The man was holding a cap in one hand and a pipe in the other.

  I waited quietly next to Sister Thomas, a few feet away from the Reverend Mother and the man. I looked briefly at him but was afraid of being caught staring, so instead raised my eyes to the big statue of Our Lady, who seemed to be gazing directly at me with her sad stone eyes. Soon I sneaked another glance at the man. He wore heavy brown trousers, plain brown shoes and a worn tweed jacket. His hands were huge. I wondered if all farmers had big hands. His hair was short and silvery grey; he was big and tall but well built rather than fat.

  ‘Ah, here she is at last. This is Frances Reilly. If you have any problems with her, just bring her straight back.’

  The Reverend Mother spoke as if they’d been waiting around for me all day. The man leant over and picked up my suitcase. The Reverend Mother swept off down the corridor.

  ‘Now, Frances,’ Sister Thomas said in a markedly different tone to normal. ‘Put your coat on, and I’ll see you to the gate.’

  I was so shocked by her change in manner that I couldn’t help but stare at her. We were never called by our first names, and it was really strange to hear her talking that way, as if she cared. The man took me by the hand, and we followed Sister Thomas along a gravel path to the main gate, where they said their goodbyes and God blesses. We stepped outside, and the gate closed behind us.

  I listened to the sound of the gate being locked from the inside. It felt very strange to be locked out of the walls, rather than inside them. Also, this was the first time I’d been on the road into Belfast since the day, six years before, when I’d last seen my mother. As I watched the cars go by, I couldn’t help but think back to that day with an overwhelming sense of loss. I missed my mother and two brothers and wondered if I’d ever see them again. I glanced across the road to the Good Shepherd Convent, home to Marie, the older sister I’d never met. Just as I was beginning to wonder about her, the stranger holding my hand said, ‘I’m Tom Murphy, and you’re Frances, is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, trying to get used to being called by my first name.

  Mr Murphy explained that we were going on a bus and then a train to Moira, where he lived on a small farm with his brother, Barry, his brother’s wife, Siobhan, and their children. He said he was Uncle Tom to everyone who knew him and that he’d love it if I called him that, too. I liked the idea of having someone to call uncle, as I hadn’t had anyone apart from my sisters to think of as family until then.

  It felt nice to hold his hand, and I started to feel part of something other than the convent, but then my heart sank as I realised that Loretta and Sinéad weren’t going to like this – they weren’t going to be part of this uncle. Suddenly, I felt awful and wished that my sisters were with me. I told Uncle Tom about them, hoping that he could get them out, too, but although he showed some interest in what I was saying, he made it clear that there was only room for me.

  ‘Just one convent girl, to help out the Poor Sisters, who are so kind,’ he said, like it was going to get him into Heaven.

  We came to a bus stop and didn’t have to wait long for the bus to arrive. Tom guided me to the seats at the back of the bus, and I watched, fascinated, as the conductor walked down the aisle collecting fares and issuing tickets. When he got to us, Tom asked for one and one-half to the station. The conductor rolled out the tickets.

  ‘Is this your wee girl? Isn’t she well behaved,’ he said, smiling down at me. I smiled back.

  ‘She’s one of those orphans from the convent. I’ve got her out for the weekend,’ Tom said.

  The other passengers turned and looked at Tom like he was some kind of martyr. A women shouted out, ‘God bless ye, mister.’

  I was embarrassed, but Tom appeared to love the attention and he nodded at them, saying, ‘Thank you, thank you.’

  I lowered my head to hide my face. When I raised it again, people were smiling at me with pity in their eyes. I didn’t much feel like smiling back, so I sat with my gaze riveted to the floor.

  The bus stopped several times before I lifted my head again. Various people had got on and off, and no one was staring any more. Feeling better, I looked out of the window and tried to enjoy the journey, and it wasn’t long before we arrived at the train station. I was transfixed by the sight of so many people rushing around and thought how great it must be to be able to do what you wanted and go where you pleased. I envied those people their freedom and wondered if I would ever become one of them.

  Tom guided me off the bus and into the station. He seemed to know his way about and told me that we’d have to hurry to the platform because the train was about to go. I held on to him tightly as we rushed through the crowds. On the platform, a guard was hurrying people into the train and closing doors behind them. Tom lifted me up and into a seat.

  Opposite us sat a middle-aged woman with shopping bags and a young girl. Before long Tom was explaining that he’d just picked up an orphan from Nazareth House for the weekend. The woman seemed really interested and told Tom how wonderful she thought he was for taking me in. She went to her purse, took out a few coins and told him to buy me some sweets. Looking around the carriage, I again saw that look of pity in people’s eyes. My face grew hot and red, and I wanted to disappear. It was clear that Tom wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to introduce me as his little weekend orphan girl. I hated that word, ‘orphan’, and would have been a lot happier if he hadn’t kept describing me that way. I could have pretended that I was a normal child out with my uncle for the weekend, instead of feeling like an animal at the zoo. I tried to block out the staring faces by turning my attention to the view.

  The train had left Belfast and was now travelling through the countryside. I’d been too young when I entered the convent to have any clear memories of life outside its walls, so almost everything I saw through the window was new to me. I was amazed, completely blown away by the wonder of it. Everything was so green. I’d never seen large wooded areas before or fields full of crops or meadows. There were sheep in the grassy fields, black-and-white cows and, occasionally, pigs – and I’d never seen any of those before either, not even in pictures. There were no animals in the convent, and I don’t remember seeing any picture books. At the age of eight, possibly the only animal I could recognise, apart from a cat or a dog, was a donkey. And that was only because Jesus had ridden one into Jerusalem.

  Some of the girls had talked about horses, and I wondered if there would be any at Tom’s farm. I loved the idea of horses. I tried to imagine the farm and the rest of Tom’s family. Tom seemed to like me, but would they? I hoped so. I was enjoying being out of the convent and didn’t want anything to spoil that feeling.

  The journey seemed to last ages, and I was glad when the train arrived at Moira. Tom told me that it was a bit of a walk to the farm, but that it would do us good and on the way we could stop at the shops. He said that he wanted some tobacco for his pipe and that I could buy sweets with the money I’d been given. I didn’t mind the walk, especially when we got on to the country roads. I loved looking at the cows and sheep in the fields on the way. Soon we came to a row of houses, one of which had been converted into a shop. The shopkeeper seemed to know Tom really well.

  ‘Is this the wee orphan, Tom?’ she said, as if I couldn’t hear.

  They chatted for a while before Tom bought his tobacco and some sweets for his niece, nephews and me. From here, he told me, it was now only a ten-minute walk to the house. We made our way through open farmland past several small farms. I couldn’t believe how different – how full of life – the landscape was, compared to the drab, dark brick walls of the convent. The greenness of the fields dazzled my eyes; I wanted to study every animal we passed.

  ‘Here we are, then,’ said Tom, pointing to a bungalow at the end of a long drive. Next to the bungalow was a farmyard complete with small outbuildings, barns and
several animal pens. He took me by the hand and led me up a path towards the front of the house. Brightly coloured flowers lined both sides of the path, and a sweet fragrance filled the air. As we came closer to the bungalow, I saw young faces peering through the windows.

  Tom walked me round to a door at the back. ‘Only friends and family come through the back door,’ he said with a warm smile.

  The hot kitchen was filled with the lovely smell of home cooking. Freshly baked loaves and rolls rested on cooling trays on a large table. I’d never smelt anything so good in my life and suddenly felt extremely hungry. A jolly-looking plump woman was bending over to put some pies into a very hot oven.

  Straightening up, she said, ‘Ah, you must be Frances. Come over and sit yourself down here. I’ll get yous a wee tea and something to eat. You must be starving after your journey. I’m Siobhan, and I’m sure we’re going to get on just fine.’ She pulled a chair out from under the table.

  Smiling shyly, I sat down. Tom pulled out a chair for himself, took a wooden pipe from his pocket and began to fill it with the tobacco he’d bought. He seemed wonderfully content as he struck a match and puffed to keep the pipe lit. I couldn’t help staring. I hadn’t realised that a pipe could bring someone so much pleasure. I found myself liking the pipe smell because it wasn’t a convent smell.

  Siobhan and Tom discussed the whereabouts of the other members of the family while she buttered bread and filled the kettle. Her round face was red from the heat of the kitchen, and her apron was covered in flour, which sprinkled over the stone floor whenever she moved. Her light-brown hair was held up in a bun at the back of her head, and after an afternoon of hot baking, loose strands were now stuck to her perspiring face and neck. It wasn’t long before she’d prepared sandwiches, scones, cakes and mugs of tea.

  ‘Eat up now, Frances. You look like you could do with a bit of meat on you,’ she said, pushing a plate across the table.