‘God bless the king,’ interjected Gabriel, laughing, ‘but he must have got a bit of a shock when he produced his sword to knight Mr Murphy and he politely declined.’
‘The man is an absolute disgrace, not only to insult the king but also to cause such embarrassment during the royal visit,’ declared Mother angrily.
Nellie wondered why on earth Mr Murphy, one of Dublin’s most powerful citizens, who not only owned the Dublin Tram Company but also Independent Newspapers and was the driving force behind this exhibition of modern industry and innovation, would refuse such a royal honour.
‘Perhaps he sets no store by a British or royal title,’ she suggested.
‘Sir Murphy … Lord William Murphy …’ giggled Sidney. ‘Why, it doesn’t even sound right!’
‘Well, title or not, Mr Murphy and his fellow organizers deserve huge credit for the planning of this magnificent event,’ said Father as a waiter cleared their table. ‘So let us go and see more of the many amusements on offer.’
Nellie and her sisters joined the enormous queue for the famous Giant Water Chute, which towered above them into the sky. Muriel gripped her hand as their painted boat was raised up and up, climbing an alarming height to the top of the steep chute. The two of them screamed madly as they were suddenly pitched downwards in a terrifying, soaking plunge into the splashing water below. It left them gasping and laughing and wet, but longing to do it all over again.
They went on the helter-skelter, the swing boats, the big carousel, and watched a hilarious Punch and Judy show. Nellie had also noticed a tantalizing hot-air balloon floating high in the sky and persuaded her sisters to come along to see it. The balloon itself was enormous and seemed to wobble and move in the air, a fierce gushing sound emanating from it every now and then as a gas burner heated the air that filled it. There was also a large wicker basket attached to the balloon and the man who owned it would permit a few people to clamber in, and then release the hot-air-filled balloon to fly upwards into the sky.
Nellie watched entranced as it lifted off, climbing higher and higher above their heads, the passengers in their basket seeming almost to disappear. However, the huge balloon was tethered and anchored firmly to the ground to stop it from floating away. It was the most thrilling thing she had ever seen and she just knew she had to try it.
Eventually their turn came. Nellie paid for her sisters to come with her and they all climbed in. She was shaking with nerves as the basket began to wobble and tilt. Suddenly it lifted as the balloon filled and moved upwards, the basket lurching off the ground as they went higher and higher. She held on to her hat as she felt the wind catch it, and looking down below she could see the heads of people, the lake and the carousel all becoming more and more distant.
Afraid, Muriel had clenched her eyes tightly shut.
‘Open them,’ Nellie urged her sister, feeling giddy and excited. ‘Look around – it is amazing. We are flying, like birds high in the sky, like the aviator Mr Wright and his brother.’
Far below she could see the roads of the city and the churches, Sandymount Strand and Dublin Bay, with a few sailing boats bobbing in the waves. Nellie dearly wished that she could stay up here for ever, that the balloon would slip its anchor ropes so they could fly away across the blue, blue sky …
Ten minutes later the hot-air balloon began to descend. Disappointed, Nellie took a firm grip on the basket as the exhibition and visitors all came gradually back into focus and they landed with a thud where they had started.
Her legs felt weak, but she would have adored to have gone straight back up again.
Father, to their surprise, had booked a large table in the Palace Restaurant so they could dine in fine style before attending that night’s concert.
‘It is all so beautiful here,’ sighed Mother, looking dreamily around her, ‘but what will happen when the exhibition ends in November?’
‘The Earl of Pembroke gave this land to the council to honour his son Herbert’s coming of age, and some say that in the future it may become a public park,’ said Father.
As the sky grew dark and night fell, they watched thousands of lights illuminate the Italianate terraces and the palaces and lake, and Nellie vowed to return to visit the wonderful exhibition again.
Chapter 12
Muriel
MURIEL SAT NERVOUSLY awaiting her turn to be interviewed by the lady superintendent in charge of Sir Patrick Dun’s Nursing School. Miss Haughton had a formidable reputation and was said to be ruthless in weeding out those she considered unsuitable to train as probationers in the hospital.
This interview was hugely important to Muriel – she had her heart set on becoming a nurse. She was growing tired of assisting Mother with her church work, and was bored attending the rounds of teas, lunches, balls and other engagements that filled an unmarried young lady’s social calendar. She had always considered nursing a fine profession and now that she was twenty-one she was finally old enough to apply for the nursing school here at Sir Patrick Dun’s.
Suddenly the heavy wooden door opened and a tall girl emerged, looking red-faced and flustered. Muriel wished she could ask her about the interview, but suddenly her own name was called.
Miss Haughton sat upright at a big mahogany desk in front of a bookcase lined with an array of medical texts. She was smaller than Muriel had expected. On the far wall was a plaque from Guy’s Hospital in London where she had trained.
‘So you want to be a nurse?’ she began, her bright eyes inquisitive.
‘Yes,’ stammered Muriel. ‘I’ve wanted to train as a nurse for years. I—’
‘Do tell me why,’ said the other woman firmly. ‘It is the obvious question, given the long hours and punishing work most of my nurses must learn to accept.’
Muriel had planned to say that she would find nursing patients both interesting and rewarding, but instead, strangely, she found herself talking about Gerald.
‘My brother died when I was only sixteen,’ she said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘The doctor told us that he had a brain infection. It was hopeless, although everyone did everything they could to try to save him. Nothing could be done. He was well one day and dying a day later … how could that be?’
The other woman leaned forward slightly in her chair, listening.
‘I sat with him, cared for him and helped my mother to nurse him, and even right up to the end I talked to him all the time, for I knew he would be scared.’
‘Could he hear you?’ Miss Haughton asked gently.
‘I’m not sure. They said he was unconscious near the end, but I kept talking as I didn’t want Gerald to be afraid. He died at home.’
‘So, you have seen death.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, looking down at the floor, trying to control her voice and emotions.
‘No easy thing, no matter how often we see it.’
Nodding in agreement, Muriel took a sharp breath.
‘Now, Miss Gifford, please tell me about your schooling and exam results.’
Muriel found herself wishing she had applied herself better during her time at Alexandra College, but the other woman seemed satisfied with her answers.
‘I see you have provided references of your character and also the necessary medical and dental certificates fully signed by your own physician and dentist. We must ensure our probationers are healthy enough to work on the wards looking after sick patients, which is demanding to say the least. You haven’t had any back problems, have you?’
‘No,’ she replied, looking Miss Haughton straight in the eye.
‘Also, our probationers must pass an English exam, which we will arrange for you to take at the Technical School for Nurses within the next two weeks. Have you any questions, Miss Gifford?’
‘I just wondered how soon I would be working on the wards.’ Muriel stopped suddenly, realizing that she sounded presumptuous. ‘What I mean is, if I am considered at all suitable …’
She saw Miss Haughton stif
fen.
‘All our probationers are on a three-month trial and must attend the hospital’s preliminary training school for six weeks’ instruction before they are admitted to the wards. Our probationers also attend lectures at the Dublin Metropolitan Technical School for Nurses. Have you any more questions?’
‘No, thank you, Miss Haughton.’ Muriel’s mouth felt horribly dry.
Suddenly the older woman closed the paper folder in front of her. The interview was at an end.
‘Miss Gifford, once we know the results of your English exam you will receive a letter confirming whether or not you have been accepted as a probationer here at Sir Patrick Dun’s. All decisions are final. There is no appeal process.’
‘I understand,’ Muriel said, pushing back her chair and standing up. ‘Thank you, Miss Haughton.’
Walking along Grand Canal Street she felt almost dizzy with relief that the ordeal was over and hoped fervently that she had met Miss Haughton’s stringent criteria.
Muriel was overjoyed when the official letter arrived from Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital offering her a place as probationer nurse.
‘You will make a wonderful nurse,’ Nellie congratulated her warmly. ‘They are lucky to get you.’
Mother pursed her lips when Muriel showed her the letter. She and Father both tried to dissuade her from accepting the position, saying that nursing was too onerous a career for a bright, intelligent young woman of means.
‘My three sisters were wedded to their nursing careers and where did it get them?’ Mother proclaimed disapprovingly. ‘Spinsters, with no time for suitors or husbands.’
‘Nursing is important work,’ Father reminded her gently, ‘and Muriel is not like your sisters.’
‘You are over twenty-one, Muriel,’ Mother finally conceded, ‘and if this is what you want there is little your father and I can do to stop you.’
‘Mother, can’t you be happy for me, please?’
‘I am, dear, and naturally very proud that you are accepted by one of Dublin’s foremost hospitals, but—’
‘Please Mother – no buts!’
Father, despite his reservations, generously agreed to pay the hospital’s £25 enrolment fee and also to provide the money necessary for Muriel’s indoor and outdoor nurse’s uniforms.
‘You’ll probably meet a handsome doctor and fall madly in love,’ Sidney sighed enviously.
‘I will be far too busy working on the wards for something like that to happen,’ she retorted primly. ‘Nursing is very hard work.’
Her youngest sister could be annoying at times. Set on becoming a journalist, Sidney was already secretly submitting articles to a number of papers, some of which Mother and Father would certainly never approve of, including Mr Griffith’s Sinn Fein paper, which Claude called a Fenian rag.
‘Talk about surprising the mater and pater,’ joked Gabriel when he heard Muriel’s news. ‘You’re a beauty and they probably both thought they would have you married off to one of Claude’s boring rich legal friends by now!’
‘Don’t be such a tease,’ Muriel begged her brother. ‘I am doing exactly what I want to do.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Poor Mother.’
Chapter 13
Grace
GRACE COULD HARDLY believe her good fortune. Mother and Father had finally agreed to let her apply to continue her art studies at the Slade School of Art in London and she had succeeded in securing a much-coveted interview there.
As she began to pack and organize for this great adventure, Mother informed her that she had decided that she herself would chaperone and oversee her journey to London and her enrolment at the Slade that September.
Despite Grace’s vehement protests that she was well able to cross the Irish Sea unaccompanied, Mother would not change her mind.
‘But I will be safe, and Ernest has promised he will meet me at the station,’ she pleaded, hoping that the fact that she would be in the care of her older brother, who was working in London as an engineer, would satisfy Mother.
‘We will share a cabin, so that will make the crossing easier,’ Mother insisted, determined to travel to London with her daughter and ensure that she found accommodation suitable for a young lady attending college.
‘Oh how I wish she would stay at home!’ Grace whispered to Muriel, who was due shortly to start her training as a nurse.
As they got ready to leave Dublin, Grace grew nervous. The Slade School of Art was known the world over, and William Orpen had no doubt had a hand in helping her be considered for a place.
‘Lucky you,’ said Sidney enviously as Grace said goodbye. Father hugged her, slipping her some pound notes to hide from her mother.
A cab collected them to take them to Kingstown, from where they would take the boat to Holyhead and then travel on by train directly to London.
The boat was crowded and Grace was relieved that they had a cabin as other people tried to find somewhere to sit on the main passenger deck. She watched as their fellow travellers clung to the rails outside, waving goodbye to sweethearts and family. Some would never return to Ireland – gangs of young Irish men in search of better-paid labouring work and pale-faced girls who would take up jobs as waitresses and maids in big households and hotels.
They had a light supper in the dining room and Grace took a turn around the deck before returning to the confines of their small cabin. Mother was feeling most unwell and lay silently on her bunk with her eyes closed, gripping a cologne-soaked handkerchief. Grace had to admit to feeling rather queasy too as they set off across the Irish Sea.
Arriving in London after the long journey, Grace and Mother both longed for their hotel and the chance to freshen up with a bath and a rest before Ernest arrived to join them for dinner. Later, when they met in the dining room of the Cumberland Hotel, her brother twirled Grace in his arms and told her she looked very striking and elegant and was already attracting the attention of their fellow diners.
He was well settled into London life and society and promised to introduce Grace to some of his circle of friends.
‘I will guard her as a big brother should,’ he promised Mother as she interrogated him about his work, friends and the kind of milieu in which he mixed.
She and Mother went shopping on Oxford Street and Regent Street. Grace had her own sense of style, knowing well what suited her tall, slender frame and her colouring. Mother nodded approvingly at the fine wool suit and the classic shirts with pin-tucked details she bought in Dickins & Jones. The next day they visited Harrods, a stunning department store on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge, where Mother bought a fitted oyster-coloured suit which showed off her slender frame, as well as a beautiful, pale-grey evening dress with a fine pattern of silk and pearls around the neckline – ideal for dinner parties and the opera.
‘Mother, you have a wonderful figure and it is perfect for you. Father will definitely approve.’
They went for lunch in The Savoy to celebrate buying two beautiful hats from the milliner near their hotel. Mother’s keen eye raked over their fellow guests and their style. Grace was already giddy with the heady pace of London life compared to Dublin.
The following day she took a cab from their hotel to Gower Street, to the Slade, part of University College London. Passing through the gates, she was immediately impressed by the large Greek-style building with its columns and ornate dome which overlooked a wide quadrangle flanked on either side by sweeping bow-centred buildings.
A student directed her to the left, where she found the entrance to the Slade School of Fine Art. Inside the door was a large stone staircase which fanned out in both directions at the top. As she walked in, she caught a glimpse through a doorway of an airy, high-ceilinged studio where students were busy sculpting.
A few minutes later she was shown into an office that overlooked the grounds, its walls adorned with the work of previous students and a photograph of some of them. She had brought a portfolio of her work and was nervous about her interview with
Miss Morison, the lady superintendent who met all potential women students. Admittance to the Slade was based solely on her recommendation. A tall woman with bright eyes, wearing a crisp white shirt with a navy suit, she studied Grace’s exam results from Alexandra College and Dublin’s Metropolitan School of Art.
‘I see here that you won some prizes there and also that Mr William Orpen considers that you have a talent that should be developed here in our fine art department,’ she said, looking over her glasses.
Grace blushed as the other woman lightly turned the pages and studied some of her artwork, enquiring why she had chosen to apply to the Slade.
‘I want to come and study here because I need to learn more if I ever hope to become a fine artist,’ Grace explained truthfully, trying to hide her nervousness.
Miss Morison said very little and seemed to be far more interested in the samples of her work than in continuing the conversation. ‘For those who are accepted, the first term at the Slade begins in October and runs until Christmas week,’ she stated.
‘When will I hear?’ Grace pressed, her voice suddenly quivering.
‘I presume you are in London for the present? Where are you staying?’
Grace gave the address of their hotel.
‘Then you should hear in the next day or two,’ Miss Morison said, reaching to shake her hand.
Walking back out across the quad, Grace lingered in the early-autumn sunshine, hoping fervently that she would be accepted to study here.
Next day they visited London’s National Gallery and Mother talked about her uncle, Sir Frederick Burton, the director of the gallery who had enlarged it and purchased so many of the Old Masters that were on display. Grace was suddenly filled with a strange sense of belonging and of destiny, thinking of what her grand-uncle had achieved here in the heart of the British empire. Outside the gallery, which stood like a Greek colossus overlooking Trafalgar Square, Grace thought about how Sir Frederick had filled his life with painting and art and travel, and she felt immensely proud of all his achievements.
Rebel Sisters Page 6