So yesterday I manoeuvred Delphine into asking why you’d sent the little paper boat. Viv was nearby and I said the boat was to bring me home for Christmas! Smart, huh! But I’m going to say it to her soon and put an end to all of this uncertainty!
I think I’d better sign off, before me paw falls off! I hope your maw’s keeping me monumental coffee-table shined up! Tell both your parents that I was asking for them, won’t you?
Be sure and write soon.
Lots of love,
Catherine
PS When Dynasty starts keep me informed, won’t you? Also, I’m thinking very seriously of taking up a correspondence course here which lasts for nineteen months. I have sent away for info. I should have settled for definite by the next time I write.
PPS Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile In other words ‘chin up’ and don’t worry.
If you’re still gracing WRTC with your presence, let me know how life is going there. Also, why didn’t you say to whatshisname, ‘I’ve always found you very cheerful, but gay would be a bit of an exaggeration!’ I can just see you going up to him saying, ‘Remember last month you asked me if I thought you were gay, well …’
Any idea what Hally’s* doing? What’s the new biology teacher like? Is Pepper† improving any, and is Goofy‡ still as nosy as ever?
Remington Steele is starting here on Sunday afternoons at 2.30 p.m. But I doubt that I’ll get to see much of it with the kids! Anyway, Sunday afternoons I go to the beach to watch the wind-surfing.
Have only had one letter from Anne Maher so far. Have completely given up on her! Weather is terrific at the moment. There was even a woman swimming last Sunday! And, what’s more, she wasn’t wearing the top of her bikini!
Please excuse the untidiness of all these extra notes that I’ve suddenly remembered. But I’m not going to go upstairs again for my notepaper!
Letter 10 / Isn’t it great, being eighteen?
Carrick
Sunday, 27 November 1983
How ya, Kitty,
It’s meself is in it. You must be wondering where I was all this time but the truth is your letter was late coming. ‘Now,’ sez I, ‘what’s happened to my friend, my bosom pal even? Have the French froggies taken their toll?’ I was on the point of engaging Sherlock Holmes (or his equivalent) to solve the mystery of the missing Kitty when along came your letter!
Seriously, though, your letter was a breath of fresh air. Anyway, a thousand apologies for the dismal down-heartedness of the last letter. This one will be better (sez you, ‘Anything would be an improvement’).
Well, any road, I’m still gracing WRTC with my presence (as you so aptly put it). Actually I was nearly in trouble last week. Twelve of us were called to Mr Merriman’s office (you should hear what he’s called) for not paying the college fees yet. Was I telling you that I also got a letter from Griffin (the principal) saying if I didn’t pay up I’d be out? Anyway, we had to go up three at a time. Robert (the good-lookin’ punk) and Kay were with me. I went in half expecting to be thrown out on the spot but he was very nice. I had to explain to him that although the others’ grants had come through, mine hadn’t yet and so I couldn’t afford to pay 220 quid. Honestly, I felt so small as he told me not to be ashamed, that I could pay in instalments. Imagine! I felt like some second-class citizen. Any notion I had of the equality of education services in this country is eternally banished. Believe me, most of the students in my class are rolling in the green. Some of them would sicken you with the talk of cars, clothes and money, money, money. Come to think of it, I think I’ll ask Santa for ear plugs. If I don’t I’m in real danger of becoming an inverted snob!
Tut, tut. I must not be nasty, I must not be nasty, I must not be nasty.
Anyway, Maw and Paw have been decorating the ould homestead. The living room (seems too extravagant a word for this here place of eating, drinking, watching telly and other pastimes too numerous to mention) has been wallpapered in a beige paper and new lino has been put down. She got a carpet for the master bedroom (the MASTER’S bedroom!). She conned the poor salesman into cutting his price from £80 down to £28. Honestly, I ask you, how can anyone cut his profit margin by that much (unless it fell off the back of a truck in the first place)? I firmly believe that Maw could sell oil to the Arabs (or, should I say, persuade them to give it to her for nuttin’). The carpet is brown. The lino in the living room is browny tan. She also papered the loo in a brown beige paper. AND, KITTY CHICKEN, I DO DECLARE IF SHE BRINGS ANYTHING ELSE INTO THE HOUSE THAT’S BROWN, I’M BUYING A TENT AND MOVING OUT. AND YOU CAN GUESS WHAT COLOUR THE TENT WON’T BE.
Another thing, I firmly believe the age of chivalry is dead. Last Monday morning I had to stand all the way from Carrick to Waterford. Every one of the strapping young males remained glued to their seats. Any ideas of being a femme fatale have gone out the window. I also got two doors swung in my face last Friday. Now I ask you, Kitty, is that any way to treat a lady? Those damned women’s libbers and their equality agenda have ruined all hopes of chivalry. We can’t have it both ways, I know. But I still think they were a lousy bunch of so-and-sos. I mean, I wouldn’t slam a door in a fella’s face, would I?
How’s your typing coming along? Are you going to night classes? By the way, who is Annique, and I meant to ask you how did you start teaching English in the first place? Is Anne still the apple of your eye? You know something, Cathy, that was one thing that surprised me – the way you settled in with the kids. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you’re Attila the Hun or anything … but seriously, I thought you had a distaste for all them there varmints. I’m really delighted for you. I mean, after all, it’d be terrible to turn your back on those female motherly instincts, eh?
(There goes the funeral bell for S—’s grandfather. He got a terrible death from cancer.)
Anyway, to finally put you out of your misery about what Gerard said … I can’t because I’ve forgotten most of what he said. I mean, you hardly think he’d say anything memorable about an insignificant creature like you, would you, old chappie?! Seriously, though, most of what he said was an in-depth study of your character. He said you were very brave to go abroad on your own. I said something about you being confident or at least giving that impression. And wait for it – he said he thought you were as self-conscious as anybody else but you were good at hiding any insecurity. I never thought he’d be so observant, would you? That was about the gist of it but I can tell you something for nothing: he seems to have a very high regard and respect for you. Play your cards right, Kitty, and you never know …
Sue and I didn’t rejoin Macra this year. I haven’t the money actually. I saw John this morning. He put up his hand as I passed the car and I had to stop my mouth from popping open. I wonder will he be at Sue’s party this year. Will you ever forget last year – me getting stuck with the seatbelt in his car an’ all? Oh, Gawd, the embarrassment – I’m blushing at the thought. I don’t propose to be any more sophisticated now but I hope to God I never find myself in a situation like that again. Remember ‘A Winter’s Tale’? I heard it lately and I got all reminiscent, remembering your crush and the lack of outcome. Isn’t it great, Cathy, being where we are (age-wise, I mean)? I really enjoy being eighteen ’cos you have a degree of independence and yet you can act the gom if you want ’cos we’re not ‘all growed up’ yet. Without sounding corny, I find myself looking forward to the adventure of the unknown. I know a lifetime is short (and that, God forbid, my life could end tomorrow) but yet the future seems stretched out ahead and the uncertainty, while frightening at times, is exciting too. (I guess that’s m
y weak attempt at philosophical musing, but I trust you know what I mean.)
I met Wendy on Thursday. She’s doing hairdressing in Piltown with Olga Prendergast. She’s got her hair permed and looks very suave. She said she’d write to you.
I heard the Goof is gone nuts on a ‘Buy Irish’ campaign above. It’s a craze that’s taken over in many schools. Also, she is now in charge of the book-borrowing scheme since 007* is in hospital. (I wonder have the KGB done something to the latter.)
Hang on. I’m going to take a break and watch telly. (Murphy’s Micro Quiz-M is on. It’s very good. I’ll be back in a minute – or half-hour!)
Hello again. Now for a bit of gossip. Guess who got engaged. Your breadman! Who knows? It might be contagious, huh! As for Mrs Denny, I’m not sure if she is or isn’t. Actually, she was at the same Mass as Maw last week. Maw says she doesn’t look as if she is. Poor Denny, imagine having everyone scrutinising you for tell-tale signs. I heard people asked her in school but she didn’t reply. Another case for Sherlock Holmes (or even my maw)!
Actually I’ve seen a few of the James Bond movies. The stunts are great but without being a prude I must say all the female stars are employed for body rather than mental ability!
Anyway Glenroe has just started and I shamelessly admit I’m hooked. If you want a rundown I’ll oblige. If not just say the word.
Finally (‘Thank God,’ sez you, and I don’t blame you), are you or aren’t you … coming home for Christmas? Write immediately and tell me.
Lots of love and best of luck,
Mary
PS Advice from Aunty Katie, please – how can I prevent myself from becoming a heartless, calculating capitalist and still succeed as an accountant?!
PPS My grant finally came through. I can now pay off my debts and go on a tear.
Part 2
* * *
CELEBRATION
Winter 1983–4
Letter 11 / I can’t wait to see you at Christmas!
Trégunc
Saturday, 3 December 1983
Dear Mary,
Thanks a million for your letter. It was so long in coming that I was beginning to think I’d said something insulting in my last reply. But it turns out that it was my fault. Over here, y’see, they’re very sticky about stamps and the last time I wrote to you I hadn’t put enough blinking stamps on the envelope. So, a week after I posted it, the postman hands me a letter and I says to myself, ‘Janey, I knew myself and Mary wrote alike, but I didn’t realise how much alike. And didn’t she reply quickly too!’ And then I cops on that the postman is giving me funny looks, and is waiting for the extra stamps to be added.
Also a lot of letters that I receive are somewhat short on stamps – or so they say here. I think it’s all a sham to make up money! My tennis racket arrived last week. It cost Nanny £5.50 to send it (gasp!) and I’d to pay another £1.30.
Well, anyway, the six of us were at lunch when the postman came today. On Saturdays he’s early and comes at eleven thirty-ish. Well, I was delighted when I got the package and knew it was from you. I absolutely massacred the envelope! I passed the photo all around the table (it’s covered in sauce and grease and fish and pâté now … just joking!) with proud cries of ‘That’s Carrick, that’s Carrick!’ And then came ‘There’s my neighbours’, etc. The bloody ignorant eejits thought the photo was a recent one and that it was snowing there at the moment. What kind of geography do they do here anyway?
And then Bruno who knows some English sees the name ‘Catherine Cunningham’ in the RIP section [of the Opinion] and wanted to know if that was me! Y’see, none of ’em can pronounce my name. Viv always says Coulon. I think it’s because she doesn’t know the difference between u and n!
Must tell ya a good one – as my grandma’d say. Had a package during the week with unfamiliar writing on it. ‘Now, who’s this?’ I asks myself. Well, it turns out to be a book from Denny. I was thrilled to bits. Maeve Binchy’s Light a Penny Candle. Remember we always said she was the only really human one in Greenhill (Mrs Denny that is, not Maeve Binchy!) besides the students, of course. The book was a brand new copy – never read by anyone – and it cost £2.50 to send it! I feel quite guilty. Well, I’ll bring it home at Xmas, and if you don’t read it, I’ll bloody well do I don’t know what to you! Okay? It’s terrific! I laughed my heart out, bawled my eyes out and thoroughly enjoyed it. I read the six hundred pages in twenty-four hours! Good thing Viv used to be a book worm and understands.
Naturally she included a letter too. She seems in great form although the hubby’s not in the best of health. She’s taking Cordon Bleu classes in Clonmel. Well, the funny thing is she told me that the rumour (which had never reached my ears!) that Miss Harte was pregnant wasn’t true. I nearly fell off the bed laughing when I read that. I took my courage in my two hands and told her how ironical she had been when I wrote back!
Have got very few letters lately. Wrote to Celia over a month ago and haven’t heard a word since. The same applies to Eleanor. I’m getting afraid now that I said something I shouldn’t have to them. Had a letter from Catherine Cummins the same day that Denny’s arrived. Y’know, I never ever read any of Catherine’s English lessons the whole time I was at school. I really regret it now. Remember how intelligent and deep-thinking and Hawkeye-ish (M*A*S*H) we used to think she was. Boy, did we understate it! I think if I were as concerned about the problems of the world as she is, I’d jump off the bell-tower in St Phil’s Church, that’s if they ever finish putting the bloody thing up!
Speaking of WRTC, have you cheered up down there? Glad you got your grant. Your classmates sound terrific. Few words of advice. We all get down and out now ’n’ again. Put on a weepy record and bawl for half an hour or put on a cheery one and dance for half an hour. Either way you’ll feel better afterwards! At least, that works for me. Only at the moment the tape-recorder has disappeared and I can’t play the record-player as it’s in the same room as the telly, which goes day and night!
Have you made any friends down there? I don’t mean acquaintances. What’s the boy–girl relationship like? Is everyone stiff and shy, or the opposite with the type of jokes and comments you wouldn’t tell your mother? D’you meet a lot of the girls from school?
Isn’t it horrible asking a question and having to wait a fortnight for the reply? I said that to Sue last time I wrote. I’m really looking forward to seeing you when I come home. Be prepared to sit in Galvin’s/Central Grill/ice-cream parlour or all three for at least four hours, while we catch up on all the news. I mean, it’s not the same when we write, is it? D’you think we’ll have changed in our reactions towards each other? I’d hate it if we had.
Was I curt in my last letter insinuating I didn’t want to hear from you when you’re depressed? Please accept my apologies if I was. If telling me your problems and miseries makes you feel cheerful (and me miserable, you sadist!), please tell them to me. Think of me as your psycho-whatever it is. Enough aimless wandering!
Great news, I’ve got over my allergy to God’s most beautiful creatures – cats. It was awful when I first arrived. If I just looked at Mimique it was sneeze, sneeze, sneeze. Now I’m sitting on my bed, while he’s keeping me little tootsies warm. D’you think if I locked myself up in a glasshouse for a month I’d have no more problems with pollen?
Gerard would make a terrific psycho-whatever it is! I think most people think of me as being the fearless white warrior, afraid of nothing, overflowing with self-confidence and courage, always daring, never shy! I’m not a bit like that really. The reason I always wear rather long skirts (apart from the fact that me legs look like stumps of trees!) is so that n
obody’ll see my knees knocking! And I’m not exaggerating. I generally have to force myself to do things. And as for going into the big bad world all on my little ownio, well, I’d rather face that than the next fifty years in Glen! So, I think it’s wrong to take people at face value and say, ‘Oh, she’s never afraid and is full of self-confidence etc.’ End of lecture!
Speaking of Gerard, pity he’s Sue’s brother. I mean, if you were ever ‘going’ with him and broke it off afterwards, well, things would be rather difficult. I’m sure you know what I mean. Anyway, I think I’d rather have Gerard as a friend without any romantic ties. And truthfully, I can’t envision any of the latter between any of us and him. I mean, can you just switch from friend to boyfriend? Vice versa, perhaps. Can you see what I’m driving at? If not, bring it up again and I’ll try to explain.
I’ve a feeling yourself and Sue don’t spend hours on the phone each week, so hopefully all of my confidences are reasonably safe.
I’m looking forward to Sue’s party even though as of yet I don’t know if it’s definite. Last time she wrote she said Michael was still unattached. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. But then I suppose attachments don’t mean anything to him! I really intend enjoying myself this Christmas.
Last year was great – even if I felt so embarrassed about Tom. But still, the over-the-moon feeling was great while it lasted. I wonder what he thought of it all (I’m sure he was up to date)? But, then, with his fantastic looks, he’s probably well used to it!
I don’t know if I agree with you about it being great being eighteen. I’m kinda apprehensive, waiting for ‘it all’ to come. I think twenty-two, twenty-three’d be better. Then you’d be sophisticated and knowledgeable and wouldn’t understand the words ‘shy’ and ‘blush’. But when I was fifteen or sixteen I used to think you’d be as previously mentioned at the age of eighteen. I think Janis Ian’s song ‘At 17’ could be called ‘At 18’ as well. But hopefully not ‘At 19’!
Dear Cathy ... Love, Mary Page 7