English lessons are going great with Anne. She’s a nice kid, but naturally it’s easy to say that when I only see her for an hour every week, I suppose.
I may have told you that the first week Marie-Claude suggested (or rather her mother did) that we go out together some time. Well, much as I thought, nothing has come of it. I’m not surprised, really, as I saw her in the distance on the beach one day with a guy, and they appear very friendly. I never did like gooseberries. Just the same, every week we chat for five–ten minutes and even if the conversation is strictly impersonal, well, I’ve gotten to know her a little bit better. I can see that despite her outward appearance, well, she is rather shy and insecure herself.
As you said yourself, the last time I wrote I was rather down in the dumps. Hope this humour didn’t rub off on you. My moods seem to change from one minute to the next. Most of the time I seem to be in a bad humour lately, but then just for a little nothing at all, I cheer up again. Like today when Yvan remarked how bizarre it was that I was cold. Generally everybody else has typewriter teeth while I’m toasting. But the fact that somebody, anybody, noticed I was there and alive and breathing and freezing, well, it made my day! How thick!
I am making a very conscious serious effort to come out of the cocoon I’ve spun around myself during these past nine months. It’s quite hard, you know, trying to take part in conversations with a very limited vocab, but I’m trying and appear to be succeeding. Hell, I’m not going to continue this paragraph any more. It’s too difficult to explain my feelings, and in trying to do so, I’m only boring you and wasting paper!
You were saying that you’d phoned Sue. Were you talking for long? I’d a letter from her a week before yours arrived. That’s why you’ll have to ring her up to find out about the donkeys, circus, etc. When she wrote, I got a few quick notes from two of the girls sharing her house. I suppose you’ve already heard about all of her new friends. She does tend to go on about them a bit. God only knows when she last mentioned the people I’ve already met, but her new friends do sound nice.
Am I being bitchy in the following? Sometimes I think she’s trying to make me jealous, the way she goes on about Michael. You know, much to my surprise I’ve even forgotten what he looks like. The main guy’s face before my eyes at the moment is Lambert Wilson. He’s a French actor who starred in the last film with what’s-her-name, Brooke Shields. In Sahara he unfortunately wears a beard, which means that his indescribably beautiful smile gets lost in his beard.
Speaking of which (smiles, that is, not beards), guess what else I forgot: Tom’s birthday. It’s just three days after mine, and this time last year, I thought 14 April would be a date engraved for ever and ever in my heart. But you know it never crossed my mind ’til Eleanor sorta casually mentioned it in her last letter. I mean, I didn’t want to send him a soppy card or a pressie or anything, but I feel sad and old and as if I’m made of stone because I didn’t remember him. D’you know what I’m on about? I hope you do. Have you seen or heard of him lately?
And while on this subject – Killian. Do I detect a glimmer in your eye that says spring is in the air? What’s he like? Is he good-looking or just one of those guys whose face you like without knowing why? Does he take a lot of notice of you? Has he got a girlfriend? Please pass on any comments you feel like making about him. I know if I were still pestering your doorbell ten times a week, he’d be one of our main topics of conversation, so if you feel like dedicating half a notepad to him, I’m all eyes. But I know only too well what you mean about guys who are so friendly with everybody. You never know where you are with them, do you? I mean, is he just being his normal outgoing self, or is he really interested in you? It can be quite annoying, can’t it?
Like this really gorgeous guy who works in the café/pub/ice-cream parlour just beside the beach. The first time I picked up enuf confidence to go in there for a Mars Bar (and a double Scotch!) he served me, and he seemed so friendly and gave me a devastating smile. And after that it was a Mars a week, and a heart down in the dumps if he wasn’t there, until I heard that he’s the same way with everybody, and that his two equally, or almost equally, gorgeous brothers are the same. If I say that it’s because of him I can no longer fit into my favourite summer skirt, will you get the wrong message and be disgusted? His mother lives next door to the restaurant. The bar belongs to her. But, y’see, if I ask Viv if her sons live with her, she’ll tease me dreadfully and, what’s more, is likely to mention it to his mother. I keep my peepers open every time a car passes into their place, but it’s always his mother who drives. But there’s generally a lot of traffic around midnight. I guess bats aren’t so unlucky after all!
And speaking of which, it’s now 12.02 a.m. (no, it didn’t take me two hours to write two pages, but TV sorta got in the way). So I’ll stick me pen back in me pencil case and try and get some sleep. Believe me, I need it. My appearance has gone to the dogs, and that’s an insult to the mangiest dog on the Main Street in Carrick. I want to get up early tomorrow and stick me mop in the washing-machine. Viv has promised to see if it’s long enuf for French plaits.
So just take care of yourself. Write back as soon as possible, won’t you? Y’know yerself how disappointing it is to see the postman just passing by.
Tell your parents I was asking for the two of them. Think your penpal is absolutely crazy – how old is she? Any word from Annette Cleary? Celia was home for Easter and by all accounts had a great holiday. Did I mention that Pop’s company has definitely gone down the drain again – for good? That’s all the info I know, though, on that subject.
Excuse the awful scrawl. But at least that way it’ll take you longer to read the letter.
All my love,
Catherine
PS Any idea of who’s coming to Trégunc for the twinning?
PPS Almost forgot (disaster) – best of luck in your exams!
Part 4
* * *
BLOSSOMING
Summer 1984
Letter 22 / Mary, the raving Commie!
Carrick
Monday, 11 June 1984
(Lying on my bed 6.40 p.m. on a very dull evening – how’s that for scene-setting?)
My dearest Cathy,
From now on I promise (hand over heart and fingers crossed!) that I’ll never ever apologise for taking so long to reply again. You’ll just have to lump it!
Seriously, though, I’m now on holliers and you know how it is – what with the spins in sports cars (Ferrari, of course!), dancing ’til three, shopping in Twiba’s, eating in gourmet restaurants – I just didn’t get around to it! (Actually, I don’t arise ’til din-dins and the only gourmet eating I’ve been doing is fish ’n’ chips. But sure, wot the hell?)
I got your letter during the middle of the exams and, boy, was I delighted. I used to come home on the two o’clock bus as the exams were from 9.30 to 12.30. The day your letter came, B— had come in to see me ’cos her mother was bringing in eggs to us so she said she’d come for the spin. There woz I, reading the bit where you said you wouldn’t like to be near B—’s house, and B— sitting beside me, asking what you were saying! She had finished her housekeeping job the day before and, boy, was she glad. She hated it there, I’d say. So now she’s in Tramore working in the Grill. Her mother called with eggs (again!) last Thursday and when I asked if she had heard from B— she told me that B— has dyed her hair PLUM. Her mother has had a double dose of kittens and canaries. I didn’t know what to say to her as she went on about how B—’s hair was already a lovely colour and how she had ruined it. But I say cheers to B— – nothing like a bit of madness, huh.
Incidentall
y, B— is totally cheesed off with Mills & Boons. D’ya know, she really woz waiting for a Sir Galahad. But now she says she sees ‘sense’. Actually, I think the fact that so many girls around town have been getting married has troubled her. She’s wondering what they have that she hasn’t. She also said that if she ever has a daughter she’s going to ban Mills & Boons! A definite case of hitting the earth with a thud, don’t ya think?
On the subject of the exams – ahem! I got through them but in all truthfulness I doubt if I’ve done very well (if the others’ answers are anything to go by). Oh, well, there goes ‘No. 1 in Ireland’ down the drain! The results will be out on 6 July.
I really enjoyed the exam week, though, as we were all together again as a class (even if it woz only for the duration of the papers!). Now that it’s over (college, I mean) I don’t know what to think – whether I liked the class or not. Okay – during the year I really enjoyed the company. It made a change to be able to hold an intelligent conversation with somebody (using big words even!) without being classed a swot. I enjoyed Liam’s wittiness, Martin’s antics, Killian’s comments – but in some ways I don’t think I really fitted in. I dunno exactly what it is – it’s hard to pinpoint – but I have this niggly sort of feeling that you‘re not one of ’em. You know, sometimes I felt like screaming at lunchtimes when someone discussed the second new car their mother was buying (cash, of course) for the 999th time, or when they discussed holidays in Spain, etc., or they debated the merits of Mercs over Saabs. You’ll never know how often I prayed during those moments that I wouldn’t scream. Don’t get me wrong, though, it wasn’t that I was jealous, it woz just that I couldn’t see why they felt this need to discuss material possessions 95 per cent of the time. I felt like somebody from another planet when they asked wot sort of cars (note the plural) we had. Imagine their faces when I replied! And to hell with those who say that social classes don’t exist any more. Obviously they’ve never been to ACA1!
To summarise the above confused wanderings, I liked them very much as people – as human beings – as fellow students. But a lot of the time, I just couldn’t identify with their capitalistic points of view. Ya know, beside them I felt like an absolute COMMIE! For people so young, some of them have really entrenched right-wing views. One of the lads referred to the student union on one occasion as ‘a crowd of COMMIE bastards’. They absolutely loathed trade unions and you wouldn’t want to mention politicians like Tony Gregory in their presence. A month before we broke up, one of the girls was telling us one lunch time about a crowd of itinerant children who’d been on the bus, so the conversation got round to itinerants in general. You should have been there. You wouldn’t believe how much they detest them. ‘Dirty smelly creatures’, she called them. But somehow I felt in a strange way sorry for some of the class. They didn’t consciously want to be snobs. It’s a real case of one half of the world not knowing, wanting to know, or perhaps being able to understand, how the other half lives. Listen, I’d better shurrup ’cos I really can’t express how I feel on paper about the class. It sounds more stilted than I actually feel. It’ll have to wait ’til Babby McCann’s ice-cream parlour in the autumn!
I’ll never forget the last day we broke up, though – a Friday. I was supposed to come home at two o’clock but I stayed on. We all went (by ‘all’ I mean about sixteen of the class) to Paddy Browne’s. Believe it or not, but it was the first time I held a full conversation with Joe or the other Martin. John got drunk and Nuala was tipsy. I was busy taking down addresses on the back of a Smithwicks label! At around 4.30 p.m., Niamh and I decided to head into town so I shook hands and bade farewell to Killian, Maurice, Liam and the others. We crossed over a field and the stream. And that’s the last I saw of them – walking away across the field. I hope I will remember them in years to come. I doubt if some of ’em will remember my name.* I’ll be ‘the wan with the glasses’ or ‘Niamh’s friend’ (’cos really Niamh mixed better than I did!).
When I was going home that evening, Cathy Cummins, her cousin Annette (who’s really a lovely girl) and H— D— were on the bus. Yes, that was H— D—’s name u saw. She got ‘dismissed’ from the hospital ’cos she failed her block exam. She told me that she was called to the matron’s office, given her exam results and asked to leave straight away. Seems a bit suspicious to me. Somehow I thought you’d at least get a second chance. I feel really sorry for her now. She came back to Waterford to do the Health Science exams but she had missed two months of the course down below, so I’d say she found the exams stiff. Also, it will be hard to get another nursing job in Ireland after being ‘dismissed’ from a Dublin hospital. Poor H—, Sister E— stopped her in the street of Carrick and said, ‘My goodness, H—, what did you do?’ H— said she felt like telling her, ‘Sister, I strangled a child,’ just to see her reaction. The Goof is writing away as well. Speaking of which, I met her over the town and she said (as only the Goof can!), ‘What are you doing?’
By the way, I’ll be working in the office in a fortnight’s time. Wish me luck. I’ll need it.
Golly gosh, I feel so proud. I’ll be voting for the first time on Thursday – the Euro Elections you know. I feel ‘all growed up’, I do!
Thanks ever so much for the photos. Thomas is gorgeous. Believe it or not but I imagined him to be just as he is! That says a lot for your ability to put people down on paper! I really loved the piccy of ‘La Pointe de Trévignon’. Just the sort of place to take a stroll on a soft warm day with a tall blue-eyed guy in tow, sun dancing in his hair and sparkling eyes, birds singing and your heart going pitter-patter. Ah, shucks, who needs Mills & Boons?
Are you fibbing or are you really hesitating about going to the Alps and skiing? I know many people who’d jump at it (gerrit? Skiing – jump at it). I would love to be able to ski but knowing me I’d probably fall and break my goggles (not to mention both arms and a leg or two).
Last Saturday week, these two people (a fella and his wife whom Maggie and Nygel next door had asked to clean our chimney for us) came along. He climbs up on the roof leaving yer wan below. There he was, getting ready to knock down soot all over the house (we’d removed the flue), until Maw piped up, ‘Where’s the soot going to go?’ (Bright spark, my maw!) ‘Oh, yeah,’ says yer wan, and put back up the flue, whereupon soot came flying down it into the cooker, out through the doors and all over the house. ‘Where were you?’ I hear you ask. Well, I locked myself away until the coast woz clear, then came down to find Maw half laughing half crying, covered in soot. No jokin’, for the next three hours we were brushing soot off the settee, telly, etc., washing curtains, tablecloth, windows – ourselves. Even the most famous monument since Nelson’s Pillar – your coffee-table – was smothered in a blanket of soot. But never fear, it looked as good as new after a belt of a wet rag!
Maw, Paw and Martin went on a trip to Galway yesterday, organised by Brother Agnellus. The bus broke down in Kilsheelan – tee-hee. They all got off and had to wait for an hour for a mechanic. Meanwhile, Biddy Sheehan demolished a packet of bikkies while sitting on a grass verge. She then couldn’t get up so Mrs Butler went to help her. The latter sank into three inches of tar while doing so, tried to move but fell in on top of Biddy. Meanwhile, frantic efforts were made to dig the shoes out of the tar. Finally, they were retrieved and Maura Mullins produced a roll of toilet paper with which to wrap them up. Meanwhile Biddy still couldn’t get up. Three men attempted to lift her but she fell back, up went her legs in the air and details of her knee-length bloomers were made known to all and sundry. People lay down on the road laughing – the main Clonmel road I might add. Note – this all happened before they reached a pub.
&nbs
p; Dav and Teresa next door also went. Anyway, they were all home at 10.45 p.m. having played music (Paw on the box) for busloads of Yanks in Durty Nellie’s. Matty won a coffee set in Salthill. Just the thing for your coffee-table, huh?
By the way, the Leaving is going on this week. I sent a card to Tina and notelets to Cooney, Suzanne and Dolly. Boy, I don’t envy them, do you? Such an anti-climax.
Gee, weren’t you lucky to miss all of the ballyhoo in Ballyporeen? Nancy and Ronnie were over. Martin had to go up with the Civil Defence, but you wouldn’t believe the security. Some poor priest was torn out of his house ’cos he dared to open a window at the wrong time. All the houses in Ballyporeen were emptied and searched at ten o’clock. It all passed off peacefully enough. But you’ll never guess who said the Mass in Ballyporeen? Father Ryan: we had him in the Presentation NS. I’ve sent a piccie. I felt really sad as I heard him speak, remembering all the Masses he said for us in the Pres. Remember the way we used to practise in the Assembly Hall and how we’d march up class by class? Now I pass that very same school and feel like Methuselah’s cat!
Listen, I’m going to watch Dynasty now; I’ll see you tomorrow!
Hi again. It’s now 2.01 p.m. on Tuesday. I’ve just been listening to the news. Great excitement in North Waterford/South Kilkenny. Five criminals kidnapped a woman in Dungarvan after ransacking her house and then abandoned her, after kidnapping three others and locking ’em in the boot. They then broke into a shop in Aglish and locked up the owners in a coal shed. Then went on to Mooncoin and did the same thing. And this isn’t even Dynasty!
Speaking of which, Dynasty is gone to the dogs! Blake is in danger of losing Denver Carrington as he can’t pay back a loan; Jeff and Fallon are getting remarried; Sammy Jo has come back from New York; Steven is married to Claudia; Kirby (who is going to marry Adam) tried to kill Alexis; the latter was being blackmailed by Mark, who is now dead ’cos last night he fell or was pushed off the balcony of Alexis’ flat. Phew!
Dear Cathy ... Love, Mary Page 15