For Many a Long Day

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Oh yes, it was a great offer,’ Sam replied, his face lighting up. ‘He has a Bentley forby the new Lagonda.’

  ‘But you said no?’

  ‘I did,’ Sam said, nodding. ‘If I’d been here a couple of years, or if you hadn’t given me time off I wasn’t entitled to, I might have said yes.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Sam. I know from Harry it’s not been a good time for you, but you’ve kept up your work and never let your workmates down on the job. The General was right. He told me I was lucky to have you,’ he said firmly. ‘Now what are you going to do with your fiver? Something for the bike or something for yourself?’

  Sam smiled and shook his head.

  ‘No, I think what I’ll do is take my colleagues out for a meal and maybe the pictures. A night out for the boys and Peggy and the two young lads. Sure I mightn’t have another fiver dropping into my lap for many a long day.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Along with all the other young shop assistants in Armagh, Ellie looked forward to the extra day’s holiday July always brought. On Tuesday, the Twelfth, she would spend the day with Daisy going to the demonstration field just outside Armagh to hear the bands and watch the annual Orange procession. But apart from this brief day’s respite from the Great Summer Sale, there was little to recommend the month of July. As she admitted to Daisy, while drying their hair one morning before work after cycling through a cloud-burst, it was her least favourite in the whole year.

  To begin with, Freeburns itself was hot and airless. The extra bales of cloth and piled up garments for the sale made the narrow aisles even narrower and closed up completely any unused space. Even with the front and back doors propped open and all the upstairs windows thrown wide in the hope of creating a through draught, it was stuffy as well as claustrophobic. The assorted fabrics gave off a strange musty odour, not exactly unpleasant, but pervasive. At times Ellie felt desperate for fresh air, but even when she managed to get away from the shop in her short lunch break, she found the air so warm and humid outdoors there was no freshness to be had.

  Half a dozen times in the course of the month, setting out from home under an overcast sky, she’d watched the heavy clouds darken as she cycled along. Large, sixpenny-sized spots of warm rain would drop on her shoulders so suddenly, she’d have barely a minute to find shelter before the clouds opened and cast their burden in dancing spires on the road in front of her. More than once she’d been caught in just that part of her daily journey where there were neither trees in the hedgerow nor a neighbour’s house near enough for her to drop her bicycle by the front gate and run for the shelter of the porch.

  On the third Monday of the month, standing under a large chestnut in the line of dark-canopied trees that overhung the footpath on the edge of the Asylum grounds, she watched the sudden downpour blank out the small houses in Mill Row and the tall, brick mass of Drumcairn Mill beyond. Within moments of leaning her bicycle against the hedge, she watched sheets of water pouring off the surface of the road and filling up the gutter. Little fragments of torn leaf, brown sepals and tiny twigs were swept along in the sudden flood. Immediately she thought of the rivers in the Canadian forests where the logs jostled and rolled on their way down to the sawmills, tossed by the churning flow as easily as these little fragments.

  As suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped. The sun appeared and within minutes the road began to steam, swirling around her like a November mist as she pedalled faster to make up for the time she’d lost. However damp and sticky she might feel, she could hardly complain when she thought how much worse it must be for George.

  His letters now arrived more regularly, although she had to admit they were still short nor did they tell her very much. In most of them, he simply said there wasn’t any news, because every day was like every other day and it was only once a fortnight they had a break when they went north for two nights to a mining camp, so much larger than their own modest lumber camp it had a saloon and a boarding house.

  It did sound a bit like the Wild West, the sort of thing they’d seen together in the Ritz Cinema, with cowboys and gunslingers and battles with the Indians. She’d asked him if there were Indians in his part of Canada or if that was only in the States. He’d said he hadn’t noticed any and then went on to tell her about the heat and the insects.

  She felt she could hardly complain about the Armagh temperature being in the seventies when George said where he was it was in the nineties or even more. He hadn’t told her exactly where he was, though she’d asked several times, nor was the address any help. All it said was: Box 32, Lot 7, Peterborough Lumbering Company and added the number and street of the Head Office in Peterborough, a street not very far from where Polly and Jimmy lived.

  As she pedalled on feeling sticky and uncomfortable she wondered anxiously how she would cope with the temperatures he talked about when she found the summer heat difficult enough here at home. She’d told Polly about her worry in a recent letter, and Polly had been a comfort, explaining that Peterborough itself wasn’t as humid as it would be in the forest where George was working. Polly admitted she herself had found the higher humidity difficult to begin with, but she said you did get used to it. Sometimes you felt washed out when it got really bad, but then so did everybody else. It wouldn’t just be you.

  As she made her way into the city, Ellie reminded herself that one of the good things about the month was that Miss Walker took her annual leave during the second fortnight. It made such a difference knowing there was no one watching the clock to see if you were even a moment late, delayed by rain or traffic. Harry, Stanley and Joe, the three young men in the Gentlemen’s Department all had digs in a boarding house only two doors down from the shop while Mr Maginnis, the senior man, lived in Ogle Street, a short walk away. They knew Ellie had to cycle two miles and Daisy more like three to get to work. None of them ever minded if they weren’t there on the dot of eight-thirty to share the jobs in the early morning routine.

  ‘Hello, Ellie. How did you miss it? I got wet again,’ Daisy greeted her cheerfully, as she emerged from a towel, wisps of hair sticking to her damp cheeks.

  ‘I was quick on the draw,’ Ellie replied promptly. ‘Saw it coming and got under a tree. We’ve had plenty of practice this month, haven’t we?’

  ‘Sure have, pardner,’ Daisy replied, laughing.

  Daisy loved the cinema, Westerns in particular, and often lapsed into a very good mimicry of the minimal exchanges between her heroes, even though she’d seldom been able to go to the Ritz in the last two years.

  She dropped the towel over the back of a chair, took out her comb and swept her damp hair away from her face. It was when she turned back from the mirror that Ellie saw her smile, her brown eyes sparkling, her pleasant face transformed to prettiness.

  ‘Something’s happened. Something good has happened, Daisy. Tell me. Tell me quickly before we go down.’

  ‘Sure there’s no hurry. Doesn’t Harry just love doing your jobs?’ she said, teasing.

  ‘Go on, Daisy.’

  ‘Well, I told you Uncle Sam knew this doctor over Banbridge way. He’s married to one of m’cousins. Anyway, Uncle Sam said he was goin’ to ask him to come and see Ma. Dr Stewart. D’you mind?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. You said your uncle thought a younger man might be able to help more. Anyway, he thought Dr Stewart was a very good doctor. Has he been?’

  ‘Aye, he came on Sunday of last week, but I wasn’t sayin’ anythin’ till I saw if there was any improvement. The doctor we have kept givin’ her different things and said they’d do the job, but they never made a bit of difference. I can’t believe it, Ellie,’ she said with a great sigh as she dropped down on the chair, knocking the towel unheeded to the floor. ‘He talked to Ma for an awful long time an’ then left her some wee pills and a bottle of tonic. She’s took them three times a day for the week and on Saturday mornin’ she’s out feedin’ the hens. She looks about ten years younger. She says it’s a miracle, all tha
t sick feeling that made her so miserable has gone. She was complainin’ yesterday that there was no flour. She was lookin’ for it to bake. Sure we haven’t tasted anythin’ other than baker’s bread since Da died.’

  ‘Have you any idea what was wrong?’

  ‘Apparently he said there were two things, one makin’ the other worse. One was simple enough, the other was more difficult, but he hoped what he was going to prescribe might help. Well it did. An’ that’s not all,’ Daisy went on, pausing as she bent down and rubbed fiercely at her wet shoes with a piece of rag.

  Ellie waited impatiently until Daisy straightened up again and caught her breath.

  ‘Uncle Sam came over again yesterday to see us. He works for Irish Road Motors in Portadown and he’s got a place as an apprentice for Jimmy … and him only out of school two weeks. He won’t earn very much, but they give their apprentices a bicycle and a midday meal and work clothes and that’s worth a queer bit.’

  ‘Oh Daisy, Daisy, I’m so very glad,’ said Ellie, as Daisy stood up and hugged her.

  Ellie felt her eyes misting over when she looked at her friend and saw her eyes shining, her shoulders and the whole set of her body full of a lightness she’d quite forgotten. She wouldn’t have minded how often she’d got wet if she could have brought about this amazing change herself.

  Although preparations for the sale made a lot of extra work in June, the sale itself did not make the shop itself busier. People came knowing what they wanted, especially bed linen and towels, and although the day’s takings regularly made Mr Freeburn nod with gentle satisfaction, there were quite long periods when there were no customers in the shop at all. It was the one time in the year when the assistants could be sure of catching up on everyone’s news and sharing whatever jokes were being passed around.

  In fact, so lively were the days that followed Daisy’s good news and the absence of Miss Walker that Ellie almost forgot her dislike of the month. Though he seldom took part himself in the talk and banter, Mr Maginnis had no objections to the young people chatting to each other when there was no work they could usefully do. Indeed, he made no secret of the fact that he thought Miss Walker created quite unnecessary tasks for Ellie and Daisy, just to keep them busy.

  It was Harry, a tall, pale-faced young man with a flame of red hair, who announced one morning when mugs of tea were being circulated at the back of the empty shop that he had some good news for Ellie and Daisy.

  ‘Are ye gettin’ married then, Harry?’ demanded Daisy. ‘Someone rich I hope, so you won’t have to work here and bother us anymore?’ she continued, as Harry pulled faces at her and pretended to be annoyed.

  Seventeen years old, Harry was from a large family in County Tyrone and was one of those young men who had a genuine good-nature about him. He appeared incapable of being unpleasant and even the most difficult of customers usually capitulated to his easy manner and ended up saying ‘Thank you,’ and smiling at him. His regard for Ellie was obvious to everyone. Being teased about it was a pleasure to him, a small comfort for knowing that not only was she spoken for, but, being younger and poor, he could never hope to pay court to her anyway.

  For her part, Ellie was fond of the young man and never minded the teasing. Unlike her brothers, who had never had much time for her, Harry would talk to her about his family, the long walks he did on Sundays with friends from the boarding house and his hopes for the future. Had it not been for Miss Walker’s disapproving eye, Harry would have ensured that Ellie never again lifted anything heavier than a box of silk stockings.

  ‘As I said, I have great news for you two ladies,’ Harry repeated, as he and Stanley propped themselves against the back door leaving the folding chairs for Ellie and Daisy.

  ‘Stanley and I joined the RUC Tennis Club this year,’ he began, nodding to his friend, ‘and we’ve had a great time. Met a lot of nice people. A few girls, though not as nice as present company,’ he added bowing to them, ‘forby the tennis. They’ve a lovely court with big stone walls around it so you don’t keep losing the tennis balls like some places I’ve heard of.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Daisy, raising an eyebrow. ‘Are ye for Wimbledon then?’

  ‘I think I’ll wait till next year, Daisy. My backhand needs just a bit more work.’

  ‘His front hand’s not great either,’ Stanley added soberly, ‘but he can fairly put away the sandwiches when there’s a match.’

  Undeterred by interruptions and his friend’s comments, Harry went on to explain that the club wanted to recruit new members. Particularly lady members. Given that the season was so far advanced, the evenings dropping down already, they were offering free membership for the rest of the year, with a special session on early closing day for newcomers.

  ‘Now what about you two ladies coming with Stanley and me on Wednesday. We’ll see you’re properly looked after and introduced to everyone. I’m sure you’d both be very good,’ he said encouragingly.

  ‘Given I’ve never had a racquet in m’ hand in m’life I’m sure you’re absolutely right,’ Daisy commented cheerfully.

  ‘Did you ever play rounders at school?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘With a bat or with your hand?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Well, sure it’s the same thing. It’s only keeping your eye on the ball, like cutting a length of cloth and keeping the line straight,’ said Harry persuasively.

  ‘Ellie’s the one for that,’ commented Stanley thoughtfully.

  ‘Why don’t you both come on Wednesday? There’s spare racquets for those who haven’t their own and you only need shoes that are flat and kinda soft.’

  ‘You mean we don’t have to wear whites? Oh dear, an’ I fancied myself in whites.’

  At that point the shop bell sounded and they dispersed with practised ease without another word being spoken.

  ‘I think we should go, Ellie,’ Daisy said firmly, as they sat under the trees on The Mall some two hours later. ‘My Ma said las’ night that I never went anywhere but work an’ it wasn’t right at all. I’d had a lot to put up with when she wasn’t well, but I should be gettin’ out an’ enjoyin’ myself now that she was better. An’ sure you’re just the same. You go nowhere either. An’ don’t be tellin’ me that George thinks you should sit at home. Doesn’t he go with his friends to this saloon you were tellin’ me about? Joinin’ a tennis club isn’t like goin’ out with some other fella.’

  Ellie had to agree there was no harm in it, but she confessed she was afraid she’d be no good at tennis and would be embarrassed in front of people she didn’t know.

  ‘But that’s the whole point. If we go with Harry and Stanley on Wednesday, we can have a bit of a laugh, an’ if we’re hopeless there’s no harm done. Ach, Ellie, I promised Ma I’d start goin’ out, but I don’t want to go somewhere on m’own. Don’t let me down.’

  ‘All right. I’ll come.’

  Ellie wasn’t at all happy about the decision she’d made, but when she’d thought how little pleasure there’d been for Daisy in recent years she just couldn’t say no. Had things been the other way round, she knew Daisy would never have said no to her.

  Cycling home that evening she made up her mind that whatever happened and however uneasy she might be with the tennis itself and the meeting of the members of the Tennis Club, she’d stick it out for a couple of weeks at least. Knowing Daisy, she’d have made friends by then and it wouldn’t matter at all if Ellie didn’t go again herself.

  The Royal Ulster Constabulary Tennis Club had originally been set up to provide recreation for policemen and their wives, but at some point it was recognised that policemen and their wives might well wish to make friends beyond their immediate colleagues. For some years, however, the membership of the club, had been dominated by young men. Despite the great popularity of the RUC Annual Tennis Club Dance with the young women of Armagh, there were so few women in the club that Harry and Stanley had never yet managed a set of mixed doubles.

  ‘It’s
really very handy,’ said Harry, as they prepared to close the shop on Wednesday afternoon. ‘It’s only about ten minutes walk, but I expect you’ll both want to bring your bicycles for going home. Stanley and I will go on ahead when we’ve had our lunch and we’ll be waiting for you when you get there.’

  Thomas Street and Dobbin Street were familiar enough to both Ellie and Daisy, but when they turned right as instructed between the back of Hillock’s large hardware business and the new fire station, they found themselves in quite unfamiliar territory. After a few moments they identified the overgrown ruins of an old building, a Franciscan Friary according to Joe, the third and quietest of their male colleagues.

  A short distance beyond the remaining walls stood a pair of handsome houses. That told them they were now in the grounds of the Archbishop’s Palace and somewhere nearby on the left was the path they were looking for. It led to what had once been an old, walled garden, the pleasure and delight of Lady Anne, sister of one of the former Archbishops.

  They got off their bicycles and stood peering beyond the ruins at the luxuriant growth of grasses and wildflowers densely shaded by mature trees.

  ‘Look, there’s Harry!’ Daisy cried.

  They both laughed as Harry came towards them, his arms held high above his sides, the seeding grasses clinging to his shirt and trousers.

  ‘How in the name of goodness did ye expect us to find that wee path?’

  ‘It’s easy once you know where it is,’ he grinned, brushing at balls of robin-run-the-hedge firmly lodged on his clothes. ‘You can leave your bikes behind this tree. No one will see them. And there’s plenty of policemen about anyway. I’ll go first and collect up the rest of this stuff,’ he said laughing, as he pulled a length of clinging green vegetation from his shirt and led the way back through the thick grass.

  Ellie was sorry it wasn’t very far. The day was hot, the sky brilliant but under the trees in the cool, dappled shade, pencils of light were picking out the remaining pink blooms on some tall wildflowers just beginning to seed. Clusters of white fibres spun and shimmered on the light breeze, floating over the sea of grasses, broken only by some elderflower bushes, whose faint perfume floated across to them from broad, creamy blooms.