by Anne Bennett
CHAPTER TWO
All who came in the shop that day were told of Maria’s success. Though they all congratulated her, Maria knew by their faces that many thought it a disgraceful thing for her to leave her mother. Some actually said this.
‘I mean,’ said one woman. ‘It’s hard right enough when you have just the one. Have you thought this through, Maria? Your mother will undoubtedly miss you.’ and then added, ‘Especially the way she is.’
‘The way she is?’ Maria asked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she’s not very strong, is she?’ the woman went on. ‘And nervy, like. Not been right since she lost the baby and that was years ago.’
‘She’s fine,’ Maria protested. ‘She’s grand now.’
The woman’s face was grave. ‘Funny things, nerves. Never really recover, if you have a tendency to nerves.’
Maria, who had been brought up to have respect for her elders and betters, could hardly be rude to customers, but by the time she was ready to leave for the day she was worn down by the disapproval many had shown her.
Maria wanted to let her Uncle Sean know the result of the exam, but he was no longer able to visit them so often because in January, Maria’s Granddad Tierney had been diagnosed with a tumour in his stomach. Since April he’d been needing round-the-clock nursing. Sean took it in turn with Agatha, while he also did the work on the farm and Agatha the work in the house.
Maria was so insistent that her uncle should be told her news that Sam went with her to visit him by bus and train on Saturday, 26 July. Bella gladly gave her the day off, knowing how much she loved her uncle. Sean’s praise and congratulations were genuine, and the welcome they both got was warm. Only Sam read the weariness in Sean’s eyes.
As Sean hugged the girl’s slight frame and told her how proud he was, he realised how like her mother she was, though her hair was the colour of deep mahogany, and her eyes vivid green, with long black eyelashes. But Maria had Sarah’s slight frame and elfin face. Sean saw that his niece was shedding her childhood and becoming a stunningly beautiful young lady. He wondered if she’d make the two years at the academy before some young Dublin swain claimed her.
But, he reminded himself, the girl was focused on a new life for herself and so far had never let her head be turned. He was saddened that now he’d see even less of her. He knew he’d done the right thing encouraging Sarah to let her daughter try for the scholarship, although all their lives would be poorer when Maria moved out of the village.
Sarah, who’d prayed earnestly for Maria to fail the exam, now redoubled her efforts to stop Maria leaving home. To this end she had a Mass said, lit numerous candles, began a novena and attended every service at the chapel. Always she pleaded the same thing; ‘Please God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost and Mary who has tasted sorrow herself, stop this. Let something happen to prevent my girl from leaving home.’ The same beseeching plea was made as she knelt before her bed at night, and in the morning as soon as she woke.
Maria was unaware of this, but she was fully aware of her mother’s sighs and reproachful looks. Though she was a model daughter, as the summer wore on, it began to wear her down and she wished the days could speed by.
She was due to go up on 9 September, although the term didn’t start until a few days after that. It was to give the girls time to get to know each other and familiarise themselves with a city that would be their home for two years. Even to think about it sent a thrill running all through Maria.
Sarah and Sam threw a party on the night of 7 September to mark Maria’s departure. As people hugged her, patted her on the back and wished her Godspeed, she realised how she’d miss them. She’d known most of them all her life and she felt tears stinging her eyes.
‘Don’t start being homesick before you’ve even left the place,’ Sam said suddenly at her elbow.
Maria flashed him a watery smile. ‘I’ll try not to,’ she said.
Sam patted her on the arm. ‘That’s my girl.’
All the evening, Sam watched his daughter, already aching with the loss of her. He could easily have resented Philomena Clarke for putting such odd notions in a young girl’s head, but he knew she’d had only Maria’s best interests at heart when she’d had made the suggestion. What sort of a father would he be if he didn’t allow his daughter the chance of a better future?
Sam had loved Sarah since the moment he’d seen her, and loved her still, though her once blonde hair now had streaks of grey in it. His was the same, of course, though it had once been as dark as Maria’s. His eyes, though, were a indeterminate grey, not vibrant green like his daughter’s. Maria had been the icing on the cake for the pair of them. He knew when she left, a lot of the joy would go out of his life.
Sam recognised that Sean felt the same, for his deep brown eyes were full of sadness. His father was too ill for him to be away from the farm for long and it was still light when he left. Sam watched the stooped, dejected stance of him as he strode towards The Square and the bus into Derry. He remembered how straight and upright Sean had once been.
Now he was tied to a farm he had no love for, tended by the dour, sour-faced Agatha, and watching his father sink daily. He’d had no chance of a life of his own, no loving wife to greet him and warm his bed at night, no child to climb onto his knee and gladden his heart. Sam knew Sean would feel the loss of Maria almost as keenly as her parents would.
Eventually, the party drew to a close. There would be more than one thick head in the village the following morning. Sam felt a little that way himself, if he was honest. He’d drank far more than was customary for him and he had work in the morning.
He followed his wife and daughter to bed, but once there, despite the tiredness stinging his eyes and the beer consumed, he lay wide-eyed and restless for hours before utter weariness claimed him.
The following evening the truck stood ready and waiting to take the men home. Yet Sam was loath to leave the docks, despite it being Maria’s last evening in Moville for some time.
‘How important is the frigate? he asked the lieutenant. ‘There’s still a fault in the engine room and it can’t go out tomorrow the way it is.’
‘It’s part of the convoy scheduled to leave at dawn.’
‘Well, I’ll stay to finish it,’ Sam said. ‘Con will give me a hand. There’s no need to keep the others. More than two will not fit in that small space anyway. But how will we get back home when we’ve finished? I don’t fancy walking.’
‘I’ll see if I can rustle up a couple of bicycles,’ the lieutenant said. ‘You can pile them in the truck in the morning. Will that do?’
‘Aye,’ Sam said with a chuckle, ‘though it’s years since I was astride a bike. I’ll more than likely have a sore backside in the morning.’
The lieutenant smiled. He liked both Sam and Con, and knew them to be first-rate workers, the sort who’d get on with the job in hand and not need the whip cracked over them.
‘I’m grateful, Sam,’ he said. He hesitated a moment and then went on, ‘There’s something else. Keep your eyes peeled, will you? There’s a rumour circulating the IRA are planning something.’
‘They’ll never get in here,’ Sam said. ‘Haven’t you the place as tight as a drum?’
‘They might, if they had help from inside.’
‘Who’d do that?’ Sam said and then as the man said nothing, burst out, ‘It’ll not be one of my men. I hope you’re not suggesting—’
‘No, no, I’m not. They came on your surety and that’s good enough for me, but I’m convinced if the IRA break in here, they’ll do it because someone from the inside will have helped them.’
‘They could cause havoc,’ Sam said. ‘Buggering up the boats could leave the merchant ships unprotected. Don’t they think of that?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘Well, I’ll keep my eyes and ears to the ground, never fear. Mind you, you’d have to have eyes like a cat to see anything in this blackness. Nights are certainly drawing in.’
The lieutenant agreed and watched as Sam walked over to the truck. Sam knew Con wouldn’t bat an eyelid at working over, but he told a couple in the truck to tell Sarah and Con’s wife, Brenda, where they were. ‘Don’t give them a time that we’ll be home,’ he cautioned. ‘I don’t know how long it will take us and I don’t want Sarah fretting.’
It was Andy Carmody, Bella’s nephew, who called at the Foley door later and told Sarah and Maria about Sam. Sarah knew her man and she recognised that, as the gaffer, the responsibility would lie on his shoulders. She was glad, though, when Andy told her Con was there too.
‘Pity,’ she said to Maria. ‘And on your last night too.’
‘It’s Daddy I feel sorry for,’ Maria said. ‘He’s already been at it for hours. The job must be urgent for him to stay. But I’m no wean any more; I understand these things.
In the engine room of the frigate, Sam and Con toiled away. The job was not difficult but the parts were tricky to reach and it was taking much longer than Sam had anticipated.
More than two hours after the others had left, Sam and Con tightened up the last bolt, wiped their oily hands on rags and climbed off the ship onto the dockside, where the lieutenant had left the bikes standing against a wall.
It was as they were pushing them to the gates that Sam heard the hoot of an owl, followed by a thud, as if a person or persons had landed on the deck of one of the ships.
‘What was that?’ Con asked.
‘I don’t know, but if that was an owl hooting just now, then I’m a Dutchman,’ Sam said. He recalled the conversation he’d had with the lieutenant that evening and knew he’d have to investigate the noise.
‘We’ll go together,’ Con said when Sam told him what the lieutenant had said.
‘No,’ Sam said. ‘Brenda will be waiting with your supper. You best go on home.’
‘Why don’t you call the dock police?’
‘I will,’ Sam said, ‘soon as I’m certain. Don’t worry, I’m not bursting in there myself like some unsung hero, but it’s just maybe two young fellows having a lark and I can send them home with boxed ears and no harm done. If I think it’s more serious, then I’ll get help quick. Don’t worry. Go on, I don’t intend spending one minute longer than necessary. I am fair jiggered and then it’s Maria’s last night. I’ll likely overtake you on the road.’
Con went. He knew Brenda would go for him when he reached home as it was. She had a fine temper on her when she wanted. But he was worried about Sam and told the policeman, as he let him out of the gates, what they’d heard.
‘I’m being relieved in less than ten minutes,’ the policeman reassured Con. ‘I’ll take a look for your mate before I go off, but he’ll likely contact us before then…‘
When Con left, Sam began walking stealthily to where he was sure the thudding noise had come from. He knew he had to be careful, especially when he left the quayside and boarded one of the ships moving gently in the water. His eyes strained to see in the darkness and he crept gingerly forward.
A pinprick of light alerted him first, a match and then the smell of cigarette smoke on the breeze and the soft murmur of voices. He couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He knew whoever the people were just ahead of him, they were not a couple of kids, but grown men probably intent on destruction, and the sooner he got off the boat and got help the better.
In his haste to turn round, he stumbled. He didn’t fall, but stood for a moment stock-still, wondering if the slight sound he’d made had alerted the men in any way.
There was no sound of pursuit, however, so Sam went on again. He crossed to a gunboat, which lay against the dockside wall. Thinking it a safer route, he was creeping round the deck of the boat, next to the wall, when his foot slipped and he fell with a thud onto the deck. He lay still for a moment, but he didn’t appear to be hurt anywhere, just winded. He began struggling to his feet.
There was a sudden thump in the middle of his back and, unbalanced as he was, he couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t prevent the cry that escaped from him. His hands clawed desperately at the air as he tumbled from the boat and hit the water with a splash.
The shock and cold of it took his breath away at first and then he began to thresh about, trying to find the side of the boat, anything to pull himself up. Suddenly the boat, jostled by its neighbour, moved slightly, crushing Sam against the harbour wall.
Sam screamed against the agonising pain, but the boat pinned him effectively and what came out was just a groan. He knew he would die, there in the dockside. The pain of leaving Sarah and Maria, and the thought of what they’d do if he wasn’t there to see to them caused him to close his eyes against encroaching death.
By the time the policeman went off duty, Sam was unconscious and the dockyard as silent as a grave, the only sound that of the lap of water as the boats moved against the swell. He called for Sam—more urgently when he found his bicycle still propped against the wall—but there was no answer. In the end he went into the barracks room and reported that Sam was missing.
The lieutenant who had spoken to him earlier that evening was more worried than anyone. He led the search for Sam Foley, but in the light of the shaded torches, all that the Government allowed in the blackout, to search for anyone was a miserable and probably pointless task.
Despite the message sent with one of his colleagues, Conrad’s wife berated him soundly for the time he’d got home, hours after the others. ‘There was a job to finish. I’m second in command,’ he protested. ‘Sam was there too. In fact, I intend going over in an hour or so to see he’s made it back all right.’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’
‘He was still at the docks when I left.’
‘Why?’
‘He heard a noise and went to have a closer look.’
‘What sort of noise?’
‘Any noise would be unusual in a dockyard that is supposed to be deserted.’
‘On his own?’
‘Aye,’ Con said. ‘The police and military are almost within calling distance and military police patrol the dock every hour or so.’
‘Well, then, what harm could come to him? Isn’t he surrounded by people?’
‘I know. I’d just like to check.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Brenda said. ‘Isn’t Sam a grown man?’
‘I know, but—’
I know, I know…Dear Christ, if Sam suggested you leap in the fire, you’d likely consider it,’ Brenda said scathingly. She was jealous of the deep regard the two men had for one another and always had been. ‘It’s not Sam Foley you’re married to, a fact you seem to forget at times. I see little enough of you. The only place you’ll go this night is to your bed with me.’
Con, seeing the set of his wife’s mouth, wondered what would happen if he was just to put on his coat and push past her to still the tug of anxiety he had for Sam. But Brenda’s temper was such that he seldom defied her and he was too weary himself to start a fight, which he knew from experience could go on for hours. So he shrugged.
‘As you like,’ he said. ‘But, it’s not unusual to be concerned for a mate.’
The knot of worry stayed with Con, even after he’d climbed the stairs and into bed, where he lay wide awake.
By half-past ten, Sarah became concerned. Andy had told them Sam would be late, but did he mean as late as this? She hated Sam to be in Derry long after dark in case there was a raid.
Derry had been attacked only the once, and that had been on the previous Easter Tuesday. The sirens were plainly heard in Moville, but in the end there was just one bomber, which dropped two parachute mines. The newspapers reported that the pilot was trying to bomb the river, but he missed that and the mines landed in the Messine’s Park area of the city, killing thirteen people and injuring thirty-three.
Yet the city had got away lightly, because that same night, Belfast had been blitzed, leaving over nine hundred people dead. Sarah was always worrying that it might be Derry’s
turn next.
She put down her knitting and sat with her hands in her lap, listening.
Maria put down the book she’d been reading and watched her mother with concern. She too was anxious about her father and yet she knew she had to shield her anxiety from her mother. It had always been that way. ‘Shall I put the wireless on, Mammy?’
‘No, child, I have no heart for it.’
‘I’ll make a cup of tea for us then, shall I?’
Sarah didn’t answer. Instead, her brooding eyes met those of her daughter. ‘I didn’t think your daddy would be this late,’ she said.
‘Maybe he stopped off at Rafferty’s for a drink?’ Maria said, though she knew her father had never done such a thing before.
Sarah shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t. He’d know we’d be concerned. And particularly tonight, your last night. He’d come straight home.’
‘Maybe the job was more difficult than he thought,’ Maria said soothingly. ‘Would you like me to go and look for him, maybe have a talk with some of the men?’
‘What good will that do?’
‘You never know.’
‘Oh, go if you want to.’
Maria was glad to be out of the house and doing something. She went first to see Andy Carmody, only to find he’d gone to Rafferty’s pub. She made her way there uncertainly. She’d never been in a pub in her life. It wasn’t done; the bar was the prerogative of the men. Maybe in Dublin it was customary for women to visit the pub, but it wasn’t in Moville.
She was hovering outside the door when Barney McPhearson left the pub, on his way home.
‘Why, Maria, what is it?’ he said, knowing only a matter of importance would have brought Maria there, and at that time of night.
Maria told him of her father’s absence. ‘Andy Carmody came with news he would be late,’ she went on, ‘and I’ve been to the house, but his mother said he’d gone to Rafferty’s. I just wondered if he knew anything more. We’re worried.’