He went to the bedside and lifted Cat’s hand to his cheek. ‘Oh my God, it’s all my fault. We should never have had another child so quickly.’
Nellie returned and handed Daniel his bag
‘Louis,’ Daniel said ‘would ye mind steppin’ outside for a little while as I need to examine her?’
Louis just nodded and left the room to sit on a chair in the hallway.
Daniel could feel the baby’s head. He slid two fingers either side of its skull so that when the next contraction arrived he could pull. To his surprise the baby slithered out with little effort, but Daniel could tell that Cat’s womb had partially prolapsed, so when the afterbirth came away, he gently pushed the womb back.
‘Maeve, inside my bag there’s a pack of gauze, would ye give it to me?’
‘Sure,’ Maeve said rummaging in his bag, ‘here, is this it?’
‘Thanks. Now take off the wrapper and fold it in two.’ Maeve did as she was asked and handed the wadding to Daniel. He packed Cat’s insides tightly with gauze padding and removed the sheet from beneath her.
‘Nellie,’ he asked, ‘can ye put a clean sheet on the bed please? and I don’t suppose ye have any rubber sheeting?’
‘Yes, I do, from when I had my children. I’ll get it,’ Nellie said and went to the chest of drawers to retrieve clean linen and rubber sheeting.
‘I’ll lift her if ye can slide the sheetin’ beneath, it’ll save the mattress. Then, Maeve, as quick as ye can, put the clean sheet on. Thanks.’
When Cat had been made more comfortable he stood and watched her for a while, taking her pulse. He didn’t like the look of her as she lay there deathly pale and not responding.
He turned to Nellie and Maeve. ‘The bed must be kept at this angle, until the bleedin’ subsides, otherwise we’ll lose her. I don’t know if she’ll make it through the night, but if she does, she’ll stand a chance of comin’ through. She’s lost a lot of blood.’
Maeve was sobbing and Nellie put her arm around her shoulder. ‘Eist now, she’ll come through.’
Daniel met Nellie’s gaze above the top of Maeve’s head and he looked away and began to see to the baby. He lifted her up by the ankles and smacked her bottom until she let out a healthy cry.
Daniel smiled at Maeve and handed her the baby. ‘Now, let’s get this little girl washed and into somethin’ warm,’ he said looking at his watch.
‘First baby of the New Year. She’s just made it by one minute.’
32
Plumstead
January 1921
Lize answered the door, signed for the telegram and ripped the envelope apart. She read it and stood considering the contents for a while in the hallway. Slowly she climbed the stairs and made her way to the back bedroom where her mother was sleeping and tapped gently on the door.
‘Mum, are you awake?' She could hear her mother's grumbling, and waited.
‘I am now! What's the matter?'
‘There's a telegram from Louis.'
‘So don’t just stand out there, bring it in!'
Lize went in and crossed the room to draw the curtains, but Jessie Ross complained that the light would hurt her eyes so she left them closed and went to sit on the side of the bed.
‘Oh. I see you've opened it,' Jessie said.
‘Yes, it was addressed to me. Anyway he says the baby's arrived early. It's a girl, they've called her Eileen.' Lize held the telegram out for Jessie to read, but she just waved it away.
‘Another mouth to feed. God, they breed like pigs those Irish. As soon as one is out of the sty they're at it again for another one. No wonder she can’t hang onto them for nine months. How is he going to put food in this one's mouth as well as the other two when he hasn’t even got a job?'
Lize folded the telegram and placed it in her apron pocket. She stood up. ‘How are you feeling, Mum?'
‘I was feeling better until that piece of bad news arrived! I believed Louis had more sense; but she's really turned his head. Well they needn’t think they can come to me for help. They've made their bed and they can lie on it.' She threw off the eiderdown and covers ready to get up.
‘Mum, I don’t think you're well enough to get up yet.' Lize put her hand on her mother's forehead. It felt hot. ‘Why not have another day in bed and I'll bring your breakfast up?'
Jessie considered it for a moment, and then sank back onto the pillows coughing. ‘You're probably right. I'll give it another day and maybe by tomorrow I'll feel more like my old self. I'll just have some bread and jam today, I don’t feel like a cooked breakfast.' She pulled the covers up and shivered. ‘It's cold up here, you can light the fire before you get my breakfast.'
Lize went to the fireplace and began raking the ashes with a poker so that they fell into the ashcan below. Then lifting the ashcan out from beneath the grate, she shook them onto a piece of newspaper. She picked up a brush and swept away the dust before screwing up some paper and setting it in the grate. Next she laid some sticks criss-cross, after which she added lumps of coal. Before lighting it, she poured on some paraffin from a can. When she had finished, she moved the paraffin can away from the fire and threw on a lighted match. The whoosh of flames was instant and Lize realized she had used just a little too much paraffin.
‘Easy with that paraffin, it's got to last,' Jessie bawled from the bed and Lize, having done her first duty of the day for her mother, retreated from the room to begin the second.
As she hurried downstairs with the coalscuttle, her anger flared. She experienced a surge of self-pity knowing life would have been so different if Charlie hadn’t been killed.
She felt Charlie was to blame in some way for the situation she now found herself in. She had consented to her mother selling her properties so that she could move in with her and the children on the pretext that she would buy a shop with the money. ‘That way,’ Jessie had said, ‘you can work in the shop and won’t have to worry about getting a job.’ But so far, all Lize had found herself doing was waiting on her mother hand and foot and there was no sign of any shop on the horizon.
Lize gritted her teeth; marched along the hallway to the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. One day, she thought, I'll commit murder - I’m certain of it!
Iris was eating her breakfast and with a mouth full of toast asked if the letter was from Reggie who was working as an apprenticed butcher in London.
‘No, it was a telegram from Ireland. You have another little cousin called Eileen.'
‘Oh that's nice, isn’t it?' Iris smiled, revealing her toast-filled teeth.
‘Is it?' Lize snapped and proceeded to hack a slice of bread off the loaf then spread the hardened butter onto its surface. The fresh bread tore beneath her violent scraping, and maddened, Lize took the slice of bread, opened the back door and threw it into the yard. Let the birds eat it, she thought.
She came back in and said to Iris, ‘Put that butter dish on the range and take it off as soon as you see the butter begin to melt.' Then she began sawing the loaf again wishing it was her mother's neck beneath the blade.
Lize went out to the coal shed, shovelled coal into the scuttle; then closed and bolted the shed door. A sharp north wind blew and glancing up she saw that the sky was heavy looking with grey clouds hanging ominously overhead. She stood for a few moments breathing in the freezing air knowing that soon it would snow.
Better get more coal ordered just in case the snow lasts she thought, and lugging the coal scuttle through the back door Lize felt her mood lift noticing that Iris had buttered the bread and laid a breakfast tray for her grandmother.
Lize went to the range, lifted the boiling kettle and poured hot water into the teapot. She put the tea cosy on and trundled upstairs with the tray, wondering how many more times she would have to make the trip that day. It would be so nice she thought, if I could lie in bed and be waited on. But she knew that it was unlikely to happen.
33
Monroe, Fethard,
February 1921
Cat
watched Louis struggle with the straps of his travelling bag. ‘Ye'll squash the bread. Why not take it out and carry it?'
‘Yes, maybe that would be better. I'd be sorry to find I only have breadcrumbs to eat tomorrow.' He undid the straps and took out the loaf Maeve had given him. Lifting it to his face he breathed in the aroma through the muslin wrap. ‘There's nothing like this you know, Cat. I love it.'
She stroked the back of his neck as he refastened the straps.
He turned and saw her eyes filled with tears.
‘I hate sayin’ goodbye, Louis. I feel as though I'll never see ye again.'
‘Oh come on now you silly thing, you know you will. It's only for a little while until you are strong enough to make the trip home. You know it makes sense and your parents will love having you here. Take advantage while you can and let them help you with the children. It will be hard enough when you do come home now Ellie has to live in with her new job. You'll miss her not being around to help won’t you?'
‘Yes, I know ye're right, but I'd rather be goin' home with ye.'
‘And I'd rather you got yourself fit and healthy again, otherwise I will have three children and an invalid on my hands.'
‘Louis?'
‘Yes?'
‘I wish Ellie and Michael would change their minds about goin’ to America after the wedding. I assumed the idea had died. Ye know they haven’t mentioned it for a while.'
‘I know it's a hell of a distance to go for work isn’t it?'
‘’Tis. And the worst of it is Michael has no particular job to go to when they get there.'
‘Well, they still have time to change their minds, the wedding isn’t until April and maybe something will turn up for him before then in England. I hope so.'
‘At least Ellie has a job at present, though it sounds as though that family are workin’ the hide off her. The only good thing about it is she doesn’t have to find cash for food, rent and clothes. D’ye suppose ye will see her on her next day off?'
‘I hope so, though it depends. I expect she will want to spend her time with Michael, not me!'
He lifted his bag off the bed and heaved it outside into the main room where Maeve was busy peeling potatoes. Billy and Marie were looking on, collecting up the peelings as they curled away from her knife. He dropped the bag on the floor beside her.
‘Well Maeve, I'll be off now.'
‘Oh Lord ye gave me a fright. Are ye away now?'
‘Yes, time to go. I'll just take my bag out and put it on the cart, and then I’ll have to be going.' He lifted his bag and went outside to where Ned was waiting with the donkey cart.
Ned turned in his seat and looked at Louis. ‘There ye are then. Put the bag in the back and I'll turn her round.'
Louis swung the bag onto the back of the cart and Ned made a clucking noise with his tongue and Bessie knew it was time to turn. Obediently, the animal moved forward and Ned manoeuvered the cart until they were facing the gate.
‘I'll just say my last goodbyes, Ned, and then I'll be off.'
‘No rush. God made time – and plenty of it.'
Louis grinned and went back inside the cottage.
‘Well Cat, this is it. I'm off now.' He embraced Cat tightly then turned to Billy sitting at the table hoarding his pile of peelings away from Marie.
‘Be a good boy, Billy, and look after Mummy.' Billy looked up at him, but was more interested in his pile of peelings, which he was guarding from Marie's watchful gaze.
Louis picked Marie up and kissed her. She nestled into his neck and for a moment he stood there holding the child close to him before putting her down and lifting the baby, Eileen, from her crib. He kissed her forehead and placed her back quickly so as not to disturb her sleep.
‘Goodbye, Maeve,' he said hugging her, ‘and thanks for everything you've done.'
‘Ah g’w’on with ye, ’tis a pleasure Louis. ’Tis a real pleasure. Off ye go now or ye'll miss the train. And write as soon as ye can.'
‘I will. Goodbye,' he called climbing aboard the cart.
The donkey moved off immediately, pulling the cart over the cobbles which clashed beneath her hooves until once through the gate, the grass muffled the sound.
Louis turned to look at Cat, Maeve and his children framed in the doorway of Monroe as the cart jogged its way along. Nearing the corner of the boreen where the terrain was firmer, Bessie suddenly bolted forwards just as Louis turned round, so denying him the last sight of his wife and children waving goodbye.
34
London
March 1921
Louis rested his bicycle against the wall in Villiers Street underground tunnel and placed his cap on the ground in front of him. He took out his violin, rubbed resin along bow hairs and began to play.
He didn’t look at the people passing by as he played, but was aware that some walked briskly past looking away from him if they didn’t make a donation. Those that did donate nodded briefly in his direction, and Louis would nod back in gratitude
Ah well, he thought, I can’t blame the ones who look away as he knew that he too would have to do that if confronted with someone playing for money. He just hoped that by lunchtime he would have enough to buy a bite to eat at the tea shop in The Strand.
Louis played from memory throughout the morning, grateful for the acoustics, which amplified his music along the tunnels. Warm winds whooshed through the underground, so feeling relatively comfortable he didn’t mind playing for the majority of seemingly disinterested passers-by. Occasionally someone would throw a couple of pence his way, and sometimes he got lucky and had a shilling tossed into his cap. Whatever came his way, he was grateful.
After buying some food for himself that day, he would put the rest away in a tin at home. Cat called it the Goin’ Home Tin.
He withstood the cold in their home each night when he arrived home because without Cat and the children there, he didn’t bother to light the fire. He saved the money normally spent on coal.
Nothing he felt was as bad as the cold misery he had experienced in the trenches. Often though, when he had played all day and only earned a few pence, he went to bed at night chilled, exhausted and hungry.
He had lost a lot of weight and as he rarely saw the light of day, his complexion grew more sallow and dark circles had appeared beneath his eyes. But, as he told himself each morning cycling to London from Eltham, he was working, and therefore earning money.
Unable to find work of any other kind, he had been forced to fall back on the one thing that he could do expertly and which cost him nothing to do and that was playing the violin. He didn’t have to be nicely dressed to appear publicly as he would if he’d been playing in an orchestra or working in an office. In fact, if he was honest, he rather liked the freedom this life gave him.
The only thing that began to worry him as April drew nearer was the possibility of Cat finding out. He knew she would be furious at his lack of self-respect and could almost hear her scolding him for stooping so low as to beg for a living.
Consequently, his letters to her had been rather vague on the subject of work. He hadn’t exactly hidden the truth from her, but after a couple of experiences of losing jobs because the next man would work for less money, he was forced to busk. His one dread was that he would come face to face with someone he knew.
Approaching midday, one particularly miserable Wednesday morning, he was playing Vivaldi’s Spring, when he noticed a man standing a little way off, watching him. The man was neatly dressed in a dark suit and overcoat with an cream
-coloured silk scarf showing between the lapels. He held a dark trilby hat in his hand.
It occurred to him that maybe the man was someone from the Underground Authorities and would report him for begging. He stopped playing immediately, put his violin away, tied the case to the carrier of his bicycle and headed for the exit. It was not too early to visit the tea shop and he could certainly do with a cup of tea and something to eat. He rode the bicycle quickly up V
illiers Street, past Charing Cross Station and crossed over The Strand.
After leaning his bicycle against a building, he entered the teashop. The sound of teacups chinking in the warm steamy atmosphere cheered him as he found a table and ordered a bun and a cup of tea from the waitress.
Just as he was about to bite into his bun, the man who had been watching him in the Underground sat down at his table. Louis was instantly worried that he was in trouble as he’d seen many a tramp moved on in the tunnels and knew begging was a blight on the British public. But since the war it had increased with many thousands of men unable to find work and the most unlikely types forced to sell items such as boxes of matches to earn a living. He looked the man in the eye and put his bun down.
The man shifted in his seat and took off his hat and smiled at him. ‘I hope you don’t mind my following you, but I want to speak to you. I’ve heard you playing most days in the Underground and I’ve seen you come here before, so thought I may find you here.’
‘Look,’ Louis began, ‘I don’t mean any harm. I won’t return if it’s against the law, but I don’t have a position right now and I have a wife and three children to provide for.’
The man stopped smiling and looked serious, then from his inside pocket withdrew a business card and handed it to Louis. He read the card – Roland Andrews, Musician.
The man continued. ‘I’m not here to chastise you for producing the most wonderful sound I have heard in a long time – other than at the Royal Albert Hall my dear fellow.’
Louis’ hands were trembling and his mouth had dried. The last thing he wanted to endure was the shame of telling Cat that he had been prosecuted for busking. He wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I know talent when I see it my man, and I can see you are not the usual run-of-the-mill beggar.’
Louis looked down, embarrassed at hearing someone refer to him as a beggar.
‘I run a small orchestra, nothing very large you’ll understand, but we play every weekend in The Strand Palace Hotel.’ He paused and leaned forward. ‘I was wondering if you would be interested in auditioning for my orchestra?’
Under the July Sun Page 15