by Anne Bennett
‘We have no life here, Mammy,’ Finbarr cried. ‘There is no future for us, our lives are dribbling away.’
Mary continued to cry, but Matt had listened to his sons. Finbarr had a point, he realized, for he was twenty-four now and Colm twenty-three. They should be working at a job of some sort and have money in their pockets for a pint or two now and then, go to the match if they had a mind, court a girl perhaps, and all they could see in front of them were years of the same struggle. There was no light at the end of the tunnel because they were unable to procure some meaningful employment, so Matt’s wage added together with a minute portion from his two sons still at the foundry had to keep them all. It was only Mary’s ability to make a sixpence do the work of a shilling that stopped them from starving altogether.
The situation couldn’t go on however, especially when there was every likelihood of the situation worsening when Gerry finished his apprenticeship in a year or two and subsequently Barry. His sons had the means of alleviating things for them and securing a future for themselves. It was bad that this involved them leaving home to move so far away but he didn’t see any alternative. Though he knew he would be heart-sore to lose them, for the good of them all it had to be.
Finbarr and Colm had their arms around their mother saying they were sorry and urging her not to upset herself, and her tears had changed to gulping sobs, and Matt waited till he was totally calm and then told Mary quietly the thoughts that had been tumbling around his head. As a pang of anguish swept over Mary’s face Colm moved away so Matt could hold Mary’s arm. Neither Finbarr nor Colm had been aware of Matt’s thoughts and the fact that he had listened to them and understood their concerns meant a great deal since the one person their mother listened to and took heed of was Matt.
‘But America, Matt,’ Mary wailed. ‘It’s so far away. We’ll never see them again.’
Matt gave a slight shake of his head. ‘We might not and there will be a part of my heart that will go with them, but we can be content, thinking that we have given them the potential for a full and happy life.’
Mary was still silent so Matt went on. ‘We left our native shores for a better life, remember.’
‘We only crossed a small stretch of water though.’
‘Never mind how long or short the journey was. We came for a better life,’ Matt said. ‘And for a time achieved it, but the system failed our boys and they are on the scrapheap. They want better than this and who can blame them? And if they have to go to America to achieve it, so be it.’
Mary gave a brief nod. Though tears shone in her eyes and she was unable to speak, she knew she had no right to deny a better life to her sons.
The rest of the family were astounded when they heard and more than a little upset, though they all could see why the boys had to go. Father Brannigan disapproved, but then he disapproved of so much, you wouldn’t know what you had to do to please him.
‘You will lose your faith if you go there.’
‘Don’t see why you say that, Father,’ said Finbarr. ‘They have priests and churches and plenty of Catholics already there.’
‘It’s a dangerous, lawless place.’
‘Oh, have you been over there, Father?’
‘No I haven’t been,’ the priest snapped. ‘I wouldn’t go to such a place if you paid me, but I can read the papers.’
‘Even if it’s as bad as you say,’ Colm said, ‘Fin and I wouldn’t get involved in anything like that. We just want to do a job of work and get paid a wage that will enable us to enjoy life a little.’
‘Frankie Docherty as been there some months now and he writes to us but never mentions any trouble of any kind,’ Finbarr said and the priest was silent, because he had tried to talk Frankie out of going and he hadn’t been dissuaded either.
The boys would not be going until the spring of 1908 as it was too close to the end of the year to cross the Atlantic, so Christmas that year had poignancy to it as they knew they might never ever be all together like that again. Stan came to wish them all Happy Christmas. He had grown fond of the boys and he felt a measure of guilt that he had been unable to help them in finding employment. Neither of the boys bore him any ill will however, and though they would undoubtedly miss their family, Frankie described New York in such glowing terms, they couldn’t wait to see it for themselves.
Mary had got a battered case from someone, not that her sons had much to put in it – sparse sets of ragged underwear, everyday clothes holed and patched and the two jumpers Mary had knitted them both for Christmas, for she said from what she’d heard New York winters were severe. They would be travelling in the suits they wore for Sunday, though they were thin and quite flimsy now and the trousers shiny and shapeless, and the only boots they possessed they had on. They had no top coats or any money to buy them which was another reason for crossing the Atlantic in the spring.
The day arrived and the family assembled to say goodbye for there was no money for the fare to accompany them to the docks. Mary had thought of this day often and had shed tears each time she had thought of it, and now she held her sons tight, for it was a hug that would have to last a lifetime, and tears were also raining down Finbarr and Colm’s face when Mary released them. Matt also hugged his two sons and wished them God speed. They bade farewell to Sean and Gerry and Barry and as he hugged Angela Finbarr said, ‘You better behave yourself now I’m not around to look after you.’
‘Huh, as if I ever took any notice of you anyway,’ Angela said with a ghost of a smile.
Finbarr gave a watery smile back, glad of her lightening the atmosphere, even slightly, for the whole family had seemed steeped in misery, and it was hard to leave them like that, but they had a boat to catch. Mary stood on the pavement and waved till they turned down Bristol Street and so were out of sight. Then she came in, gave a sigh, plopped in a chair and burst into tears, wiping her eyes with her apron.
Finbarr and Colm’s departure had left a gaping hole in the family and they maybe were aware of that but they certainly knew how their mother would worry and so they wrote a letter while on the ship just saying that they were well and quite excited and on course for America. They hadn’t expected to be able to do that but it was a practice on some ships to encourage it, even providing the paper, envelopes and pens, since it was known it helped homesickness for many of the passengers, at least in steerage or third class, who were often not there through choice but forced through poverty and unemployment to make for the Brave New World.
The next letter came after they had met up with Frankie and his uncle and were taken to share a bedroom in Aiden’s quite sizeable home. Finbarr wrote:
Before we came to America we had to go to a place called Ellis Island to see if we were free from disease. We were prodded and poked and examined and in the end the doctor said I was fit enough but needed more flesh on my bones. Colm was told the same and we were mighty glad because if you fail that medical you’re sent back. We were asked questions, general knowledge sort of thing, and an account of why we have come to America and we found the Christian Brothers had beat enough knowledge into us for us to be able to give a good enough account of ourselves.
Colm wrote:
From Ellis Island you can see the New York skyline and all the skyscrapers some of the fellows on the ship had told us about. What a sight it was. And dominating the waterfront was the huge Statue of Liberty. Liberty that burns in the heart of every Irish man. This is truly the land of the Free and neither of us can wait to experience that.
‘They seem happy enough anyway,’ Matt said. ‘So far at least.’
And they continued to be fine as they described the long straight streets of New York that had numbers instead of names and the shops and the buildings that towered above them till you could almost feel they were actually scraping the sky. They described the tramcars and the trains that run underground that the Americans called the subway and they talked of the job they did building motor cars.
Mary wished they wou
ldn’t write in such glowing terms of the great life they were leading for she saw the same restlessness in her two younger sons, which intensified when Gerry finished his apprenticeship in 1909 and was immediately laid off. Angela knew that Mary was worried they would want to follow their brothers to America, but she also knew how tight the financial budget was. Maybe if she got a job and could contribute a bit and things were a little easier they would stay.
In 1910 Angela would be fourteen and could leave school but as her birthday was in early April it was after Easter before she could leave school and only then if she had a job to go to, otherwise she had to stay until July. From the experience her brothers had had she knew any job might be difficult to find.
‘I don’t like the thought of you in a factory anyway,’ Mary said in early March.
‘Mammy, I don’t think I can be that fussy,’ Angela said. ‘Think of the way Finbarr and Colm searched for employment and they were willing to do anything and in the end they had to go to America to get a good job. Maybe,’ she added with a grin at Mary, ‘I should try that too?’
‘Don’t even joke about that,’ Mary said. ‘We’ll keep looking. There must be something and we have got time yet.’
It was Norah who told her about the vacancy at George Maitland’s grocery shop. It was a little out of the way for them, but she had gone visiting an old neighbour who had moved there and seen the card in the window.
‘People around said he had a boy helping him but he caught rheumatic fever. They did think at one time the boy wasn’t going to make it but when it was obvious he was going to recover George Maitland didn’t advertise his position in case he wanted to come back to work, so my friend said. She said, “He’s a decent sort that way, George.” He even had his crabbed wife to help him a time or two but she insulted more than she served, my friend said, and if she was more in the shop in general and not just when he was short handed people would go elsewhere for their groceries.’
Angela wrinkled her nose. ‘She doesn’t sound very nice. But if the boy is recovering, I don’t see why he’s advertising now for someone new.’
‘That’s it,’ Norah said. ‘Apparently he is as well as he ever will be, but he’s left with a weak heart and the doctor said the work in the shop is too strenuous for him, so as he can’t go back there’s a vacancy. Do you know the shop I’m talking about?’
Angela nodded, ‘I’ll go up tomorrow.’
‘What about school?’ Mary asked.
‘I think this is more important,’ Angela said. ‘Jobs are snapped up these days and it’s nearly holidays anyway and if I secure this job my school days are numbered and I’ll be earning money almost straight away.’
Mary couldn’t argue with that. ‘I think you do right. We’ll sort out the school later and I hope you get it.’
So early the next morning George Maitland turned as the bell tinkled and saw one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen standing in his shop. She had white-blonde hair and the most vivid blue eyes and when she smiled at him it was as if someone had turned a light on inside her.
Angela in her turn saw an oldish man in his late fifties, if she had to hazard a guess. He had a pleasant face rather than a handsome one for he had a large nose and a wide and generous mouth set in slightly sallow skin. He had plenty of hair but it was a bit like pepper and salt in colour and matched his big, bushy eyebrows. Beneath those eyebrows were the softest kindest eyes she had seen in a long time and he said, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, please,’ Angela said. ‘I’ve come about the ad.’
‘The ad?’
‘Yes it’s in the window,’ Angela said. ‘About a shop assistant.’
‘You want to work in the shop?’ George said. He had never thought about employing a girl before but there was no rule against it and he realized he would like to see that pleasant and attractive face every day.
‘It’s five and a half days a week,’ he said. ‘All day Saturday and half day Wednesday, that all right?’
‘That’s fine, sir,’ Angela said, hardly daring to believe that this man was going to employ her. She could go home and put a smile on Mary’s face, because it was nearly the holidays so she could start work straight away. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she added and wondered if it was bad form to ask about wages. She needed to know, but wouldn’t like to scupper her chances.
George wondered if she knew how expressive her face was. He was surprised she hadn’t asked straight away what she was to be paid when he told her the hours she would be working, but knew from her face she was working up to do it now.
And so he forestalled her. ‘And the wages are ten and six a week,’ he said, knowing if he had employed a boy he would have started him on twelve and six.
However, Angela didn’t know that and ten shillings and sixpence sounded fine to her, especially when George added, ‘And a basket of groceries every Saturday.’
George readily agreed to write a note for the school so that Angela could be released from school early and she began in the shop at the start of the Easter holidays. She was a hit with most of the customers and soon he didn’t know what he had ever done without her. She loved serving in the shop and it showed. She greeted every customer, even the awkward ones, with a bright smile and if someone had a sick child they were worried about or a doddery mother or chesty husband she would remember and enquire about them. Added to that, she was quick and efficient and could reckon up faster and more accurately than any boy he had ever employed.
He felt quite paternal towards Angela. She could easily have been his daughter and how he wished she was. He had thought by the age he was now he would have sons to help him in the store and carry on after his day, as he had done with his father, and maybe a daughter or two to gladden his heart.
But it was not to be, for Matilda didn’t like that side of married life. That hadn’t worried him at first for girls of her class were not supposed to like sex and as they were heavily chaperoned during their courtship he was unable to ask or reassure her about it. In fact they had both been so constrained and had such little time totally alone thatt he knew no more of Matilda when he married her than when the courtship had begun.
She was completely innocent of sexual matters or what you did to procreate a child. In that she wasn’t unusual of her station; very often it was expected that the husband would teach a girl what was what on their wedding night. So George imagined that he would talk to her about sexual matters and any problems could be sorted out.
However, she didn’t even like discussing such things. She said it was ‘dirty talk’ and was completely disgusted when he explained how they might conceive a child together. She threw him from her with such force that he almost fell out of bed while she screamed at him that she was surprised at such dirty words spilling from his mouth and she never wanted to hear a word about it again. So nothing was sorted out at all.
Matilda agreed to share a bed and often lay beside him as stiff as a board, but that was all. She wouldn’t allow George to touch her in any way. He had initially thought she might come round in the end, but as time went on her attitude became more and more entrenched. He begged and pleaded, cajoled, but Matilda wouldn’t budge an inch. ‘But don’t you want a child, my love?’ he’d asked in desperation and frustration one night.
‘A child!’ Matilda had shrieked as if she had never heard of such a thing. ‘No I don’t want a child. I have no desire to find myself lumbered with some smelly, bawling brat.’
George felt a stab in his heart as he realized he had fallen for a beautiful face, for in her youth Matilda had been a stunning beauty and he had been overawed that she had agreed to walk out with him. Her parents made no objection to their courtship for though George was ‘Trade’ he was known as a steady, sober and easygoing sort of chap who would inherit the shop after his father died.
What George got was a shell instead of a real flesh-and-blood woman. One who looked good on the top but with nothing underneath. He was heartbroken t
hat his dreams of a family to fill the rooms above the shop would only ever be dreams and never become reality. However, he believed marriage was for life and if you made a bad choice you had to live with it, and as he wasn’t the sort of man to force himself on a woman he settled for a loveless and a sexless marriage.
He felt ashamed that his wife spurned him so totally and he threw himself into the shop, knowing there he was in charge and a success, but it was a sterile success for he was working only for a woman who had no interest in it and was only interested in the profit made.
And now Angela had brought brightness to his days he was almost content.
Angela could have told him he had brought contentment to Mary with the groceries she took home each Saturday. In fact it was more than contentment. In fact that first Saturday, as she unpacked the bag and laid all the articles on the table, Mary burst into tears and wiped her eyes on her apron as she felt the worry of making nourishing meals for them all slide from her shoulders.
And so when Angela gave her her wage packet unopened she extracted sixpence from it and gave it back to Angela. ‘I don’t want it, Mammy,’ Angela said. ‘The money is just for you.’
Mary shook her head. ‘It’s right you keep something, for the men hold back their ciggy money, so you should have something.’
‘But I don’t smoke.’
‘I should think you don’t,’ Mary said. ‘But there might be something else you want. Save it if you can think of nothing just now, but you can rely on sixpence coming your way every week.’
‘Thank you Mammy.’
‘Yes, and talking about smoking, I wish your father didn’t do so much of it,’ Mary said. ‘He has that hacking cough and smoking can’t help. Smoking less might help his stomach too.’