by Anne Bennett
The short winter’s day was nearly at an end when the rail bus drew up at the bottom of McCarthy’s farm and there, in the gloom, Bridie spotted her father waiting for them. Gone were her nerves and apprehensions. She almost threw herself from the rail bus at her father and tasted the salt tears as she kissed his cheeks, lined with age and sorrow. She felt a terrific sense of homecoming and realised how much she’d missed her home, her parents, her former life.
But this trip was not for her, nor Mary: it wasn’t even to bury the man who’d done his best to wreck her life. It was to bring some measure of comfort to her daddy who was truly bowed down with grief at losing his brother. His loss was compounded by the way Francis died, but this they didn’t find out until later that evening as they sat around the fire.
Sarah had been rather stiff with both her daughters at first. If she’d have had a say in it at all, she’d have asked just Mary and Ellen, but the intensity of Jimmy’s grief had frightened her and when he had said he wanted Bridie to come over as well, she had felt compelled to agree – she was afraid Jimmy might have gone to pieces altogether if she had opposed him. And yet, she couldn’t fully welcome the girl who’d broken their hearts apart. Sarah fervently wished Ellen had been able to come to ease the tension between them all.
Bridie was tired and hungry and so was more upset by her mother’s attitude than she would have normally been, for she knew her mother and had guessed how she would react. A meal restored Bridie’s spirits, but though Sarah thawed towards Mary, her resentment at Bridie was still openly on display.
Later, as they sat around the fire, Mary produced photographs of all the children which Ellen had taken with the camera she’d bought for Jamie’s First Communion. Although Jimmy was pleased to see how his namesake Jamie and his brother Mickey had grown, when he saw Katie and Liam for the first time, tears streamed from his eyes.
Looking at Katie was like looking at her mother at the same age, while Liam was more like his cousins, but with the podginess of babyhood still clinging to him. ‘Daddy, don’t cry,’ Bridie pleaded, patting his hand.
‘I’m grand, child,’ he said, pushing a gnarled weather-beaten hand across his face. ‘It was just seeing your weans like that for the first time. Look after them well and you too, Mary – guard your sons, for the world’s a wicked place.’
That cryptic remark was later explained when Sarah told them how Francis had been found beaten up in a ditch. ‘It wasn’t the beating that killed him,’ she said, ‘it was the weather too. If it had been warmer, he’d have probably survived it.’
‘But who beat him up?’ Mary asked.
‘No one knows,’ Sarah said. ‘Nor does anyone know where Francis had been that night, or where he was returning from. I don’t know if it had anything to do with it, but gypsies were seen in the area some days before and you know they haven’t been here for many a year. They were blamed, of course, especially as they suddenly disappeared the next day.’
‘That’s their way though,’ Jimmy put in. ‘Sometimes I think the gypsies are blamed for things they haven’t done because it’s easy. I’m not saying they’re angels or anything, the gypsies, it’s just … Well, let’s say I don’t think Francis’s killer, or at least the one who beat him up, will ever be caught. People think it was a gypsy and it will be left there. Whoever it was, I hope at least he’ll rot in Hell when his time comes.’
Bridie and Mary exchanged glances and later in bed, Bridie asked, ‘D’you think it could have been Sally McCormack’s family after all this time?’
‘Maybe,’ Mary replied. ‘But then again, like Daddy said, it might have nothing to do with them. Let’s just say if I ever found out who it was, I’d shake him by the hand. After what happened to you and young Sally, I’d think he or she has done the world a service.’
The next day though, for their parents sake, Bridie and Mary put their grieving face on along with their black mourning clothes and followed the coffin to the church for Requiem Mass. Later, at the wake, while the beer, whiskey and illicit poteen flowed freely, Bridie heard constantly what a grand man her uncle had been.
He’d been the kindest and most generous man you could ever wish to meet. Nothing was too much trouble; for God’s sake, the man would give you the shirt off his back if he thought you had need of it. And then wasn’t he full of fun? Never a dull moment with Francis. He didn’t take life seriously, always ready with a joke and a laugh. He liked a drink, they said, there was no denying that, but no harm in that at all, and though he could drink many a man under the table, he was a good provider, a wonderful father and husband. His family would miss him sorely and so would his friends. God, but it was a terrible tragedy! A great loss! An awful great loss!
‘God, next they’ll apply to have him canonised,’ Bridie hissed to Mary. ‘It makes me feel sick. How soon can we get rid of people?’
‘Not for hours yet,’ Mary whispered back. ‘And it would reflect badly on the family if you were to disappear, so don’t think of it. He’s six foot under and can hurt you no more, so hang on.’
So Bridie gritted her teeth. She commiserated with Frank and Delia and the little ones who were little no longer. Rosalyn was now married to a man called Todd Fleming but couldn’t be there because she’d been unable to get a flight out in time for the funeral. She was sure her mammy would understand.
Delia understood only too well and Bridie was relieved: she’d been worried about meeting Rosalyn again and was glad their first meeting wouldn’t take place on this occasion, when she was fraught enough, especially as she guessed Rosalyn, who had thought the world of her father, would be incredibly upset and might think Bridie’s behaviour odd.
Bridie and Mary left early Monday morning, exhausted, having had to act as though sorry for Francis’s death when really they would have preferred to dance a jig on his grave. Bridie had got no closer to her mother either and, still not able to explain fully why she’d upped and left in the way she had, Sarah couldn’t begin to understand her actions.
Bridie didn’t know if she’d done her father much good either by coming until he enveloped her in a bear hug just before she was about to mount the rail bus. ‘Thank you for coming, my bonny lass,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you sorely.’
‘And I you, Daddy,’ Bridie replied sincerely. ‘And I’m sorry for everything.’
‘Nay, lass. Don’t let our parting words be ones of apology,’ Jimmy said. ‘I only wish I could see more of you and my grandchildren too. If there’s war in England, I want you to come here and bring the two wee ones with you,’ he added suddenly, full of concern. ‘And,’ he said, reaching out to Mary. ‘That goes for you too. Now don’t forget.’
Bridie and Mary were moved by their father’s concern. Both felt too that though it would take him some time to really get over Francis’s death, their presence and the danger of war that hung over them had shifted the emphasis a little and might help take his mind off it.
‘Not that we’d take him up on it, of course,’ Mary said as the rail bus chugged its way towards Strabane.
‘Aye,’ Bridie said, catching her sister’s mood. ‘We can just be glad that we live close enough to be a support to one another.’
‘Amen to that,’ Mary said. ‘You hold me up and I’ll hold you up.’
Bridie was glad to reach home. The low clouds that had hung about all day had made the day dark and now with evening upon them, it was nearly pitch black. The streets’ gas lights made little impression in the murky gloom with wisps of fog swirling through it and Bridie shivered. They’d sent a telegram to Ellen telling her of their arrival time and she’d been up to both houses and lit the fires, leaving them banked up with slack for safety.
Bridie crossed to the hearth and poked life into the fire and it was as she raised her head to lift the coalscuttle that she saw the figure pass the window. She groaned; the shambling gait of the shawl-clad person meant there was no mistaking who it was and a few minutes later she faced Peggy McKenna who’d come in
the entry door.
‘I came to sympathise with you on your loss,’ she said.
‘My loss!’ Bridie said blankly. She almost told Peggy that it was no loss, but a blessing, but she didn’t: for Peggy didn’t know who the father of the child she had aborted was and she’d never know, it would only be more ammunition for her. So she quickly collected herself and said, ‘Aye, my father was very cut up.’
‘Invited you back to the fold and all,’ Peggy said sneeringly. ‘Wonder if they’d be so pleased with you if they knew what I know?’
Bridie knew they’d be horrified. It would be no good telling them about Francis now. He’d turned into a demi-god after his death. Never speak ill of the dead, people said, and that certainly applied to Francis. If the news of her pregnancy and subsequent abortion got out now, she’d be castigated more than ever if she tried to tell the truth. Francis was more powerful from the grave than if he’d still been alive.
‘Peggy, what do you want?’ she cried. ‘Your husband is in work now.’
‘Aye, he is,’ Peggy agreed. ‘But the man has a terrible thirst on him. Sure, there’s little left for the rest of us. Your man must get a good screw, all the overtime he does, and isn’t he a fine and sober man. You can spare a few coppers, I’m sure.’
‘I gave you three shillings before I went to the funeral,’ Bridie protested.
‘Three shillings – what good is that?’ Peggy said. ‘I want at least ten bob a week now.’
Bridie gasped. ‘Peggy, I could never manage that. I only have housekeeping. I couldn’t lose ten shillings a week … Maybe I could stretch to five,’ she said weakly.
‘Ten,’ Peggy said. ‘Or those people of yours will be getting a letter from me.’
Bridie suddenly heard her children approaching. Mary had offered to collect them from Ellen’s and Bridie could hear the high-pitched voice of her daughter and the shouts of Mary’s boys.
‘The weans,’ she said to Peggy.
‘I hear them,’ Peggy said. ‘I’m away, but I’ll look in tomorrow. Ten bob – have it ready!’
Mary and Peggy passed each other in the doorway. ‘What did she want?’ Mary asked, almost as soon as she was in the door.
‘To say she was sorry about Francis. Sorry for me, I mean,’ Bridie said. ‘I nearly told her what I really thought but managed to stop myself.’
‘What was that, Auntie Bridie?’ Jamie asked, and Mary gave her eldest son a cuff.
‘My fault,’ Bridie said with a wry smile. ‘I forgot about little pigs having big ears,’ and to her young nephew, she added, ‘and as for you, you can mind you own business and not worry a jot about mine.’
‘Don’t encourage Peggy McKenna,’ Mary warned.
‘I don’t.’
‘Well, she’s never away from the place,’ Mary said. ‘People tell me. They wonder at it because no one else has much time for her.’
‘God, you can’t blow your nose in this place before someone has you dead and buried,’ Bridie snapped angrily, the stress of the fraught funeral, the insidious blackmailing of Peggy McKenna and the difficulty of getting her hands on ten shillings before the morning getting to her. ‘I wish everyone would mind their own bloody business!’
‘Oh well, if that’s your attitude,’ Mary said huffily.
Bridie immediately felt contrite. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Mary,’ she said. ‘It’s just the funeral and all. Stay for a wee bit.’
‘I can’t,’ Mary said, still a little annoyed with her sister. ‘Eddie will be in and no meal ready. Come on, boys.’
When she’d gone, Bridie sat on the chair and pulled her children onto her lap. ‘Did you miss me, Mammy?’ Katie asked.
‘I did indeed,’ Bridie said.
‘And me?’
‘And you, Liam,’ Bridie assured him, and though she sat and talked to the children, hugging them and telling them about the cottage and the farm and their grandparents and cousins, the problem of getting ten shillings prayed on her mind. She only had a few shillings to last her until Friday, pay day, and the only other money she had was in the post office book that Tom set such store by. She’d thanked God he’d put it in her name, for she miserably conceded that she’d have to take money out of there, this week certainly. Maybe she’d have to take some out of it every week and she hoped and prayed Tom didn’t look too closely at the book when he paid money in. She wondered bleakly if she’d be paying for Peggy McKenna’s silence till one of them died.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Peggy McKenna continued to blackmail Bridie as 1939 dawned, coming almost every week for the ten shillings that Bridie often had to draw some, or all of, from the post office account. She thanked God that since Tom was working such long hours at the factory, he’d readily agreed with her suggestion that she put the money in every week. It would never occur to him to check it either and she thanked God for that too, for she often went hot and cold at the thought of Tom finding out how little savings they actually had.
Elsewhere too, the world was in total disarray. By the spring, Chamberlain authorised a doubling of strength of the Territorial Army and conscription was introduced. ‘That’s it then,’ Tom said, turning off the wireless one evening. ‘War can’t be avoided much longer.’
They were all crowded into Bridie’s house: Ellen, Sam, for he’d thankfully rallied with the warmer weather, Mary, Eddie and the boys, and no one disagreed with Tom. Half the world seemed ranged against Britain and despite America calling back its ambassador from Prague in protest after Hitler’s invasion, they’d been remarkably quiet about other concerns.
‘At least France is joining in with us,’ Eddie said.
‘Aye, if the bloody maniac attacks Poland,’ Sam said. ‘And he will.’
No one spoke; there was nothing to say. Each one was busy with their own thoughts, wondering what the uncertain future held.
Worried though Bridie was about her children’s safety if war should break out, their general good humour and laughter lifted her spirits when depression at the turn of world events threatened to overwhelm her. Each day was increasingly precious to her as she sensed time was running out for them and Tom would soon have to leave his family to help the war effort.
Tom was only too aware of that as well and knew he would miss the harmony of his home, but that he had to fight to defend his family’s right to liberty and freedom from oppression. He was glad though that when the time came, Bridie would have Ellen and Mary beside her.
Bridie was glad too, for both women were very important to her and at the beginning of the summer that year, Bridie said to Mary, ‘I’m pushing all this war talk to the back of my mind as far as I can. I know Katie only looks about three, but she was five in June and will be at school in September – God knows I’ll miss the chatter and company of her.’
Mary caught her sister’s mood. ‘I agree with you,’ she said. ‘Let’s make this a summer for the children and make the most of every day.’
The weather was kind to them too, for while July was wet and miserable, from early August it was warm and sunny day after day. Bridie and Mary spent many days in Cannon Hill or Calthorpe Park with the smaller children. Jamie wouldn’t come with them though: he considered himself far too old at eleven to be going about with women and kids. He’d also told his astounded mother that Jamie was a babyish name. From now on, he informed them all, his name was Jay.
‘Thinks he’s the bee’s knees, that one,’ Mary remarked to Bridie as they made their way towards Cannon Hill Park one afternoon in mid-August. Liam was kicking his legs in the pushchair while Mary held Katie and Mickey’s hands. ‘Says if his dad enlists, he’ll be man of the house and not to even think of sending him away anywhere.’
‘Evacuation?’ Bridie said, and she shivered in sudden fear. ‘I’ve never even given it a thought. I could never send my children to live with strangers – anything could happen to them. Were you seriously thinking of it?’
‘Eddie and I have talked of it,’ Mary admitted. She k
new the way Bridie felt about her children. She seldom let them out of her sight. Even going to the funeral she’d fretted leaving them with Ellen, and that was with Tom on hand a lot of the time. She knew evacuation wouldn’t be on the cards as far as Bridie was concerned. Still, Mary thought, she was no better – she couldn’t imagine how empty the house would seem without her boys. ‘Mine won’t be going either’, she said. ‘Well, Jamie, or bloody Jay as he calls himself now, won’t go and I’d not have Mickey go without him. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t that keen anyway – sending your children across the country to perfect strangers, I’d be worried stiff about them.’
‘I know,’ Bridie agreed. ‘God knows I’d be lost without mine and I’d never know a minute’s peace if they were away from me.’
Air raid shelters were being delivered to those who had gardens to put them in and public shelters had been erected too. Local children, fortunately still on holiday from school, had been drafted in to help and fill sandbags to pile around the outside of them. Jay was amongst those helping. It was hot and heavy work, but he did it day after day, pleased that he was doing his bit for the war effort.
Mary, Ellen and Bridie went to the Bull Ring together to buy blackout material for the curtains and shutters to shield the windows, ensuring no light was visible to aid any enemy bombers. It was a big job and they were all grateful of the treadle sewing machine that Ellen had got a loan of from a neighbour.
‘They look horrible,’ Katie announced, as Bridie stood back to examine the curtains she’d just hung. ‘Take them down.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Bridie said. ‘I’d be in real trouble. The ARP warden would be after me if I did.’
And they would. Many thought they were worse than police, parading around in their uniforms and throwing their weight about. Bridie, however, thought people might be glad of those wardens before too long. She’d seen the trenches dug in the parks and the wardens running classes in Calthorpe Park helping people practise first aid on volunteer patients, potential victims of the bombs everyone said would soon fall from the sky. It looked like some game weans would play together, until you remembered grimly why they were doing it.