The Forgotten Secret

by Kathleen McGurl

  Matt, Jon and I donned walking boots and macs – the day was fine but clouds on the horizon and a stiff breeze threatened sudden change. The track was muddy and churned by horses’ hooves. We set off, walking three abreast on the wide bridleway.

  ‘Hey, slow down a little,’ I said. ‘You forget that I only have little legs compared to you two.’

  ‘Aw, Midget Mummy,’ said Jon, using a nickname he’d given me from the moment, aged 14, he’d discovered he was taller than me. But they slowed down anyway.

  We chatted about this and that. I told them what I knew of the history of the area, repeating some of what Ryan had told me about the Battle of the Boyne, the United Irishmen’s 1798 rebellion, and the twentieth-century War of Independence. I told them the latest news of my research into the medallion and birth certificate, and about the notes on Granny Irish that I’d found in Daithí’s exercise books.

  We reached the banks of the Boyne, and turned onto a footpath that ran alongside it. There was a bench overlooking a pretty spot, so we decided to sit down and rest for a moment.

  ‘Should have brought a picnic,’ I commented.

  ‘Could have brought your birthday cake,’ Jon said.

  ‘Here, have a fruit pastille.’ Matt pulled a packet out of his pocket and offered them round. ‘Actually, Mum, while we sit here, away from … well … away from Dad, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Ooh er, that sounds ominous,’ I joked, but he was looking serious. So was Jon.

  ‘I’ll come straight out with it. Hope you don’t mind. It’s this – are you planning on getting back together with Dad?’

  ‘Because we don’t think you should,’ added Jon.

  ‘Well, I only—’

  ‘In the pub today,’ Matt interrupted, ‘there was something Dad said that made me worried. He said if he played his cards right, you’d go back to him. And that he was pretty sure you would. He said he reckoned he’d get you to do what he wanted, one way or another.’

  ‘He’s manipulating you, Mum,’ Jon added. ‘Don’t let him. You’ve done the right thing coming here.’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon you’ll love it here, once you’re settled. The people are so friendly. The farm is amazing – or will be once it’s had the Clare Farrell treatment top to bottom. And you seem – or did seem, until Dad turned up – so much happier than you were.’ Matt put another fruit pastille into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘So what I’m saying is, I hope you’ll give it serious consideration before you agree to go back to him.’

  Jon took another pastille from the packet. ‘Just don’t do it. And if you’re thinking you should for our benefit, stop thinking that. It’s all about you.’

  I smiled. Here they were again, my lovely sons, counselling me. And they were right. There was no way I wanted to lose the bit of independence I’d fought for and won. ‘It’s all right. I don’t intend moving back to England to your dad. At least not permanently. I want to stay here. I don’t know if we’ll stay married or not. But if we can be amicable about it, and somehow manage to stay friends, of a kind – surely that’s better? Your dad seems to be making an effort. I think I should do the same. But whatever happens, I won’t let him manipulate me. Not any more.’

  Matt grinned and hugged me. ‘Attagirl!’

  ‘Attagirl?’ Jon laughed. ‘What century are you even in, Matt? But yeah. Way to go, Mum, way to go.’

  Chapter 24

  Ellen, March 1921

  Life had settled into a new routine at the Merciful Sisters. Little James was now three months old, but there’d still not been any sign of Jimmy. Letters from Ellen’s father were as sparse and uninformative as ever. He’d written to say he was glad she’d survived the birth of the child, but had not congratulated her in any way or made any suggestion that she might go home. When she’d written to ask him directly if he’d take her back, he’d ignored the question. Ellen had been out of the institution just once since the baby’s birth, to the registry office to register little James’s birth, accompanied by Sister Anthony.

  ‘You’ll be leaving the father’s name blank, no doubt,’ the nun said, her face showing even more disapproval than ever.

  ‘No I won’t. I’m proud of this baby’s father, so I am, and I know he’ll be proud of his son too.’ Ellen glared at Sister Anthony.

  ‘If you’re not married and the father isn’t here to register the birth, then you cannot put his name on the certificate,’ the nun said. ‘And that’s all there is to it.’

  Ellen had not been able to get her way about naming Jimmy; however, she had managed to keep hold of the birth certificate. They were usually kept by the nuns, locked away in a filing cabinet in an office, but Sister Anthony seemed distracted as they returned to the institution, and hurried away without taking the certificate from Ellen. She’d tucked it away, under her mattress, along with Jimmy’s communion medallion. Precious things, which reminded her there was another life waiting for her, outside of this place, with Jimmy by her side.

  But there seemed no way out. The outer doors were kept locked at all times. ‘May as well be in a prison,’ Ellen said to Mairead. ‘At least then you’d be allowed out when your sentence was over.’

  Mairead nodded. The two of them were side by side in the laundry room, up to their elbows in soapy water, their hands red and raw, as they scrubbed at mounds of dirty linen. ‘I’m after thinking those in prison aren’t worked as hard as we are, too. I wonder what the food’s like.’

  ‘No worse than here, I’d reckon,’ Ellen said. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and smiled. ‘Time for me to go and feed my little James.’ She dried her hands and went off to the nursery wing. It was her favourite part of the day. When James was born, she’d been allowed to hold him and feed him six times a day at strict four-hourly intervals.

  Gradually the timings had changed and many feeds were now administered by bottle by the nuns, but she was still feeding him twice a day, early morning and late afternoon. Those precious moments, holding him in her arms that ached whenever she was not with him, gazing at his blue eyes as he fed, tickling him to make him smile while she changed his nappy, holding him over her shoulder to wind him when he’d finished feeding and then rocking him to sleep, were all that kept her going.

  As time went on her fears for Jimmy grew. Why hadn’t he come to find her? Why was there no news? She could only hope that Madame Carlton’s words were true – that no news was good news.

  ‘If only your daddy could see you now,’ she whispered to little James, as she got him latched on and suckling. ‘I’m going to have to find a way to get us both out of here, and go to look for him. Would you like that, hmm? Would you like to meet your daddy?’

  As if he understood and agreed with every word, little James broke off from feeding for a moment and gave her a wide, toothless grin. She smiled back. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. All right. I’ll make a plan. Don’t you go saying anything to the nuns, now. They wouldn’t like it, so they wouldn’t.’

  Her mind was made up. She had to find a way out. She spent the next couple of weeks thinking of nothing else, discussing possibilities in whispers with Mairead. But no plans presented themselves. She wrote to her Da begging him once more to come and fetch them, promising she’d find somewhere to live away from Blackstown if he was concerned about the shame she’d bring, but had no reply. That worried her. He’d never written much but he’d always replied to her letters. What had happened to him?

  Not for the first time she wished that Madame Carlton was still at Carlton House, so she could write to her for help. But Madame was probably in prison somewhere, with enough troubles of her own to deal with.

  The weather was improving, and sheets from the laundry could be hung outside most days, on the lines in the yard. There was an eight-foot-high brick wall all around the yard, but Ellen knew at the far end it backed onto a road. You could hear the traffic passing – horses’ hooves, carriage wheels, occasional motorcars and buses. Ther
e was a blue-painted gate set into the wall, but Ellen had never seen it used. To the side, another gate led through to a second yard. This was also kept locked. The girls weren’t allowed into the second yard, and no one knew what it was used for.

  ‘A pleasure garden, for the nuns to sit in and sip their coffee,’ Mairead had suggested.

  ‘A vegetable patch?’ Ellen said.

  ‘No. If it was that, we’d be the ones out there tending it, wouldn’t we, so?’ Mairead replied. She had a point. Ellen had not seen the nuns do any real work at all, except for Sister Mary Magdalene in the sanatorium.

  A plan began to formulate itself in her mind a couple of days later. Ellen was hanging out washing, when a nun came out into the yard and opened the gate in the side wall, went through to the second yard leaving the gate ajar.

  Ellen checked no one was watching and tiptoed over to peek through. She was shocked to see the nun was digging – but not a vegetable patch. It looked more like a grave. Had someone died? She’d heard nothing about any tragedies. The grave wasn’t very big. Just three feet or so in length. Elsewhere in that second yard there were other patches of ground that looked as though they’d been dug, small mounds here and there. It was very clearly a graveyard, but there were no grave markers. Ellen shivered. More than ever she felt she had to get herself and little James out from under the control of the Merciful Sisters.

  That’s when she noticed another gate, in the end wall of that second yard. It must open onto the road, like the one in the end wall of the drying yard. But this one seemed to be secured only by bolts on the inside, with no lock. So anyone in that graveyard, if that’s what it was, would easily be able to get out onto the street. She glanced up at the building. There were no windows directly overlooking that yard. The question was, how would she gain access to it? The gate between the two yards was always kept locked.

  Maybe she’d be able to slip through, when the nun’s back was turned. But no, it was too far across the yard, and the bolts might be stiff or squeak, and in any case, how could she collect little James first?

  A few minutes later the nun came out of the second yard and locked the gate behind her. Ellen noticed that she had to pull hard on the gate to make it latch, before turning the key in the lock.

  That night, in bed, she held a whispered conversation with Mairead.

  ‘All I’m saying, is if I disappear, will you look after James for me? See if you can check in on him each day. I’d only be gone a couple of days at most, then I’ll be back, with either Jimmy or my father, or someone else who’d sponsor me, and then I’d take James away.’

  ‘Of course I’ll do it, so, but how will you get out?’

  Ellen told her about the second yard, and the gate to the road. ‘I’m going to watch for my chance, and get out that way when I can. I can’t say when it’ll happen, but one day the chance will be there, and if I can rely on you to look after James I’ll be able to go.’

  Mairead reached out a hand in the darkness to Ellen. ‘You can rely on me. I promise. You’d do the same for me if I had a little one, I know.’

  ‘When I’ve somewhere to live, I’ll come back again for you.’

  They held hands in silence for a moment, and then Mairead whispered again. ‘Who do you think is buried in that yard?’

  Ellen brushed away the tear that had formed at Mairead’s question. ‘Children. Babies. Those graves are too small for it to be anything else.’

  It was another week before the chance Ellen had been looking for arose. She’d made a point of volunteering to be on washing-line duty – not a popular job as the baskets of wet sheets were heavy and it was back-breaking work. She’d taken to carrying her most precious possessions – James’s birth certificate and Jimmy’s medallion – with her at all times, in a hidden pocket she’d sewn into her skirt, so she was ready to go at any time.

  And then one day as she pegged another load of sheets on the lines, she noticed a nun coming out of the second yard. Ellen watched from the corner of her eye as the sister pulled the gate closed. Just then the nun was summoned from the main building by Sister Anthony, and had to hurry locking the gate. Ellen could see it had failed to latch properly.

  This was it. This was her chance. She took a quick look around. No one else was outside or near the door. She darted across the yard, through the gate and pushed it closed behind her, then ran to the gate in the end wall. Her heart was breaking at the thought of leaving little James, but it was only for a couple of days at most, and Mairead would do her best to keep an eye on him.

  The bolts were rusty as she’d feared, but with a bit of jiggling she got them free, and pulled open the gate. It opened directly onto the street. She slipped through, and pulled the gate closed behind her. The hinges were rusty too, so that the gate stayed in its shut position, although of course she knew it wouldn’t be long before her absence was noted.

  Now, she needed to get to Blackstown. She had no money. She’d walk if she had to, but maybe once she was far enough away from the laundry she could try to get a lift from someone. She hurried down the street. No one had noticed her slip out, and once she turned the corner onto a busier road she felt she could blend in with the crowd. She walked, heading northwards, following road signs pointing to towns she knew were in the right direction – in County Meath – for hours. Her feet were sore and blistered, she was hungry and exhausted, but every step led her closer to finding Jimmy, closer to freedom and a future for her, Jimmy and little James.

  She soon left Dublin and the road she was following began to be flanked by fields and farms. Would she come across any roadblocks? How she would get past RIC or Black and Tans she did not know. She prayed she was passing through areas controlled by the Volunteers. She wondered if she’d dare ask any Volunteers she came across if they had news of Jimmy. Maybe they’d help her. She’d done her part for them in the past, hadn’t she? But how could she prove she was on their side?

  She was some distance out of town when a farm cart passed her, and then stopped. The farmer jumped down and approached her.

  ‘What’s a young colleen like yourself doing walking alone on this road? There was fighting here last week. Tis not safe.’

  ‘I’m … heading to Blackstown. My Da lives near there,’ Ellen replied, thinking it was probably best to stick as close to the truth as possible.

  ‘Aye. Well you’d best jump up then. I’m going that way.’

  Ellen smiled her thanks and climbed up onto the box. The farmer sat alongside her, but thankfully he didn’t question her further, except to ask where she’d been.

  ‘Staying with a friend,’ she replied, thinking that Mairead was her friend, and she’d been living in the same room as her, so actually her answer hadn’t been too far from the truth.

  ‘Hmph. A long walk back,’ was the farmer’s only reply, before he lapsed into silence.

  It was dark before they neared the edge of Blackstown. The farmer stopped the cart at a junction. ‘I’m after wanting to go this way,’ he said, ‘but Blackstown’s just a half-mile in that direction. You’d best be finding yourself somewhere safe to sleep tonight. Black and Tans have been raiding houses round here every night. Under a hedge is your best bet. Tis what I do, along with my wife.’

  Ellen stared at him, wide-eyed. People sleeping in the fields for safety! This was a new development since she’d left home. She thanked the farmer and climbed down from the cart, continuing along the road to Blackstown, then away down the lane that led to her father’s cottage. She kept a sharp lookout for militia from both sides. It would be best not to run into anyone.

  Thankfully she saw no one, and reached the cottage safely. There was no one about. No Digger to greet her with his wet nose and wagging tail. Had her father been hurt, or turned out of his home? She went into the kitchen. The range was not lit, and was cold. A jug of milk stood on the table, long since curdled. On the front doormat lay her last two letters, unopened. She picked them up and put them on the table, in her father
’s usual place. Where was he?

  She went about the house, looking for clues. Had he taken anything with him? There seemed to be no signs of a raid, though why either side would want to raid this cottage she couldn’t think. Her father had remained neutral throughout.

  She went into her father’s bedroom, feeling strangely as though she was violating him by being in there. He had a drawer, she knew, in which he kept his money, tucked into an old sock. If that was gone it’d mean he’d taken it and left the cottage of his own accord. She held her breath as she opened the drawer. The sock was still there, but seemed to be empty. She picked it up and felt the rustle of paper within it. There was a note – addressed to her.

  Mary-Ellen, if you are reading this then somehow you have come home and found me gone. It’s not safe to stay here any more. Nor is it safe in the fields, with them Black and Tans at us all day and night. I have gone to Dublin to take a boat to Liverpool. I’ll look for work in England. The dog died. There’s nothing left for me in Ireland. The cottage is yours to use but when peace comes I’ll be wanting to sell it. There’s no news of that Gallagher boy. Your Da.

  She read it twice. At least he was safe, but – nothing left for him in Ireland? What about her? she wanted to scream across the Irish Sea to him. What about his only daughter, who he’d abandoned to live in an institution that was little different to a prison? What about his grandson, who he’d never even met? She brushed away a tear for loyal Digger, and hoped his end had been peaceful.

  And no news of Jimmy. How could she find him? She could go to Clonamurty Farm. But if the Gallaghers had any news of him, surely they would have told Da who would have written to her. An idea came to her. She needed to contact Madame Carlton. She would know something, or be able to put Ellen in touch with someone who’d know. And surely Madame would be easy to track down. Someone in town would know what had happened to her after the raid on Carlton House, after she’d been taken away in handcuffs.

  Maybe Ellen could find Siobhan and find out what she knew, though she’d be fearful Siobhan would betray her too. If Madame was in prison, perhaps Ellen could visit her, or write to her, and glean whatever information she might have. Perhaps too, she could help her old friend somehow, to make amends for not warning her about Siobhan.