And afterwards when there were records on the gramophone there was dancing. Everyone danced except Eamonn who said it was silly, but he was in charge of winding up the gramophone which was a great help.
And as Elizabeth saw Uncle Sean dance a waltz with Maureen and noticed her lean her head against his jacket and cry, she thought she would never understand them in a million years.
The new term began with cold weather and Sister Mary in a very bad humour. She had chilblains and wore mittens, her fingers seemed swollen and purple and she had a racking cough. Donal was wheezing again, and Eileen kept him at home.
Maureen had gone to each of the shops where the Christmas gifts had been ‘bought’. In front of Eileen she had handed them back, saying that she had taken them by mistake during her Christmas shopping. Nowhere was she met with anything but kindness. As soon as she left the shop, face burning with shame, the shopkeepers softened the humiliation for Eileen by saying that it was all that young Berna Lynch’s doing, a wild bold strap if ever there was one; of course, with all the trouble the poor mother had with the doctor it was hard to know who to blame. They said that poor Maureen had had enough punishment by having to face them and told Eileen to forget it.
Sean had asked the convent what time Maureen’s classes ended each day and insisted that she be home fifteen minutes later. He asked her to come into the shop and present herself to him and then to return to the house and begin her homework. Berna Lynch was not to come inside their home again, and Maureen was not to enter hers.
Young Sean read that in England an Air Training Corps had been started for boys between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. He read it out to his father as proof that seventeen was a man’s age already. His father said that he didn’t care if the British Empire reached into playpens and took their own boys out to fight at the age of four, no son of his, no Irishman of any decency was going to go and fight with them in further attempts to conquer the globe.
Aisling, annoyed by all the efforts to make her less giddy and to extract more work from her, decided that she would organise a baptism for Elizabeth to liven up the term. They fixed the date for 2 February, the Feast of the Purification. Aisling had an instinct that they should keep the baptism a secret. This instinct was shared by the other girls in the class.
It took place on the stone floor of the Junior Girls’ cloakroom, less attractive than the River Jordan where Jesus had his baptism, according to the nice picture in the school corridor. Water from four holy water fonts had been poured into a school mug. Joannie Murray and Aisling had the words of the ceremony written out in case they forgot them … which Elizabeth thought added to the importance and magic of it all. She knelt, and then in front of all the class they poured the water and said, ‘I baptise thee in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen!’ There was a silence; then they all clapped.
Elizabeth stood up. Her pale hair was stuck to her head, her shoulders were dripping. She didn’t like to rub away the water, as it was holy water and was special. She squeezed Aisling’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Aisling put her arm around her.
‘You’ll find it all a lot easier now,’ she said.
Her letters from Mother did not arrive every week. Aunt Eileen’s explanation was always the terrible postal system.
‘The poor woman is demented posting you letters, it’s just that things are so bad over there it could take days to clear a post box.’ And later there was the excuse of Violet’s work. ‘Now your mother must be worn out from all that war work. We’ve no idea here at all how desperate things must be for them.’
Violet had written just after Christmas to say that she had volunteered for the WAAFs but the ridiculous people were only taking single people or childless people or people under thirty. It was so foolish of them since Violet would have been much more suitable than these silly girls only interested in face powder and wearing a smart uniform. It was the same apparently with the Army and the Navy so Violet wasn’t going to keep on offering. She was doing her bit with the WVS of course and it was fairly harrowing.
None of these initials meant anything to Elizabeth but she discovered an unexpected ally in Aisling’s elder brother, Sean. He used to read the letters with her and explain what WAAFs were. It wasn’t the same as being in the real Air Force, he assured her, but it was the best women could be. Her mother would wear a uniform, he told her, and do drilling and training and have her kit examined every day. This didn’t seem at all likely. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine Mother in a dark uniform like a policeman or a bus conductor. Mother wore cardigans and skirts. She couldn’t get into rough clothes could she?
Sean, in his conversations with her, told her far more about London than Mother’s letters did. He said that the Women’s Voluntary Service wasn’t just a lot of ladies doing charity things like Aunt Eileen had thought; they didn’t make cakes and have coffee mornings, they were down there in the rubble on the streets finding bodies and feeding poor people and clothing them. He showed her articles in the papers about the evacuation and the finding of foster homes. He read to her that some families had turned out to be so poor and badly looked after that the children had slept on the floor and had lice all over them. Women in the WVS who had never seen such poverty were having to cope with it.
Sean’s eyes almost shone as he talked about the heroism. Elizabeth didn’t like to tell him that she felt sure her mother could not possibly have got caught up in such earthy work as delousing children. It was so unusual and unexpected to see him talkative that she listened and felt flattered.
His father would grunt when he heard the tales his son would tell. ‘There’s plenty of charity work goes on in this country too you know. …’ When he heard of women training for war he laughed. ‘Oh, we had women soldiers here long before they had them over in England … what do you think Countess Markievicz was doing?’
When Sean told Elizabeth about boys of his own age and younger joining an Air Corps recruiting scheme by the hundred every day … thousands within weeks … his father lost his temper.
‘God, it would be a relief if you joined them some day, I tell you that, instead of all this bellyaching about what a great lot they are over there.’
Eileen the peacemaker, darning from the huge bag that was always beside her chair, looked up mildly.
‘Ah, Sean, leave the boy alone, isn’t he just praising the people for doing so much to defend their country … wouldn’t we do the same here but thank God we don’t have to. That’s all he’s saying.’
‘That’s all he’d better be saying,’ Sean said.
On the first day of May Sister Bonaventure toured the classrooms in the convent to inspect the altars for Our Lady. May was Our Lady’s special month and it was an act of love and daughterly respect to our heavenly mother to decorate a little altar in front of her statue. Children who lived out in the country had brought bluebells and primroses, fresh white cloths and clean vases everywhere. Sister Bonaventure was very pleased. As she was leaving the classroom that nice little English refugee who was staying with the O’Connors held the door open for her.
‘Settling in all right child?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes, Sister.’ The child flushed politely.
Sister Bonaventure patted her on the head.
It had been no trouble at all taking in a non-Catholic, she thought with pleasure, she was very glad she agreed.
On the first day of May, Eileen opened a letter from Violet which had a ten-shilling note pinned to it. It was to buy birthday presents for Elizabeth and Aisling – there was only ten days’ difference between them. Eileen thought ruefully of all the years that she had parcelled up some little trinket for Violet’s daughter in England and that this was the first time that Aisling had ever been remembered. It must have been through Elizabeth’s letters. Eileen hoped that the child hadn’t asked too openly for a present. ‘It’s impossible to buy anything here, will you do it?’ Violet wrote. Every
thing is in chaos. I’m glad now that I wasn’t accepted into the WAAFs, they’ve passed laws to stop you getting out … it’s in for the duration like men. We’ve all had to register for mobilisation. I could be sent off to some munitions factory in the country, the Lord knows where. George is an ARP and he’s out every night with the other wards … I think they quite enjoy it – they behave like schoolboys, and he brings the most extraordinary people back to breakfast sometimes. Really rough men.
This week the cheese ration goes down to one ounce … think of it, one ounce a week. Nobody has any clothes and we are living like paupers because everything is in short supply.
You are awfully good to look after Elizabeth for us. And to get her to write all those letters. It’s very expensive on stamps for you … so I shan’t mind if she misses a week now and then. George says to thank you too … he’s very impressed that you should take in a total stranger … but then he doesn’t understand the blood-brothership of St Mark’s and all we went through.
Thank you again my dear. As ever, Violet
Yes, as ever remembering bloodbrothership to relieve her conscience but not remembering a card or a letter to the child. Eileen knew that this was it as far as the birthday was concerned. Her only child was going to be eleven years of age in a foreign country with no acknowledgement from her home.
On that first day of May, young Sister Helen, Donal’s teacher, wrote a note to his mother saying that the little boy was flushed and became overexcited and wheezed whenever he was asked a question. Perhaps his asthma hadn’t entirely cleared? Should she talk to the doctor again, because it might be something in the classroom that brought it on? Sister Helen said that the child was so eager to learn it was very distressing to see him held back by his wheezing attacks. She put the note in an envelope and packed it in his schoolbag.
‘Is it about me, Sister?’ he asked with his face reddening.
‘There’s not a bad word in it, Donal,’ she said. ‘I’m telling your mother that you’re one of the hardest-working boys in the class.’
He reddened even more with pleasure and bit his lips with excitement over it all.
On that first day of May, Maureen got the letter from the hospital which said that if her examination results were satisfactory she could have a place in the hospital in Dublin. She wrote a note about it to Berna Lynch, since the two girls did not meet. But Berna had new friends now and didn’t reply. Maureen decided that it didn’t matter. She must work like a demon for the next six weeks and pass her exams.
And on that first day of May, Aisling and Elizabeth went into the shop after school to deliver a message. Da was to come home please for a minute, Mam wanted to talk to him.
‘Well, how can I come home?’ Sean asked crossly. ‘Who’ll look after the place? That lout of a son of mine is too good to be in here apparently … he hasn’t been seen since lunchtime. …’
‘Mam said to bring you.’ Aisling was swinging out on the handles of the door that led to the back yard. ‘She said no matter what.’
‘Is she sick or something?’ Sean was irritated. He pulled Aisling off the door and she shied away.
‘No, Uncle Sean, she’s not ill, she’s sitting at her desk up in the sitting room, but she said it was important.’
‘Well, tell her to come down to me if it’s that important,’ he said, about to turn away. …
‘She said no matter what.’ Aisling put on a baby voice.
In one movement Sean pulled off his dun-coloured coat, picked up his jacket from a nail, and strode to the door calling over his shoulder, ‘Come on you two, outa there. We’ve enough annoyance without the two of you breaking the tools in here.’ He put the ‘Back in Five Minutes’ notice on the door. He had no one but poor Jemmy to help him today. Jemmy looked at him with dulled eyes. It never occurred to him that the master would let him look after the shop. He came out and stood in the street patiently.
The girls trotted home after Sean, arriving in time to hear the news. Young Sean had gone to Dublin on the lunchtime bus. He was taking the boat to Holyhead tonight. He had said to Mam that if they brought him back he’d just go again. They couldn’t keep him from doing what everyone wanted to do, fight in the war.
‘Let him go!’ roared Sean. ‘Let him go, God damn him and blast him to hell forever!’
V
ELIZABETH NEVER TOLD Violet about Sean’s leaving. She didn’t know why. It seemed somehow disloyal to describe any unhappiness, any scenes in the household. It was as if she were telling tales. Anyway there weren’t any words. Nothing could tell anyone who wasn’t there what it was like, even if anyone wanted to tell. About the weeks when Uncle Sean had gone down three or four nights a week to Maher’s and had come home very late banging doors and singing bits of ‘The Soldier’s Song’. Or other times when things seemed to be going calmly and someone mentioned the war or rations or the time when Germany invaded Russia. Then Uncle Sean would laugh; a horrible kind of sound that only looked like a laugh when you saw his face grinning but didn’t sound like one; and he would say, ‘Ah sure, they’ve no trouble nowadays, the Allies. Haven’t they got bould Sean O’Connor from Kilgarret on their side and he’s a big man. He’ll be eighteen next authumn, mind. He’ll be helping them plan their strategies out there. …’
There was no news, no word. Bit by bit Eileen stopped looking out the window in case he was getting off the bus in the square. Bit by bit Peggy stopped setting places for him at table and even moved a chair out of the room. Bit by bit his bedroom became a boxroom. Things that weren’t needed ended up in Sean’s room. Once Peggy called it a boxroom, and that day Eileen went up and cleared it out, distributing things all around the house and saying loudly that it was Sean’s room and she’d thank everyone to remember that.
But soon it went back to being a boxroom again. People didn’t ask for news any more. Elizabeth begged Aunt Eileen not to worry about having a party for her birthday, she never had one at home, anyway, she explained. Auntie Eileen had hugged her and cried and cried into her hair. ‘You’re a lovely little girl,’ she had said over and over. That’s what you are, a lovely little girl.’
Aisling’s birthday, ten days later, was firmly celebrated. It was now four full weeks since Sean had left. Aisling had said to Dad that she was going to invite six girls from the class to tea, Mam had said she could. There would be a cake and games and if Da was going to spoil everything and make them all ashamed of him like Berna Lynch’s father had done at one of her birthday parties then could he go off to Maher’s early and not come back till they were finished. Elizabeth trembled when she heard this ultimatum but it turned out to be the right action. Uncle Sean didn’t stop being bitter, and laughing those imitation laughs but he did stop shouting and banging doors and smelling like the smell you got when you went into Maher’s through the back door.
By the time that Maureen had got her Leaving Certificate things had become normal enough for a real family celebration. Everyone ignored Sean’s remarks about Maureen now being his eldest child. Nobody picked him up on it, not even Donal who had a very literal mind. They all went to Dublin to settle Maureen into her new life. All except Peggy and Niamh, and they had been given so many instructions and warnings by Eileen that even Sean had to laugh.
‘You’ve set so many spies on her that she’ll be unable to move.’
‘She’s a desperate eejit, you know,’ Eileen had said unguardedly. ‘She’d lie down on our bed for half of Kilgarret if I hadn’t put the fear of God into her. Haven’t we got enough to occupy us without Peggy producing another baby for us by spring?’ This comment mystified Aisling and Elizabeth.
They went to Dublin in the back of a lorry which had seats put in it and rugs over the seats. Donal sat in the driving compartment with Da and Mr Moriarty who was giving them the lift. He had to go to Dublin to get medical supplies for the chemist so he got his petrol easily. There was rationing in Ireland too but not nearly as bad as back in London; even milk and eggs were rationed
there, Elizabeth learned in her letters from home. Mother had got a job now as a book-keeper in a munitions factory. She couldn’t say where the factory was in case any Germans read the letter and came and dropped bombs on it. Elizabeth wished she could have shown Sean the letter. He would have been very excited about it.
They bumped along the road from Wicklow, past the sea on their right.
‘Your home is just over there, Elizabeth,’ Eileen said once. She noticed that Elizabeth didn’t respond as she normally did when someone brought her into the conversation. ‘I mean your other home,’ Eileen added hastily, and this time Elizabeth smiled.
Mrs Moriarty, all wrapped up, sat in the back of the truck with her two daughters, who were going to the same hospital. Tonight they would all see the three girls off into their nurses’ home and meet the nuns who ran it; then the Moriartys would go to their relations in Blackrock and the O’Connors to stay in the guesthouse in Dunlaoghaire where Eileen’s cousin, Gretta, did a good business. They had eggs, and butter for her, ham and a chicken. It would more than pay for the night for the six of them in two rooms. Gretta would be delighted with the country food; she had hinted more than once that they could even sell her food and make a handsome profit since so many people getting on the boat were anxious to bring a little extra across the water. Big turkeys had been known to travel to England plucked and well wrapped up in blankets and cooed over as if they were babies. Customs men didn’t poke their noses too deeply into shawls containing babies.
But Eileen didn’t want to get involved in the black market. She was happy to use the food to pay for the outing.
Maureen’s hospital looked very forbidding. Elizabeth thought it looked a frightening place, Aisling said it was worse than school. But they were told to straighten themselves up and behave nicely and not to make a show of themselves.