Monday, 8th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
I am writing this sitting in the back garden, but right now you are in the United States of America! I got your letter this morning – it was so exciting to see an American stamp. I’ve only seen one or two before. It’s funny to think of you being so far away. I mean, I know we’ve hardly ever been in the same country since you went away to school, but somehow it makes a difference knowing you’re now thousands and thousands of miles away. (At least I think it’s thousands, I am not quite sure and it’s hard to tell from my atlas. I know London is four hundred miles away from Dublin, though, so Boston must be at least three times that.)
I am glad that the voyage went so well. (Of course I knew you hadn’t hit an iceberg, or anything, because it would have been in the papers.) I’m sorry you were so sick, though. I’m quite certain I’d have been sick too. I’m sure I’ve told you about the time the summer before last when we went out in a boat on one of our trips to Skerries and as soon as we were out of the harbour my tummy began to feel most peculiar. And even though Phyllis told me to stare very hard at the horizon it didn’t make any difference at all and I had to lean out of the boat and be sick when we were sailing around the cliff of Red Island. And then when we got back to blessed dry land I felt all dizzy, as if the ground were moving around like the sea. And that was after just an hour on the ocean waves! I can only imagine what I’d be like for a whole week. Though perhaps, like you, I’d start to get my sea legs after a few days. How very brave of you to eat a strawberry ice, I couldn’t eat anything but dry toast after my own bout of seasickness.
Anyway! You are on land for weeks and weeks now so I suppose you will have plenty of time to get your land legs back. And the rest of your voyage does sound like good fun. I can’t imagine what it must be like to play games and go to a dancing class on a ship in the middle of a gigantic ocean. Every time I think of it I feel a bit ill. I definitely couldn’t have done any dancing on that rowing boat (not that there’d have been any room).
I wonder if you’ve seen much of Boston yet? I am so excited that you are going to go to the town where Louisa May Alcott lived! I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it. I couldn’t quite picture the town in Little Women because I don’t really know what American towns look like. I just know that they must not look much like Irish ones because they have houses made entirely of wood, which sounds very odd to me and makes me think of garden sheds.
It all sounds thrilling, especially as you are going to ride some of the way there in a motor car. I have never been in a motor car but I long to have a go in one. I imagine that even familiar streets would look quite different if you were speeding through them in a motor. I mentioned this at home once and Harry, who always feels the need to act all superior even though I know for a fact that he has never been in a motor car and would love to have a go, informed me that it would only be the same as an express tram and I could travel in one of them any morning I liked. He is so annoying.
If I had any way of ensuring you’d actually get this letter, I’d send it just so I could urge you to read a wonderful, wonderful book called Anne of Green Gables (though you probably don’t need any entertainment with all those new and exciting things to see – and all those possums and bears to avoid). It’s the book that Mabel gave to me via Phyllis.
‘I had heard it was a kids’ book, but my cousin told me it was awfully good and it was,’ she wrote in her note. ‘And it’s been published over here now so I got you a copy.’
I woke up very early this morning (our room is always terribly sunny in the morning, I wish the curtains were thicker) and started reading it because I couldn’t get back to sleep. And it’s more than awfully good. It is magnificent! Honestly, Frances, I think it’s the best book I’ve ever read in my life, even better than E. Nesbit and Jane Eyre and the Sherlock Holmes stories. It’s about an orphan girl called Anne who has had a very hard life and then she goes to live with these old farming people who are brother and sister. And they don’t want her at first because they wanted a boy to work on the farm but then they start to like her. (I haven’t got very far yet so maybe they send her back to the orphanage in the end, but I really don’t think that will happen.)
It’s set in Canada (originally I thought it was America but it’s not) and it makes Canada sound very beautiful. But the best thing about the book is Anne herself. Oh Frances, I’ve never read a character who seems so like a real girl. Things go wrong for her sometimes and people around her often think she’s being ridiculous, but she doesn’t get too downhearted and she uses her imagination to make everything better. Which in a way is what we’re doing with the suffragette movement – we imagine that things can be better rather than the stupid way things are now.
Anyway, I absolutely love Anne Shirley of Green Gables and I take back everything I have ever said about Mabel. I totally and utterly forgive her for getting rid of our tickets. If you did happen to come across the book, I’m sure it would keep you amused when you’re riding the railroads (as I believe they say in America)! Or maybe you could read it in your cousin’s motor car, though Father, who once rode in a motor all the way from town to Rathmines, says that you can’t really read in one because you get sick.
I forgot to mention it before, but I got a letter from Stella on Friday. She is very bored all by herself in the middle of the countryside and says she is knitting a cardigan but even that isn’t enough to keep her entertained. (It certainly wouldn’t be enough to entertain me, and Stella likes knitting even more than I do. She can get strangely excited over new ways of knitting socks.) I wish she could stay in Dublin over the summer, but I suppose her parents don’t get to see her for most of the year when she’s at school. She wants to see them too, of course, and she does love her home (which sounds like it’s about twice the size of our house), but she says she wishes they lived a bit closer to school so she could come up to town for the day and see her chums.
I was thinking of asking Mother and Father if Stella could visit us after Frank’s visit, but I might leave it for a bit as Mother is still annoyed with me for, as she puts it, ‘letting that dog jump all over you’. As if I had a choice! That Menace is haunting me. I walked past the Sheffields’ house on my way to see Nora yesterday morning after Mass and the dreadful creature was sitting in the bay window. When he saw me he jumped up and put his paws up on the glass and started barking his head off. He didn’t stop until I turned the corner at the end of the road. (He’s so loud you can hear him all the way down the street.) I don’t know how they put up with him, he must drive them demented with his noise.
When I arrived at the Cantwells’, Nora answered the door because Agnes had her day off today (and as Nora said later, Princess Grace will never lower herself to open a front door for anyone).
‘Where’s her majesty?’ I whispered.
Nora rolled her eyes.
‘In the back garden with George,’ she said. ‘Badgering him about the tennis club. The poor thing keeps trying to get away but she keeps stopping him with more stupid questions.’
‘What did your parents say? About her joining the club, I mean?’
Nora’s face brightened.
‘Oh, they love the idea,’ she said. ‘I knew they would. The only thing is that she can’t go until Tuesday. They’re having the grown-ups’ tournament today, remember? And then tomorrow we have to go to Bray to visit some cousin of Mother’s. So I’m afraid we’re saddled with her today.’
‘Maybe she’ll stick with George,’ I said hopefully, but Nora said there was no luck there.
‘He’s helping out at the grown-ups’ tournament later,’ she said. ‘Fetching people’s tennis balls or something, I don’t know. I’m never quite sure what tennis people get up to in that place. Anyway, Grace can’t tag along with him.’
‘So what’ll we do with her?’ I asked, and Nora was shrugging her shoulders when the Cantwells’ drawing-room door opened and Mrs. Cantwell came out.
/> ‘Mollie!’ she said. ‘How nice to see you.’
She’s not usually so enthusiastic about my visits, but I suppose she hoped I’d be able to stand between Nora and Grace as a buffer if things got too tense.
‘Hello, Mrs. Cantwell,’ I said dutifully.
‘I was thinking,’ said Mrs. Cantwell, ‘why don’t the two of you take Grace to the Phoenix Park?’
‘On our own?’ Nora sounded surprised, and I didn’t blame her. We’re not usually allowed to go all the way to the park on our own, mostly because you have to take at least two trams or buses, so it’s quite a complicated journey.
‘I think I can trust you girls to look after yourselves,’ said Mrs. Cantwell. ‘And of course to look after Grace.’
I don’t know why she kept talking about Grace as if she were a delicate little baby who had to be looked after. Or rather, I do. It’s because Grace always acts like a delicate little baby and it’s very, very annoying. Nora told me that apparently she was quite delicate when she was an actual baby so people did fuss over her a lot, but she’s perfectly all right now.
‘Can we have some money for the tearoom?’ asked Nora hopefully.
‘You can have sixpence each spending money, and your fares,’ said Mrs. Cantwell. ‘You too, Mollie.’ Which was jolly generous considering I’m neither a daughter nor a niece. The weather was lovely today – less baking than yesterday, with a nice light breeze in the air – and the thought of wandering around the park was rather a nice one. Sometimes there’s a band playing during the summer, and lots of people playing games. Of course, Nora had to push her luck.
‘Can we go to the zoo, too?’ she asked.
Mrs. Cantwell just ignored her and went back into the drawing room, saying, ‘Go and get your cousin.’
‘It was worth a try,’ said Nora, and we went out to the back garden, where George was saying, ‘Well, I’m not sure if there are any professional lady tennis players.’ He looked very happy to see us.
‘Hello, Mollie!’ he said. ‘Sorry to rush off, but I’m late for the tournament. Bye, Grace.’ And without another word, he practically ran back into the house. Grace didn’t seem to realise he’d been trying to get away from her.
‘I can’t wait to go to the club on Tuesday,’ she said, as she and Nora gathered together their hats and outdoor shoes. ‘George was saying he’s sure I’ll fit in beautifully.’
Nora rolled her eyes. As we made our way towards the tram stop, Grace kept going on and on about how wonderful at tennis she was going to be and how she would soon be the junior star of the tennis club.
‘I hope that O’Reilly girl who beat you yesterday doesn’t show up,’ said Nora innocently.
Grace’s face darkened. ‘I hope she does,’ she said. ‘I’ll show her how to play tennis.’
I was going to say it looked to me as if she already knew, but I kept my mouth shut. The tram was surprisingly crowded and we couldn’t get seats together; I ended up squashed next to a woman carrying a large basket that I suspect had a dog in it even though she said it didn’t when I asked. She looked quite annoyed at me for even asking so I looked away from her and out of the window and tried to think of interesting ways to protest Mr. Asquith’s visit. I remembered what Phyllis had said last month about the Countess Markievicz turning up at a political meeting in England, driving a coach with four white horses. We couldn’t exactly do that – for one, we don’t have a coach or horses, and we couldn’t drive them even if we had them. But we could do something dramatic. Apparently Mr. Asquith is going to the Theatre Royal during his visit. Perhaps, I thought, as Dorset Street sped by outside the windows, we could somehow work our way into the good graces of the theatre company and then, when we had got ourselves on stage (I am not sure how we would do this), we could leap out in front of the footlights and unfurl a giant banner saying VOTES FOR IRISH WOMEN. I mean, we could easily make one out of an old sheet and a bit of paint.
Or if that didn’t work (and I have a feeling that getting ourselves onto the Theatre Royal stage is easier said than done), maybe we could try and catch Mr. Asquith when he arrives in the country? We could find out what boat he is arriving at – apparently it’s going to be at Kingstown – and we could easily get a train out there from Amiens Street station. Then perhaps we could hire a rowing boat and row out into the bay, holding the banner. I know I always get seasick even in a rowing boat, but I’m prepared to make a sacrifice for the cause. I was wondering if it would do more harm than good to the movement if I actually did get sick in the boat while holding the banner, when the woman sitting next to me got off the tram with her basket and Nora ran over and took her place. I told Nora about my ideas and she was particularly impressed by the last one, which she said was a stroke of genius.
‘Especially because I know what a terrible sacrifice it will be for you to set foot in a boat,’ she said. ‘It is a very noble gesture. I wonder how much it costs to hire a rowing boat.’
‘It was only a couple of shillings when we hired one in Skerries,’ I said. ‘I bet we could get that much money together in a couple of weeks.’ I thought of the sixpences Mrs. Cantwell had given us just half an hour earlier. Nora must have been thinking the same thing because she said, ‘We definitely can. Some things are more important than buns,’ in a very noble voice. And then I realised we had reached the point where we have to change trams so there was a bit of a scurry to grab Grace and get off in time. Luckily we didn’t have to wait long for the next tram, but unluckily we all got seats together and Grace started talking very loudly about the strange smells one always encountered on trams.
‘This is why Father is definitely going to buy a motor car,’ she said in a voice so piercing it must have been heard upstairs on the tram. Many of the smells were clearly coming from our fellow passengers, some of whom looked very unimpressed by Grace’s speech. I was relieved when we finally reached the gates of the park and joined the crowds making their way down the road that leads to the zoo as well as the playing fields.
‘Gosh, it really is crowded,’ said Nora. And I was about to suggest leaving the main path and cutting across the grass when I saw a very familiar figure walking on the pavement on the other side of the road, dressed in grass-stained cricket whites.
‘Frank!’ cried Nora, waving frantically in his direction. Frank’s face broke into a wide smile when he saw her, and I found myself wishing I’d worn my blue cotton blouse with the little stars embroidered on the yoke instead of the slightly scruffy old linen one I was wearing. I always seem to meet Frank when I’m looking particularly grubby. Of course, I thought, as he worked his way through the crowds towards us, Frank was looking quite scruffy himself, but I didn’t mind about that, so maybe he wasn’t too horrified by my scruffy appearance either. I am probably thinking too much about the state of my clothes. Although I really don’t want him to think I go around in filthy rags all the time. All right, I really am thinking about it too much. I’ll stop now.
‘Hello, girls,’ he said, shaking first my hand and then Nora’s. He turned to Grace, because I suppose he couldn’t ignore her. He’s always so polite. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced …’
Grace, of course, simpered at him. And there was something about her smirking expression that made me feel strangely uneasy.
‘I’m Grace Molyneaux,’ she said. For a terrible moment I thought she was going to curtsey, but she just shook his hand instead. ‘Nora’s cousin.’
I remembered that I had told Frank quite a lot about Grace and I hoped that he wouldn’t say anything about having heard all about her because she would guess that he hadn’t heard anything good from me or Nora. But he just said, ‘How do you do? I’m Frank Nugent,’ and I thought Grace was going to pull a muscle in her face, she was smirking so much.
‘Frank is a friend of my brother Harry,’ I said.
‘I’m a friend of the entire Carberry family,’ said Frank. And he smiled at me in a very nice way.
‘Have you
been playing cricket?’ I asked, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth than Grace let out an extremely irritating peal of laughter.
‘Oh Mollie!’ she cried. ‘What a question. What else do you think he was doing dressed like that? Putting up wallpaper?’ And she laughed again at her supposed wit. I felt like kicking her but managed to restrain myself. I was pleased to note, however, that Frank didn’t seem particularly amused by her bon mots (that’s French of course. It literally means good words, in case you don’t know).
‘A few chaps from school decided to organise a match,’ he said. ‘Cricket’s not my game, really, but it’s good fun. Especially when they hand out the lemonade afterwards.’
Sports groups seem very keen on giving people lemonade. I suppose I can’t blame them. I imagine it’s the only way they can get lots of people to take part. It would take a lot more than a glass of lemonade to make me run around a field and try to hit balls with what is essentially a narrow stick (this is also why I have not been tempted by the girls at school who want to try hurling). Though of course maybe if I were any good at sports, apart from drill and dancing (which doesn’t really count) and running quite fast for short distances, I might feel differently.
‘Do you play tennis, Frank?’ asked Grace in her sweetest voice. ‘I’ve just joined the club.’
Frank asked if she meant the club near our house and Grace confirmed that she did.
‘You should join too,’ she said.
‘I haven’t played it much,’ said Frank. ‘Though it is fun. Maybe I could give it a try.’
‘What an excellent idea,’ she said. ‘The more the merrier!’
I doubt she’d say that if me and Nora wanted to join.
‘But I must get going now,’ said Frank. ‘Very nice to meet you, Grace.’
Grace simpered again. It really is the only way to describe the expression she makes every time she wants to impress someone. I hoped Frank remembered everything I’d said about what an awful, mean glory-hunter she is and wasn’t taken in by her smirks.