Day 12
I spent an hour on my own this afternoon thinking of more stories for Alice. Wasting time when I could lose Billy before long and should be thinking about his health. He drinks too much and he smokes too much, even though the doctors told him he should stop after the heart attack. I think he only does it because he's scared. When they called him up again, in 1939, he told me he didn't want to go. He'd seen enough killing in the First War and in Ireland to last a lifetime.
They sent him home ill, not fit to be shot at any more and I was so glad to see him, but he's different. He's mostly bad-tempered and has a look in his eyes like he doesn't know where he is half the time. Even though they've changed his job and he doesn't need to start work so early, he still takes to his bed every afternoon. Mind, I enjoy the time on my own when he does. Rose usually takes a nap then as well, so I can sit in the kitchen, or on the step if it's warm, with my own thoughts.
*
We stayed with Auntie Bridget for two months and the sun shone all the time. At first she didn't appear too happy with the idea, her cottage was small and with three more of us there was barely room to move. She must also have been worried about the extra mouths to feed from her few chickens and vegetable garden but she seemed glad to have Daddy back so we made do for a week or two.
Luckily, Daddy soon had work when neighbours heard he was back in the area, so there was money coming in and he could give some to his sister so we weren't such a burden. I don't think he liked the jobs as much as he'd enjoyed riding the train, even though being in the fresh air stopped him coughing so much. In the evenings he'd kiss me and Jimmy goodnight, then head down the road 'to see a man about a dog'. Billy used to say the same thing when he was going to the pub so I think that must have been what my dad was up to as well. Some nights I'd hear the latch lift very late and he'd have a headache next morning, saying he was staying in bed, until Auntie Bridget chased him out of it. Then one day I heard the two of them outside the front door.
'Sure, Bridget, you know it will be for the best. I'll have steady wages coming in and a job that suits me. You know this farming lark isn't for me. '
'But what about the little ones? Another move so soon, it can't be good for them '
'Will you hush woman. I'll be the judge of what's best for my own children. '
I didn't hear any more because Jimmy started wailing and I had to go and sooth him until he settled. By the time I'd rocked him to sleep Daddy was sitting on his chair staring at the fire and Auntie Bridget was attacking the cabbage bed with a hoe.
Two days later Daddy was throwing our stuff on the back of Tommy Lynch's cart and lifting the us up beside him at the front. His friend asked if we were ready, then shook the reins to get us on our way.
How many times did I have to go through that in my life? Just settling down then having to up sticks and move on. The longest place I stayed was with the Sisters and that was hardly what I'd call a home. Bitches. Even with Billy there was nowhere steady for years.
It took us about two hours to plod down to Arklow and it started drizzling on the way so we were soaked before we got halfway there. Daddy tried to cheer me up by clip-clopping in time with the horse and it was fun for a while but the water dripping from my hair down on to my neck soon made me miserable and he stopped. We came to a stop on the main street of the town outside a big building with a window full of spades, hammers and dozens of other pieces of hardware I couldn't name. A skinny man in a long brown coat, badly buttoned waistcoat and flat cap dashed from the shop and shook Daddy's hand. It was his brother, my Uncle Mick.
'Come in, come in, Edmund, let me take one of those bags.'
He slipped a few coins to Tommy Lynch for his trouble and took us inside, where he introduced us to his boss, Mr Jenkins. He wore the same kind of coat as my uncle but was much fatter.
'This is Edmund, my older brother, sir. He can start straight away, even this afternoon if you want him to' he looked at Daddy, who nodded to confirm 'and you can see the children are only small so there's plenty of space in the room upstairs for the three of them.'
The boss took Daddy to one side and asked him a few questions then shook his hand and smiled at Uncle Mick.
'He seems a good man, Mick, so he can have the job. There's no need to begin until tomorrow so take him up and settle him in. You can take a tea-break now and explain what he'll be doing.'
Before we climbed the stairs, Daddy started coughing, and had to put Jimmy and the case down. Mr Jenkins raised an eyebrow at my uncle.
'He'll be fine sir, just caught something in his throat. Now you come on in Edmund and we'll have a chat.'
*
Daddy wasn't working behind the counter like Uncle Mick, instead, he unloaded deliveries into the stores and helped customers carry their orders out to their carts and carriages. Every morning before they opened he'd swish the broom around the red-tiled floor of the shop, sometimes chasing me with it for a bit of fun. He'd polish the counters and wash the window of the front door, all in time for Mr Jenkins to open at nine o'clock. Then Uncle Mick's wife, Margaret, would call to collect Jimmy and me to go to her house for the day.
She had four children of her own, all older than me, two of them already working as delivery boys in the town. The others were kind to us and played when they had nothing better to do, though Auntie Margaret kept them busy helping her most of the time. In a shed at behind their cottage she had a table with a loom on top. She'd bend over it for hours on end, her hands skipping backwards and forwards, weaving cloth for a man who'd pick it up once a week. The children, Molly and Grace, would hand her the brightly coloured wool when she called out for it and stack the finished bolts in baskets ready to be taken away. At the end of each length, we'd all be asked to help check for snags, though we'd rarely find any. If we did, then Auntie Margaret would curse and set to repairing the fault unless the damage was too bad, in which case it would be thrown in to a box in the corner to sell more cheaply or for her own use. All of the children had skirts or jackets made from the discarded material and one day, when Jimmy and I arrived she handed us a cap each, with flaps to keep our ears warm. I wore mine for days, inside and out, because I thought it looked so pretty, until Daddy said I should take it off and save it for special occasions.
We'd walk every evening back to the shop with my aunt and Daddy would be waiting, usually sitting on the bottom step, smoking and peeling the spuds for tea. I'd hear him whistling before I saw him and it would always cheer me up no matter the weather.
These were good days, some of the best we had. There was food on the table and Daddy seemed happy most of the time. I'm sure he missed Mammy but he put on some weight, the colour came back to his cheeks and his breathing improved a lot.
On Sundays he'd sleep later if Auntie Margaret didn't come round to drag him out to Mass, then in the afternoon we'd go for a walk, sometimes out to Ballyduff where he'd been born, or along the river to watch the boats going out to sea.
One Monday evening after we'd been in Arklow about six months we arrived home and he wasn't there but Uncle Mick was. He whispered a few words to my aunt and she lifted Jimmy to follow him upstairs, telling me to hurry on behind them.
I could hear Daddy coughing before we got to the top. He was in bed, pale and sweating, and could hardly lift his head. My uncle turned to Auntie Margaret.
'He's been like this all afternoon. I went out to the yard at about eleven o'clock and he was slumped on a sack of sawdust, gasping for breath, said he'd felt it coming on for days. Next thing, he begins that damn cough, then passes out. I helped him up here but not before old Jenkins had seen him. He warned me that Edmund mustn't be bad for too long else he'd have to get rid of him.'
'So what can we do?'
'Not much. Keep him comfortable and make sure the children are fed, I suppose, then hope he picks up. You bring some soup down and I'll sleep here for a night or two to keep an eye on him.'
All through the first night Daddy coughed and coughed, and I could see the blood on his handkerchief when he wiped his mouth. On the next he was breathing better but still too weak to get out of bed and then in the morning Uncle Mick brought him a message from the boss.
'I'm sorry, Edmund, Jenkins says you'll have to go. He'll let you keep the room for a few days until you're strong enough to leave but then he'll need it for the new man. I pleaded with him but he said if I wasn't happy I could go as well and you know I daren't, there's not so many jobs around for a man to pick and choose.'
'Where will we go?'
'I don't know, Edmund, I can't have you with us, there just isn't room. Can you not go back to Bridget?'
My father shook his head. 'She's no space either. But don't worry about it. We'll be fine once I'm up and about. I'll find something else here in the town. '
"Fine" he'd said. We weren't though. Another thing that's different about Ireland is that it's like a small village. Everyone knows your business and it doesn't take long for word to get round if you're unreliable. Daddy recovered enough to look for work but no one was willing to take him on for anything permanent and with just the odd day here and there he'd no money for rent so we slept where we could. A friend's floor one night, a shop doorway the next. The few bob Daddy was able to pull in stretched to buying bread or spuds every couple of days then we'd have to manage on hand-outs or anything we could steal from fields and gardens. We'd no way to cook food in any case and Daddy got thin again. We all did. If we were lucky we'd find a dry byre that didn't stink too much of the cows and might be able to stay there for a while until the farmer chased us out. We were in one of these when Daddy took another turn for the worse.
He was lying on a pile of straw and asked me to sit down beside him, then gave me a small scrap of paper with a few words scrawled on it.
'This is where your Aunt Bridget lives. You remember it there?' I nodded. 'Well if anything happens to me you show it to someone and ask them to take you and little Jimmy to her. Do you understand?'
I said I did, but I didn't really. What could happen to him? I knew he was ill and I knew Mammy had gone away with the same cough but I didn't connect the two. Not at the time.
*
One Saturday night I was woken by rain crashing on the roof and lightning sent me scuttling across our bed of byre straw to Daddy. I didn't hear his breathing until the thunder died but then, straight away, I knew something was wrong. His chest was heaving, his breaths were coming so fast and when I touched his face it was cold and damp. I couldn't wake him no matter how much I pulled and pulled his arm nor how much I shouted him.
I grabbed Jimmy's hand and dragged him outside then down the track to the house near the road. We were soaked and covered in mud before we got there and Jimmy was crying all the way. I banged on the back door with my fist and got no answer. It was pitch black but I spotted a stone beside the step in one of the storm flashes. I scooped it up and bashed the door loud enough to waken the dead. A window above our heads opened and an oil lamp was swung outside. A woman's voice.
'Who's there? What's all that noise?’
'Help us lady. It's my Daddy.'
I am guessing, but likely this is a fairly accurate portrayal of life and labor in the times... Most of us, we've no idea how easy we have it!!! I appreciate the clear eyed view that you have detailed for us.