Day 14
God, I was so tired last time. My own fault, losing the bloody bus fare. At least it was only for the second bus home, but was far enough to walk at that time of night, then having Billy ranting and raving when I got in. Not too pleased he'd missed the pub, even less pleased when I told him I thought that's why he was mad, not because he was worried. Didn't like that at all.
Can't think why it did me in so much. Not as if it's the first time I've tramped the streets for hours, good weather and bad. Part of life when I was younger. Wouldn't have met him otherwise.
*
To this day I can't understand why they sent me to Dublin, away from any chance of my father or my aunt visiting me. Perhaps there was nowhere closer. They called it an orphanage but it wasn't. It was a gaol for a hundred children with the cruellest warders in the world. Warders who claimed to serve the will of God.
I was transported from the court by the police, without a chance for a proper goodbye to Jimmy, and there were two other girls, Bernie Doyle and Kathleen Breslin, travelling with me. They were in front of me waiting for the magistrates and I'd heard their cases but I didn't know them, even though they were both from Arklow. I liked Bernie straight away. She was about my age, blond and smiling, despite there not being much to smile about. Bernie's father had died when she was five and the parish priest had condemned her mother because she was seeing another man. One day a policeman and someone she called the Cruelty Man had cycled up to the house when her mother's friend was still there. The Cruelty Man was a kind of social worker and he took Bernie away to the court. Her mother must have been so ashamed or shocked because she never spoke up for her daughter nor tried to get her back.
The other girl, Kathleen, was a year or two older than us and didn't speak the whole way to Dublin, not even when we stopped for the night in Newcastle. She'd pull a face or throw something at us if we even dared to look at her. Her knees and hands were red-raw, as if she'd been crawling about on damp ground, and I wanted to ask her about them but was too scared.
We arrived at St Gregory's early on a warm autumn evening and, when we entered the grounds, the dozens of girls working in the vegetable plots stopped what they were doing and crowded round the vehicle. A young nun ran over to them and told them to get move away but a few ignored her, following behind us, until an older woman came out and shouted.
'You girls, back to work or no supper.'
They didn't wait to be spoken to by her again and returned to their jobs. I learned very soon afterwards that this was not someone to be disobeyed.
St Gregory's was the biggest building I'd ever seen in Ireland. It was grey stone, two floors high and had two dozen windows on the front, with ten down the side. At least twice the size of the hospital where I'd left Daddy. We were taken to the back door and into a cold room where the older nun we'd seen outside looked over the papers from the court, spoke to the policeman and signed to say we'd been delivered.
'I'm Sister Francis-Ellen and you, Bernadette Doyle, Maria Byrne and Kathleen Breslin, will be in our care until your sixteenth birthday. If you are well-behaved and attentive, you'll become good Catholic girls and able to live a decent life when you leave us. If you're not well-behaved, you'll wish you'd never been born. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, Sister.' Repeated three times.
'Good.' She handed us each a mohair sort of dress. It didn't look new, and a pair of knickers, likewise. 'So take these into that room,' pointing to a door across the corridor 'get yourselves undressed and Sister Ursula will help you take a bath.'
Poor Bernie screamed every time Sister Ursula poured the freezing water over her hair, getting a slap from the nun whenever she did. I imagined my new-found friend had never taken cold baths at home, nor been treated so badly in her whole life, and she was in floods of tears as she dried herself and I'd taken her place in the tub. I was determined not to show the same weakness so gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut to keep out the caustic soap. I'd bathed plenty of times in cold water and even though I preferred it warm it was no major hardship. The dress, on the other hand, was different, and for all the years I was forced to wear one I never got used to the itchiness of that cloth.
The Breslin girl was up next. When she undressed, it was obvious she was a stranger to water of any kind, warm or cold, and I guessed she'd been living on the streets for a while. The nun smacked Kathleen only once when she ducked her head away from the jug, the second time, the girl grabbed the hand and sunk her teeth in to it. The nun's hand was raised again but then slowly lowered.
'So we're a dog are we, Kathleen? Well we'll see about that. There are sisters here who are not keen on little girls pretending to be animals. No, not keen at all. I think you'll be spending a night or two on your own.'
When we were finished and Kathleen taken to wherever she was to be punished, we were told it was too late for anything to eat and we'd have to wait until breakfast.
I was starving, having had nothing since mid-morning, but there was no option but to last through the night. Sister Ursula took us up some back stairs, stone stairs they were, and the walls were painted grey, I don't know why I remember this. The dormitory was painted the same colour, with an enormous crucifix above the door, and the space had a strange smell. Later I recognised it as a pungent mix of young bodies, beeswax, disinfectant and candles. There were a hundred beds in four rows, a girl standing by each one, identically dressed in grey nightclothes, and they ran from about six years old to fifteen or sixteen. Bernie was pointed to a bed near the far end and I was given one about half way down with another empty one next to it.
Sister Ursula walked to the middle of the dormitory and clapped her hands twice. 'Listen here. These new girls are Maria Byrne and Bernadette Doyle, both from the lovely County Wicklow, sent to us so they can learn how to behave properly and to love Our Lady.' She turned to one of the older girls. 'You, Helen Cullan, you've ten minutes to tell these two what they must, and mustn't do, then all off to bed. I'll be back soon to check on you all and woe betide any girl not on her way to sleep by then.'
With this she marched out, leaving our guide to give us the list.
'Up at half past six, washed, dressed, bed made and down in the dining room by seven o'clock. God help you if you wet the bed. That's the thing they hate the most. It will be a beating and no breakfast at least, worse if you do it more than once. Always address them as Sister this or Sister that, never miss out their name, ask if you don't know but don't ask twice.'
And so she went on, rule after rule for ten minutes. My head was spinning, and I knew I'd never remember it all. Bernie sobbed the whole time until Helen put an arm around her shoulder.
'Husht, don't be crying like that, you'll manage just fine. Most of the sisters are nice, and kind, you just have to watch out for the ones who aren't. You'll soon pick up who to be careful of. I've been here since I was ten and it took me a few weeks but after that I got on grand. Not to say I won't be happy to leave when my time's up in five months and eighteen days.' She peered through the window to the clock tower across the yard, then took a step away. 'You'd better get your nightdress on, then on your knees and say your prayers. Be sharp. That cow Sister Ursula will be back in a minute.'
Of all the nights I spent in that place, I think the first one was the worst. Somehow, on the streets and in my uncle's cottage, even waiting to go in front of the magistrates, I'd imagined my father would get well and come to look after us. Now, he was still in hospital, and Jimmy had been sent to a place miles away, and I was surrounded by strangers, and it seemed I'd be there for years. I undressed, climbed under the coarse brown blanket and waited with my eyes closed until the sister had finished her inspection. Then, I turned on my back and stared at the ceiling, listening to my neighbours snoring or crying in the darkness.
*
Two days later we came back before tea and Kathleen Breslin was sitting on the bed next to mine. The rawness had gone from her knees but now she had welts on each leg and her hair had been cut short, jagged, like with poor scissors or a blunt knife. Her eyes, bloodshot from crying, had lost the fierceness she'd shown on the journey from Arklow.
'Are you all right?'
Her glance was a mix of defiance and terror, though she still didn't speak. Most of the other girls were ignoring her, you learnt to mind your own business pretty soon in that place, only one or two were watching. She'd scared me on the police cart but now she was frightened and it looked like we might be together for a good few years to come. So I took the few steps between our beds and sat down beside her. Next thing, Helen was on her other side and before long the battered Kathleen was surrounded by half a dozen of the older girls, forming a cocoon whilst the tears ran down her face. They'd all been there for one reason or another. The tears didn't last long because Sister Francis-Ellen came in and everyone scampered back to stand by their bed, staring straight ahead and arms by their sides. The nun stood just inside the doorway and addressed the room.
'I can see you've met our latest addition. Kathleen Breslin is her name and she needed some extra tuition before she was ready to join you. Isn't that right, Kathleen?'
The girl nodded. 'Yes, Sister Francis-Ellen.'
'She's been away from the good Lord for a long time but we'll bring her back again one way or another. Now, I want you all down in the gardens straight away. There's a trader coming for cabbages in twenty minutes and they'll need cutting ready for loading when he arrives. Straight line, in twos, follow me.'
Kathleen fell in beside me, halfway down the line and as our part of the snake passed through the door she dug me hard in the ribs with her elbow.
'Don't think that show in there makes us friends, Byrne. I don't like you.'
I'd spent too much time looking after myself, Daddy and Jimmy to be pushed around. I was about to give her some of her own medicine when a girl behind me called Teresa grabbed my fist.
'Don't' she whispered, pointing down the stairs 'Sister will hear and we'll all get into trouble. Settle it later when none of them are around.'
I glared at Breslin but did as Teresa asked, knowing I'd get my chance sometime. *
Pulling cabbages was a job we did twice a week from May to October. The couple of acres of grounds were planted with vegetables which I think were supposed to be used to feed us but most of them were sold or ended up on the dinner table of the nuns. What we were fed was terrible unless there was an inspection happening, then we'd get a proper meal so the inspectors would believe we were well treated. For breakfast it would be bread, a bit of lard and cocoa, and in the middle of the day there'd be stale bread baked in pig's blood, then, about five o'clock, porridge and tea in a tin mug . That's what we lived off, nothing but scraps and rubbish, hungry all the time.
That hunger stays with me, Alice. Even though Billy doesn't earn much, I can't rest easy if I don't have more in the larder than we need, just in case. So as I know it's there.
Some of the things Auntie Bridget taught me must have stuck because the nuns soon recognised I knew about the different crops and could tell a dock from a cabbage. There were quite a few of us, but many more who hadn't a clue, so we were spread amongst the others and told to keep them in order. A lot of the time I enjoyed the work except when the rain was pouring and we were left out there, dripping wet. It would take us hours to dry when we were called in for Mass. One such day I was sent with Kathleen Breslin to fetch a barrow load of horse manure from behind the stables. She'd continued to pinch and punch me whenever she could, always when one of the nuns was in earshot and I couldn't retaliate, so I'd need to put her in her place sometime. The ground around the dung heap was swimming in mud, leaving us slipping and sliding as we tried to shovel the muck into our barrow, and it took no effort at all for me to give her a push. Before she knew what was happening she was lying in filth and I was standing over her, my pitchfork pointed at her chest.
'You'd best stop messing with me, Breslin, I've had enough. Touch me once more and you'll be sorry.' I prodded her with the fork 'If you don't want this stuck through you you'll leave me alone.'
I was shaking, not sure what I'd do if she fought back, when I heard Sister Ursula shouting our names. I looked away for a second and Breslin grabbed my ankle, tripping me into the mess beside her and we started to kick and fight, two farmyard cats covered in mud, and worse. Then the nun was standing in the yard, calling for us to stop,
unable, or unwilling, to get any closer. We did stop, looked at each other, then burst out laughing. Later we were made to wash our dresses then sloshed down with buckets of freezing water, standing naked outside the back door, before two of the Sisters took us inside and treated us to the belt. The leather stung so much against my wet skin that I screamed out. When they switched to Kathleen I could see from the look on their faces that they were enjoying it and all the time Sister Francis-Ellen sat in the corner reading her missal.
After this, Kathleen and I were best of friends and looked out for each other. It was Kathleen, Bernie and me against the world, though Bernie never got into the same scrapes as we did, she was such a gentle soul.
Kathleen Breslin had been born in a room above a pub in a small town in north County Wexford, where the owner let her mother live in exchange for occasional favours. Bella Breslin didn't know if the landlord was Kathleen's father, there were so many men made their way up the stairs day and night, and it was one of these she followed to Arklow when the daughter was two years old. They'd lived in a shabby cottage for nearly three years until he'd gone out on a boat drunk, fell overboard and drowned. Bella survived another eighteen months after him, just long enough to teach Kathleen how to live on the streets, begging and stealing from shops. Fortunately, the girl had been spared from learning Bella's trade, she was still too young to be earning pennies flat on her back. At best her mother had ignored Kathleen, just seeing her as a burden, at worst she'd been beaten by the mother's man, whenever he'd a drink taken and a foul temper to go alongside. These experiences helped her adapt well to the school, where love was in short supply. Even though she'd had no education before arriving at St Gregory's she was bright and good at her lessons so at least she was spared the random violence of the classroom which the dimmer ones endured. One thing she couldn't manage was discipline. She joked that she was going to ask Sister Ursula to move her bed in to the punishment room permanently, it had become so much like home.
*
Although there were three or four cruel nuns, most of them were as you'd expect, caring and appearing to have our best interests at heart. They maintained their distance from us, and they were all more holy than we might like, but they did try to give us an education of sorts. As well as the Sisters we had what they called lay teachers, ones who just came in to work every day, and they were the best. Sister Francis-Ellen was like the head mistress, she wasn't the top one though. That would be the Reverend Mother, who lived in the convent next to the school and we only saw at Easter and Christmas. Then there were the novices, mainly young women who were given the skivvying jobs that were just above what we might be made to do. They'd work in the kitchen, or supervise us outside if it was raining, or clean the Sister's rooms where we weren't allowed.
One of these younger nuns, Sister Assumpta she was called, worked in the kitchen preparing the Sisters' food. She would pop out her head if we were passing and share out a few crusts smothered with butter, she must have known we were starving most of the time. After a while she stopped and I didn't see her again. Whether she'd been found out or moved on I don't know, but we did miss the extra rations.
There was also a teacher, Mrs McGovern, Scottish I think, and she was always kind. Taught us sewing and I was hopeless, still am, but she never got angry, explained how we'd made a mistake and let us try again. One time I was embroidering a flower on a pillow case, the nuns sold these if they were any good, and I found I'd sewn the material to my dress. Most of the other teachers would have pulled me out and humiliated me in front of the class but Mrs McGovern just sat down beside me, snipped away the threads and asked me to start again. I could see she was smiling, trying not to giggle, all the way through, though she covered it well. All the girls liked her.
There was only one man about the place, Mr Sullivan. He did a lot of the heavier jobs and looked after the two horses. He always wore a brown suit with a flat cap and I thought he was ancient, although he was probably only as old as Billy is now. Mr Sullivan lived in a small house behind the stables, separated from the school by a high wall. None of the girls liked him much and steered well away from the man if they could.
When I was about twelve a new teacher replaced Mrs McGovern and she was quite stuck up, with a posh Dublin voice. She seemed to think it was our job to earn money for the church and I got into an argument with her soon after she started. My needlework was always rubbish, no matter how hard Mrs McGovern had tried I could never quite grasp it, never quite make it tidy enough to be sold. The new teacher, Miss Kevens, called me to the front of the class, holding up my latest effort.
'And what do you call this Maria Byrne? Look at the state of it.'
'What's the matter with it, Miss?'
'It's just plain careless. Every stitch is a different length. Even they should be. Even, not like this.'
I turned to my classmates. 'Well it looks fine to me, Miss.'
Most of them giggled. Only the two Cavanagh sisters, who were sneaks, frowned and tut-tutted, but they both had it in their heads they'd be teachers themselves one day so it was hardly surprising they'd take her side.
'You're a bold girl, Maria Byrne. Very bold. You'd better watch your step.'
I knew I shouldn't say another word but I couldn't help myself.
'I've been told you only get cross with poor work because you can't give it to the nuns to sell. Is that right Miss?
This time there were fewer giggles and several gasps. A number of the girls had their hands over their mouths and the Cavanaghs looked like they might pass out.
Thwack. I heard the slap on the side of the head before I felt it. Then it went dark.
When I opened my eyes, the circle of faces looking down made me think I'd ascended into heaven, until I recognised Bernie and Miss Kevens. My hair was damp on one side with something stickier than water, and it was throbbing. The teacher's blow had sent me flying, bashing my head on the corner of the desk, though if I'd expected sympathy at this point I'd have been mistaken. Miss Kevens pulled me up by the ear and marched me down to Sister Francis-Ellen's room, where I got the strap across the hands for my "argumentative nature". It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last,
though I think by that time even Sister Francis-Ellen was despairing that they'd make me fall in to line.
I am glad for the close view of the Catholic role in work house / schooling of the time. It's a shameful corrupt mingling of education with forced religious training obviously. And the legitimized cruelty where this sort of relationship existed has continued to tarnish the reputation of Church affiliated schools and Catholic Orders to this day!
As far as the discussion of the length of serial episodes, seems to me that where, like this book, chapters have already been composed by an author, that length should be honored. And in general I prefer a longer form than the 1000-1500 word suggestion for serialization. I need enough to chew on in the episode and a good flavor of what might be to come as incentive to look forward, if you know' what I mean😋!