Day 20
Josie was born quietly in June 1920, on the day the newspaper reported that five men were shot in Derry. A smile played on his lips from the moment he opened his eyes, ignoring all the badness in the world.
The maternity hospital was in a wing of the Toxteth workhouse, with the same drab colours as St Gregory's, though I imagined even this was better than what the poor souls next door had to face. From the window by my bed I could see them over the wall. Scrawny men, women and children in grey uniforms, mostly so sick they sat or lay on benches around the yard. The ones who were well enough were given work to do to help pay for their keep and to teach them to avoid poverty. Every time I looked out, I shuddered to think of my father's life in such a place, knowing he'd have been one of the sick ones lying out there.
The night after Josie's birth I dreamt of Daddy down in that yard. He lay on a patch of grass as green as you've ever seen, eyes sunk in his head, staring up at me. He lifted his arms, reaching out, as if to pull me to him like when I was little. I tried to walk closer but every step I took he seemed to move further away, until the ground below him shifted and he started to sink into it. All the time, until everything but his arms disappeared, he was mouthing 'I'm sorry, Maria, I'm sorry.'
I don't know what he was being sorry for, none of it was his fault. Mammy died, he got sick, and me and Josie ended up in the homes because we were poor, not because of anything he did. Rich people get consumption as well, though I don't think so many, but they end up with good doctors in good hospitals, not in the workhouse with their children taken from them. Daddy never stood a chance, not from the moment he was shipped off to that cesspit in Malta, and Mammy never stood a chance from the moment she met him.
All things considered, Daisy had been very good to me. She'd kept me on right up until my confinement, on condition I didn't speak to Tony except when I was working. That had been no hardship. Once I knew he'd just used me I didn't want to speak to him anyway. She'd even made her husband dig into his savings to put some money towards his baby's upkeep for a few weeks. When she handed it over she'd said 'It could be a lot more you know.'
'How? You've been more than generous already.'
Daisy had stroked crumbs from the tablecloth with the back of her fingers. Then, her words came barely as a whisper.
'You could give the baby to me when it comes.'
I'd struggled to make sense of what she'd said, and then it all poured out of her.
'Tony and me can't have children of our own, we've been trying for years. I think it's probably why he chases young skirt all the time, to show he really is a man, you know. Perhaps if we were a proper family, with a baby , he'd be different. Happy again, like we were before.'
'No.' I shook my head. 'Definitely not.'
'Don't refuse so quickly, Maria. Think about it. You've no job, no money to speak of, and you'll be living on the streets before too long. What kind of life is that for the
poor child? With us it will be looked after, safe in a good home and able to go to school when it's older.'
I didn't reply. I was wondering if she'd had this in mind all along, from the moment I turned up in her café again without a job. Had she encouraged Tony to go after me, hoping this affair would be his last and would give her the child she so much wanted? Daisy came at me again.
'You know it makes sense. We'll let you stay in one of our spare rooms until the baby is settled and you get yourself sorted out. You'll be able to see it is being looked after.' Finally she made a desperate offer. 'If you say "yes" we can just try it out, if you're not happy after a few weeks you can take the child back. What would you think of that?'
Then I did something I shouldn't have even considered, not for a second. I gave in. 'You'll have to promise, Daisy, on your mother's life, that I can have my baby if it isn't working out.'
Daisy moved closer and placed her hand on my bump. For the first time she was smiling.
'That's what I said and I'll not go back on a promise. Just give me the chance.'
I've always told myself I was doing the right thing, that she was right and I had no choice. I would be out of a home before too long and I wouldn't be able to work with a baby to look after. The child would have a better life with her than with me. Daisy's words had made me see my son or daughter begging on the streets just as I'd done until the nuns took me in. I couldn't bear it.
So, Josie was born and I moved in above the café, along the hall from the rooms Daisy and Tony used. She brought Josie to me whenever he needed feeding and the rest of the time he stayed with her. In the night I'd hear his crying and know there'd be a knock at my door soon afterwards.
About a month into our arrangement, I was dozing when the knock came and I assumed I just hadn't heard the baby. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and called them to come in but instead of Daisy and Josie, it was Tony.
My first thought was for my son. 'Is something wrong? Is it Josie?'
'No, no, Maria. He's fine. Fast asleep.'
I pulled the sheet right up to my chin. 'Well what do you want then?'
He closed the door and stood there in the darkness. Even across the room, the smell of booze hit me. 'You've been avoiding me and I thought we got on so well.'
'How can you say that? You ran a mile as soon as you found I was expecting. Why would I bother with a man who did that to me? Now get out of here before Daisy wakes up. She'll kill us both if she finds you in here.'
'Aw come on Maria, things are different now. Daisy's got what she wants and all that I want is a little cuddle.'
'I'll give you ten seconds to get out then I'm going to start screaming. One, two -'
He was out in the passage before I could get any further, leaving me shaking in my bed.
I didn't sleep for the next hour, then I heard Josie wanting his next feed and Daisy came in soon afterwards. I knew what I had to do. When she left, I jumped out of bed and began to pack my things. Next morning I waited until Daisy put Josie in his pram and pushed it into the back yard, asking me to mind him while she went up the street for some eggs. She'd barely left when I dashed upstairs and grabbed my bag, dived out to the yard with Tony wondering what was going on, then legged it as fast as I could with Josie through the back entries. By the time Tony realised what was happening, he was too far behind to catch us, and I was out on Smithdown Road heading for the docks.
I'd left a note on my bed for Daisy, telling her what had happened and that I'd done nothing to encourage him. I said it was obvious her hope to hold on to Tony by taking Josie wasn't going to come true and she should get rid of him as soon as she could. I finished by saying if she threw him out, and held on to the baby, then Josie would be no better off than with me so I might as well take him. I left her half the money she'd given me and promised to pay her back. I did, years later, sending her a few bob whenever I could. She never replied to any of my letters but then I never really expected her to.
That night I was back across the sea in Dublin, looking for work and lodgings.
*
It's not hard to imagine what happened next. The remaining money stretched to two nights in a lodging house, then we were sleeping in shop doorways or park benches. In the mornings I'd go looking for work, anything, but as soon as they caught sight of the baby there was a shaking of the head and I'd be shown the door. Later in the day, I'd prop a handwritten sign against Josie's pram. WAR WIDOW. PLEASE HELP. People were generally kind and I felt bad lying to them but what else could I do? There wasn't much cash in it, and I even took abuse from some who said my husband should have been fighting for Ireland's liberty, not serving an English king.
Once or twice, groups of British soldiers walked past and asked me about my husband, which regiment he'd been in and where he'd been killed. I'd become quite good at making stuff up while pregnant in Daisy's cafe, so I'd easily convince them and they'd throw a few coppers in the tin. The bit I collected was barely enough to buy me a few scraps of food and milk for the baby. He was growing and getting hungrier all the time, but he seemed happy, the smile still there even when we were walking the streets in the rain. I'd begged often enough as a child to know to keep an eye out for policeman and you'd get the nod from others at it if any were around. When they were, I'd scoop up the sign, tuck it under Josie's blanket, then saunter along the street like a real lady of leisure taking in an afternoon's window shopping. The trick was to keep moving, look innocent and hope you'd find another good spot as soon as they'd be gone. The regular beggars didn't like it though, someone new on their patch. Less to go round, I suppose.
On my third day a woman with black teeth and a crimson scar on her cheek threatened me. Told me to clear off, that this part of town was hers, had been for years. She smelled like she wasn't lying. I told her where to go but then she'd walk by every so often and glare at me. After I'd glared back a few times she leant over Josie's pram, pointed at him, looked back at me, then dragged her filthy nail across her throat. This scared me so much I knew we'd have to get away.
I hardly ate all week, saving as much as I could for the journey to Arklow. I tried selling the pram to make a few more coppers, knowing they'd not let me take it on the bus, though no one was interested. I left it on the street.
When the bus arrived, the conductor looked us up and down and clearly wasn't too keen on letting me on board.
'You've the fare, have you?'
'I have'
'You sure? Show me.'
I wanted to punch his face but knew I'd be left on the streets for another night or thrown in gaol, so I opened my purse and emptied the contents into my palm, jingling them under his nose.
'See. Is this good enough for you?'
He turned and pointed to the back seat. 'You sit there,' the face he pulled would have turned milk sour. 'where the smell will blow out of the door. I'll give you your ticket in a minute.'
The conductor reached up to pull the bell cord, ordering the driver to take us away. Within no time Josie and me were snoring our heads off.
*
Mass was over in St Peter's and St Mary's church. We'd sneaked inside to shelter from the rain after arriving in Arklow, and having no luck finding my aunt. The priest had returned to his sacristy and the stragglers were making their way outside. A middle aged woman with a great bunch of flowers and greenery in her arms stopped beside us. I hadn't noticed her walking in the opposite direction to the rest of the congregation, though recognised her from when I came in before the service. She smiled as she spoke.
'You all right Mrs?' I gave her the truth. 'I've been better.'
She looked towards the altar. 'You just sit there till I put this lot down.'
Her voice was soft with an accent that reminded me of my granddad. In less than a minute she was back and sitting next to me.
'We've a christening tomorrow so I'm helping to decorate the church. It's not for this little feller is it?'
The woman took in my dishevelled clothes. 'No, I expect not. Hard times is it?'
She introduced herself as Nora Halpin and I repeated the tale of my dead husband, though I'm not sure she believed me. Not that it mattered, it suited both of us to pretend that she did.
'I'm looking for my aunt - Bridget Byrne. She lived outside the town, in Ballyduff, then moved to Avoca when my granddad died, but I lost touch when I went away.'
'Bridget Byrne? Two brothers she has, Michael and Edmund?' 'Edmund was my daddy, he died a few years past. You know her?'
'Surely. She's Bridget Rafferty now, married a man down in The Fishery. Four young ones she has. Well, two of hers and two of his. Very happy they seem.'
I asked for directions and she said Auntie Bridget usually came in to town at this time, visiting her mother-in-law who lived off the main street.
It took us only five minutes to walk there, but then Josie and I hung around across from the doorway for a full half hour before a plain woman with two children came out. I hadn't seen her since that day in court, but I'd have known her anywhere. She was stockier and her hair was cut shorter than when she'd stood in the dock and asked the magistrates to send me and my brother away, though I could still see my father in her. She pulled up, looking me up and down, when I walked across the street.
'Bridget?' was all I could say.
'You have the better of me. Should I know you?'
'I'm Maria Ann Byrne. Your niece. Daddy, Jimmy and I stayed with you when I was small. You spoke for us in the court. Remember?'
Her face sank.
'Edmund's little girl - Maria.' She leaned back against the house wall and the words tumbled out. 'I couldn't take you in. You know that don't you? I hadn't the room. I've worried and worried about what happened to you since they took you away.'
'They sent me to an Industrial School in Dublin.'
'I know, I know. That's what that judge said. Did they treat you well?'
'Sometimes. Not often.'
I could have made it easier for her, I suppose, though didn't see why I should. Twice she'd turned us away, then refused to take us when the court asked her. I hoped she'd feel enough guilt to give me shelter this time.
One of her children tugged at her skirt, bleating to go home.
'Hush now, just another minute.' My aunt looked at Josie in my arms and shook her head. 'I still can't let you stay, Maria. I've these two and two older ones at home. Henry, my husband, he's away at the fishing half the time and he'd not be happy me bringing home two more mouths to feed. The pair of you can come with me now and stay for the one night. No more. Then you'll have to be on your way. We've precious little to spare.'
She led us through the town and soon I could see the sea. The houses were shabbier here and mud-splashed children played in puddles at the roadside. In front of one of the cottages someone had dug the ground skirting the wall, and flowers of every colour shone out. This would have to be her home.
My aunt told me to go and clean myself up while she settled the younger children, then soon had dishes on the table, waiting for the fish stew steaming over the fire. The oldest child, Peggy, heated some milk, crumbled in a lump of wheaten bread, and stirred it until cool enough to feed to Josie. Once he was fed, Auntie Bridget filled our bowls, giving me twice as much as she ladled in to her own or Peggy's.
It was only when we'd finished the meal, all of her children put to bed and the tea poured, she asked me again about my life since she'd last seen me. I told her the whole lot, the two of us close to tears at times, me hoping beyond hope she'd take pity on me and my son. I thought she would, for just a moment, but then she squared her shoulders, stood, and pointed to where we'd be sleeping.
'You can take this corner here in the kitchen. I'm sorry, there's nothing else. You can lay Josie down now if you want. Henry won't be home tonight, not while the weather's calm, so we can sit and chat until bedtime.'
So we did just that. Auntie Bridget told me how she'd met Henry Rafferty soon after his first wife died. He had two children who needed a mother so when a friend told him Bridget was living on her own he went calling.
'The arrangement suited us both.' She grinned. 'He's away a lot of the time and his house is bigger than mine.' The grin turned into a giggle. 'No, I shouldn't say such things. He's a lovely, kind man and his children are real darlings.'
She told me stories of her brother - my father - and about their parents. It was Auntie Bridget who gave me the tale of Granddad's time in Africa and of his black baby. She told that one with lots of detail and excursions so I suspected she'd told it many times to her children and dressed it up a bit more each time. I've often wondered if I got my storytelling from her, changing the facts just for effect.
We got on well, like we had when I was young helping in her garden. I asked if she still grew vegetables.
'No more. I've only the patch in front of the house. The back's full of nets and pots. Even if I cleared it the salt would kill anything I'd plant.'
She collected our empty cups and walked to the sink beside the window. Even though it was pitch black outside I knew she'd still see the mess behind the cottage. 'I do miss it though. So restful and the food from the market is never as fresh. Still, I suppose I'd not have time now with the children to look after.'
Auntie Bridget hugged me when we finished the night and there was a tear in her eye when she pulled away. Mine too.
*
Next morning I got up early and dressed Josie, praying he'd stay quiet, then threw our things in to a small bag. I filled the space left with bread and bits from my Aunt's larder and, God forgive me, took a few pennies from her purse, just enough to buy us something to eat later in the day. The truth was I'd no idea where I'd go but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of escorting us out of her house.
I scribbled a quick note, thanking my aunt for her hospitality, and left it where she'd find it on the kitchen table. I even tidied the bed before we left.
A quarter of an hour later we were on the main street in Arklow, with over three hours to wait before the shops opened, so I sat on a pub windowsill, rocking Josie and watching the world go by. When the shutters started to open, I went from shop to shop asking for work, though the result was the same in all of them. A nod to my son, a shake of the head and an apology.
All day I searched and had no luck. I even tried Mr Jenkins in the hardware shop. Told him my daddy had worked for him but he wasn't willing to help. Gave me a few coppers to buy something to eat, though, so decent enough about it. I didn't spend it straight away, I knew from years ago of the shops who were a soft touch, so managed to beg some bits at lunchtime, then bought bread and cheese later.
About two o'clock the rain started to pour and I could see there'd be no work for us in that town. I was dog-tired as well, having been up before dawn, so dodged in to the church I'd rested in the previous day. The place was quiet, cold, and Mrs Halpin's flowers looked wonderful all around the sides. Josie and I cuddled together on a pew and soon nodded off.
I dreamt I was back in my granddad's house, warm by the fire, and him telling me stories of his life. He leant across and shook me by the shoulder.
I opened my eyes to find a tall, fat, priest towering over me.
'You! Wake up! What do you think you're doing in here? This is a church, not a doss-house. Get out, the pair of you.'
It took me a few seconds to find my wits and get on my feet, so he grabbed me by the elbow and marched me to the door.
'Off you go, young lady, and don't come around here again, else I'll have you taken to the workhouse.'
He needed to say no more. I lifted Josie and set off on the road out of Arklow.
Such a harsh life, but beautifully told! In no hurry for it to end...