Danny Boy (5 page)

‘What were you thinking of, letting her go out for water in this?’ Danny demanded. ‘The whole place is covered with ice, that yard is like a death-trap. Well, it’s got to stop, especially now Rosie is expecting. I’ll bring in the water in the morning. If necessary I’ll buy a couple more buckets while I’m about it, but I’ll not have Rosie go out and carry in heavy buckets of water.

‘And she’s not to lift heavy clothes from the boiling pan to the rinse pail, either – they’re too heavy,’ he went on. ‘Nor is she to pound the clothes in the poss tub, or do the churning.’

Neither Connie nor Matt said a word. Connie watched her son walk agitatedly from one side of the room to the other, knowing Danny wasn’t really blaming her, he was just worried and felt helpless.

So she didn’t come back at him and ask Danny if he had any idea of how many buckets of water were needed for Monday’s washday and how was she to do all this herself and the work in the dairy too.

Instead, she poured Danny a cup of tea and put it into his hands. He gulped at the scalding liquid almost immediately, his eyes never leaving the bedroom door. Under her breath, Connie began to pray to the Blessed Virgin Mary who knew what worry was all about.

When the doctor left the room he found four people in the kitchen staring at him. ‘How is she?’ Danny demanded.

‘Badly shaken up,’ the doctor replied. ‘She has a nasty gash on her head which I’ve bandaged, and her back will probably be badly bruised by tomorrow, but there are no broken bones.’

‘What of the baby?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘We must just wait and see. I’d advise at least a week of bed rest. If she starts to lose the child, send for me and I’ll come.’

He wasn’t reassuring, but Danny knew it was all they were going to get. ‘Can I see her?’

‘You can, but try not to disturb her,’ the doctor warned. ‘I’ve given her a draught and she’ll sleep soon. Sleep’s the best healer.’

Danny went into the bedroom and pulled a chair up to the bed. He sat beside his wife, whose eyes were already closing, holding her hand and talking softly to her. He told her how he loved her and how worried he’d been. He didn’t mention the child. He’d barely come to terms with the fact that he was to become a father before he thought that this might be taken from him. Would he be distraught if that happened? he asked himself. He had to admit now that he wouldn’t be. He’d be upset, of course, but Rosie was the one that mattered to him. They could have other children.

He bent and kissed her cheek, his whole being consumed with love for her, and then he returned to the kitchen to tell his mother he’d spend the night and maybe many nights on a shakedown on the bedroom floor. He’d not share a bed with Rosie in case he should inadvertently hurt her, but neither would he leave her alone and go back to sharing the mattress with Phelan.

‘If that’s what you want to do, then we’ll sort it out later,’ Connie said. ‘Now will you all sit up to the table and have a bowl of stew. You’ve not had a bite past your lips for some hours.’

When the girls came in from work and there had still been no sound from the bedroom, Phelan was all for going across the ice-rimed, rutted fields with the aid of a lantern to tell Rosie’s parents about her fall. Connie told Phelan he wasn’t to go. For one thing he’d likely break his neck, she said, and for another thing, he’d worry Rosie’s parents and sisters unnecessarily,
going over in the dark night. It wasn’t as if the girl’s life hung in the balance. ‘I’ll trot over myself, tomorrow,’ Connie promised her son, and with that he had to be content.

Rosie awoke in the middle of the night and once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she saw the mound of her husband on the floor beside her. She was glad he was there, but would have preferred him in bed with her, his arms wrapped about her tight while he assured her everything would be all right.

She’d wanted to believe this, oh she did, but her back ached and her head throbbed and there were drawing pains in her stomach that caused her to pull her legs up. The doctor had told her that she must keep to her bed if she wanted to save her child, and then he had given her something for the pain that made it float away as she fell into a deep sleep.

Well, she wanted the baby all right. No question of it, and she vowed if that meant she had to stay in the bed, then she would. Anyway, she thought with a wry smile, Connie, who’d been so pleased about the baby, would see she stayed there. She blessed the fact she was living with such caring people, and secure in that knowledge she let her eyelids close again.

However, despite Rosie wanting to do nothing to damage her baby, she found lying in bed irksome, particularly after a few days when the aches and pains had begun to ease. Connie was kindness itself, but had little time to spend with Rosie, working single-handedly, and the men were always busy.

She was delighted one day, therefore, to see her sisters at the bedroom door, for Connie had informed them the day after the fall as she’d promised Phelan.

It was a Saturday and Danny had gone into the village with produce to sell, and taken his mother and Sarah and Elizabeth to do a bit of shopping. Rosie was finding the day especially long. ‘Tell me all the news?’ she begged.

‘What do we ever get to hear?’ Chrissie objected. ‘We never see a soul from one week to the next. No one visits and we never go to town.’

‘Why don’t you?’ Rosie asked, knowing she loved nothing more than a morning shopping and gossiping in Blessington village. ‘You’re well old enough now. Would Mammy object?’

‘I expect so,’ Chrissie said. ‘Doesn’t she object to most things we say or do? But what is the point of us going into Blessington when we have not a penny piece to spend?’

When Rosie was at home she’d had no money of her own either. But once she’d married Danny, the money got from the egg sales was split between her and Connie, with sometimes a percentage of the butter they made up in the dairy. Rosie liked the feel of her own money in her pocket. It meant she could buy the odd trifle for herself without asking Danny all the time.

She said to Chrissie. ‘Have you thought of taking a job?’

Chrissie shook her head. ‘Mammy would never stand it. Anyway, what could I do?’

‘As well as the rest, I suppose,’ Rosie retorted and then went on, ‘Elizabeth and Sarah are working as seamstresses.’

‘Well that’s out,’ Chrissie said. ‘D’you remember my efforts at sewing?’

‘I wouldn’t mind a job either,’ Geraldine said. ‘But just because Sarah and Elizabeth Walsh have work, it doesn’t mean there’d be anything for us.’

‘Aye, but that’s just it,’ Rosie said. ‘Danny’s sisters have been working there a while now and they were mainly doing the fine work, the embroidery, or sewing beads or some such on to clothes and doing buttonholes, the fiddly things, but at the moment they’re run off their feet.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because of the war,’ Rosie replied. ‘The few machines they have in the workroom have been added to and they’re making uniforms by the score. They need people both to operate the
machines and to sew on the buttons and any other sort of decoration.’

‘Well, I’m glad to see some are gaining from this war,’ Geraldine said. ‘There are plenty from this village in the thick of it.’

‘Aye,’ Rosie agreed, ‘couldn’t wait to join up, many of them, like it was all some big adventure.’

‘Well, it was supposed be over by Christmas,’ Chrissie reminded her.

‘Danny never believed that,’ Rosie said. ‘But somehow, living here, it’s hard to believe that awful things are happening not all that far away. I mean it will really only hit home if we hear of people we know dying, or being dreadfully injured. At the moment it barely touches us.’

And it didn’t of course, but those men who had answered the call and were still answering it would all need uniforms and someone would have to make them, Chrissie thought. It wouldn’t hurt surely to make a few enquiries.

When the Walshes came home in a flurry of noise and bustle a little later, everyone was in a grand humour for all the eggs and butter had been sold and Chrissie took the opportunity to speak with Danny’s sisters about their jobs. They weren’t so keen on doing the uniforms, they told her: the material was coarser than they were used to and there was less chance of finding a remnant to make up something for themselves, but the money was good and the work would continue at least as long as the war went on.

Rosie’s sisters returned home after sharing a meal at the Walshes’, with Chrissie determined to speak to her parents about getting a job of her own. She wanted the company of other girls and money in her pocket. With keep tipped up to her mother each week to sweeten her temper, just maybe it would work.

Minnie needed that sweetener, for at first she forbade Chrissie to even think of such a thing. She fanned her temper
to full-blown fury and slapped Chrissie when she continued to plead her case. ‘Be quiet, girl!’

‘Do you want to make me a laughing stock?’ Seamus asked. ‘Have people saying I can’t afford to keep you and that I had to send you out to work?’

‘Matt Walsh doesn’t think that way,’ Chrissie pointed out, holding a handkerchief to her bleeding nose. ‘He has two daughters at the factory.’

‘Don’t you dare answer your father back,’ Minnie said, bouncing up before her. ‘By God, I’ll take the strap to you.’

Chrissie quailied inside, but outwardly showed no fear. ‘There’s no need, Mammy,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’ll pay keep into the house.’

Minnie thought about it. Money would be useful, she decided. And there was still Geraldine at home – she’d have to do. ‘All right,’ she said grudgingly. ‘We’ll try it for six months. And,’ she said, pointing her long bony finger at Geraldine, ‘don’t you get any ideas, miss, for the whole of the work will fall on you now.’

Geraldine didn’t risk saying anything, and even her sigh she suppressed, but she shot her sister a baleful look and knew for her the future was now set.

Rosie recovered from her fall with no after-effects at all, and after that she sailed through her pregnancy. There was no need for Danny to caution his mother about not letting Rosie do anything too strenuous, or carry anything heavy, for Connie was just as anxious as he was for a healthy grandchild. Sometimes she would let Rosie do so little she felt like screaming in frustration. She never lost patience with Connie, though, for she knew the fall she’d endured at the beginning had unnerved her.

As soon as Rosie had risen from her bed and the weather had allowed it, she’d resumed her weekly trip home. Her parents seemed unconcerned with her pregnancy, but Dermot, once he knew, was enraptured with the news and watched Rosie’s growing stomach with great interest. She never saw Chrissie on these trips for, although as the nights lengthened she was able to stay until the schools closed so she could see Dermot, Chrissie had secured a job in the clothing factory with Sarah and Elizabeth. She began to come to the farmhouse on Saturdays to see Rosie and sometimes the two girls would go into the village together. There was usually someone from the farm going in, but if not the girls would begin to walk, though they were often picked up by a neighbour on the road.

‘I don’t tell Mammy what I earn,’ Chrissie told her as they walked along one day. ‘She’d have nearly every penny off me but you’d not believe the wages, Rosie, two pounds a week, sometimes two pounds and ten shillings. Of course, the hours are long to earn that type of money, but none of us mind that. I tell Mammy I get a pound a week and she lets me keep two shillings of it. I share what I have left with Geraldine and she saves it in a handkerchief in her drawer. D’you think me awful?’

Rosie considered this. ‘Honour thy father and mother,’ the Bible and the Catholic Church taught all children, and lying to one’s parents was showing them no honour at all. Yet, Rosie had known for some time that the future for her and her sisters was totally in their own hands. Neither of her parents would lift a finger to help any of them. Dermot would inherit all and the girls would have to look out for themselves. So she said truthfully to Chrissie, ‘I don’t think you awful and I don’t blame you either. But take care, for if Mammy sees you buying too much for yourself she’ll tumble you’re getting higher wages than you say. Geraldine will have to be even more careful.’

‘Oh, she knows I give Geraldine something out of what she allows me to keep,’ Chrissie assured her. ‘I’ve asked if she can go with me to town a time or two to see if she wants to spend it, but Mammy won’t let her, she says she has duties at home.’

‘Well how do you do it?’

‘I told Mammy if I’m working all week and paying my way, I need free time,’ Chrissie said, and didn’t add that the first time she voiced this the resultant slap had knocked her from her feet, and the second time she had been thrashed with the strap. But she refused to give up and kept asking until her mother eventually gave in.

‘You’re a stronger character than Geraldine, though,’ Rosie said. ‘I always realised that.’

‘Aye,’ Chrissie agreed, and added almost fiercely, ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, Rosie, going to work in the factory was the best thing I ever did and I’d not give it up for a pension. Those sisters of Danny’s are nice girls. I knew them from school of course, but they were much older and weren’t friends then. But Elizabeth and Sarah have been really helpful. They’ve shown me all the fancy work they’re back to doing now there are more girls working on the uniforms. They wouldn’t let most of our lot near the work they do, but they’re not snooty or anything. They give us tips on how to make the best of the clothes we have, like how to do up a shabby hat really cheaply, or how to spruce up a dress by adding a collar and cuffs, or maybe getting a belt and accessories to wear to make it look a bit different. I tell you, Rosie,’ she said, giving her sister a friendly push, ‘I will cut quite a dash at the socials when I’m allowed to go. Roll on sixteen.’

Rosie laughed with her sister, knowing she would be sixteen in August and glad to see her so happy, and then she said, ‘Sarah’s begun walking out with a young man, hasn’t she?’

‘Aye, by the name of Sam Flaherty,’ Chrissie said. ‘The silly fool nearly got himself arrested the other day.’

‘Oh!’

‘Aye, the recruiting officer was in the town, you know, and the band were playing and all, and we ran to the door to watch. He’d been to some places already and a heap of young men were already marching behind the soldiers. Sam was in the village and began shouting. He said they were being led like lambs to the slaughter and where was their sense; that Ireland needed their young men and why should they throw their lives away for a nation that had invaded them and always kept them down.’

‘I suppose he has a point,’ Rosie said. ‘Danny feels the same.’

‘Aye, many do,’ Chrissie said. ‘But it’s a point it’s not sensible to share. The Guards came out and it was only the threat of being locked up that stilled Sam’s tongue in the end.

‘Sarah gave out to Sam later,’ Chrissie went on with a smile. ‘He was waiting for her when we left the factory and she told him that he’d be no good to Ireland, or any other damn country, if he ended up behind bars. She gave it him straight. Said there was to be no more of it and from now on he’ll keep a civil tongue in his head or he’ll have her to deal with.’

‘Oh, I think I’d take my chance with the Guards rather than Sarah on her high horse,’ Rosie said with a smile, knowing the power of her sister-in-law’s temper.

Chrissie laughed. ‘From the look on Sam’s face, he felt the same,’ she said. ‘Anyway, he never said a word back to her and they went off together.’

‘Aye,’ Rosie said. ‘Well, Sarah will keep him in line if anyone can. But let’s hurry now, I’ve a lot to buy today, mainly things for the baby’s arrival.’

‘Not that much, I hope. We’ll never carry big parcels.’

‘Could you see Danny allowing that?’ Rosie said. ‘He left early this morning to give Shay and his dad a hand with thatching their roof. Rain came through it during the winter and Danny said neither Shay nor his father were ever any good at the thatching. He told me to wait in Kilpatrick’s Hotel when I’m done and he’ll be along to fetch me as soon as he’s able.’

‘Come on, then,’ Chrissie said, catching Rosie’s hand and attempting to pull her along.

‘Chrissie!’ Rosie said, in mock indignation. ‘I’m a married woman now, about to become a mother. The times for skipping through the town like a wean are past. Put your arm in mine and we’ll walk with decorum.’

And, laughing like children, they went arm in arm along the main street.

Rosie’s pains began on 14 July. All day the sun had shone from a sky that was a brilliant blue except for the odd fluffy white cloud scudding across it, helped along by the warm breeze.

Rosie had been uncomfortable for days: it was really too warm for her and everything she did was an effort, and so when she felt the first twinges, she thought fervently, ‘Oh, thank God.’

She said nothing at first: the pains were no more than monthly pains and she’d already been told by Connie that the first baby usually took a while to come. ‘Baby doesn’t know what to do, see. But don’t you worry, I’ll be with you, and to be on the safe side I’ve asked Abigail Mehan to lend a hand. She’s helped at many births.’

Rosie knew Abigail and was reassured. Now she lived alone, her man being dead and her children scattered, but she always had a cheery word. And though her hair was steel grey and her face brown and creased, her brown eyes still sparkled with life and she was kindly and softly spoken.

When Rosie picked at her tea later, only Connie noticed. Danny and his father were concerned about the milk yield being down because of the heat and Elizabeth was entertaining the family with some amusing incident in the factory, while Sarah had one eye on the clock for she was meeting Sam at half past seven. All missed the grimace of pain that crossed Rosie’s face.

It was as they were gathering the plates after the meal that Connie snatched a quiet word with Rosie. ‘Have you got pains?’

‘Aye,’ Rosie said, ‘not so bad yet, though.’

‘Still, I’ll take Elizabeth and make up the bed. Then if things get worse, we’ll be ready.’

Rosie nodded and went on collecting the pots until a sudden contraction caused her to double up in pain and the plates fell from her hands, clattering back onto the table.

‘Oh dear Lord! Leave the pots. Go and sit by the fire while I see to this bed,’ Connie urged.

‘God, Mammy, I’ve no need for a fire, one thing I’m not is cold.’

‘Well, sit anyway,’ Connie said. ‘That last one was big enough. It might not be so long after all.’

It was as Connie was helping Rosie to a chair that Danny and Phelan came in the door, each with a bucket full of water they’d got from the pump in the yard. There was only their mother and Rosie in the kitchen: Elizabeth was helping Sarah get ready for her date and their father was sitting on the wall outside, having a smoke. Danny took in at once the grey pallor of Rosie and sprang forward. ‘What is it?’ he immediately demanded.

Rosie was unable to answer for another wave of pain washed over her and Connie said, ‘Nothing is wrong. It’s just that she’s about to give birth to the child she’s been carrying for months, a day you knew would come.’

‘Oh God,’ Danny cried and he fell to his knees before Rosie. ‘Are you all right?’

The pain had passed and Rosie smiled at Danny seeing his face creased with concern and nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she assured him.

‘What can I do?’ Danny asked his mother.

‘Nothing but wait,’ Connie said. ‘It’s all in hand. Phelan, you run up to Abigail Mehan’s house now and tell her Rosie’s time has come. She knew it would be any day now and will probably be ready to come straight down with you.’

Phelan set off without a murmur. It would be different having a baby in the house, he thought, and he was glad to be doing something to help. As for Danny, he’d got to his feet and could barely stand still. His nerves were jangling inside him and Connie said, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Danny, will you relax. Sit down by your wife and keep her company while I make up the bed with Elizabeth.’

Danny sat obediently, but could think of little to say. But Rosie had no need of words and was just grateful to have a hand to hold. The pains were a lot stronger now, but, though it showed in her face and eyes and she gripped Danny’s hand
tight, she didn’t utter a sound. When Connie told her all was ready for her, she followed her mother-in-law gladly and sank onto the bed with a sigh of relief.

Danny sat in the chair Rosie had vacated. Around him, life went on. His father came in. Phelan had told him the reason for his errand as he had left the house and Matt knew what Danny would be feeling, for he’d felt it himself. They had no need of speech and sat in a companionable silence.

When Phelan returned with Abigail she gave the briefest of greetings to the two men before hurrying to the room Phelan directed her to.

Sarah, dressed for her date with Sam, went in to see her sister-in-law and wished her all the best, and Elizabeth said she’d be on hand if she was needed. Danny felt useless and said so to his father. ‘That’s the way of it, son,’ Matt said. ‘Sure, don’t all fathers feel the same, especially when it’s the first?’

Danny couldn’t imagine any other potential father being as worried as he was, but he was glad of his own father sitting with him, and even of Phelan whittling at a piece of wood while Elizabeth got on with washing and drying the dishes.

Later, there were groaning sounds from the bedroom and it was only his father’s hand on his that stopped Danny from leaping up and into the room to find out what was happening. ‘Let them get on with it, lad,’ he advised more than once. ‘This is women’s work. Rosie will be as right as rain. Sure, isn’t she in the best of hands?’

She might have been, but there was no way Danny would sleep that night, with it all going on just yards away. When Phelan was eventually driven to his bed with weariness, Matt sat on with his eldest son. Matt had been relieved they’d had no further children after Phelan. They had two fine sons by then and two beautiful daughters and he had no wish to see the body dragged out of Connie with a child every year. Yet, he was a normal man and Connie a sensual woman and she’d
never refused him, but luckily there had been nothing to show for it since Phelan’s birth.

Life was strange right enough, he thought, as he gave the fire another poke. All around them there were families of ten – even twelve or fourteen weren’t uncommon – and Matt knew many men found it hard to earn the money to feed and clothe so many. There was a sudden strangled scream from the room and Danny, unable to remain still any longer, leaped to his feet. ‘Easy, lad,’ Matt said, standing up himself and putting his arm round his son’s shoulder. ‘I’ll brew up a pot of tea and put a wee tot of whisky in it, shall I? That’ll put you right.’

Danny wanted no tea, laced or not, yet he knew it would help his father to do something and so he gave a nod. ‘If you like,’ he said, and then with a glance at the closed door, asked, ‘How much bloody longer?’

‘God, lad, could be hours yet,’ Matt said, pressing his son back into a chair and pulling out the kettle to rest above the glowing peat. ‘’Specially with the first. Dear God, always worst with the first.’

Danny said nothing. His insides were tied in knots through fear and worry. Matt made the tea and Danny drank it without tasting it and still they sat. Eventually, Danny noticed his father trying to cover his yawns with his hand, and immediately felt guilty for keeping him up. ‘Go to bed, Da. You’ll need to be up for milking in a few hours.’

‘Aye,’ Matt said, getting to his feet relieved. ‘I won’t say I’m not weary.’ And then he leaned across to Danny and said, ‘See if your mother and that Abigail would like a sup of tea, and Rosie too. None of them have had anything for a few hours now and God knows it’s already been a long night.’

‘Aye, I will,’ Danny agreed, knowing he wouldn’t sleep either. ‘And I’ll make the tea, don’t worry. Go on to bed.’

Later, when he knocked on the door to tell them he had a cup of tea ready and his mother came out to take the tray,
he asked anxiously about Rosie. ‘She’s fine, Danny. Dozing between the contractions now.’