Strawberry Fields (50 page)

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Authors: Katie Flynn

Tags: #Fiction, #Sagas

BOOK: Strawberry Fields
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Deirdre nodded her head slowly. ‘Me ornaments – and the corn between the floorboards,’ she said ruefully. ‘They were right, alanna. But hens in their proper place now, that’s another thing altogether so it is.’
‘You kept hens here, in our good rooms?’ Peader said incredulously, ‘Whatever next, alanna? And don’t say pigs, because . . .’
‘She wanted to have a pig,’ Ivan said, placidly cramming half a round of bread and margarine into his mouth. ‘But she was afraid it would eat the dog and the cats when it got big.’
‘I never did . . . I only said . . .’ Polly squeaked, very confused. She turned to her mother. ‘Oh, Mammy, it’s just . . . and anyway, we’re goin’ to live in the country! Oh, I’m so, so happy!’
And indeed, as soon as tea was over she begged leave to go round and tell Tad that his rent for the hens would not be coming in for long.
‘We’ll be away in a couple of weeks,’ her father had said. ‘We won’t take the linoleum, but everything else will have to be packed.’
So off Polly trotted on the familiar round. Out of Swift’s Alley, along Francis Street . . . and there was Tad, with a dirty old sack, grubbing in the gutters for damaged vegetables for the hens!
‘Tad! Oh, Tad, you’ll never guess what me daddy’s telled us!’ Polly gabbled, clutching his sleeve. ‘He can’t be a safety man no more, ’cos he was hurt bad so he was, but he’s goin’ to be a railway crossing man instead, wit’ a cottage, an’ a garden, an’ pigs an’ hens . . .’ She stopped short. ‘Tad? Aren’t you pleased, now? You can come each day an’ see the pigs, if you like.’
‘Where?’
‘What d’you mean, where? Where can you see the pigs? In their sty, when we’ve made them one.’
‘No, Poll,’ Tad said patiently. ‘Where’s this crossin’?’
‘Oh, I see, but what does
where
matter? It’ll be on the Howth Road, I bet . . . oh, I
hope
it’s there, ’cos of the sea.’
‘Ask your daddy,’ Tad said in a very peculiar voice. If he hadn’t been a chiseller, Polly would have thought he was upset, trying to hold back tears. ‘I’ll come back wit’ you now an’ you can ask him right away.’
‘Sure I will,’ Polly said stoutly, but for the first time, a niggling doubt crossed her mind. Why should the LMS give her daddy a crossing to take care of on a Southern Ireland line? She knew all about the LMS because Daddy and Brogan talked about it. But . . . but they wouldn’t give him a line in
England,
surely, and him Irish through and through? She scowled at Tad but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at his feet, bare and dust-coloured, as they padded along the pavement.
They reached the O’Bradys’ door and Polly shoved it open and tugged Tad inside. Scarcely through the door she said loudly, ‘Daddy, where’s your crossin’?
Say
it isn’t in England,
say
it isn’t!’
Peader had been dozing in a chair by the fire whilst Deirdre cleared away the tea things and his daughter’s abrupt entrance into the room had disturbed a rather pleasant dream. Now, he rubbed his eyes, then yawned fiercely. Deirdre must be washing up in the kitchen; he could hear the clatter as she brought the crocks out of the soapy water and stood them on the bit of a draining board he had made for her himself on his last visit home. She was singing a tune beneath her breath and sounded very happy. Peader sat up straight and tried to answer Polly’s question.
‘What? Me crossin’, d’you mean? It’s on the Wirral, alanna, that’s a very pleasant part of the country, very pleasant indeed. You’ll love it so you will.’
‘It’s in England, that Wirral, isn’t it, Mr O’Brady?’ Tad said in a hollow voice. ‘You’re takin’ me pal to England!’
And before anyone could so much as say a word Tad had whipped round and could be heard thundering down the stairs.
‘Oh dear,’ Peader said inadequately. ‘What’s worryin’ Tad then, alanna?’
Polly ignored the question. ‘Daddy?’ she said slowly. ‘Daddy, Tad’s not right, is he?’
‘Me darlin’, I t’ought you knew, t’ought you’d guess,’ Peader said, all his happiness gone and guilt swamping him. He’d not thought of this one, not thought of the kids havin’ to leave their pals! ‘Of course it’s in England, but that’s . . .’
‘Oh, Tad, Tad!’ Polly burst into tears and before Peader could move she was out of the room and clattering down the stairs in Tad’s wake.
Peader had got to his feet and was halfway across to the door when Deirdre popped her head into the room.
‘I heard that,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Don’t be in a worry, me darlin’, ’twas bound to occur. She’ll come round when we say Tad must come an’ stay wit’ us from time to time.’
‘But a boy can’t pop across the water just like that,’ Peader said heavily. ‘Oh, why didn’t I
think
? She’s heartbroken, so she is.’
‘I know he won’t come to stay, an’ so do you, but ’tis a comfort for the child,’ Deirdre said. ‘She’ll accept it better and by the time she realises he’s not come over she’ll have a dozen new friends an’ a whole new life so she will. She’s only ten, that’s no age, and in England she’ll have a better chance than she would here, didn’t you say?’
‘I did. There’s factories, shops . . . yes, I’m sure she’ll get work when she’s old enough,’ Peader said, returning to his chair. ‘You’re a good woman, Deirdre. When the young one comes back we’ll comfort her wit’ promises.’
‘That’s it,’ Deirdre agreed. ‘Now you sit and rest awhile; close your eyes.’
‘Go back to sleep, you mean, like an ould feller,’ Peader said, wryly, but he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
It was a long while, however, before he could sleep.
Polly had stood in the stern of the ship and watched Ireland disappear, and now she was standing in the bows and watching Liverpool approach. It was huge so it was – and there were some grand and beautiful buildings. But although the sun was shining a pall of smoke hung over the city, greyish yellow smoke, and the voices which came to her ears both from the shore and from many of the sailors were harsh, with turns of phrase which were new to her.
Brogan was standing beside her and now he put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Don’t scowl so, Polly,’ he said. ‘Liverpool’s a fine city, but you won’t be stayin’ there long. You’ll be off to me daddy’s new crossing in a matter of days. Now you’ll like that, won’t you?’
‘I shall not,’ Polly said firmly. ‘I want to be wit’ Tad so I do. I
like
the Liberties, an’ Dublin, an’ me school, an’ me pals.’ She shivered and pointed ahead of her, to where the big buildings were getting ever closer. ‘What’s
that
?’
‘It’s the Liver building. Them’s the Liver birds, sittin’ on them little tower things. English sailors who’ve travelled from all over the world know that when they can see the Liver birds, they’re nearly home.’
Polly sniffed. Then she rubbed her eyes and sagged against Brogan’s comforting arm.
‘It’s no use, is it, Brog? I can be as horrible as I like, but I’m still only ten years old. They won’t let me go home, will they?’
‘No, alanna, they won’t let you go home,’ Brogan said quietly. ‘Not yet, not till you’re a good deal older. But ’tis the same for all of us. Daddy and me, we have to stay to earn our livin’, whether we will or no. The boys will have to stay too, until they’re old enough to try for work over the water, that is. So you’re in good company. We’ve all got to earn a crust, eh?’
‘Martin and Donal stayed in Dublin. Why couldn’t I stay wit’ them?’ Polly said, but she spoke without much conviction. She knows, poor kid, that what’s done is done, Brogan thought, and felt, for a fleeting second, the helplessness of a child, carried hither and thither by the wishes of an adult world which she cannot really understand.
‘You can’t stay wit’ Martin because he’ll be workin’ hard, wit’ no time to take care of a little sister,’ Brogan pointed out. ‘Polly, love, you’ll be happy in your new home, I promise you. Aren’t your hens in the hold this minute, an’ Delly, an’ both cats? And won’t you have new pets, more hens, pigs? And the whole of the lovely countryside to play in, what’s more.’
‘But not Tad,’ Polly reminded him. ‘Never Tad.’
‘You must write often, two or three times a week,’ Brogan said. ‘You must tell him every little thing that happens, and then, when you do meet again, it’ll be as if you’d never been apart.’
‘I will, so,’ Polly said, cheering up a little. ‘Daddy said yesterday I might be able to have a little horse of me own one day.’
Poor Daddy, Brogan thought, desperate to make up to this odd little daughter of his for taking her away from her playmate. Indeed, though he used the term ‘playmate’, he thought that she had behaved as though she and Tad had loved one another! And wit’ her ten years old and the lad no more than twelve, that wasn’t likely.
Was it?
Her grandmother’s death changed Sara; she had always worked hard but now she seemed to have very little interest in what went on outside Strawberry Field. She and Mr Alderwood were determined to get everything right, and at last the day came when the major pronounced himself satisfied and brought the new matron along to inspect things. That lady pronounced herself delighted with everything and suggested that they should have an Open Day, at which friends, relatives and local dignitaries might see for themselves what a pleasant place the Strawberry Field Children’s Home had become.
‘Well, Clarrie, we’ll be opening the place up in no time at all now, so the brigadier has decided to have an Open Day,’ Sara said when she got back to the flat that night. She and Clarrie had kept the place on, though without Mrs Prescott’s small pension – and warm presence – their ability to continue to pay the rent and stay there would probably not last. Besides, Sara had been offered a live-in post at the home and thought she would take it. ‘You will come, won’t you? All sorts of local dignitaries will be coming, and a great many high-ranking Salvationists of course. And when the Open Day is over we’re going to have a little tea party – that is, the friends and relatives of everyone who’s helped to make Strawberry Field what it is today – and you can all tell us what you think.’
‘I just wish Mrs Prescott could have seen it,’ Clarrie said with a sigh. ‘But there, I expect she can in her way – she’ll be rare proud of you, queen. And you must accept the job, you know. I’ll find someone else to share here. And thanks for invitin’ me to the Open Day – I’ll do you credit, chuck. I’ll go down to Zena’s, get me hair set, and I’ll wear me new suit – or should it be uniform?’
‘The suit, I think,’ Sara said. ‘There are going to be an awful lot of uniforms about! And – and thanks, Clarrie.’
‘What for? For comin’ to a free do, where’ll I gerra cuppa tea?’
‘No, silly. For telling me to go ahead and take the job, which I’m longing to do. For making me feel it’s all right to – well, to leave you in the lurch, in a way.’
Clarrie tutted. The two girls were in the living kitchen, both knitting away though with different measures of success; Clarrie had been taught to knit as a child, Sara had never mastered it.
‘Well, a poor sort of friend I’d think meself if I didn’t tell you to take the job, the way things are. And as for leavin’ me in the lurch, you’re doin’ no such thing. I tell you, folk will be fallin’ over theirselves to take a share of a place like this ’un. Now who’s goin’ to put the kettle on, you or me? ’Cos I’m dyin’ for a nice cuppa.’
It was all very well to feel confident that the house was now fit for occupancy when you compared it with how it had looked six months ago, but when the Open Day dawned, Sara discovered that she was actually nervous. People who had never been up the drive before, let alone in at the big front door, were going to be staring, peering into cupboards, possibly even criticising. She went from room to room, tidying, straightening, trying to see it through the eyes of a stranger, but in the end she simply went into the big front hall and waited. It was too late for changing her mind, too late for adjustments, even. She must simply smile and accept whatever the visitors said.
It helped that she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. The brigadier, who would be running the home, was nervous too. She tidied her study, went and changed the pink and white checked cloths in the dining room for blue and white, then changed them back again. She ran a finger along the banisters and couldn’t find any dust, then she hurried into the kitchens to check that arrangements for the staff tea party were complete.
‘Relax, Brigadier,’ Sara said at last. ‘I thought I was nervous, but you’re so much worse that you’ve made me feel quite calm.’
‘You won’t have to explain to the Lord Mayor if he finds fault,’ the brigadier said. ‘Oh, is that them now? Lor, whose idea
was
this, anyway?’
‘Yours, and a very good idea it was, too,’ Mr Alderwood said, winking at Sara. ‘Just stop fussing, Matron . . . I do believe I hear a car!’
It was only the major, but as he opened the door Clarrie appeared behind him, mounted on her bicycle. She got off, leaned the machine carefully against the house wall, and then came in, smiling broadly.
‘Ah, Miss Boote,’ the brigadier said, coming forward. ‘Isn’t this exciting? Would you like to come in and see what we’ve done on the ground floor, whilst we wait for the official party?’

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