I felt her eye me from head to toe. I was still wearing my frock from America.
“What a lovely dress,” said Mother Bernard.
“Thank you,” I said, slightly stunned by her gracious remark.
“Ask Julia to put your number in the collar. I’d hate to see you lose it in the laundry.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you.”
I found Patsy and Clare knitting by the wall in the yard.
“How was yer holiday?” asked Clare.
“It was okay,” I said, preferring not to mention anything about Norah.
“What’d ya do?” asked Patsy.
“Not much,” I said and sat down beside them.
In an effort to change the subject, I told them about my new job. “Are ya kiddin me?” said Clare.
“Nope, she just told me,” I said.
“Well, ya can’t go ta class if yer workin in the china press,” said Patsy.
“She said it’s just fer the summer.”
While we spoke about my new job, I began to realize just how fortunate I was. So I decided that, for the time at least, I would focus on my life and my future, and try to forget about Norah Hanley.
The next morning Sister Rita gave me instructions on how to serve breakfast to Father Doherty. It seemed simple enough.
“At the back of the china press, ya’ll find the dishes. I need one place setting and a large silver tray.”
I rushed down the hall and entered the mysterious room tucked under the grand staircase. It was a long, narrow, ell-shaped room. The walls in the rear were lined with glass-paned cabinets displaying a wide assortment of china patterns. I chose a Delft Blue place setting and took ornate silverware out from the deep drawer. Carefully balancing everything on the tray, I returned to the kitchen.
Sister Rita filled the plate with a hearty breakfast. Then she sent me to Saint Andrew’s Parlor, where Father Doherty was waiting. He was already seated when I entered the room. I set the tray down and poured his tea.
“Thank you, Peg,” he said. I was surprised he knew my name.
I glanced around the room, recalling the last time I was in this parlor. It was the day I was admitted. I remembered eating freshly baked scones with creamy butter and jam. At the time, this room appeared to be so luxurious to me. My thoughts were disrupted by the sound of Father Doherty’s voice.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“That’ll be all,” he said.
I returned to the kitchen and Sister Rita handed me a fried egg and fresh bun on a plain piece of crockery.
“Take a metal tray from the rack, and pour yerself a cup of tea,” she said. “Ya can eat in the china press.”
I set my tray down on the counter just inside the door. It felt good to be alone. Unfortunately, I still struggled to dismiss my thoughts about Norah Hanley. Unless I was occupied with a task, my emotions surfaced and my mind raced. I felt abandoned and deceived by Norah. There was no way for me to rationalize what she had done. These feelings were hard for me to ignore.
After breakfast I tried to divert my thoughts and studied the list of bell codes. It was simple—the higher the nun’s rank, the fewer strikes to the bell. With only one visitor for Mother Bernard, the day moved very slowly. If I didn’t keep busy, I was going to go mad sitting in this tiny room. In an effort to keep myself occupied, I looked through all the cabinets and drawers. One of the other girls had left behind a large tablet of paper and a box of colored pencils. I sat at the counter and drew pictures to pass the idle time.
This new job was boring, except when Mother Bernard sent me into town. I’d take my time walking through Saint Michael’s Square and stopping to look in the shoppe windows. Sometimes, I’d sit on a bench for a few minutes, watching the people walk by. Envy raged within me whenever I saw a mother and daughter together. My anger toward Norah grew with every thought of how my life could’ve been, should’ve been.
One morning, while I waited in line at the post office, I overheard the woman in front of me ask the clerk about a savings account. This, I thought, would be a way for me to keep my money safe. Leaving anything valuable in the dorm was risky.
During my next trip to town, I opened an account.
The clerk handed me my passbook and grinned. “Savin fer a big trip, are ya?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, even though I’d never thought about how I’d spend my money.
“Where would ya be goin?” he asked.
“America!” I replied, without much forethought.
The brief conversation got me thinking. Why not? Why not save my money and go to America?
I made the best of my time in the china press. Each morning, I’d place my purse on the counter next to my box of writing paper, the large tablet of drawing paper, and a book of poems I’d borrowed from Sister Theresa. I wrote a letter to Connor, drew china patterns in the tablet, and memorized poems by Yeats.
I appreciated having this private space—although I spent a lot of time sitting on the stool with my head cradled in my arms and crying. I was lonely and had no one to talk to about the pain I felt. Mary had listened to my story, but she couldn’t understand. I even tried to write Norah a letter once, telling her how much I hated her for what she’d done to me. The letter was a mess, and I doubted she really cared how I felt, so I threw it out.
Toward the end of August, most of the nuns left for their beach holiday. Mother Bernard gave me a list of errands to do while she was away. With no one keeping tabs on me, I took advantage of the freedom. I came and went as I pleased, but kept the list with me, in case I was stopped and questioned.
I took my time and browsed around Cullin’s Haberdashery, stopping to look at the colorful rolls of fabric. I ran my hand across the cotton weave and wondered what it would be like to wear something so soft. One afternoon as I was leaving the shoppe, I felt a hand land on my shoulder. I jumped and turned around to find the smiling face of my friend Erin.
“Peg!” she exclaimed, and we embraced. It was a rare thing to share such affection with another house child. Her warm hug was comforting.
I missed Erin and our chats in the convent kitchen. She’d always been kind to me, unlike most of the older girls. We arranged to meet the following day at noon.
Erin was waiting at the post office when I arrived. She’d brought two buns for us to eat while we sat on a bench and chatted. She told me about her work at Dr. Dylan’s, cleaning and cooking for the family.
“Their home is lovely and I’ve got my own bedroom,” she boasted.
Although it didn’t sound appealing to me, I was happy for her. I knew she wanted to stay locally so she could check in on her mother.
Erin was anxious to hear news about the girls at the industrial school.
“I’ve got ta admit, I miss it a bit,” she confessed.
I shrugged my shoulders, “Not much ta tell. It’s all the same, just different faces.”
Erin’s look of disappointment forced me to reflect on the little time I spent with the other house children.
“Well, last night in the washroom I heard that Sister Constance gave one of the new girls quite a whipping. Apparently the girl had a run-in with Mathew Campbell and now she refuses ta go on the milk runs.”
“Well, Mathew is quite nervy,” said Erin. “I’ve always been leery of him. I wonder if he’s responsible fer Angela O’Neill’s condition.”
“What condition?” I asked.
“Haven’t ya heard? Angela got pregnant! The nuns sent her away ta have the baby,” said Erin. “She’s in the Tuam Mother Baby Home.”
I hadn’t even noticed Angela was gone. “Why’d she have ta go ta Tuam?”
“That’s where they send ya, if yer not married. Sure, she can’t be having an illegitimate baby in the general hospital.”
I had no idea a woman’s circumstances dictated where she would deliver her baby. Then I recalled Tara mentioning something about her sister in a similar situation.
“Where will she go af
ter the baby is born?” I asked.
“She can’t go anywhere. She’ll be locked up in there fer at least a year of penance. Then who knows what! Knowin Angela like I do, I bet she’ll get sassy with the nuns and they’ll send her ta the Magdalene Laundry. And those girls are there fer life!”
“What about the baby?”
“The nuns will sell it ta Americans fer adoption or foster it out till it’s old enough ta be sent ta an industrial school.”
I was shocked and terribly disturbed by this information. Is this what happened to Norah? Was she sent away to give birth to me? My eyes welled up with tears and I couldn’t hold them back. I felt sad and angry at the same time.
“What’s the matter?” asked Erin.
“How can Angela give up her baby?” I demanded.
Erin shook her head and looked at me as if I asked a ridiculous question.
“Peg, tis criminal ta have an illegitimate child. Angela can’t care fer it. She’s got no money, no home. No one would hire her, and even if they did, who’s goin ta care fer the baby?”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I couldn’t wipe them away quick enough. I cried for Angela. I cried for her baby. And I cried for myself.
Erin was baffled by my reaction and tried to comfort me.
The words began to spill out between my tears. I told Erin about Norah. I told her how Norah lied to me for years. How I’d visit every summer with hope that Norah would ask me to stay. I told her how the old man thought I was Norah’s house help.
Erin rubbed my back and tried to comfort me.
“Believe me Peg, if yer an illegitimate, there’s no way she could keep ya!”
“Stop defending her!” I snapped at Erin.
“Ah Peg, she couldn’t keep ya. Sure her own family would shun her.”
“But I’m her flesh and blood!”
“Peg. Tis amazing that she keeps in contact with ya. Many a woman would deny ya completely!”
I returned to the convent feeling physically ill. My gut tightened and I felt nauseous. I sat in the china press and cried. Now it made sense to me. Sister Rita had told me I was an illegitimate. That’s why Norah didn’t keep me. I tried to imagine what it had been like for Norah, but I still couldn’t find forgiveness for her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
M y encounter with Erin affected me in many ways. Learning about what may have happened to Norah provided me with a reason to ease my anger toward her. Unfortunately, although my mind could grasp that, my heart still had trouble. My feelings toward Norah were still driven by the abandonment and deceit I felt.
I found Erin’s firsthand information on life as a housekeeper to be very unappealing. My desire to avoid that lifestyle reinforced the need to earn my Leaving Certificate. I wanted to be eligible for an office position where I could earn money and have freedom.
I knew I had to write to Hannah, regardless of how awkward it felt. So I brought my writing paper to the china press and wrote to her.
August 29, 1950
Dear Auntie Hannah,
I hope you and the boys enjoyed your summer.
After returning from my annual week in Galway, the Reverend Mother assigned me to a summer position in the china press. The position allows me some free time to read and prepare for the new school year. Classes begin next week and I’m excited to return. I’ve made friends with several classmates who board in the convent. Some of them are planning to go to America after earning their Leaving Certificate. I’m thinking about that myself. Do you think I might find a good position in the States?
Thank you again for the lovely frocks you sent over. They fit me perfectly.
Godspeed,
Peg
Hannah didn’t take long to write back.
September 18,1950
Dear Peg,
I was so pleased to get your letter. Norah wrote to me about your visit over the summer. I was sorry to hear about your exchange with her. Please try to understand that she had no other option. In Ireland, women live under the rule and thumb of the Catholic Church and government.
I’m not surprised to hear that you, along with some of the other girls, are interested in coming to America. There has been a surge of Irish immigrants, mostly young women. The dollar doesn’t come easy, but there are many opportunities to earn money for those whom are willing to work hard.
I wish you the best in the new school year. Enclosed is some money for you to purchase any essentials you may need for school. I look forward to hearing from you again.
Love,
Auntie Hannah
I reread the letter several times, unsure of what to make of it. She didn’t discourage me from going to America, but she didn’t offer any encouragement or assistance either. At least I was remaining on good terms with her, regardless of my relationship with Norah.
The start of my classes left me less time to think about Norah. I studied hard and focused on my lessons. In October, the arrival of the Ballinasloe Fair was a welcome diversion for everyone. During breakfast, house children and boarders alike generated an air of excitement, making plans for their day. The thrill of our anticipation was interrupted by Patsy’s sister, Grace, who came running into the refectory that morning.
Her face was bright red as she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Colleen is up on the fire escape! She’s goin ta jump!”
Katie couldn’t stop the mob from rushing out of the refectory.
“Don’t jump, don’t jump!” the girls chanted from the yard, looking upwards.
Colleen was standing on the fire escape handrail, supporting herself with one hand against the building. Her face was visibly bruised and her clothes were torn. She looked as if she’d been attacked.
A familiar voice whispered from behind me, “Sister Constance sent her ta the dairy this mornin.”
I turned around—it was Mary.
“Mathew Campbell?” I asked.
Mary nodded her head.
Suddenly, Sister Constance and Katie appeared in the doorway leading to the fire escape. They stepped out and pulled Colleen down off the handrail. We all cheered for her safety. Then Colleen fell to her knees and sobbed hysterically. Instead of helping her up, Sister Constance took the leather strap from her waist and whipped Colleen. I’d witnessed many awful things at the industrial school, but few sickened me as much as this did. I had a good idea of what happened to Colleen, and now she was being punished for it.
That scene stayed in my mind all day. I couldn’t enjoy the fair. Instead, I spent the time imaging what Mathew Campbell may have done to her.
Later that evening, after the rosary, I asked Mary if she knew how Colleen was doing.
“They sent her ta Saint Brigid’s Asylum,” said Mary. “Two men in an ambulance came ta get her. They strapped her down on a board and took her out screamin and cryin.”
Secondary School did not offer a class on social justice, but the topic was frequently discussed among a few of the girls while we studied. I began to pay closer attention to their discussions.
“My brothers tell me I’m wasting my time in school.”
“Here comes the one with grand notions of a career, they say whenever I come home.”
“My sister had ta resign her civil service job once she got married! Her boss said he couldn’t keep her on as a married woman, it’s the law!”
“I won’t marry an Irishman. Sure they think they own ya, like ya’ve got no rights.”
“Why do ya think so many girls are goin ta America?”
The incident with Colleen, the last letter from Auntie Hannah, and my assumption of what happened to Norah all led me to believe these girls were right. Ireland was not a good place for women.
My devotion to my studies helped to pass the time. The Christmas holiday was over as fast as it had arrived. It was the Saturday before we were to return to class when I was summoned to see the Reverend Mother. I walked into her office and immediately noticed the package on her desk. As I sat down a
cross from her, she slid the box toward me and said, “Someone thinks highly of you.”
I’d already received a card from Auntie Hannah, so I knew the package had to be from Norah.
I looked at the box; the shipping paper had already been removed, and the envelope on top had been opened. Today more so than ever before, I was angered by the lack of privacy the nuns afforded the house children. They knew more about us than we did ourselves. Surely, they had all been aware Norah Hanley was my mother. Who were they to decide what I should know about? Who were they to hamper my freedom?
I’d always liked Mother Bernard, but in that moment, I felt a real resentment toward her. I felt personally violated that she knew the contents of both the letter and the package.
“Go ahead and open it,” she said.
I wasn’t willing to give her the satisfaction of witnessing my reaction to Norah’s letter. So I put the envelope to the side and lifted the lid of the box. Under a sheet of thin packing paper was a brilliant blue cable knit sweater. My discomfort must have been obvious, because the Reverend Mother stood up.
“I’ll give you a few moments,” she said before leaving the room.
I took a deep breath and removed the letter from the envelope.
December 22, 1950
Dear Peg,
I hope you are keeping well. Please let me know how the sweater fits. I had a job finding the right color yarn, but Mrs. Maguire at the haberdashery was kind enough to order it for me from Dublin. I was worried I wouldn’t have it done by Christmas, as I’ve got my hands full with the children. It took quite some time to knit, as the cable stitch can be difficult. Granny did the trim work around the collar. The buttons are from a coat Hannah sent me. I’ve always thought you look lovely in blue.
I’ve been getting ready for the holiday and have made several plum puddings. Father Kelly from Saint Nicholas’ Church says it isn’t Christmas without my plum pudding.
The House Children Page 13
