by Irene Kelly
Waking up the next day was strange. I lay there for a while listening to the unfamiliar sounds of my granny’s house: gurgling pipes, creaking floorboards, neighbours greeting each other in the street and cars revving their engines. It was lovely to be out of the dorm and away from the nuns for a night.
After a while I got up and put my communion dress back on – I didn’t have anything else to wear. When I crept downstairs, Granny was at the stove, stirring a pan of porridge. I sat at the table and, in a little while, she put a lovely, steaming bowl in front of me. It was exactly the way porridge should be – creamy and sweet, cooked all the way through, not like the muck they gave us in St Grace’s. I plucked up the courage to ask her if she could keep me at her house, just until Mammy recovered.
‘You’re going back to the nuns and that’s final,’ she answered firmly.
‘Please, Granny, please don’t send me back there . . .’
‘That’s enough!’ she snapped. ‘Now finish your porridge, quickly now, and get your shoes on. Your father can’t wait around all day.’
No sooner had I finished than we said a hurried goodbye and I was ushered outside to her front porch. In another second, her door was shut.
Daddy and I got on the bus again, but he didn’t seem in a very cheerful mood. In fact, he was grumpy for most of the way and if I asked him a question he just grunted at me. We got off the bus next to a parade of shops, and one was a sweet shop.
‘Stop, Daddy!’ I shouted. ‘I want to get some toffees!’
I had two pennies left in my communion bag and I knew I wouldn’t have another chance to buy something. So Daddy took me into the sweet shop and I chose a bag of toffees. Carefully, I hid them inside my communion bag. I had to get them inside St Grace’s somehow so I could share them with Martin and Agatha. If the nuns found them they would take them off me for sure.
We approached the large gates of the orphanage. With every step up the driveway I felt more and more miserable but Daddy didn’t seem to notice. I wanted to stop next to the horse but he urged me on, telling me not to dawdle. There, at the front of the main building, the Mother Superior waited for us.
Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were cold.
‘Irene. Mr Coogan.’ She nodded politely.
‘Sister.’ Daddy nodded in response then he patted me on the back. ‘Okay, in you go.’
I turned round to give him a hug but there was nobody there. He had already started back down the drive. I stood there for a while, watching his disappearing figure, hoping he would turn to wave. No. Nothing.
Now the Mother Superior dropped the fake smile and she looked me over distastefully. Finally she lost her patience.
‘Do stop mooning around, Irene!’ she exploded. ‘He’s gone. Now get inside!’
10
IRENE
A Failed Fostering
Ah, Irene!’ The Mother Superior welcomed me into her office with that special smile she put on for outsiders. Until this moment I had been nervous about being sent to the Mother Superior’s office. What have I done? I thought as I scuttled up the corridor towards her room. I hadn’t been told off for doing anything bad today so maybe it was something I hadn’t noticed. My mind ran through the possibilities – was it something to do with my clothes? Or talking in church? Maybe I hadn’t made my bed properly? I couldn’t think of anything specific so I was full of dread as I approached her office and knocked on the door. But as soon as the Mother Superior flung the door open with that over-bearing, fake grin, I knew I wasn’t there for a punishment.
There, in the room in front of me, sat a very well-dressed man and woman. The lady wore a fawn-coloured stole around her neck and lots of make-up. The gentleman was in a smart dark suit and held a charcoal trilby at his knees. They weren’t like anyone I’d met before – they were so well-to-do it made me feel uncomfortable. They both smiled at me anxiously.
‘Irene, please.’ The Mother Superior directed me to stand next to her desk while she sat down. ‘Now, this is Mr and Mrs Donavan.’ She indicated the woman and the man and they smiled at me again, even bigger smiles this time. I shifted nervously from one foot to another.
She went on, ‘Mr and Mrs Donavan are going to take you home to live with them for a while.’
‘What?’ I exclaimed. I was too shocked for manners. ‘What do you mean, Mother Superior?’
‘I mean, Irene, they are going to give you a good home while we wait for your mother to get better, which may or may not happen.’ She nodded at the couple again. They looked at me hopefully – the woman really was very lovely. She had beautiful blonde curls around her face and a string of pearls at her neck.
‘We live in a nice house, Irene, with a garden and a dog,’ the woman said to me now. She had a very posh voice, very polished. On her lap was a pair of neatly folded cream leather gloves.
‘Do you like dogs, Irene?’ she asked sweetly. I only remembered one dog in my life – a big black dog we once had called Jenny who barked whenever she saw a priest or a nun. Jenny didn’t like the clergy – I didn’t understand it at the time, in fact we all found it funny the way she went berserk whenever she saw a nun’s habit. It drove Mammy mad because she loved nuns and it made her so embarrassed. The dog disappeared shortly after I turned four.
‘Would you like a sweet, Irene?’ The man’s voice snapped me back to the present. He held out a striped paper bag of toffees towards me.
I froze. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Who are these people? What do they want? The seconds stretched out between us and silence filled the room.
‘Well?’ the Mother Superior sighed, exasperated. ‘Aren’t you going to take a toffee?’
‘NO!’ I shouted. Now the words came tumbling out of me: ‘I don’t want a sweetie and I don’t want to go home with yous. I’ve got a mammy and a daddy. They’re going to come and get me soon and I’ll go home with them.’
None of this felt right. I just didn’t understand why they wanted to take me home with them and I was frightened of this couple, especially the man, but I didn’t know why.
‘Irene, don’t be such an ungrateful child,’ the Mother Superior fumed. ‘These good, kind people are offering to give you a home. You do want a nice home, don’t you?’
‘But I’ve got a home!’ I wailed, tears springing to my eyes. ‘I don’t want to go with them. I don’t know them. My brother and my sisters are here – I want to stay here with Agatha and Martin and Cecily.’
I was scared – even though I barely spoke to my sisters and brother these days, they were my family the only family I had around me, and I loved them. This couple were strange, they were formal and frightening to me. The whole thing was too much. If these people took me away today I’d never get back to Mammy!
The couple turned to each other, dismayed. I could see they were upset but I didn’t care. I didn’t understand why the Mother Superior was trying to make me go home with these strangers when I already had a family of my own. The more the Mother Superior tried to insist I leave with Mr and Mrs Donavan, the harder I wept until, after a few minutes, I was nearly hysterical.
At that point, Mr Donavan interrupted. ‘Sister, I think you better let her go back to her siblings. We don’t want to distress the child any further.’
‘Of course, Mr Donavan,’ Mother Superior said through gritted teeth. ‘Go on, Irene. Run along now!’
And with that I bolted out of the office and fled into the sitting room, cramming myself under one of the chairs. I knew I was in trouble and I didn’t want sister to find me. After a few minutes I heard Mr and Mrs Donavan leaving under a siege of apologies from the Mother Superior. I listened as their footsteps disappeared down the corridor and, another minute later, heard the inevitable, ‘IRENE COOGAN!’
Oh no! I gulped hard then slunk out from my hiding place. She stood in the doorway of the sitting room, her face purple with rage.
‘MY OFFICE!’ she thundered. ‘NOW!’
I knew what was coming. Of cour
se she would beat me for being so insolent and for not doing what she wanted but I didn’t have any regrets. I had a mammy and a daddy and I knew one day I would go home to them.
‘You’re an evil child,’ she insisted in tense, clipped tones as she closed the door behind us, then she hitched up her habit to unbuckle the thick leather belt that was fastened round her waist.
‘A horrible, ungrateful child,’ she went on. ‘Nobody will ever love you, nobody will want you. You had your chance at a home and you threw it away! This is how you repay us and all we’ve done for you? BEND OVER!’
Later that night, once lights were out, I told Agatha all about what had happened.
She listened in horrified fascination as I described the Donavans, their fine clothes and eager expressions.
‘But we’ve got a mammy and a daddy,’ I explained in hushed tones. ‘So I said no, I wouldn’t go with them and the Mother Superior got really angry and that’s when she beat me.’
‘Why do you think they came to take you away?’ Agatha asked, bemused. ‘I mean, why you? There’s lots of children here.’
‘I don’t know,’ I murmured. ‘It wasn’t right. I didn’t like the man.’
I lay awake that night, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, my legs and bottom blistered, red raw and pulsing with pain. It had all been so strange. All these years I had dreamed of another family, of a ‘real’ mammy and daddy who would one day take me away to live with them. Yet when some actual living, breathing people had come for me, I had found it so frightening. I realized it wasn’t what I wanted after all. However hurtful she could be, I just wanted to be with my real mammy.
That Saturday I went into the dark space of the confessional box and for the first time in months I actually had something to say. Usually, I had to rack my brain to think of a ‘confession’ because, in truth, I never did anything wrong in St Grace’s. What could I do? I had no freedom, no life, nothing beyond school, work and praying. But we didn’t have a choice – we had to take confession every week, even if we hadn’t done anything wrong. Some weeks I made stuff up, which I knew was a sin, and so the following week I could at least confess to telling a fib.
‘Bless me, father, for I have sinned,’ I whispered. ‘It’s been a week since my last confession. This week I shouted at some people and I went against the Mother Superior’s wishes and I made her very cross at me.’
The father gave me absolution and told me to say ten Hail Marys and a decade of the rosary, just like he had the week before.
Strangely enough I did actually see my mother three weeks later, although she didn’t see me. It was the last weekend in May and we were taken out of the orphanage for the annual show at the Jacob’s biscuit factory. It was a special day of the year and most of the families from our council estate on the Liffey went along because there was free music and sweets.
At the orphanage, all the older children piled onto a bus for the drive to Bishop Street for the celebration and, for a very short time, as we sat on the upper deck, we could all pretend we were normal children. The buzz and the excitement in the air was wonderful. I stared out of the window the whole way, thrilled to get a glimpse at the outside world again. It had been over a month since my communion in April when I had left the orphanage with my father.
Suddenly my heart stopped. There, in the street directly below us, I saw my mother walking arm in arm with a friend, looking for all the world like a carefree young woman.
‘Mammy!’ I screamed and banged on the window. She was talking and laughing with her friend, throwing her head back so her beautiful blonde locks tumbled down her back. She looked very much recovered to me, tottering down the street in her high heels and a tiny red skirt.
‘Mammy!’ I shouted desperately, banging away like crazy. ‘Mammy! Look up! Look up!’ But the bus rolled on and she never saw or heard me.
It was hard to enjoy the concert after that. I wanted to feel pleased that I’d seen her, but the way she had trotted along, smiling and giggling like a young girl, depressed me. I didn’t want to admit to myself what had seemed so clear in those snatched few seconds. She’s happier without us. She doesn’t miss us at all.
For a couple of hours, we were paraded in front of the city, the ‘poor, orphanage children’, and everyone felt sorry for us and then we were sent back to hell. On the bus on the way back, my anger and despondency grew. Mammy didn’t look ill to me and she was obviously out of the convalescent home, so why were we still living with the nuns? They didn’t care about us. Nobody cared.
Life went on as usual in St Grace’s – the nuns and staff scolded, slapped and beat us for no reason and then forced us to confess our sins. I struggled to get through each day and sank into oblivion each night. In St Grace’s I had no dreams, just nightmares. It was the same for all of us. Often the night’s silence was punctuated by the uneven, distressed cries of children fighting evil monsters in their sleep. Sometimes we woke up and the monsters were still there.
One Sunday in June, just after breakfast, we were instructed to line up in our year groups as it was a ‘special day’.
‘There are some volunteers coming today,’ Sister Beatrice explained. ‘Each couple has very generously offered to take a child out for the day. So look smart, behave, and – if you’re lucky – they might pick you!’
A ripple of excitement passed down the line. We did our best to look nice for the visitors and, when they came, ten couples passed in front of all of us. I smiled winningly to try and look appealing. There was a young couple who stopped in front of me and after a whispered exchange the woman reached out and touched my arm.
‘Hello – would you like to come and spend the day with us?’ she asked. She had large hazel eyes and a sweet, earnest face.
‘Yes please!’ I responded eagerly.
Since there were only ten children for ten couples, we were allowed to have special clothes for the day. I was given a lovely dress with little daisies on it, a smart green coat with large black buttons and shiny brown patent shoes. Oh, the shoes! They were gorgeous and I couldn’t stop looking at them as I was led to the visitors’ building where the young couple waited for me.
‘My name is Elizabeth,’ the young woman introduced herself. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. ‘But you can call me Betty. And this is my fiancé Mark.’
Mark nodded at me – he was short but very handsome with a clear, open expression. I don’t know why but I liked and trusted these people from the start.
They were so sweet and so kind and they took me first bowling and then back to Mark’s mother’s house. I couldn’t believe it when we walked in – the dining table was groaning with food. There were sandwiches, cakes, buns, doughnuts and biscuits – everything you could possibly want. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I’d never seen so much lovely food all in one place before.
Betty broke into a giggle when she saw my mouth hanging open in shock.
‘It’s for you, Irene,’ she laughed. ‘Go on – help yourself!’
I looked around me then, confused and upset. I felt too scared to take anything.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Mark’s mother whispered to him. ‘Why won’t she eat?’
‘Ah, she’s probably just a little overwhelmed, Mammy,’ he reassured her. ‘Give her a bit of time.’
The truth was I couldn’t bring myself to touch any of that delicious food because I didn’t feel I deserved any of it. I was a horrible, nasty, evil child. That’s what the nuns had told me all this time and now I believed them. Kindness? I couldn’t understand kindness. Eventually, Betty cajoled me into eating two egg and cress sandwiches and a slice of Victoria sponge. It was heavenly – the nicest food I’d ever, ever tasted. Betty was so lovely – she told me all about her job as a clerical assistant and the wedding that she and Mark were planning. They were such warm and loving people, I wanted to stay in that house as long as possible. But, too soon, it was time to go back to the orphanage.
Despite Betty
’s bright and cheerful comments, I couldn’t talk on the bus journey back to the orphanage. A huge lump stuck in my throat and a black mood settled over me as soon as we passed through the gates and up the drive. Eventually, as we approached the front doors I turned to them both in desperation.
‘Please, please don’t make me go in there,’ I pleaded, clinging onto Betty’s sleeve for dear life. ‘Please take me with you. I want to go with you!’
She was alarmed at my outburst and shook her head apologetically. ‘We can’t, Irene,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry but we really can’t take you home with us. You have to go back.’
‘Please, please,’ I implored, as tears started to form. ‘They’ll let you take me if you ask them. They will! They do that! You can take me home and they won’t mind a bit.’
‘No, no, we can’t do that,’ Betty insisted, her eyes misting over with tears of her own. ‘Mark? Mark, tell her we can’t take her. Oh Lord, Irene. I’m so sorry.’
I burst into tears then and buried my face in her coat. She held me to her and for a while I just stood there, weeping silently. She rubbed my back and then pulled me away, kneeling down so that we were eye to eye. Her mascara had run a little down her cheeks.
‘You’re such a dear girl, Irene, and if I had a home to give you I would give it to you tomorrow, but I don’t,’ she explained patiently. ‘We’re not marrying for another six months and who knows what will happen by then. Maybe your own mammy will be better and she’ll fetch you home to live with her?’
I bit down hard on my lip and in a thin little voice I whispered, ‘Do you think so?’
‘Of course,’ she smiled. Then she drew me to her in a warm embrace and for the first time in many months I felt comforted. And safe. I let the tears roll freely off my cheeks.
