True to her word, Sister Margaret’s school friend received her in the parlour. She was pleased to hear of her old friend and asked Mary lots of questions about how Kitty Kennedy was faring as Sister Margaret. Mary tried to answer without explaining to Mrs Carmody just how little the children had to do with the nuns. Eventually she said that she herself had no need of staff at present, but that Mary should go down to Mrs Grant next door but one. She was a friend of Mrs Carmody’s, and was looking for a maid. Like most Dublin ladies, she preferred servants from the country. City girls were too forward. Her own girl was from County Limerick, she explained, and came from a large family. Apparently she was a godsend after the bold strap of a girl from the Liberties area of the city she had let go for keeping company and attending dances.
Mary noted what she said and thanked God that she would have no reason to be keeping company with men, nor had she any interest in going to dances. The nuns had told her often enough how the badness was in her blood, how it was precisely that sort of behaviour that got her mother in to trouble, and she resolved from a very young age to avoid any such occasion of sin. Mrs Carmody very kindly told her a little of what would be required of a maid in a house such as hers, then called the housekeeper to bring Mary to the kitchen for a bowl of soup and a cup of tea to get her settled before she approached Mrs Grant.
The cook chatted happily as they entered the warm kitchen. ‘Aren’t you a scawny little thing? The mistress says you’re to have a bite before you go, so sit yourself down at the end there. Eileen, get her a bowl of soup and a bit of soda bread.’
She returned to her kneading on the huge work surface in front of the range, a task which had obviously been interrupted by the mistress’ bell. Mary was in awe of her huge hands and strong arms as she bellowed out instructions to Eileen. She scrutinised Mary, making her feel like a piece of meat she might buy at a butcher shop.
‘You’re pretty enough then, lovely red hair. I used to have red hair when I was young, not as nice as yours though, more carroty. You have a bit of blonde and a bit of gold and brown in there as well as the red, makes it better I think. And you’ve been inside most of your life I’d say? No country girl would have that porcelain skin, I can tell you! For all that though, there’s not a pick on you. Did them nuns feed you at all?’ The Carmody’s cook babbled on as the serving girl placed a steaming bowl of delicious smelling soup before her. Eventually the old cook went to the larder behind the kitchen, giving the girls a chance to talk.
‘So, have you ever been in service before?’ Eileen was curious. Mary was intimidated by this girl, who looked around her age but seemed so much more confident. Her dark hair was drawn up into her cap, but a few tendrils of curls escaped. She had a curvaceous figure and dancing vivid blue eyes, and her skin was the colour of people Mary had seen in pictures in the bible, kind of golden brown. She had never seen anyone like her. The nuns would have said she was flighty looking, but Mary thought she was lovely. Like a saint or a senorita she had seen in a picture book once.
‘No, not really, but I grew up in an orphanage so I’m used to hard work.’ Mary replied shyly.
Eileen said conspiratorially, ‘Well, that one Mrs Carmody is sending you to, Mrs Grant, I only know her from coming here for bridge and she seems nice. She’s only two doors up from here. You’ll have to be on your best behaviour, though, and don’t say anything about politics.’ She was cutting a slice from a newly baked cake of soda bread, and Mary’s mouth was watering.
‘I don’t know anything about politics.’ Mary looked innocently at Eileen. ‘Will she ask me about it?’
Mary was suddenly fearful that her one chance might slip away if she were to be quizzed. There were never newspapers in the convent, so very little was known of the outside world. Mary had nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw her first tram earlier this morning. The city was so big and busy and smelly that she desperately wanted to find a position. She had no idea where to try to find lodgings if this job wasn’t offered.
‘Ah, I wouldn’t think so. She’s into the Union, you see, well not into it as such, her husband wouldn’t allow it if he knew. He’s after locking all the men out of his shirt factory, you see.’
Seeing Mary’s look of confusion, she asked incredulously, ‘Were you living under a stone or what? It’s all anyone talks about up here. Jim Larkin and the lockout. The men are out on strike for better pay and conditions, but your man Grant has the contracts to make all the uniforms for the British, so he’s raging. He locked everyone who wants to join the union out of the factory. Tempers are running very high, let me tell you. The people who are out on strike have nothing, no money for food, or medicine, can’t pay the rent. It’s terrible, so it is. His missus then is a whole other kettle of fish. She’s down in Liberty Hall with Countess Markowitz and the rest of them feeding the needy, but if Mr Grant was to get wind of it, there’d be blue murder and no mistake. He’s a right lighting divil, they say.’
Mary was confused. ‘But why do people want join a union if it means that they lose their jobs?’
Eileen sighed and smiled,
‘You really are a bit of an innocent aren’t you? Look, people up here, in Dublin, aren’t like people from the country. They’re living in a desperate state altogether, a lot of them. There’s hardly any work and them that have jobs are only earning small money, and the most of that goes over the counter for drink anyway. So a few months back this fella, from England I think he is, James Larkin is his name, well he arrived and told them that that they shouldn’t put up with it anymore, and they should all get together and join a union, y’know, for better money and better conditions and the like. He’s supposed to be a fierce powerful talker altogether. Well, some of them were bowled over by him, and went along with it. If they did anyway, the bosses weren’t having any of it and threw out any fella who joined, and now they can’t go to work and their families are starving. Mrs Grant is stuck in that soup kitchen with the Countess and all the women who are on the side of the workers. Mrs Carmody upstairs tells me about it when I’m dressing her. She’s not involved really, doesn’t really trust Larkin because her husband thinks he’s a communist and against the church, and she follows him in everything. Mrs Grant now, she’s different. She goes to meetings and down to Liberty Hall, giving out free food, but as I said, if her husband found out, well... I think Mrs Carmody kind of admires her for her gumption though.’
Mary was trying to take in all of what Eileen had told her while eating the delicious soup and bread lathered with thick butter. Suddenly a bell rang in the kitchen, making Mary jump.
‘That’s only herself calling me! Lord, but you’re a skittery little thing aren’t you? You’ll be used to hearing bells ringing after a week or so in service, let me tell you! Hold on there, til I see what she wants. Help yourself to another bowl of soup if you’re hungry.’
While Eileen went upstairs, Mary took in her surroundings. The cook was busy in the pantry so she was alone. Upstairs had reminded her of the nun’s parlour, all polished surfaces and fresh flowers, but the kitchen here was nothing like that of the orphanage. The Aga gave lovely heat and there was a delicious smell of baking and roasting meat. Imagine working here every day, with so much food around you, able to have a slice of soda bread or a few currants whenever you liked. As far as she could see, there was just Eileen and the cook down here. She offered a secret prayer that she would she be able to get a similar position. She hardly believed she could be so lucky.
Soon Eileen was back. ‘You picked the right day anyway, she’s meeting girls today about the job. The master there apparently scared the living daylights out of their last girl but one, and she left. She got some city one then, from up on Francis Street, but a right cheeky piece she was, it seems. She was courting on the footpath outside the servant’s door, imagine! So she got the high road after two days. Mrs Carmody said you’re to give this note to Mrs Grant when you get there. You’ll probably have to meet Mrs Kearns
first, that’s the Grants’ housekeeper. She can be a bit of a tartar, but she’s alright under it all. Just be polite and answer up and don’t have hair hanging in front of your face. Don’t look at the floor but don’t come over too cheeky either, though there’s no fear of that, I’d say. Now get yourself cleaned up, scrub those fingernails, she’ll check them. There’s a little bathroom down the corridor there, and then you’d better get a move on in case someone gets in ahead of you. Let your bag there in the corner. You can come back for it when you get the job. She’d be a grand woman to work for, so be sure you give a good account of yourself. Tell her you’re able to do everything, and sure, if there’s anything you can’t do, then I’ll help you. I’m only a minute away. Us country girls have to stick together.’ Eileen ushered Mary down the corridor with a wink.
That was three months ago. Mary could hardly believe her luck. The Grants’ housekeeper seemed to think she was acceptable, and she was taken up to meet the mistress in her sitting room, where she was engrossed in a newspaper. Mary gave her the letter from Mrs Carmody.
‘Well, my friend Mrs Carmody seems to think you are of good character and have been well brought up, so I think we will give it a try. The position is housemaid, as I’m sure Mrs Kearns has already explained. You will be answerable to her, and I shall also require you do help me with dressing and so on. I hope you’ll be happy here, Mary. Mrs Kearns will see you get settled in. Welcome to Dublin.’ Mrs Grant smiled at her and went back to reading her paper.
Mrs. Kearns had shown her to a bedroom all to herself, with a bed and a locker and a little wardrobe. There was a rug on the floor, and a sacred heart picture on the wall. The first few nights she found it hard to sleep, having never slept alone in her entire life before, but she soon came to love her little room. She had one and a half days off a month, and had a salary of twenty pounds a year. To Mary, such a fortune was unimaginable. She had yet to spend any money since she had been given a uniform and all her food was included. She had struggled at first to fit her thick auburn hair under the cap but Mrs Kearns showed her how it was done.
Her pale skin was getting a light glow from being outside as she ran errands for the housekeeper in the autumn mornings. She marvelled at the arrays of goods for sale in the shops, and loved her morning adventures to the butchers or greengrocers. The only place they ever went to from the orphanage was to mass, and even then there was a passageway from the convent into the church so they were very rarely outside. The orphanage boys were responsible for the cattle and hens and the farmwork, and the girls did domestic work inside. The Grants got most things delivered, but Mrs Kearns sometimes forgot something and sent Mary to fetch it. She passed a sweet shop every day, and realised she’d never actually tasted a sweet. After a few weeks with her pay sitting in her drawer, she took a penny out and gathered up her courage to go into the shop. She bought some toffee and ate it as she walked home. It was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. She would have loved to have sent a treat back to the children in the convent, but she knew the nuns would never allow them to have anything like that. She had written to Sister Margaret, thanking her profusely for everything and especially for helping her secure such a wonderful position.
It was her day off one Sunday, and she and Eileen had gone to mass together and then for a walk in Stephen’s Green despite the growing signs of winter. The poverty that she witnessed constantly shocked Mary. Children begged in the street, dressed in rags with no shoes on their feet. Men seemed to stand around in groups smoking and talking, and women pushed prams with skinny, pale babies and toddlers who looked cold and miserable. The weather was bitter and Mary was glad of the coat and hat Mrs Grant had found for her, realising she didn’t have one. The police were everywhere. There seemed to be two different kinds, and people seemed fearful of both uniforms. They patrolled the streets ever on alert, and seemed to care nothing about the misery and starvation all around them.
Each morning, after breakfast had been served and collected, and Mrs Grant had left for Liberty Hall, Mary reported to Mrs Kearns for her list of jobs. There was a lad around as well, Jimmy, who was about fifteen. He didn’t live in, but he fetched coal and chopped kindling and ran errands. Mr Grant had just bought a new carriage so Jimmy was to be his coachman. He was a chirpy little lad, and very small for his age. He adored Mary and was always trying to impress her.
‘That lad is soft on you,’ Mrs Kearns remarked in disapproving tones, ‘mind you don’t encourage him.’
‘No, Mrs Kearns,’ Mary replied dutifully. She was anxious to avoid any situation that would displease the housekeeper. Already she had been less than impressed that Mary had no idea how to bake, since cakes were never a feature of life in the convent. Sometimes parishioners would deliver scones to the nuns, and there was always a feast of cakes at Easter and Christmas, but the children were never allowed to taste them.
‘Not even on your birthday?’ Eileen had asked incredulously as she showed her how to make Madeira cake and currant buns on her half day. ‘We hadn’t much growing up but Mam always tried to make a sweet cake for our birthdays, and sure what with there being so many of us in the family, it was nearly always someone’s birthday. My Mam makes the best trifle too. We used to have it on Sundays. My brother Rory, he’s a year older than me, was a divil for getting into the pantry and stealing the cream off the top. Mam would pretend to murder him, but we all knew Rory could get away with anything. He always could.’
She smiled at the memory, and Mary wondered with a pang what it must have been like to grow up in a loving home with so many brothers and sisters. Eileen’s eyes glittered with an idea, ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go to Bewley’s on Westmorland Street for your birthday? Their cakes are amazing. When is it?’
Mary knew she would have to confess her dark secret sometime, but Eileen was the only friend she had. She’d passed Bewley’s Tea House on one of her walks around the city when Mrs Grant asked her to accompany her on shopping trips to carry bags and boxes, and the aromas coming out of the beautifully decorated café and the sight of people sitting at tables having cups of tea and cakes delighted her. It never occurred to her that she could go in.
‘I don’t know when my birthday is,’ she spoke quietly.
Eileen looked up from her baking. ‘Why not?’
Mary could feel her cheeks reddening. Maybe someone as nice as Eileen wouldn’t want to have anything more to do with her once she found out the truth.
‘I... I... I don’t know who my father was. My mother had me, and I was put into the orphanage. She wasn’t married, you see… I was the result of a sinful act...’ Mary’s voice was barely audible now.
Eileen covered the ground between them quickly and put her arm around Mary.
‘Is that what the nuns told you?’
Mary nodded. ‘It’s true.’
‘Do you know who she was, where she is now? Your Mam, I mean?’ Eileen’s kindness brought tears to Mary’s eyes.
‘No. I don’t know anything about her. I was just told she was a sinner and I was the result. The nuns called me Mary, so I don’t even know my real name, if my mother gave me one. I only just found out how old I really am. They told me three months ago that I was eighteen, and that it was time for me to leave the convent and fend for myself. Every night I thank God for sending me to you and for my job, and Mrs Grant...’
‘Ah, you poor thing, that’s awful. I bet your mother wishes she knew what had become of you, and thinks of you every day. I’ll tell you something else: she must have been a beauty, your Mam. I bet you look just like her. I’d love hair like yours, that gorgeous copper colour instead of boring auld black. And these flippin curls will be the death of me, I can never look sophisticated with bits sticking out the whole time. You’re so lucky, you know. My Mam used to threaten to cut mine off every Sunday morning and she trying to brush it for mass.’ Eileen giggled at the memory.
‘I wonder, do you get your green eyes from you
r Mam or your Daddy? I bet they were a right handsome pair the two of them, and they’d love to see how beautiful their little girl grew up. Here, I’ve an even better idea than Bewleys! How about next month, when it’s your Sunday off, we go on an adventure? We can make it your birthday! We’ll take the tram from Nelson’s Pillar to Kingstown and then we’ll have tea in the Royal Marine Hotel. Oh you should see it, Mary, it’s like something out of a storybook.’
Mary smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm. ‘You’re so kind, but there’s no need. My life now is so much better than it was. I have to pinch myself sometimes. You don’t miss what you never knew.’ Mary shrugged resignedly.
‘No need? There’s every need. A girl has to have a birthday so she has an excuse to get her finery on. No, I’m adamant. We’re going to the Royal Marine for tea to celebrate the birthday of Mary Doyle, spinster of this parish.’ She chuckled, nudging Mary and causing her to giggle too.
‘But surely we wouldn’t be swanky enough for a place like that. They wouldn’t leave the likes of us in, surely?’
‘Speak for yourself! Now listen to me, before the big day out we are going to go shopping, into Clery’s, and we are going to get you a new frock and stockings and even a pair of dainty shoes, and kit you out right and proper. You’ll knock the eyes out of them below in The Royal Marine. Sure, when was the last time you got a new frock?’ Eileen’s hazel eyes twinkled with excitement. ‘You never know who we might meet!’
‘I never had a new frock or a new anything else, for that matter, in my life.’ Mary spoke freely to her friend, all earlier shyness gone. Eileen had appointed herself Mary’s protector and advisor, and Mary trusted her completely.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 43
