‘I only get every second Sunday off,’ Mary offered, trying to hide her regret.
‘Well, that next Sunday so. There’s a small bit of heat left in the days now and sure t’will be something to look forward to. We could go out to Howth on the tram or maybe even up to the zoo? Were you ever there?’
Mary suppressed the urge to laugh. No, she’d never been to a zoo, or anywhere. The nuns didn’t do things like that, take them on outings or anything. They went to school, and mass, and they worked. That was their life. The idea of any entertainment, planning something, anything the children would enjoy, was laughable.
‘No, Rory, I’ve never been to the zoo. But I’d love to go. I’ll pay for myself of course…’
‘Indeed, and you will not. No, Miss Doyle, we are going to have a grand day the three of us. We might even manage a bit of a picnic? I’ll meet yourself and Eileen off the tram on Sackville Street, and we’ll stroll up to the Phoenix Park and have a day out for ourselves. Now I’d love to stay but I really must go.’ He turned on his heel to go down the stairs. He stopped and turned back to where she was standing. ‘I can’t wait to see you again, Mary.’ And he winked and was gone.
She couldn’t believe it. She lay in bed at night dreaming up ways she might run into him, but she knew it was just a dream. No matter how hard she tried to forget him, she thought about him constantly, but she was too timid to mention it to Eileen. She had no right to have notions about someone like Rory. They would often sit in the Grants’ kitchen in the evenings and drink tea, a luxury afforded very few maids, but Mrs Kearns enjoyed listening to their chatter. Eileen popped in and out from Carmodys whenever she got a moment, for a chat. Mrs Kearns was, Mary learned, well aware of the mistress’ politics and had covered for her on more than one occasion when the master came home to an empty house. Mary thought she would have been in disgrace for her involvement with anything political, but the truth was that in that house, political dissention got the tacit approval of the housekeeper. It was one of the many reasons Mrs Kearns liked Eileen so much. She was becoming more and more involved with the women’s council, and their talk in the evenings inevitably came round to topics such as women’s suffrage or the role women could play in bringing about independence. The housekeeper oversaw the conversation and didn’t allow it get too radical. She was a kind but strict woman who would tolerate no silliness or improper chatter about romance, so even if Mary wanted to ask Eileen about Rory, she couldn’t without raising the eyebrows in disapproval of Mrs Kearns.
The two did go walking on their day off sometimes, but Eileen was so enthusiastic about the cause and the fight for freedom that the conversation usually went that way. She mentioned Rory often, of course. He was a member of the Irish Volunteers, and she told Mary how he’d asked her to make a uniform for him. The pride Eileen felt in her brother glowed out of her when she spoke of him. She explained to Mary that there was an official uniform made in Cork but it was too expensive, so Eileen and Rory together saved enough money for the serge cloth in exactly the right shade, and most evenings she sat in her room and sewed until she’d produced a very good replica, complete with brass buttons adorned with the Irish Harp. She kept her political opinions secret from her employers. The Carmodys were good people who treated their staff well enough, but they were firmly behind the Union with Britain. Their delight when their eldest son joined up the day war broke out, said it all. When Eileen dusted his photo, in pride of place on the mantelpiece, she told Mary she silently asked him the same question every day.
‘If you are so mad to fight, James Carmody, why not fight for something worth fighting for? In your own country, for your own people?’ His face beamed back at her, his face radiating pride. He was the same age as Rory, and though both boys were born and bred on this island, they were a million miles apart.
‘You should have seen him, Mary,’ Eileen said, eyes blazing in indignation, ‘the day he left. Full of himself he was, like he was doing a great thing, going off to fight for the British king and the precious Empire. He couldn’t see how he was being a traitor to his own country, not for a second could he understand, not his parents either. There they were, all standing for the photographs and his uniform all shiny and new. If they force our lads, bring in conscription, I mean, it will be a good thing you know.’
Mary was nonplussed. How could forcing young Irish men into the British army be a good thing? Eileen laughed at her friend’s innocent face.
‘See, if they force them, then it will be like a huge recruitment campaign for the Volunteers. Loads of lads are scared to join us, or forbidden to by their families to get involved for fear of what could happen to them, but if the alternative is to become cannon fodder for the king, then watch what happens! Just you watch and see. They’ll come flocking to the tricolour and to the Volunteers, and then we’ll have a serious chance of striking for freedom. It’s within our grasp, Mary, a country of our own, where everyone is treated fairly and equally, women and girls too.’
Mary felt the passion with which Eileen spoke. The war in Europe, that was supposed to be over by Christmas, had dragged on for three months now with no sign of victory in sight. The British were going to need more recruits, and not everyone was as enthusiastic for slaughter as James Carmody, it seemed. Mr Redmond and the Parliamentary Party were advocating joining, but the Volunteers and Cumann na mBan were split on it. Mrs Grant and Eileen were vehemently opposed to helping the enemy in any way at all. And while Mary could see their point, she knew most of the boys and men that went to the front in British uniforms did it, not out of a sense of pride, but for the money. After the Lockout, many of Dublin’s poor never really recovered. The workers went back, but the employers found their own subtle ways of punishing those who dared seek better conditions. The war meant an opportunity to make money, to feed their wives and children. She didn’t share her friend’s distain for the men who joined up, but then Eileen never really understood what it was like to have nothing.
‘It is hard for people though, Eileen,’ she began, ‘they come to the back door looking for scraps and they really are half starved. You can’t blame men for trying to feed their families? It’s not as bad as it was during the Lockout, but people are still poor and children are still dying for the want of the doctor.’
‘But can’t you see, Mary, that for as long as the chains of imperialism bind us, it will always be that way? They’ll never let us get strong enough to rise up. They have us where they want us, strong enough to work and make them richer, but too weak to fight for what’s rightfully ours. By fighting their war for them, we’re making them stronger and weakening ourselves. I do feel sorry for poor people left with no other choice, of course I do, but joining up is only solving a short term problem and making the bigger one even worse. No, we have to keep up the anti-recruitment campaign. Bring them into the Volunteers.’
Mary smiled. She and Eileen could talk like this for hours and she felt alive, like her opinion mattered to someone. Spotting a pair of Royal Irish Constabulary Officers approaching, she rapidly changed the subject.
‘How are your parents? Have you heard from them recently?’
The officers passed, ignoring them completely, but their presence alone was intimidating. The trees were shedding their foliage, and it was hard to imagine as they walked on a carpet of red, gold, and yellow leaves that such weighty matters were all around them. Mary tried not to dwell on the danger she was in if the authorities found out about her association with Cumann na mBan. While the organisation was not illegal as such, membership would not be something that the RIC would find favourable. In addition, she gave what she could to the Defence of Ireland fund, specifically set up to raise money for arms. Seeing police and soldiers on the street was commonplace, but it still gave her a shudder. At the mention of her parents, Eileen seemed to deflate.
Eileen told her how their parents were proud but worried for their son’s safety, and when she wrote and told them that she too wa
s joining Cumann na mBan her mother wrote back and begged her not to. Having her son in the Volunteers was one thing, but to have her daughter at the mercy of the British was too much for her to bear, it seemed. Her friend was visibly upset at hurting her mother and going against her wishes. Mary led her to a bench by a duck pond.
‘I got this letter from my father.’ Eileen took the letter from her boot and handed it to Mary. The letter was short and the creases were frayed from having been read so often. Mary opened the page and began to read:
My dearest Eileen-Óg,
Your mother tells me of your plans above in Dublin and I’m sure you know she’s very vexed with you. I’m not a great one for writing but I wanted to say this to you. I am filled with pride that my fine son and daughter have turned out to be such people as ye are. Ye face dangerous times, and your mother and myself and yer brothers and sisters will pray for you every night that God will keep ye safe and away from all harm.
God Bless,
Daddy.
Mary folded the letter and returned it to her friend. Tears glistened in her eyes. Once again Mary felt deeply the loss of her parents. The love Eileen and Rory’s parents had for them was something she never knew, and she envied her friend. Eileen put the letter back in her boot and squeezed Mary’s hand.
‘Someday I’ll bring you to meet them. They’d be delighted with you, so they would.’
Mary had been delaying telling her friend about the meeting with Rory. She knew he had not met Eileen in a few weeks because she said he was very busy down the country and she was dying to meet him and hear all his news.
‘I met Rory last week, in Liberty Hall.’ Her voice sounded rushed in her ears. Her heart was pounding but she forced herself to go on. She was being silly, probably reading far too much into it.
‘Did you? You never said.’ Eileen was surprised.
‘Well, I didn’t like to say in front of Mrs Kearns. You know how she is if we mention boys.’
‘Rory is hardly ‘boys’ though. He’s my brother. Anyway, how was he?’ Eileen seemed fine, curious.
‘Oh, he was fine. I’m surprised he remembered me actually. Sure we only met that one day on the pier and with everything that happened after that, well I was sure he’d have forgotten me. Anyway he was in great form, heading down the country as you said. I don’t know why obviously. He was with Mr Connolly though, and he seemed to be very well thought of from what I could see.’
Eileen beamed with pride. ‘He doesn’t say. Not one for bragging is Rory, but he must be climbing the ranks if he’s that close to the top brass, mustn’t he? What else did he say?’
Mary knew she’d have to spit it out. ‘Well, as I said, we only spoke for a few minutes, but he did ask if we would like to go on an outing three weeks on Sunday, to the zoo. All three of us, and bring a picnic maybe if it’s not too cold.’
‘Oh, but I can’t go that Sunday.’ Eileen was frustrated. ‘I’m doing that extra first aid course on treating bullet wounds, remember? Mrs Sheehy-Skeffington asked me to do it, and then maybe teach a class on what I learned the following week, so I’ll have to go.’
Eileen mistook Mary’s crestfallen expression as disappointment at not being asked to do the course.
‘Ah Mary, she only didn’t ask you because Mrs Grant has told her how much she needs you. It’s not that she thinks you’re not good enough. Sure you did better at that bandaging lesson than me!’
Recovering, Mary reassured her friend. ‘Ah sure, I know that. Mrs Grant has me running all over the city doing this and that, though I will keep going with the basic first aid. Did I tell you Mrs Grant wants me to learn to drive?’
Eileen’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. ‘A motor car?’
‘Yes. I’m terrified! Mr Grant bought one a few months back and Jimmy learned to drive it. Mrs Grant wants him to teach me, without the master finding out, of course. Jimmy is delighted, as you can imagine,’ she added wryly.
Both girls laughed. Jimmy was always trying to court Mary, but she was having none of it. He was a harmless enough lad, Dublin born and bred, but too young for her even if she was interested, which she wasn’t. Anyway, Mrs Kearns and Mrs Grant would be appalled to think the staff were carrying on.
‘But even if you do learn, what good is that going to be? You’ll hardly be driving around the city delivering notes and such, and the master inside in his mill?’ Eileen was confused.
‘I know, but you know Mrs Grant. She gets so excited about things. She says that when the revolution comes, women who can drive will be a real asset, so Mary Doyle is, it seems, to learn to drive a motor car. Sure maybe someday, I’ll drive down to the convent and pull up outside and toot the blower thing and all the nuns will come running in case ’tis the bishop and ’twill be none other than that worthless little scrap of an orphan girl they put out a few years ago.’ Mary was giggling at the thought, but suddenly Eileen grew serious and looked deeply into Mary’s eyes.
‘Now you listen here to me, Mary Doyle,’ she spoke with an edge of steel in her voice, ‘you are not worthless. You are a great person and strong and brave and kind and I won’t hear that kind of talk. T’wasn’t your fault your parents couldn’t keep you, and we’ll never know why. But you are as entitled as anyone else to be treated with respect and dignity. That’s what we’re fighting for, so nobody can put a person down because they are an orphan or they’re poor or a woman. You’re every bit as good as anyone else, and better than most. Do you hear me?’
Her determination and fortitude moved Mary almost to tears.
‘Would you mind very much if I went with Rory to the zoo?’ The words were out before she knew it.
‘Ah I see, only waiting to get me out of the way were ye?’ Eileen turned and faced the pond, her strong, handsome face unreadable.
‘No, Eileen, it’s nothing like that. I’d love you to come, of course I would. Forget I said anything. We might go another time,’ Mary replied, panicked now that she had deeply offended her friend.
‘Would you go way outta that, ya big eejit!’ Eileen’s eyes twinkled as she turned to look at her friend. ‘He’s always asking about you. I just thought you’d no interest in fellas. Go on up to the azoo, as they say here, with my brother, but mind he doesn’t sweet talk you now. He’s a great knack for that. No woman in Foynes could refuse Rory, Mammy used to say. Not that he has a woman in Foynes, or anywhere else,’ Eileen hastened to add.
Mary felt the joy bubble up inside her.
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure he doesn’t see me like that. It’s just a friendly picnic is all it is.’ Mary tried to keep the glee from her voice.
‘Oh I doubt that, Miss Doyle, I doubt that very much indeed. I know my brother and he’s got his eye on you. Maybe we’ll be bringing you to Foynes sooner that we thought. Now so, we better be getting back. I’ve to finish the cap for your beau, though why I’m doing his stitching and you’re being taken on picnics, I don’t know. Myself and poor old Jimmy will be left on the shelf at this rate!’ Eileen grumbled good-naturedly as they walked through the park and back to the tram.
Chapter 15
November 1914
The silence in the dining room was deafening as the Grants ate breakfast together. It was the Sunday Mary was due to meet Rory and she was nervous and excited.
Mr. Grant rattled his newspaper. ‘We’ve declared war on Turkey and annexed Cyprus. The Germans are on the back foot, so perhaps this wretched business will be over by Christmas after all and we’ll have our boys home safe and sound and the Kaiser on the canvas.’ His self-satisfied, smug face sneered.
Mary caught Mrs Grant’s eye as she served the bacon, urging her employer not to react. The master deliberately tried to antagonise his wife by referring to ‘our boys’ and using the term ‘we’ to describe the action of the British government. He was a nasty, sadistic man who thought he knew how much his wife needed him. Ever since the evening when he came home and beat her up, he had restra
ined his physical attacks, but his verbal ones, she knew, were designed to humiliate and insult his wife.
Mrs Grant knew, however, that without her position as his wife, the help she could give the movement would be negligible, so she endured his constant jibes. People like them simply did not divorce at any rate, no matter how miserable the marriage. He seemed to delight in antagonising her. He would crow with delight at victories of the British over the Irish, and laughed contemptuously at reports in the paper of the actions of the Volunteers or Cumann na mBan.
‘More tea,’ he barked at Mary as she served him bacon and eggs, locking his eyes on hers.
‘Yes sir.’ Her hands shook and the cup rattled in the saucer as she poured. Weak winter sun shone through the window onto the beautifully decorated room. Mrs Grant had an exquisite eye for detail and her home was a credit to her. Fresh flowers bloomed in vases in each room, to co-ordinate with the colour of the decor. Blue hyacinths and hydrangeas wafted their fragrance around the elegant room, tastefully furnished in tones from pale eau de nil to deepest midnight blue. The flowers were delivered each morning, usually accompanied by a note, which was to be delivered immediately to Mrs Grant’s room. The florist was a section leader, and each morning instructions for the furtherance of the cause left her shop to be delivered to the parlours, drawing rooms, and bedrooms of the Dublin middle classes.
Handing the master his tea, she almost jumped when he addressed her. ‘Mary?’
‘Yes, sir?’ she replied. She felt the terror rise in her. He had not mentioned anything about the night of the attack since it happened. In fact, he was quite lecherous, and she often found him leering at her while she served at the table.
‘What do you think of this rubbish talked about Irish independence?’ His moustache seemed to bristle in his thin pale face as his light blue eyes fixed her with an icy stare.
‘I…I don’t know anything about it, sir.’ She tried to leave.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 48
