The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  Eventually, the platform began to fill up. Three young lads in army uniform arrived, laughing and shouting at one another. They must have been home on leave and were going back to the front, I thought. I didn’t recognize any of them. One caught me looking at them and nudged the others. They all turned and one of them whistled while the others grinned. They really got my goat.

  “If you’re going to stare at me all day,” I snapped, “the least you could do is buy me a bloody cup of tea.”

  They elbowed one another again. The one who had whistled came over and helped me up off the bench and took my canvas bag in his hand.

  “Grand idea,” he said. “C’mon lads.”

  They escorted me into the station cafeteria. It was a dismal oul’ place with dim lighting and a high, dirty ceiling. But it was warmer than the platform. I sat down at a rickety table trying to look like I was too good for this place and everybody in it. The army lads fell over themselves to get to the counter to buy me tea.

  The teacups were so dirty you were almost afraid to drink out of them, and the tea was black and strong. They had run out of milk and sugar. Rationed. I cursed wartime but I drank the tea anyway and it warmed my insides. I munched on a bun they had brought me, and slowly I began to feel better. I was almost my old self. I tossed my hair and smiled my best smile and pretended to admire the bravery of the chaps who sat around me. Each one was trying to best the others with some story of his brave doings in the army, and although I knew most of it was shite I nodded and sighed and tried to look impressed. I was back in form.

  Eventually I got bored with their stories. I looked around the cafeteria. At the table next to us were two dark-haired young women who looked like sisters. They had rosy, fresh faces—certainly not mill girls. They had been eyeing me and the soldiers and exchanging looks with each other. They didn’t bother me—I was used to those looks from other women. Normally, I would have ignored them—or played up in order to scandalize them even more—but I was interested in these two. I wondered if they were going to England. Maybe if I was nice to them they might have some suggestions for me. So I picked myself up and excused myself from the boys.

  “Thanks for the tea, lads,” I said as I got up, ignoring their disappointed faces, “and good luck to you at the front.”

  I approached the table where the girls were sitting. I pointed to a chair.

  “Is this seat taken?” I asked in a sweet voice.

  They looked shocked, but I supposed their good manners would not let them refuse me. I sat down and sighed. I indicated the lads over my shoulder.

  “Poor lads,” I said. “They begged me to sit with them, and I thought they deserved a little female company given what they’re facing. And so, even though it’s not something I’d normally do, I let them buy me a cup of tea.”

  I smiled at the girls, innocent as the day is long. “Are you two sisters?” I asked brightly. “You look so much alike.”

  They hesitated for a moment as if weighing me up, and then one said, “Yes, we are. We’re a year apart in age, but we’re often taken for twins.”

  I nodded. “I wish I had sisters,” I said. “By the way, I’m Sheila McGee.”

  They introduced themselves as Anne and Mary McTaggart from Mullaghbawn.

  “Oh, I know it,” I said. “Lovely place. I appeared at the county fair there once. I’m the reigning Linen Queen, you know.”

  They said nothing. “Are you going to England too?” I continued.

  They nodded.

  “Whereabouts?” I asked, hoping to get the conversation started.

  Anne, the one who had spoken first, smiled. “Bristol,” she said. “We’re on our way to join the WAAFs.”

  I spluttered. “The WAAFs? The Women’s Auxiliary Air Force? Youse are bloody joining up?”

  The one called Mary winced at my language, but Anne nodded. “Yes. We don’t think the lads should have all the fun.” There was a bit of mischief in her eyes. So they weren’t as prim as I first thought. But I still couldn’t get over it.

  “But joining up!” I said again. “Youse could get yourselves killed.”

  “Aye,” said Mary, finding her voice, “or die a slow death growing old on our farm in Mullaghbawn.”

  So they were escaping too. I stared at them with sudden respect.

  “What about yourself?” asked Anne.

  “I don’t have any real plans yet,” I said, ignoring Mary’s comment. “I’ll probably start off in some factory—I have experience at that—until I find my footing and get something better.” It sounded pathetic even as I said it.

  “But you said you’re the Linen Queen,” said Mary. “Why would you leave all that?”

  I ignored her question.

  “So you have someone sponsoring you,” said Anne.

  “Sponsoring me?” I looked at Anne, confused. “No, I’m by myself.”

  “So how did you get your papers?” said Mary, leaning forward.

  “Papers?”

  “Aye, you’ll go nowhere without papers. We looked into it, didn’t we, Anne? And we were told without a sponsor and the proper papers our only choice if we wanted to leave Ireland was to join up. Isn’t that right, Anne?”

  Her sister nodded. “Right enough.”

  I was dumbfounded. I looked around the cafeteria, which had filled up now, but everything was a blur. This couldn’t be true. They would have to let me out of here. Surely I could persuade some official to let me on the boat to England. I remembered the lesson from the night of the Linen Queen competition. Beauty is power. I had become very good at getting my own way.

  As if reading my mind, Anne said, “And they’ll not be letting you through on your good looks either, Sheila. Since the bombing started in Belfast, they’ve tightened up all the rules.” She looked at Mary. “We’ve already tried persuasion, haven’t we, Mary?”

  Mary blushed and nodded.

  I stood up suddenly and grabbed my bag. “Well, we’ll just see!” I said.

  I rushed out onto the platform. The Belfast train was due in ten minutes. I found the stationmaster, an arrogant-looking customer in his forties. I had noticed him eyeing me earlier as I sat on the bench. I marched up to him.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said as sweetly as I could. “You look like a man knows everything that’s going on.”

  His face flushed with pleasure. Och, it was always so easy!

  “I’m told I might need papers to go to England. Do you think there would be any way for me to get something from you that might let me pass through? I’m sure they would listen well to an important man like yourself.”

  He stared down at me to be sure I wasn’t just taking the mickey out of him. I made my face as serious as I could. “I would be ever so grateful,” I murmured.

  After a minute he shook his head. “I’m afraid, darling,” he said, “they’re very strict on the other end. You’re not the first pretty girl who has thrown herself on their mercy only to see the same girls back again in Newry on the next train with their tails between their legs.” He sighed. “Hearts of stone, those boyos. Hearts of stone.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I realized I was getting nowhere. I turned to leave but he wrapped his big fist around my wrist. “But if there’s anything else you need, love, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  I jerked my wrist away from him. “Go to hell!”

  A train from Belfast on its way to Dublin steamed into the station, its big engine belching black smoke. It shimmied to a stop and the carriage doors began to open. The first passengers off were a group of young children. They were ragged and white-faced. They clutched small suitcases, most of which, like Grainne’s, had seen better days, and wee boxes containing gas masks. I guessed they were evacuees. I felt a sudden rush of pity for them, but I shook it off as quickly as it came.

  Just after the train pulled out, the whistle of another train approaching from the opposite direction made everyone turn around. The train to Belfast was arriving. I watched it in ho
rror. What was I to do? The train lurched to a stop. No one got off. Nobody on the train was interested in Newry, I thought. They all wanted to go to Belfast—and beyond. The crowd on the platform thinned out as people climbed aboard, pushing and shoving one another to get the best seats in still-empty carriages. Once the doors slammed shut, windows were pushed down and heads came out. Passengers waved to the few friends and relatives left on the platform, while the stationmaster strode up and down yelling, “All aboard. All aboard for Belfast.”

  I shrank back as he passed me. He turned around and glared.

  “All aboard!” he shouted again. “Last chance for Belfast.”

  I backed up even farther as the big steam engine belched out smoke and carriage doors slammed and windows clattered shut. I stood watching, my brain in turmoil. What was the point of going only to be turned back and all my money used up on the tickets? But how could I go back to Queensbrook after this—wasn’t I better off taking my chances in Belfast? As I struggled with my thoughts, I watched the train pull away as if in slow motion. I watched it chug up the line towards the green hills that lay outside the station. The shriek of the whistle grew fainter, ebbing away, just like my dreams. I stood watching long after the train was out of sight leaving the tracks empty and silent. Eventually, I picked up my bag and walked over to the ticket office. I thrust the unused ticket at the oul’ clerk behind the caged window.

  “Give me a refund,” I said.

  “So you’ve decided to wait and let some Prince Charming buy you a first-class ticket after all? Good for you, girl. Good for you.”

  I grabbed the change, ignoring his blather. Prince Charming, indeed! Oul’ eejit.

  I was in such bad form when I arrived back in Queensbrook that night I didn’t even bother burying the prize money envelope again. I just wanted to go into the granny room, climb into bed, and pull the flour sacks up over my head. But there was no chance of that. The bloody place was so small we were tripping over one another. I bit my lip and said nothing as I shut the front door behind me and dropped the canvas bag on the floor. Ma eyed it and lit up in a big smile. She ran over to me and tried to hug me.

  “Och, love, you’ve come back to me. Sure I knew you would. Under all the proud talk, sure you love your ma, don’t you pet.”

  I shoved her away. I could hardly stand her when she was in this stupid mood—all sweetness and kisses and hugs as if we were long-lost friends and not mother and daughter at all. I said nothing. I ignored Aunt Kate as well, who made the sign of the cross when she saw me and thanked God out loud for my return. But the worst part was the girl, Grainne, who sat by the fire watching me, a knowing oul’ look on her young face. I wanted to swing out my hand and slap her. How was I going to be able to stand this? Suddenly joining up sounded like a small price to pay to get away from here. The McTaggart sisters might have been right. A surge of regret filled me for letting the train go to Belfast without me. Ah well, there’d be more trains. Right now, I just wanted to sleep.

  I picked up my bag and pushed past all of them and back into the granny room. I sat down on the bed and slowly unpacked my bag. I shoved my clothes and the biscuit tin containing my money back into the drawer along with the prize money envelope. I put the perfume and the brush and comb set back on the side table. Then I took out the wee carved merrow that Da had given me and I held it in my two hands. Part of me wanted to crush it until it was in pieces, but instead I held it to my chest and tried to fight back the tears.

  I heard a noise behind me and I swung around. Grainne stood in the doorway. I turned my back to her and put the merrow down on the side table. I kicked off my shoes and slipped into bed, fully clothed. I closed my eyes and turned on my side facing the window. I said nothing. I heard Grainne moving about and then I felt her slip into the bed beside me. I moved over to the edge of the bed on my side and she did the same on the other side. No part of us touched the other. We both lay in silence. I could tell she was not asleep. I was determined not to fall asleep until she did. Eventually, her breathing became heavier and I knew she had drifted off. Only then did I allow myself to sink into a dreamless sleep.

  The next day was Sunday. I rose early and quietly pulled on my coat and a pair of boots and crept out of the sleeping house. I took my bicycle from the shed and pedaled down the road and out towards the Flagstaff. I was foundered with the cold but I didn’t care. I enjoyed the slap of the wind on my face and the gnawing cold on my bare hands. It made me feel alive. I welcomed it after the suffocation of the Queensbrook house.

  It was only eight o’clock in the morning, and the sun was not even up yet as I pushed my bicycle up the hill. Aunt Kate would be down the stairs by now, lighting the fire and fretting aloud about something. Soon Ma would come down and Aunt Kate would look at her to gauge her mood. The swings seemed to happen more often lately. One look at her face would warn you what was to come.

  I smiled when I thought of Grainne. It wouldn’t take long for her to realize Ma was a bit of a mental case. That would take the know-it-all look off her face in a hurry. Serve her right, I thought. What made her think she could just waltz into my house and take over the place? The jealousy reared up again inside me. I didn’t understand at all where it came from, but it was clearly there. All I could do was keep my distance from the girl until I could get away. Some distance, I thought, when you were stuck in the same bed.

  I settled down on the grass and leaned against a bench and watched the sun rise. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply and thought over the events of the day before. I thanked God I had not told anybody else my plans. I imagined the ridicule I would have suffered at the mill. From now on, I thought, I will tell nobody anything, not even Gavin O’Rourke. Gavin! What would he have thought if he’d found out I’d gone away to England without even telling him—without even saying good-bye? I shrugged. What business was it of his anyway? But I knew better. Gavin and I had shared everything since we were children. Not only would I have hurt him by going away without a word but, I realized, maybe for the first time, that it was important to me to share my plans with someone. If I had nobody to tell, what good was any of it? If you had nobody to witness your life, then it would be an empty thing indeed.

  Thinking of Gavin made me miss his company. I had not seen him since we’d argued on the boat to Omeath the night of the air-raid warnings. I didn’t know if he was out to sea or in port but I decided I would go down to the harbor anyway on the off chance he was there. I stubbed out my cigarette and picked up my bicycle.

  It was an hour later when I reached Newry I could have taken the tram but I welcomed the physical exertion of riding my bicycle. As I rode, my head cleared and my mood lifted. The dock was busy, especially for a Sunday. I reminded myself this was wartime. Cargo sat on the dock waiting for transport across the Irish Sea or through the North Channel. Merchant boats, like Gavin’s, had become a lifeline for transporting goods, livestock, and munitions back and forth. Linen and cotton material for tents and uniforms sat alongside wheat, potatoes, corn, butter, eggs, milk, and tea. Many of the boats left full to the gills and came back empty. The biggest need was to supply the troops abroad. Sometimes the dock would be filled with cattle and other livestock bound for England. The only cargo that seemed to come back to Ireland on a regular basis was coal. Well, we’ll keep our arses warm anyhow, I thought, no matter that everything else we grow and make is shipped elsewhere.

  The Ashgrove was in port and I looked eagerly for some sign of Gavin. I wondered if maybe he was away to Mass with his ma. But then I saw him. He was bent over the side of the boat hammering a nail into a loose plank. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and the muscles of his arms stretched and relaxed as he swung a hammer to drive in the nail. I stood watching him, smiling at the familiarity of his movements. He had the sinewy strength of a sailor, vital and forceful. When he had finished hammering, he bent and picked up a cloth and poured some liquid from a bottle onto it. I guessed it was linseed oil. Gently he rubbed the damp cloth over t
he teakwood in a slow, steady motion. He appeared lost in thought. Maybe he was remembering his da. He had loved his da, and he loved this boat.

  He must have felt me watching him. He looked up, the breeze ruffling his chestnut hair, and grinned. He raised a tanned arm in greeting.

  “Hello, there. Come on down.”

  He was happy to see me—the previous argument on the boat to Omeath already forgotten. I dropped my bicycle and ran forward. He leaned over and helped me aboard. I stood and looked all around me. As always, I was reminded of my times with Da down here when I was a little girl. The sounds of the water lapping against the hull, the slap of the fags as the wind whipped them, and the cry of the seagulls were familiar and comforting. Even the blare of horns, hum of engines, and thud and scraping of cargo crates were pleasant to me. I inhaled the sharp, salty air and smiled as I cradled old memories.

  “What’s the craic?” Gavin uttered his usual greeting. “Why aren’t you at Mass?”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “Ah, sure I’m doing God’s work right here, taking care of my da’s boat.”

  “It’s your boat too,” I said.

  “What brings you over here at this hour of the morning?”

  I shrugged. “I was out for a ride, and I just took a notion,” I said.

  He looked at me, his eyes alight. “It’s never that simple with you, Sheila. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Give us a fag first.”

  He disappeared down into the belly of the boat. I sat down on a wooden bench on the deck and inhaled the smells—fish, salt, gasoline, oil. Most girls would have wrinkled their noses and complained, but I drew energy from this place. Gavin came back with two tumblers of lemonade and a packet of cigarettes. We sat side by side in silence, sipping our drinks and smoking, and looking out at the horizon.