The Girl from Ballymor

by Kathleen McGurl

  The rain grew heavier, the path ever less distinct, and soon I found myself wading through knee-deep heather and in thickening mist. There’d be no view from the top. Still, I wasn’t a quitter – if I set my mind to do something I did it – so I pushed on upwards and, in a little while, the ground became rocky and then flattened out and I realised I must be at the top. The wind here was pretty fierce, raging over the mountain from the west, and the near-horizontal rain stung my face like a million tiny javelins.

  ‘Well, this isn’t quite what I had in mind,’ I muttered to myself, twisting away from the wind to protect my face. The backs of my trouser legs clung soaking to my legs. There was, of course, no view in any direction. The cloud had sunk lower and I was in a thick, swirling mist. No point lingering on the summit, so I turned to make my way down. As soon as I was in the lee of the hill the wind dropped and the walk down – once I’d found the path again – was relatively pleasant. The fog had intensified, so by the time I was back at the mines, visibility was just a few metres in each direction. For a moment I felt disoriented – which way was the path to the abandoned village? I felt more confident descending by that route than via the other path I’d used when visiting the mines before, which meandered near to those open, dangerous mineshafts. I had a compass app on my phone, but that wouldn’t help much as I did not have a map or know which direction I needed to go. At least the paths from the ruined mine buildings were distinct, so I picked one and headed off down it, striding purposefully as if by pretending to be confident I’d actually feel confident.

  It wasn’t long before I realised I was not on the path that led through the village. Was it the other one that I had taken before? Nothing looked familiar, but as the mist closed about me there was nothing to anchor me, nothing to guide me. However, the path was still heading downhill, and it must come out somewhere eventually. I decided to push onwards, through the swirling mist and relentless rain.

  A little further on, I heard voices and then figures loomed out of the mist ahead. I recognised Sharon from the campsite, with her older kids, Kaz and Nathan. Kaz was stabbing at her phone and swearing.

  ‘There’s no fucking signal, Mum, like I told you.’

  ‘Keep trying! Oh God, where is he? Sammy! SAMMY!’ Her shout was whipped away by the wind.

  ‘Sharon?’ I said. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Maria? Help! We’ve lost Sam; Dave’s up there looking for him.’ She clutched my arm. ‘I and the other two are supposed to be heading down to raise the alarm but we’re not sure—’

  ‘We’re fucking lost, Mum,’ Kaz butted in. ‘Maria, do you know the way down? Do you have a signal on your phone?’

  ‘We keep on this path and it’ll lead us back down to the road,’ I said, sounding more confident than I felt. Nathan was looking thoroughly miserable and scared. ‘Where did you lose Sammy?’

  ‘I don’t know, up there – we were exploring the old mines and then the mist came down and then – oh God – what if he’s fallen down an old mineshaft? Oh God, Maria, what if that’s what happened? He was there with us and then he wasn’t, and we walked round and round shouting for him and then the wind and rain and all, and no signal, and Dave said I should take the other kids and raise a search party, and how on earth – I mean who can help us?’ Sharon’s eyes were wide with terror. Sammy was her baby and he was lost and alone, out here somewhere on the moors.

  ‘We’ll find him. Don’t worry. He will be OK.’ But I remembered those rotting wooden covers on the mineshafts I’d seen on my other walk, and felt a wave of fear for his safety wash through me. ‘Listen, I think I’ve got the number for O’Sullivan’s on my phone. I’ll call Aoife. She can alert the police.’

  I pulled out my phone, but, as for Kaz, there was no signal. ‘Come on, we’ll get going downhill. Once we’re nearer the town we’ll get a signal.’

  We stumbled onwards, ever downhill, along the narrow path through the heather. I found myself praying silently that the path would lead us back to the road as I’d promised Sharon it did. The relief when we finally spotted the ribbon of tarmac through the mist was palpable. I pulled out my phone again and saw it finally had a signal. Kaz tried to call Dave while I scrolled through my contacts to find the pub’s number.

  Aoife answered after a couple of rings. ‘Maria? Is everything OK?’

  ‘No, it’s not. Listen, there’s a child lost on the moors. We need a search party. The family were exploring the old mines and they’re worried he might have . . .’ I glanced at Sharon’s terrified face and broke off. No need to spell it out.

  ‘No problem, I’ll call the Gardaí now. How old’s the child?’

  ‘Five, I think.’ Sharon nodded confirmation, her hand over her mouth. ‘We’re on our way back into town now, but the father, Dave, is still up there searching.’

  ‘Leave it with me. Bring the rest of the family here.’

  ‘Will do, thanks.’

  I hung up, tucked my phone back into my pocket and put my arms around a shaking Sharon. ‘Listen – it’s going to be all right. Aoife’s calling the police. We’re going to get to the pub as quickly as possible, tell them what we know and get ourselves warm and dry. Come on.’

  The fact we had a plan of action, and that someone else (me!) was taking control, seemed to calm her down a little. She grabbed Nathan’s hand and began marching along the road towards Ballymor, with Kaz and I scurrying along behind.

  We’d come out a good bit further along than either the turn to the campsite or the one to the village. As we passed the campsite turning, Sharon stopped and patted her pockets. ‘Damn. If I’d had any sense, I’d have taken the car keys from Dave and could have driven us the rest of the way.’

  ‘It’s almost as quick to walk, Sharon,’ I said. ‘Come on, keep going.’ The rain was torrential now and I couldn’t wait to get inside the pub. I felt a pang of guilt – thinking of my own comfort when that poor frightened little boy was still up there on the moors somewhere.

  We almost ran the last hundred metres to the pub, where Aoife was standing in the entrance, holding the door open for us.

  ‘Go on, through to the bar. The Gardaí are waiting to talk to you.’ She pushed Sharon through, and I followed. There were two policemen waiting beside the bar, and Sharon went to tell them what had happened. Aoife steered Kaz and Nathan away, and gave them each a towel to dry themselves off. I looked around the pub. There were a half-dozen men, not drinking, all in their coats. Paulie was on his usual bar stool. Behind us, another three people entered – two women and a man, all togged up for the weather.

  ‘What can we do?’ one of the women asked Aoife.

  ‘We’re just finding out what’s happened then I expect one of the Guards will get everyone organised,’ she replied.

  ‘Aoife, who are all these people?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re the search party. After you called, I put the word out and they’ve all come to help look for the little fella. We pull together, here in Ballymor.’ She patted my shoulder. ‘Ugh, you’re soaking. Why not go and get yourself some dry clothes on? I’ll find something of my own for the boy’s mum and sister, but the other kid will probably have to stay in wet clothes.’

  ‘Ah, I’ll fetch something of my Tommy’s for him,’ said one of the women who’d just entered, and she hurried out again. As she left, Declan entered. He had his dog collar on under his coat. I wondered if he’d be offering spiritual support or practical help with the search party.

  ‘I came as soon as I could,’ he said. ‘Where’s the child’s mother?’

  I pointed Sharon out and he went to speak to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  A few minutes later, the police had organised everyone into teams and allocated search areas. The woman came back with a tracksuit for Nathan. The searchers set off, Declan included. Sharon had managed to phone Dave and tell them they were coming. Dave refused to leave the moors, and it was all Aoife and I could do to stop Sharon from rushing out to join him
.

  ‘Sure, and aren’t there enough people searching now. Your place is with your other kids,’ Aoife told her. ‘Come on and let’s get you dried and changed. Paulie, can you hold the fort for me a while, please.’

  ‘Aye, I will,’ he grunted, and then I noticed he’d been left with a list of names and phone numbers, and the pub phone beside him, coordinating communication amongst the searchers. It brought a lump to my throat to see how the entire town was working together to help a family they did not even know.

  I followed Aoife, Sharon and the kids upstairs, and went into my own room to change out of my wet clothes. It felt good to be warm and dry again, and a little later we were all back in the bar, sipping tea Aoife had made.

  I watched Sharon, now dressed in one of Aoife’s heavy metal t-shirts and a dressing gown, hands trembling as she held her cup. It must be horrendous to think of your child suffering, perhaps hurt, certainly frightened and all alone. I remembered her blind panic on the moors, her wild eyes and frantic screams.

  She caught me looking at her, and attempted a smile. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We wait,’ I said. ‘Pray if you feel it helps. He’ll be found and he’ll be all right – I am sure of it.’ I smiled back, hoping I sounded at least a little bit reassuring. To tell the truth, I was worried sick about little Sammy. I didn’t even know the kid but his mother’s anguish was heartbreaking.

  What if something like this happened to my own child? How on earth would I cope? I thought again of Kitty, and all those children she’d lost. How would you ever move on from the death of a child? I shivered a little. In the past infant mortality had been much higher, and it was perhaps usual to lose one or more babies. Did you not allow yourself to care as much for your children, in case you lost them? Was that how Jackie had felt? There was a quote, wasn’t there, something about it being better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. That could apply to love of a child, I realised, as well as love of a partner. Jackie had held back from loving me as I developed inside her, and after I was born, in case she lost me as she’d lost her earlier children. And look where that had left us. I didn’t want to be the same. I wanted to love my child, unconditionally. Even if the worst happened and I lost him or her too soon.

  At that thought I found myself silently praying that Sharon was not about to lose Sammy too soon. That poor, sweet child. I remembered his mischievous mud-splattered grin when I’d seen him and Dave at the campsite. Please let him be all right, please let them find him!

  CHAPTER 20

  Kitty

  When you are dreading an approaching event time speeds up, Kitty thought, as she awoke on Saturday morning. The two days since she’d bought the Columbus ticket for Michael had flown past in a blur of activity, as Michael said his farewells to friends, paid his respects at the graves of his siblings and gathered together his meagre possessions to take on-board the ship.

  Kitty hauled herself out of bed, lit a turf fire and put a pot on to boil. There was a crust of bread and some cheese left from the food Thomas Waterman had given her. That would do for his breakfast. At least on-board the ship he would get a meal each day, and once he was in New York, well, there was no starvation in America, was there? He would go ashore with little money but endless chances, and she knew he was the type of person who would make the most of them.

  Michael was stirring too, and in a few minutes he was up, washing his face in the bucket of water, and putting on his breeches and shirt that Kitty had washed for him the night before and hung to dry in front of the fire. It was a small thing, but she liked to think that she had done her best for him, and would send him to his new life in clean clothes and with a full belly. She did not allow herself to think about what she would eat that evening, or the next day. The last of her money would go on paying Jimmy Maguire for the lift into Cork city today.

  ‘Here’s tea, and there’s some bread and cheese to set you up for the day,’ she said to Michael, as she laid the items on the table.

  ‘What’ll you be eating?’ he said, frowning at her as she pushed the plate of food towards him.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘What about later?’

  ‘I’m after having some money left over. I’ll buy something on my way home after the ship has sailed.’ And please God forgive her for the lie. It was all she seemed to do now. She made a mental note to go to confession. Soon there would be no need to lie, and, indeed, no one to lie to in any case. She smiled at Michael, and bustled around the cottage making sure he had everything ready for his journey.

  Soon it was time to leave. The sun was shining, sparkling on the distant sea across the moors. Michael closed the cottage door and sighed. ‘Strange to think ’tis the last time I will walk through that door and see this view.’

  Kitty could not trust herself to reply, but instead put her hand through his arm and pulled him close.

  ‘Sorry, Mammy. I should say, the last time for a few years. I’ll come back for you as soon as I have saved enough money, I promise.’ He bent to kiss the top of her head.

  She smiled up at him – her tall, handsome son, with his shock of dark hair so unlike her own, and his strong jawline. He’d look better with some weight on him – he’d break hearts then. God willing he’d have a better life over the ocean, and wouldn’t ever go hungry again.

  He gazed at the view across the heather towards the coast. ‘Maybe you’ll see the ship from here, Mammy. Give it a wave for me. And remember, when you see the sun in the day or the moon and stars at night, they’re the same sun, moon and stars that’ll be shining on me. We’re not so far apart.’

  ‘You’ll always be with me in here,’ she said, tapping her heart, her voice choked. ‘Now come on, Jimmy Maguire will be waiting for us.’

  *

  During the journey to Cork, first by foot and then in the back of Jimmy Maguire’s cart, Kitty tried to savour every last moment of being with Michael. She could not believe the time had come to say goodbye to him. For whatever he said about saving the money to send for her, or coming home for her, she knew, deep down, that she would never see him again. Chances were that she would not survive the next winter. But for now she knew she must keep a brave face on it, and not show him her fears. Michael himself wore an expression of trepidation mixed with excitement. He was young, he was going on an adventure. Of course it was an exciting time for him.

  All too soon the journey was over, and Jimmy was dropping them off at the quayside where the Columbus was docked. It was a scene of near chaos – people hurrying back and forth, men loading crates and hauling trunks onto the ship. There were coils of rope, huge sacks of supplies, sailors running hither and thither, and groups of passengers standing, looking lost and confused, many with children in tow. Kitty looked about for James O’Dowell. She would feel happier if Michael could meet up with him before boarding the ship. But perhaps the O’Dowells were already on the ship. She twisted her skirt in her hands, unsure what to do next.

  Michael seemed more certain of himself. He picked up the small bundle that was all his worldly possessions, and drew the ticket out of his pocket. ‘That fellow over there looks like he’s in charge,’ he said, indicating a man in a black jacket and battered hat who was standing beside the gangplank. There was a throng of people around him, asking him questions and waving their tickets.

  As Kitty looked over, a whistle blew, and the activity around them grew more frantic. Sailors were beginning to untie the thick ropes that moored the ship to the quay. Steam tugboats were already in position, to heave the ship away from the dock and out into the main channel of the River Lee, which flowed out to the ocean. The man in the black jacket began ushering people up the gangplank.

  ‘Well, Mammy, looks like this is it,’ said Michael. ‘Ah look, there’s Mr O’Dowell, see, he’s already on-board.’

  Kitty looked up at where he was pointing and saw James O’Dowell with his wife and children leaning over the wooden rail t
hat ran around the deck. She waved up at him and pointed to Michael. He waved back.

  ‘Go up and find him as soon as you can. He’ll look after you,’ she said. But she clutched hold of Michael’s arm tightly, unwilling to let him go just yet.

  ‘Mammy, I’m grown, I can take care of myself,’ Michael replied, a smile on his face.

  ‘Sure, but I feel better knowing there’s someone who knows you on-board, who’ll look out for you if you need it.’ She reached up to stroke his face. ‘You’ll always be my baby.’

  He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. ‘I love you, Mammy. Thank you, for everything. You’ve done so much for me, more than I deserve. Look after yourself, now.’

  ‘Write to me as soon as you get to New York,’ she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. Her beautiful boy, the last of her children, leaving Ireland! In those happy days, before the famine, before Patrick’s accident, who would ever have thought it would come to this? Images of her lost children flitted through her mind – Little Patrick, Nuala, Jimmy, baby Éamonn and, of course, sweet, gentle Gracie – all gone, lost to hunger or disease. And now Michael, but he would be lost only to her.

  She squeezed him one last time. ‘Good luck, Michael, my precious son. Make your fortune. Do it for those little brothers and sisters of yours who did not get their full chance in life. Don’t forget them, now, will you?’

  ‘Never,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘And don’t you forget me, either. I’ll be back for you before you know it.’

  The ship’s whistle sounded again, and they broke apart. The man in the black jacket was shouting at them, beckoning Michael to board the ship.

  ‘I must go now,’ Michael whispered. He bent to kiss her cheek, and then turned to run across to the gangplank.

  ‘Dia duit,’ she called after him. God bless you. She watched as he bounded up the gangplank and was swallowed into the ship. The last ropes were loosened, the gangplank was pulled ashore, and tugboats began to ease the ship away from the quayside. Kitty kept her eyes trained on the upper deck where she had seen James O’Dowell. Finally, when the ship was almost too far away for her to be able to make out the figures, she saw a tall, dark-haired young man waving energetically. She waved back, running along the quayside after the ship, until she could go no further and the ship was out in the main channel. She watched until it reached a bend in the river, still controlled by the tugs, and then, too soon, it was out of sight.