by Martha Long
Maybe they might bring me over te the convent refectory te have dinner with them! Ye never know! They might be feeling full a goodwill, especially if I’m the only one left. I wonder if I am? Then the picture of sitting with them eating the Christmas dinner started te hit me! Jaysus! I could see it all. I could be sitting with Ma Pius on one side a me and the Reverend Mother on the other! With Sister Benedict on the far side opposite, watching and passing remarks on me table manners. ‘Martha Long! Would you mind not putting me off my dinner with your disgraceful manners at the table!’
‘Pass the salt, please, dear Sister Mary Innocent,’ Sister Thomas might mutter in her quiet little voice.
‘Certainly!’ says Duck Egg, handing over the salt.
‘Isn’t the turkey just lovely! And the roast potatoes browned to a crisp and just the right colour,’ gasps Mercy on a mouthful of grub.
‘Oh, indeed they are! Thank God!’ whispers Sister Thomas. ‘Now what sort of fat did you use?’
‘Oh! The dripping from yesterday’s lovely bit of beef dat nice new butcher sent me up. Old Joseph is dead, you know.’
‘No! God rest his soul! Was it sudden? No one told me!’ Sister Thomas moans.
‘Oh, it was very sudden. He died on the job while serving poor Mrs Lamb from two doors up!’
‘No!’ gasps Sister Thomas.
‘Yes! He was handing over a parcel of black and white pudding, sausages and rashers for the weekend breakfast last Saturday . . . the week gone, I mean! I know all dis because Johnny Mack is a friend of our Larry the farmer, and he told me when he brought in the milk last Monday, I think it was. I was doing sausages for the tea, so it had to be Monday! Now, where was I? Oh yes! And he collapsed over a tray of sheep’s belly sitting in the glass case in front of him!’
‘Tut, tut!’ everyone gasps, all listening now.
‘Yes!’ pants Mercy, getting carried away now with all eyes on her. ‘And dat wasn’t the last of it!’
‘What! There’s more?’ the Reverend Mother gasps, grasping her chest, looking at Mother Pius, shell-shocked.
‘Shocking!’ agrees Ma Pius. ‘Utterly shocking!’
‘Go on!’ Mother Immaculate breathes, holding both hands te her chest now.
‘Yes! Poor Mrs Lamb . . .’ and she pauses te look around the table te make sure everyone is getting this, ‘collapsed inta a heap on top of the seasoned and spiced beef sitting on the counter waiting to be hung up, and had to be carried away in an ambulance with a suspected heart attack.’
A shocked silence hit the room, and then they all started talking about the terrible things that can happen so unexpectedly, it is sooo frightening.
‘Anyway, Sister Thomas, as I was saying! It works wonders for giving the taste and the colour.’
‘Hm! You’re a marvel, Sister Mercy,’ mumbles Sister Thomas. ‘I must give that a try with my Sunday dinners. For the potatoes, I mean.’
Then it would be silent again, except for the gnashing a teeth on the Brussels sprouts. Yuk! I hate them. Meanwhile, Sister Eleanor is at the other end of the table, keeping well outa the way, hoping the Reverend Mother doesn’t come down on her hot and heavy for letting me stay here in the first place and ruining the nuns’ Christmas dinner. They couldn’t have a proper gossip with me sitting there earwigging, ready te take everything back te the institution and let the world and his wife know their business. ‘No! It’s just not good enough now, Sister Eleanor!’
Hm! I have two hopes of sitting meself down with them for me Christmas dinner: Bob Hope and no hope at all! Ha! Thank God for that! Yeah, and if the worst comes te the worst, I can always enjoy meself sitting down te eating me Christmas dinner all on me own. Aaahh! Poor me. Ha, ha! I can enjoy meself no end tormenting the nuns about what a terrible Christmas I had. Yeah! After the Christmas, when they smile sweetly at me, enquiring, ‘Did you have a nice Christmas, Martha?’
‘Ah, it was all right, Sister. Lovely and peaceful.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ they’ll say ready te move on.
‘If ye can call sitting in the freezing cold eating yer dinner with no one te talk te except Tibbles, Sister Mercy’s cat. And the worst of it was, I don’t like cats. But I shared me turkey with her, because she was on her own, too.’ Sniff! Ha, ha, ha! That should be a great laugh!
Right! But come on, Martha, they might just turn around and say, ‘Well, wasn’t it a pity you didn’t go home to your poor mother, and she with a houseful of children. How did she manage without you?’ Ah, fuck that! I’m keeping me mouth shut.
Right! Enough of that! It’s time te enjoy yerself. Whatever happens, happens. It will be grand. Now! What am I doing? I looked around, finding meself on the children’s landing next te the convent passage. How did I get here with all me thinking? Will I go over and see if Sister Eleanor has any news about what’s going on? No, leave it for a bit. I’ll head off upstairs te the dormitory.
I took the stairs two at a time, wondering if anyone was around the house. I sprinted up first te the top of the house te put me head inta the little ones’ dormitory and looked around the room. All the beds were airing with the mattresses folded back and the blankets neatly folded on top, just leaving the wire springs exposed. Nope! Empty! Not a dickie bird. Right! I turned back down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and landed on me floor, rushing in through the dormitory, peeling me eyes around the little dormitory. Nope! Same here – beds all airing. Then flew inta the big one. I could hear music, and me heart lifted! I flew around by the little cubicles used for the big ones who are ready te gallop outa here and start living in the world, then stopped, clapping eyes on Ruthie lying sprawled on her belly listening te Sister Eleanor’s little transistor radio. She uses that for the people sick in bed, te keep them company and cheer them up. How did she get that? I felt a rush of heat going through me belly, feeling meself getting jealous. Huh! Eleanor wouldn’t give me that if I asked her. Still, I’m delighted te see somebody anyway.
‘How’re ye, Ruthie? Are ye sick or what? What’s happening? Are ye staying here for the Christmas?’ I asked her hopefully.
‘Oh, hiya, Martha. No, just taking it easy while I’m waiting for my godmother to collect me. She’s on her way, Sister Eleanor said, so I better start moving.’
‘Oh, so ye are going away for the Christmas?’ I said with me heart dropping inta me belly.
‘Yeah! Course I am! Who would want to stay in this place for Christmas? Why? Where are you going?’
‘Dunno,’ I said, collapsing me arse on the bed spring next to hers.
‘Have you not got something sorted out?’ she asked me, looking worried.
‘No, Ruthie. Nothing’s been said. Sister Eleanor said she will try te sort something out, but I’m still waiting.’
‘Ah, don’t worry yourself about it. You’ll get fixed up! They won’t let you stay here in the first place, because the nuns want the place cleared to give themselves a rest,’ she laughed.
‘Do ye think I’ll get te go out with a family, Ruthie?’ I asked her, feeling a bit of hope.
‘Course you will! Well, I hope so,’ she laughed again, then turned her head back to the magazine she was reading, looking very intent, not wanting to talk any more.
I sat staring around the room, listening te the song blasting out: ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’. I will if I get the chance! I moaned te meself, looking at all the empty black iron beds. Rows and rows of them, nobody needing them.
Everybody is all gone off somewhere te be with people who are happy te have them. With probably a warm house and lights and decorations and Christmas trees, and probably even a dog! I like dogs, but I’m a bit afraid of them. Me eyes swept around the empty room with the high windows looking out onta green fields. They are too high up te look out, unless you climb up onta the windowsill. But I could see the tall trees waving their naked branches in the wind, and it was really beginning te feel very desolate in here, and making me feel very empty.
I turned me h
ead te Ruthie. ‘How did ye get the transistor radio, Ruthie?’ I said, throwing me eye on the radio, loving te get me hands on it! That would be great company! I thought te meself.
‘I asked Sister Eleanor for it,’ she said, making it sound so easy!
‘And she just gave it te ye?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Listen, can I borrow it when ye go?’ I asked, leaning inta her.
‘Sorry! I said I would give it straight back,’ she said, not looking at me, keeping her eyes on the magazine.
‘How’s school?’ I asked, knowing she was going te the secondary school because she is very brainy. Only a few of them go. The rest all go te the technical school.
‘Great! Great, Martha,’ she said, looking up at me.
‘What will ye be when ye leave school, Ruthie?’
‘Oh, I haven’t thought about it. I might try for secretarial college if the nuns keep me on. I will have to wait and see. Anyway, it’s easy to get a good job when you have the education.’
‘Yeah, I know! I’m hoping te do something, too, Ruthie! I’ve been working on me diction. And reading books.’
‘Yeah, I’ve noticed,’ she said, looking at me and smiling. ‘Your speaking voice is improving well. You should practise your th’s and always pronounce your endings. Ings and that kind of thing. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t do well, you’re very clever, Martha. I can see that. Never mind what the others say.’
Me heart lifted. ‘Ah, thanks, Ruthie! That’s very nice of ye te say that about me.’
‘No, it’s true,’ she said, shaking her head and going back to her reading.
‘What are ye reading, Ruthie?’
‘Oh, the problem page. The problems are very good. Listen to this one,’ she said, moving over in the bed, making room for me. I sat next to her, dropping me head down beside hers, and we both read. ‘Look at this one,’ she said pointing to one.
Dear Mabel,
I am a married woman and a Catholic mother of six children. My husband is a very religious man. He had thought of going forward to the priesthood, but I got in the way, so his mother never tires of telling me at every opportunity. She is sorely disappointed and tells me all the time she had great hopes for him becoming a priest and one day a bishop! Every night of their family life, when they went down on their knees to say the family rosary, they always ended with a prayer that Colm would become a very holy priest and one day make it as a bishop. I don’t think she has ever forgiven me for leading him astray, Mabel.
Now, Mabel, I have led myself astray. For the last four months I have been having an affair with another man! My husband knows nothing about this! I did not intend to let the affair get out of hand, but I found myself looking forward to our meetings. I told my husband I was attending the Countrywomen’s Association; I have been a member for years. His mother, my mother-in-law, first took me to one of the meetings. I loved it because it was an escape from the house, a change you might say, and I got lots of tips on making little garments for the babies, and nice knitting patterns, and lots of cooking recipes. Now, of course, I have missed these meetings for several months, as I have been meeting my lover at his bedsitter in Harold’s Cross.
Now, Mabel, I have just discovered to my mortal shame and horror I am pregnant. I know the baby is not my husband’s, because we have not been intimate since I took up with my lover! I have been telling my husband I suffer with migraines and the doctor suggests we abstain for a while because the excitement was bringing on the migraines.
My parish priest was also in favour of this course of action, because my husband told me he discussed this with him and it was OK to abstain for a short while to let me recover, as our last baby, we called him Columbanus, was only four weeks old anyway. He said I should not be allowed to get away with this for too long, because it was my duty to give my husband his conjugal rights! So now you see my predicament, Mabel! Even if I could pass the baby off as my husband’s, and there would be a remote possibility of that because as my mother-in-law proudly says, ‘My son is so manly he only has to hang his trousers on the end of the bed and you are gone again!’ I could cod him all right with the dates, say we must have gotten carried away at some stage, because here is the proof of the pudding! But unfortunately my lover is a student at the College of Surgeons; he is studying to be a doctor! And he is from Africa, a black man, so therefore the baby would be black. So now you see I can’t pass him off as my husband’s, as he has roaring red hair and very fair skin. He only has to look at the sun and his face burns bright red like a beetroot!
Please, Mabel, I hope you can solve my problem. Please tell me what to do! I am desperate. So much so, I keep looking out at the river. Our little cottage overlooks the river where my husband spends a lot of his free time fishing for trout with our two little boys. I have often thought of throwing myself in there, but the river is too low, and anyway I can swim. I have even thought about going to my mother-in-law’s house – she lives four miles down the road – and sticking my head in the oven. I would have to go there because we don’t have gas, only the Aga – I do all my cooking in that! The other problem about doing away with myself is that I might not get an opportunity of sticking my head in her oven and doing away with myself, because she wouldn’t leave me long enough in her kitchen. She’s very house-proud and watches you like a hawk in case you touch any of her things. So you see my predicament. I can’t even do away with myself. Please help!
Desperate housewife and Catholic mother.
We screamed our heads laughing and didn’t hear Sister Eleanor come creeping in the door. ‘Ruth O’Brien! What have you got there? Give it to me this instant!’ She sprang, whipping the magazine outa our hands, muttering, ‘Where did you get this?’ with her eyes flying along the page. Then turned and looked at us with her nostrils getting thinner as she took in deep breaths, sucking in her mouth and crossing her eyes te the floor, then looking up at the ceiling, shaking her head, looking more and more shocked by the minute. ‘Oh, girls! This is absolutely disgraceful stuff to be reading!’ she gasped, outa breath. ‘I absolutely forbid you to read this dreadful magazine again. Are you listening to me, girls?’
‘Yeah!’ we muttered, feeling annoyed at the loss, wondering what else we missed, not getting a chance te see what the answer was!
‘Now, come along quickly, Ruthie, the people are waiting for you up in the parlour. Ah, my God!’ she said, looking and sounding like she was in pain, twisting her face. ‘You are not even ready yet. Come on, come on!’ she said, grabbing hold of Ruthie and pulling her offa the bed. ‘You are not even ready, and look! You have not even prepared your bed! It has to be stripped and the mattress folded back to allow it to air.’
‘I’m ready, Sister Eleanor! Don’t fuss. Look,’ she said, pointing beside her locker, ‘my case and everything is ready. All I have to do is put on my coat.’
‘Come on, then,’ she said, picking up the suitcase and grabbing Ruthie and her coat and pulling her out the door. ‘Martha!’ she called te me over her shoulder. ‘Would you be a good girl and strip Ruth’s bed and bring the sheets down to the laundry. You will see the basket just inside the door. Drop them into that and don’t forget to fold the mattress back.’
‘OK,’ I said, feeling the life go outa me watching Ruthie taking off. Then I raced after her. ‘Sister! Sister Eleanor! What about me?’ I called te her back as she flew out the door. I whipped after her, tearing out the door, and shouted down the stairs, ‘Have ye found anyone for me?’
‘Oh, what am I going to do about that child?’ I heard her mumble te herself.
‘Sister! What’s happening?’ I shouted, getting desperate.
She looked up at me just before going through the convent door. ‘I’ll be back,’ she nodded up te me.
I dropped me shoulders, wandering back inta the dormitory, and headed over te strip Ruthie’s bed. I put the sheets inta the pillowcase and folded the blankets onta the mattress, me eyes wandering over te me bed. I’ll s
trip me own down; as Ruth said, there’s not much chance of me being left here for the Christmas, and I felt meself lifting a bit with the thought.
I headed outa the dormitory, carrying the two pillowcases with the sheets, and down te the laundry te drop them in the basket. I didn’t know what te do with meself next. So I wandered back along the empty passage feeling tired and restless. Me head was beginning te pain me. Jaysus! That’s the last thing I need! It’s all the worrying. I should take it easy and forget about everything, but I was beginning te feel very annoyed. Fuck them nuns! Especially that Eleanor one! She didn’t bother her arse te even giving me one thought, but she’s not too busy te fuss about the rest of them. I wanted te scream at someone . . . her! . . . and cry, because even though I’m big I still want someone te take me out. All the rest of them have gone! And the ones in me group, most of them are a lot older than fucking me! And they’re not sitting here keeping me company, wondering if they’re going te go somewhere.
My eyes flew around, looking for something te give a kick, and landed on the coat rack holding all the coats. I gave it an unmerciful kick, sending it flying against the sports stuff sitting in a big bin. All the racquets and tennis balls and hockey sticks and everything else went flying in all directions, the balls rolling down the passage! ‘Now! Hmph! Fuck you, Ellie baby! Fucking fucker!’
I stared at the mess, snorting and flapping me shoulders up and down, feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction, making te walk away. Ah, fuck! Now look what I’ve done! ‘Martha, ye’re a right eejit. A complete gobshite,’ I muttered, as I went after the rolling balls and picked up the coat rack, standing it up and putting the coats back.
Right! Me eyes peeled around, making sure everything was back in its place. Anyway, she would have known ye did it, so take it easy, I thought te meself as I took in a deep breath through me nose. I feel like shouting just for the fun of it. There’s no one here te hear me. That’s not a good idea. Sister Eleanor might come up behind ye and get ye carted off te have yer head examined.
I could hear noises coming from our playroom as I passed. I turned the handle wondering if there was someone still here. No – empty! It’s the big radio! Sister Eleanor must have forgotten te take it away. She never leaves it here! That’s used te bring the music lovers te their knees, getting them promising best behaviour for the next ten years! Then she rations the loan. ‘You may have it for one hour! And if I hear it outside this room . . .’ she says, wagging her finger warning them. ‘Don’t touch those knobs. I want it left at that sound!’
