The Little Orphan Girl

by Sandy Taylor

  The Little Orphan Girl

  The heart-breaking and gripping journey of an Irish orphan

  Sandy Taylor

  Also by Sandy Taylor

  The Runaway Children

  The Little Orphan Girl

  Brighton Girls Trilogy

  When We Danced at the End of the Pier (Book 1)

  The Girls from See Saw Lane (Book 2)

  Counting Chimneys (Book 3)

  This book is dedicated to Kathleen Forrest

  A very special lady who is always in our hearts.

  Contents

  I. 1901

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  II. 1911

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Part III

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Epilogue

  The Runaway Children

  Hear more from Sandy Taylor

  Also by Sandy Taylor

  A letter from Sandy

  When We Danced at the End of the Pier

  The Girls from See Saw Lane

  Counting Chimneys

  Acknowledgements

  Part I

  1901

  Ireland

  Chapter One

  The workhouse gates clanged shut behind us, as me and the mammy walked down the hill towards the town. I was six years old and I had lived in the Union Workhouse my whole life. I was leaving the only home I had ever known.

  ‘Don’t look back,’ said the mammy.

  She was holding my hand so tightly that it hurt. I tried to pull away but she yanked me back so hard that I nearly fell over.

  I’d never met this woman before and I felt a bit frightened of her. How could I have a mammy? I was an orphan, at least that’s what I’d been told. She didn’t look at me, not once. We got to a cottage where a woman was sitting on her doorstep eating potatoes out of a bowl. She stood up as we came near.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Moira Ryan,’ she said, folding her arms over her dirty apron.

  ‘I’ll thank you to step out of my way, Bridgette McCartny,’ said Mammy.

  The woman ignored her. ‘And is this the child?’ she said, looking down at me.

  Mammy glared at her. ‘And what business is it of yours who she is?’

  The woman knelt down in front of me. She smelled bad, like Mr Dunne who cleaned the drains.

  ‘Would you like a potato, child?’ she said, holding one out towards me.

  I liked potatoes and I was hungry. I nodded and took it from her.

  ‘She doesn’t want anything of yours,’ said Mammy, knocking the potato out of my hand.

  The woman stood up. ‘The workhouse hasn’t changed you, has it, Moira Ryan? You’re still the same mean-spirited cow you were when you went in. All I can say is, God help this poor fatherless child.’

  Mammy didn’t say a word; she just stared at Mrs McCartny until she started to go red in the face.

  ‘You think you’re better than us, don’t you?’ said the woman. ‘Well, you’re not. You ran these streets with your bare arse hanging out of your drawers the same as the rest of us. At least I was properly married in the sight of God before I let my man take liberties.’

  ‘And he’s been taking liberties with every other woman in the town ever since,’ said Mammy. Then she kicked the bowl of potatoes so hard that they all rolled down the hill.

  ‘The exercise will do you good,’ said Mammy, walking away.

  ‘And if you think that this town will welcome you home, Moira Ryan, you’re sadly mistaken,’ shouted the woman.

  Mammy lifted her bundle up over her shoulder. ‘And do you really think I care whether this godforsaken town welcomes me or not? I’d rather be welcomed by Satan himself!’ she yelled back.

  The mammy was getting cross again so I kept silent.

  We got to the bottom of the hill and started to walk through the streets. My mammy was tall and her legs were very long, I had to run to keep up with her. My boots were too tight and they hurt my feet.

  ‘My boots are hurting, Mammy,’ I whispered.

  She didn’t answer but she slowed down.

  A few people said hello to us and smiled at me but Mammy ignored them and kept walking.

  I had never known anything but the workhouse and I looked in wonder at all the shops and houses and little alleyways, at the blue skies above the chimneys and the glisten of sunshine on the water between the humble dwellings, which were mostly white and not much taller than the mammy. Some of them had half doors. An old woman was leaning out of one of them; she smiled at me as we walked past and I smiled back.

  ‘When are we going back home, Mammy?’ I said.

  ‘That’s not your home, that was never your home and we’re never going back.’

  My eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn’t say goodbye to Nora.’

  The mammy stopped walking and shook me by the shoulders. ‘Forget about Nora, forget you ever lived there, do you hear me?’

  I nodded but I knew that I would never forget my best friend Nora, who had big blue eyes and yellow hair and a weak leg. Who was going to help her up the stairs now? Who was going to protect her from Biddy Duggan, who was mean and spiteful and pinched her hard on her little arm? I was going to miss Mrs Foley too; she looked after us and told us stories and taught us our prayers.

  ‘Now stop your blathering, we’re being met,’ snapped the mammy.

  In my dreams my mammy had a kind face and a lovely smile and twinkly eyes, nothing like this tall sullen woman. I was beginning to think that being an orphan might not be such a bad thing.

  We cut down an alleyway between two rows of run-down cottages and there in front of us was the sea. I knew it was the sea because Mrs Foley had shown Nora and me a picture of it. Mammy put down her bundle and sat on a wall.

  There were lots of boats, small ones with names on the sides and big ones with sails that nearly touched the sky. Men were standing around smoking pipes and young boys sat with their legs dangling over the side of the wall, fishing lines tipping the water. There were women in black shawls untangling nets and children with no shoes on, chasing each other around. I wished I could join them, I wished Nora could see the sea.

  I walked over to the mammy. ‘I like the sea,’ I said shyly.

  ‘It’s not the
sea,’ she snapped. ‘It’s a river.’

  ‘It looks like the sea,’ I said quietly. ‘Mrs Foley showed us a picture.’

  Her hand shot out and she slapped me hard across the face. ‘I told you to forget that place and everyone in it, or are you deaf?’

  My cheek stung and I wanted to cry but I didn’t because I knew that the mammy would be cross. I stood very still beside her in case she got cross again.

  ‘I’m sorry I slapped you, child,’ she said suddenly. ‘I have a fearful temper at times.’

  I climbed up onto the wall and sat beside her. She put her arm around my shoulder. I leaned into her. She didn’t smell bad like the woman with the potatoes, she smelt nice, maybe she smelt like a mammy.

  ‘And a sharp tongue,’ she added.

  I sat and watched the river flowing gently by; it was lovely. A couple of boys were jumping in. I wished I could jump in. On the opposite bank, green fields swept down to the water’s edge and I could see little houses dotted about the rolling hills. I hoped that we were going to live here. If we lived here, I’d come down every day and I’d play chase with the other children and maybe I’d jump in the water and maybe I’d walk up the hill and visit Nora.

  I felt a bit braver with Mammy’s arm around my shoulder so I said, ‘Is this where we’re going to live?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘It all depends on himself.’

  I didn’t ask who himself was, because the mammy sounded cross again, so I jumped off the wall and ran across to the boats. I breathed in the smell of the river and it made me smile. I was hungry and thirsty and tired, and I missed Nora and Mrs Foley and Mr Dunne’s dog but the smell of the river made me smile.

  I heard someone calling ‘Cissy’. I carried on looking at the river.

  Then the mammy was towering above me. ‘Are you stupid as well as deaf?’ she shouted.

  I didn’t know what I’d done this time so I just stared at her.

  ‘I was calling your name; didn’t you hear me?’

  I shook my head. My name was Martha, at least it was this morning.

  She must have realised that I didn’t know what she was talking about and she softened.

  ‘Your name is Cissy, child. Can you remember that? Your name is Cissy Ryan.’

  I nodded. ‘Okay, Mammy,’ I said.

  I tried the name out: ‘Cissy Ryan,’ I said softly.

  And then she smiled and touched my hair. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Your name is Cissy Ryan.’

  Chapter Two

  A horse and trap came into the square. Mammy picked up her bundle and walked towards it. I followed her.

  There was a boy sitting up on the trap. The big brown horse was shaking its head and stamping its feet. It looked cross, like the mammy.

  The boy jumped down. ‘Yer not afraid of old Blue, are you?’ he said, smiling at me.

  ‘Will he bite me?’

  ‘Not unless you give him reason to,’ said the boy. ‘If you’re kind to him then you and he will become great friends.’

  I stared at the horse and decided that he wouldn’t make much of a friend. He wouldn’t be able to play ball with me or chase with me. Nora was my friend and I missed her and I wanted to cry.

  The boy knelt down in front of me. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, showing brown arms that made the shirt look even whiter and on his head he had a blue faded cap.

  ‘My name’s Colm,’ he said softly. ‘Do you have a name?’

  I nodded shyly.

  ‘Her name’s Cissy,’ said the mammy, pulling herself up into the cart. ‘Now are we going or is it your intention to stay here all day, Colm Doyle?’

  The boy winked at me and grinned. He had very white teeth and brown eyes that crinkled up at the edges and his hair was very black and shiny; I thought that he was lovely.

  He lifted me up onto the cart beside Mammy. ‘Home then, is it?’ he said.

  ‘Today would be good,’ said the mammy.

  ‘Right ye are, Mrs Ryan. Come on, Blue, these fine ladies want to go home.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have known you, Colm Doyle, you’re like a rasher of bacon.’

  ‘Ah, but it’s all muscle, Mrs Ryan.’

  ‘How’s the old goat?’ said Mammy.

  ‘I’d say he makes a career out of being hard done by. He won’t even open the door to the priest unless he’s brought a drop of the hard stuff with him but sure, he’s harmless enough.’

  ‘I’ll keep my own counsel on that one.’

  ‘You do right, missus,’ said Colm. ‘And does himself know you’re coming?’

  ‘He does, but he’s in for a shock.’

  ‘It’s a pity you haven’t a drop of something on you to soften the blow,’ said Colm.

  It was exciting sitting beside Colm, watching Blue trotting along the lanes. Every now and then the horse made a snuffly noise and raised his head as if catching the breeze. I watched his tail swishing and the way the sun shone on his back, making it shine like silk. Sometimes he turned around as if he was making sure we were still there. Maybe we could be friends? Maybe we could find different games to play.

  The sun was warm on my face as we passed little cottages and farms and raced between tall trees that were bent so low they brushed the top of my head, making me giggle.

  ‘Are you hungry, Cissy?’ said Colm.

  I was very hungry but I remembered how the mammy knocked the potato out of my hand. ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘You can eat if you like, child,’ said the mammy.

  ‘Would you like an apple?’ said Colm.

  ‘I would,’ I said shyly.

  Colm took an apple from out of a paper bag. He rubbed it on his shirt and passed it to me.

  I took a bite, it was sweet and juicy.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘You’re very welcome, Miss Cissy. What about you, Mrs Ryan?’

  ‘No, thank you, Colm,’ she said. ‘I need an empty stomach for what I’ve got to say.’

  I didn’t know what they were talking about and I didn’t like to ask. There were so many things I didn’t understand about this strange day.

  We went through an old stone archway, towards six white cottages facing each other across a kind of yard.

  ‘Whoa, boy,’ said Colm and the horse came to a stop outside one of them. Blue’s long legs were still moving up and down as if he was impatient to keep going.

  ‘Welcome to Paradise Alley, Cissy,’ said Colm.

  I looked at the cottage we’d stopped outside. It was small and white and there was smoke drifting out of the chimney. ‘Is this where we’re going to live, Mammy?’

  She stared at the cottage, not saying anything, just staring at it.

  Maybe she hadn’t heard me. ‘Mammy, is this where we’re going to live?’ I said again.

  She looked down at me. ‘Like I said, it all depends on himself.’

  Colm handed Mammy the bundle. ‘May God sit gently on your tongue, Mrs Ryan.’

  ‘I don’t think God will want to be anywhere near my tongue this day, Colm Doyle.’

  The mammy knocked on the door and walked into a room that was so dark I couldn’t see where I was going. It smelled very bad and I wanted to cover my nose but I knew that would be a rude thing to do. At first, I thought the room was empty but then I saw a black shape huddled beside the fire.

  He stared at me and it was like looking into the face of the Devil. Mrs Foley told us all about the Devil; how his eyes were like two pieces of burning coal in his head and how he had the tail of a goat. I couldn’t see whether the man had a tail and I wondered if he might be sitting on it.

  ‘That’s not staying under my roof,’ he roared, pointing a bony finger in my direction.

  Frightened, I hid behind Mammy’s skirt.

  ‘I told you I never wanted to see that thing and you have the nerve to bring it into my house.’

  ‘She has a name.’

  ‘And that name is bastard. Have you no shame, woman?’

&
nbsp; ‘Have you?’ spat the mammy.

  ‘I have no call to be ashamed.’

  The mammy shook her head. ‘You haven’t changed, have you? You’re still the same bigoted old fool you’ve always been but don’t worry, Cissy is not staying here.’

  ‘Well, at least you have some sense left.’

  ‘And neither am I.’

  I still had the apple in my hand and I was squeezing it so hard that the juice was running down my dress.

  ‘What are you talking about, Moira?’ said the old man. ‘You’re here to look after me.’

  ‘Am I now?’

  ‘You’d still be up there if I hadn’t offered you a roof over your head.’

  ‘When I needed a roof over my head you left me and my child in that godforsaken hole to rot. You only want me now because my mother is dead and I’m useful to you. Well, thank you for your kind offer but I’d rather live with the pigs.’

  The mammy seemed even taller as she glared at the old man. I peered out from behind her skirt and I hoped with all my heart that we weren’t going to live here.