Did you know that my exams are in two weeks? I feel sick at the thought. Believe you me, my fears aren’t unfounded either. This course is a lot harder than Leaving Cert., but I’ve dossed. I’m half expecting to fail Economics and Management too ’cos I really haven’t done a tap. I can just imagine all the tongue-waggers and cut-throats ‘There’s yer wan now: yeah, failed, yeah, and she such a swot’!
Our formal classes finished a week ago but I’ve continued to go up and down (not on my knees, dum-dum) to WRTC. I’ve never enjoyed a week as much. I go to the library all day to swot. Most of the class have gone home – Portlaoise, Wexford, Limerick, Kerry, etc., but Killian, Martin, Nuala, Niamh and Dave have stayed. We take breaks from quarter to eleven ’til half past, from half twelve ’til half one, from quarter to three to quarter past three … So you see I’m not getting much done but the crack is fab. Killian and myself keep a continual banter going. Last week, we were all in the canteen (on one of our numerous breaks) when a guy from my bus from Clonmel passed. Since Nuala is from Clonmel I asked her out of curiosity who he was. MOOSE, they call him. Now I’ll never live it down. Everyone asks me how Moose is. Niamh rags Killian that he’s outdone and he replies, ‘Yeah, by a MOOSE!’
Anyway, to get back to the exams my timetable is as follows:
Mon 28 May: 9.30 a.m. – 12.30 p.m. Accounts
Tues 29 May: 9.30 a.m. – 12.30 p.m. Law
Wed 30 May: 9.30 a.m. – 12:30 p.m. Statistics
Thurs 31 May: 9.30 a.m. – 12.30 p.m. Management
Fri 1 June: 9.30 a.m. – 12.30 p.m. Economics
The total number of candidates sitting in Ireland is 138. Guess what place I’ll get if I don’t get something done in the next fortnight? Cathy, please pray for me, won’t you?
I met Eleanor over the town a while ago. Spent ages talking on the street. Pick and Bulldog passed. Eleanor looks great and has passed all of her nursing exams. She was telling me about the incident in her room. Did she tell you? Well, if she didn’t, I will. Apparently, the police wanted to use her bedroom for surveillance as joyriders were nicking cars in the area. Now, the Reverend Mother thought it would be immoral if Eleanor were to stay in the bedroom with all those young virile males. So Eleanor was banished to the dungeons (oops, I’m getting carried away) – downstairs. But before she went she was careful to remove several unmentionable undergarments (?) from the radiators. Later on, she went back to the room with some other girls to talk to the gardaí. When she opened the door she realised that she hadn’t removed everything from the radiators. One had remained behind a chair, which the guards had pulled out. The others burst out laughing and Eleanor turned bright red.
Cathy Cummins’ exams are coming up too and she’s just as worried as I am. We had a great chat the other morning. She was recalling in sixth class how Tony used to jump over the playground wall for Muriel and we’d all see the bushes shake and Muriel would duck behind the trees, etc.! Doesn’t it seem like another age, another time? God, I sometimes feel I was never a child. I always seemed to be so damn sensible. By the way, Catherine thought she saw your sister, Celia, around at Easter, home from London.
Met Margaret Lonergan in the cemetery yesterday. She was there with her da who was painting a kerb. I was there with my maw who was stepping on ’em! Anyway, she said that Greenhill hasn’t changed much. She’s not doing maths this year at all but lucky for her she’s been promised a place in the College of Art again. Meanwhile, B— is housekeeping for the Longs from eight in the morning ’til eight at night for £20, a six-day week. She’s absolutely furious but her mother is keeping her to it. At Easter the Grill in Tramore asked her to go down but her mother didn’t tell B— at all. I’m sure B— blew a fuse when she found out. (I’m going for my tea now, be back after.)
Hello again. I’ve finished my tea, watched Fraggle Rock and now the news is on. Maw is giving out about politicians. Nothing strange at 63. That’s if you don’t count Maw and Paw that is. They papered the upstairs room last week. I’ve sent you a piece of the wallpaper. Gives the dustmen a break! Yesterday, they cut up the kitchen unit (no, not for firewood!). Actually, they were narrowing it as the kitchen is so small. Paw had measured it up and marked it out and Maw came along and scrubbed it off as she thought it was dirt. We went for a walk after that!
Mimi, the cat, is fine even though Paw calls her Mini! We’ve set grass in the back this year but it’s very reluctant to come up. Mimi hasn’t helped. For some inexplicable reason she has taken to relieving herself down the back and scrapes clay and grass seed from all angles to hide the evidence, while Maw and Paw do a war-dance in the kitchen, beating on the window. Meanwhile, Mimi doesn’t turn a hair though she does wag a tail.
We’ve gotten very friendly with the new neighbours. Nygel and Maggie are very nice. I got a lift home from them one evening. The youngest baby is gorgeous. He is really cuddly ’cos he’s so chubby. He’s called Trevor.
Now for a bit of news. The Clancys and Tommy Makem were on the Late Late a fortnight ago. It was fabulous. They had all come together again for the first time in years. They spoke about Carrick too. As you can see from the Opinion, they’re making a film in Carrick at the moment.
Meanwhile the country is going bonkers over Ronnie Reagan’s visit to Ballyporeen in three weeks. I guess there’s so much frustration in this country at the moment, what with the recession, unemployment, etc., that auld Ronnie is gonna be the object against which they’ll vent their anger. Some people in Galway have sighted missiles being fired off the coast. Maybe Sister Thérèse is right – the Russians are comin’!
Remember Mary F with the long hair? Well, she went out to Boston as au-pair. However, I heard she came home again this week as she hated it out there!
Remember Carmel who was in our French class? Her father died suddenly last week leaving fourteen kids and another on the way in July. To crown it all, his wife went to tell her mother about it and the poor woman got a stroke and died as well. Two funerals in one week is no fun, huh!
Guess what. I finally got a letter from my penpal when I was thinking I’d never hear from her again. She did get married. Somehow, though, I think she’s finding married life very different. She says she misses her family terribly.
Now about telly: you’ll never guess what they’re repeating – Rich Man, Poor Man. I’ll be glued to it for the next few weeks, exams or no exams! Remember Billy and Wesley and Rudy? Ooooh!
You said you got your goggles changed. I’ll have to do the same. I can’t see anything now, really. I may be going deaf too! Last Friday morning, I was standing at the bus stop in Carrick on my ownio waiting for the bus. Anyway, a car came along and out jumped this absolutely gorgeous guy – blond, blue-eyed. The car drove off and he turned towards me and smiled and said, ‘Hi.’ He then asked me something, but I was too stunned to comprehend so I said, ‘Sorry?’ and he asked me if the bus was coming. Then he asked me was I in the college and again I said, ‘Sorry?’ He must have thought I was stone deaf. Then he asked me had I gone down the previous day – sports day. He repeated it three times! Gawd, I felt idiotic. He offered me a fag, then asked me for a match and since I hadn’t any he had to put his fags away! He told me he was ‘in construction’. Sounds impressive, huh? Anyway, the bus came and I never saw him again. Oh, for what might have been … if I could bloody well hear him!
New goggles or no new goggles, you probably have eyestrain again after this scrawl. Maw and Paw send you best wishes.
By the way, do you have to stay ’til Sept? How about me and you wandering around Europe? I’ll rob a bank and then we can formulate plans. Now, study, here I come – ooh, I feel sick.
Best wishes, God bless,
Lots of love, Mary
PS Sorry about the auld paper but sure I’m a poor auld student, amn’t I?
PPS Have you heard anything about Anne’s boyfriend, Teddy Bear?
Letter 21 / I might be moving to the French Alps!
Trégunc
Monday, 21 May 1984
Dear Mary,
How dare you! How could you possibly! I’ve never in the whole of my life met anybody so nasty and mean and cruel and horrible. Imagine ending a letter with ‘Have you heard anything about Anne’s boyfriend Teddy Bear?’ You must have really flipped your lid to do such a terrible thing! I’ll have probably died of curiosity before anybody else writes to furnish some more details. And it’s all your fault, so I hope that you’re feeling suitably guilty.
In revenge, before the customary inquiries pertaining to your health and that of all the clan, I’m going to be very selfish and pass on my main item of news to you first. There I was yesterday afternoon peacefully knitting (a cardigan for Thomas’s birthday in the middle of June), with one eye on Starsky & Hutch, when Vivianne asks me if I’d mind bringing a baby for a walk, as her parents hadn’t finished their meal and she was getting restless. So off I goes with Jessica in her pram and Thomas hanging onto the side of it, and me feeling like a married woman and singing ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean’ and Brahms’ cradle song and so on. She didn’t seem to object to the English, not to mention my non-existent voice, but then I suppose one doesn’t notice such things at three months.
So, anyway, when I came back after an hour or so, Viv had a quick whisper in me little ear. It turns out that the family live in the highest skiing station in Europe. She has a sportswear shop while he’s a skiing instructor/guide. And they need an au-pair from October ’til April. Nothing is certain yet but it’s most likely that after I finish up here in September I’ll take a month’s holidays at home and then – watch out ski slopes, here I come!
They seem really nice. There’s just the baby and another three-year-old in the family. So if I go I’ll learn how to ski and might get to visit Austria and Switzerland and Italy, as the station isn’t too far away from all these countries. It’s in the Alps.
When the woman goes back to Savoie, she’s going to send me some photos and so on. But I don’t really know if I will accept. I mean, here in Brittany, I’m far away from everybody; if I go to the Alps, well, that’s almost twice as far away, isn’t it? Then there’s the problem of clothes. Imagine the rig-out I’ll need to live there. She was telling Vivianne that during a sale anoraks cost NINETY pounds! And the special boots cost even more. And I haven’t a clue yet what amount they’ll be giving me.
But I think life’ll be more interesting there than it is here. At the moment, as it’s out of season, there are only forty people living in the station. But during the season, the 6,000 beds are all occupied. So as you can see it’s really big. And people from all over the world go there.
And I really haven’t a clue what I’ll do about a job after September. I mean, I’m not qualified for anything, and even though I’m good at most things, I’m not great at anything. I was hoping to stay around Carrick, as I miss all of you terribly, but from all accounts, I haven’t a hope in hell of getting a job there. And my other choice being London doesn’t exactly make the heart beat any faster.
So, I think it’ll be six months in the mountains for me, which should improve, if only slightly, my knowledge of French not to mention life! Anyway, I’ll be sure to keep you up-to-date on all relevant information.
And now the formalities! Apologies for the scantiness and tardiness of the last epistle! Hope that this one will make up for it.
For God’s sake, do yourself a favour and go and get your lugs tested. I can tell you, if a guy of the description given was anywhere within a ten-metre radius of me, I’d hear him THINKING, not to mention talking. And then, ya silly twit, ya gets on a blinking bus and lets a specimen like that just walk out of your life (okay, okay, so it was you who drove out of his, but the end is the same, isn’t it?).
As I hate duplicating what I write, if you want to know about the Romeo of my dreams – literally – or my attempts at mastering the art (?) of donkey-riding, you’ll have to phone Sue.
I think it goes without saying that I wish you the very best of luck in your exams. They really sound tough, and even though at times I’m just going out of my skull with boredom and mental and physical inactivity, well, I don’t think I’d like to be in your shoes at the moment. Did I mention that I’ve given up my correspondence course?
You were saying there that the day you wrote your letter the weather was lovely and sunny. Well, even if it was gorgeous here for most if not all of April, it sure as hell is making up for it now. I don’t think that the month of May has given us even one really good day. I got a great tan, but am sure it’ll be all gone before I can get a chance to put my swimsuit on again, that’s if I’ll manage to wriggle into it!
You know, I always feel homesick. It’s a sorta feeling that’s always there, like a bad tooth, and sometimes you get a bit of food, or a prong of a fork (?!) or a sweet stuck in it and wow! It gives you hell! The things that irritate my particular malady include letters from home, or when I see on the Carrick Opinion that the Sean Kelly film will soon be shown, or that Gaybo had the Clancy Bros on, or Catherine Cummins reminisces on the Good Old Days.
Or the night of the Eurovision. That was worst of all. I could almost hear everybody in Glen cheering for Ireland, and Nanny cursing (yes!) when somebody gave us a bad vote and saying that it was because of politics, and what were the English crowd wearing and … Well, I suppose you know what I mean? And on the Monday morning I remembered the way we used to be – when we weren’t gawking into biology books, that is – discussing it all and Margaret Cooney’d be sure to put down the songs everybody else liked.
While over here I was all by myself (like Eartha Kitt) because François and Vivianne were working and the kids were in bed, except for Chrystelle, who was snoozing on the couch and didn’t bother anyway to answer my comments.
You’re lucky that you get the chance to see people every day. I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten how to talk and hold a conversation. Now I understand the mentality behind the punishing of prisoners by putting them in solitary confinement. Remember what an awful chatterbox I was? Remember the day Sister Bernadette (ole cow!) chucked me out of her music class because I was blabbing to Annette Cleary? Enuf sentimentality for now, otherwise I’ll start bawling me peepers out and that’ll make the ink run!
Shall I make you jealous? No, it’s not intentional. I’ve been on a spending spree lately. I got a gorgeous white jumper with bat-wing sleeves, which is perfectly see-thru and goes with all (?) of my clothes especially my red trousers which I love. (You know I was very hurt when Maeve Binchy* said that my writing was breathless, but I think she was right!) Then the other day, while window-shopping at the Marché (i.e. a weekly event in Concarneau when about fifty stalls are set up in the square), I ended up with white sandals and a matching bag. And y’know those long belts that go around your waist twice and sorta hang loosely, well, I got one of them to go with the black top and skirt that I made. But now I’ve put the brakes on, which’ll be most necessary if I’ve to get a whole rig-out for the mountains.
Have you been in the ‘Uptown’ recently? What’ve they got in the line of clothes? Remember the gorgeous stuff they had in Pat Hickey’s as well? Wasn’t it there you got your lovely yellow dress?
Thank God I’m not anywhere near B—’s house now. I imagine there’s sparks flying in all directions. I’d say B— was
/is in a right old humour. I wouldn’t fancy being in her shoes. I don’t mean to be bitchy, but she did have her head in the clouds waiting for somebody to appear on the doorstep and beg her to go working for them for high wages, etc.
I’ll ask you in advance to excuse any irregularities which may appear from here on as it’s gone 11 p.m. now and my brain is sorta foggy. I’ve just finished off a letter to Eleanor, which I started a month ago, and while I’m in the humour, I thought I’d add a bit more on to this one. Seriously tho’, I’m getting kinda worried about myself. There was a time (when I was young!) when I could hardly wait to get a letter from somebody before replying to it. Now, I don’t know, it’s becoming more and more like a chore. I hope that this is only a phase I’m going thru and that it will soon pass, as all phases do and must.
And, you know, I really felt like crying when I heard RTÉ were repeating Rich Man, Poor Man. When I think of Peter Strauss and all those other gorgeous guys, not to mention, as you did yourself, Muriel Butler. If I remember correctly, she was crazy about Billy while the rest of the class were nuts about Wesley. They had Scruples on here on Saturdays at 1.30 p.m. I was delighted and, what’s more, saw the first two episodes in their entirety. But the third week, I went to Alain’s house to give him his English grind. Vivianne promised to record the last episode for me. Only Chrystelle, who was supposed to arrive from school at 1 p.m., failed to do so, so Vivianne started giving birth to kittens and due to labour pains forgot about her promise. I was absolutely furious. If you can remember how it finished please let me know, won’t you, Molly dear? My hand has just about gone to sleep and the rest of me is following suit so I’ll shut up now. Sweet dreams – and until tomorrow.
Tuesday, 22 May
Here I am again! And what a miserable, horrible night it is. What rain for the end of May.
Dear Cathy ... Love, Mary Page 14
