The Wasted Years

by Mary Larkin

  With a gentle push, he sent her in the direction of Rosaleen. ‘Take her home, love.’

  Before he could turn away, Rosaleen caught his eye. ‘Is your house all right?’ she asked, and was relieved when he nodded. Then taking Annie by the arm, she pulled her away and down the street.

  ‘Oh, thank God Sean’s family is safe. Those poor, poor people.’

  Rosaleen let Annie ramble on, knowing it would help relieve the tension, but when they passed Iris Drive, on their way to pick up Laura, and she saw Bobby Mackay leave her doorway and, seeing them at the corner, come towards them, she felt a shiver run down her spine. Bobby and her father were both wardens and had been partnered off. Somehow she was aware that he was the bearer of bad news. How, she didn’t know, but she felt fear squeeze her heart.

  Bobby stopped in front of them, bringing Annie’s lamentations to an end, and they both gazed speechlessly at him.

  Rosaleen had met him just once before, on the night she had returned from Dungannon, and he had reminded her of a great St Bernard dog with his long sad face and heavily lidded eyes. It was obvious from Annie’s blank expression that he was a stranger to her.

  The great hangdog face topped by a mop of untidy thick brown hair swung slowly from side to side, the slack jowls quivering with emotion.

  ‘What’s wrong, Bobby?’

  Rosaleen didn’t recognise her own voice and she was aware that neither did Annie because she turned on her with a look of amazement.

  ‘He wouldn’t listen to me, so he wouldn’t. I warned him … tried to keep him down on the main road, but he wouldn’t listen. Insisted on going to check on those people.’

  ‘Who on earth’s he talking …’ Annie’s voice trailed off when Rosaleen gripped her arm and shook it.

  ‘Is he badly hurt, Bobby?’ she asked fearfully.

  The heavy lids lifted and big brown eyes full of sorrow looked from one to the other of them, begging their forgiveness. Why couldn’t it have been him, a widower without child or chick? he lamented inwardly.

  ‘I’m sorry, girls … I couldn’t face your mother, just couldn’t … they were so close.’

  Rosaleen’s mind was saying over and over again. Me da’s dead. Me da’s dead. Oh, sweet Jesus … let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong.

  But no, she was right, Bobby was continuing, ‘He knew that there was a family in one of the top houses in Beechmount Street … and he had just started off in the direction of the house to check that they were all right, when the bomb fell. I was at the bottom of the street and was lifted off me feet. He was thrown a great distance and when I saw him lying still … well, I thought that he was just stunned. I never dreamed … Ah, Rosaleen, it was an awful shock to find he was dead.’

  Turning on her heel she quickly started to retrace her steps. One of the bodies at the top of Beechmount Street must be her father’s. She had to go to him. Annie was whimpering and caught at Rosaleen’s arm.

  ‘Does he mean me da’s dead?’

  Rosaleen could only nod mutely and Bobby cried, ‘Rosaleen … he’s not over there.’ He nodded back towards Beechmount Avenue. ‘He wasn’t buried … just caught by the blast … they’ve taken him away. Look, you come with me and we’ll find out where they’ve taken him. And you, love …’ he turned his gaze on Annie ‘… will you tell your mother?’

  ‘Oh, Rosaleen … Rosaleen!’ The horror of it made Annie sway and she clutched her sister by the arm.

  ‘Hush, Annie love. Look, you go and keep me mam company and I’ll go with Bobby.’ Seeing the tremor in Annie’s face, Rosaleen asked gently, ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Yes … yes … you go find me da.’ And Annie staggered away, her mind full of dread. How was she going to break this awful news to her mother?

  In a daze, Rosaleen allowed herself to be led towards Cavendish Street. Her legs felt like lead weights and she was so weary, she was afraid she would pass out. With a great effort of will, she moved when Bobby moved, paused when he paused, and soon they were outside the Royal Victoria Hospital.

  ‘We’ll try here first, Rosaleen, and if he’s not here we’ll have to go down to the City Morgue.’

  Once inside the hospital, Bobby left her standing and went to the crowd milling around the reception desk to ask directions. Weariness was like a great weight sitting on her shoulders and a bench in the corner seemed to beckon her over. With dragging steps she made her way to it, and with a sigh of relief gratefully sat down. However, she had barely touched the seat when Bobby was in front of her again, urging her up, leading her down long corridors and down flights of stairs, until at last they were in the morgue.

  It was very cold and she shivered as she looked around. It was like a giant locker room, with great drawers lining the walls on either side. Once more Bobby left her, and followed an attendant along one wall, shaking his head as he examined each corpse. This time there was no friendly bench nearby and Rosaleen drooped as she watched the men, hoping they would not have to go downtown to the City Morgue, yet dreading seeing Bobby nod his head to confirm that her father was there. Even as she watched, more coffins were brought and stacked along the corridor, and Bobby had to inspect these.

  When she thought that her legs would no longer bear her weight and she would collapse, Bobby shook his head for the last time and approached her.

  ‘He’s not here Rosaleen. We’ll have to go to the City Morgue.’

  Becoming aware of her fatigue, he exclaimed, ‘Ah, Rosaleen, what on earth am I thinking of? Sure, you’re out on your feet!’ Putting a supporting arm around her, he led her forward. ‘Come on, love. Let’s get you a cup of tea.’

  This was easier said than done. Each nurse he approached looked at him as if he was an idiot, asking for tea at a time like this, shaking their heads abruptly and then hurrying on about their business. At last, in despair, he led Rosaleen into a small office that was at the entrance to a ward. They found tea-making facilities and he put the kettle on to boil. Helping himself to some sugar and milk he prepared a cup.

  ‘Just what on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I … oh … look, I’m sorry, but this young woman’s in a state of shock. Her father was killed tonight and we’re looking for his body.’

  The harassed young doctor framed in the doorway looked at Bobby blankly for some seconds. Then, as if the words had just registered, he turned his tired gaze on Rosaleen.

  ‘I’m just making her a wee cup of tea before we go down to the City Morgue. She’s out on her feet, so she is, an’ I want to waken her up a bit,’ Bobby explained, his voice pleading. He knew he was in the wrong; had no right to be in the office, no matter making tea.

  A long drawn-out sigh left the doctor’s lips and he rummaged in his pockets. Producing a phial, he shook two small tablets into the palm of his hand. ‘Here … give her these … They’ll waken her up. You’d better hurry up, and not let Sister catch you in here.’ And dismissing Bobby’s thanks with a wave of his hand, he left the office.

  ‘Here, take these with your tea … the doctor says they’ll waken you up,’ Bobby said kindly, and waited until Rosaleen put the tablets in her mouth before pressing the cup of tea into her unsteady hands.

  Rosaleen didn’t think anything could waken her up; she just ached with tiredness, longed to close her eyes and sleep. Guilt added to her fatigue. What must people think of her, searching for her father’s body and unable to keep her eyes open? She felt so ashamed. They must think her uncaring. But to her surprise the tablets did waken her up and by the time Bobby was ready to move on, she was wide awake and clear-headed.

  They had just come through the gates of the hospital and were making their way down the Grosvenor Road when a car pulled up on the other side of the road and an arm waved them over.

  ‘You wait here, Rosaleen,’ Bobby said, before warily crossing the road, but after conversing with the occupants of the car, he beckoned her over. ‘We’re getting a lift down to the City Morgue,’ he informed h
er. ‘These young doctors have been sent to help out down there.’

  And Rosaleen recognised the driver of the car as the doctor who had given Bobby the tablets.

  The journey to the morgue, although a short distance by car, seemed endless. As they approached the city centre, they could see fires blazing. With a smothered oath, the doctor reversed the car and approached the morgue via Sandy Row and then across the back streets to the Donegall Road. On their journey, they could see streets demolished and smoking desolation.

  Once at their destination, the procedure was the same as before. Corridors, stairs, more corridors, and then the morgue itself. There were coffins everywhere, the lids removed and resting against them for each viewing, and there was a long queue waiting to examine the bodies. They joined the queue and Rosaleen felt dazed and shocked as she viewed horrible corpses, all twisted out of shape, staring eyes, faces and hair thickly matted with dust. Young people, old people, some with the clothes blown off their bodies, one woman still clutching a child to her breast. And to add to the horror of it all, the smell of excrement permeated the air, causing the bile to rise in her throat. It took a great effort of will to choke it down again. Unknown to herself, she was whimpering. Taking her gently by the arm, Bobby led her outside and to a bench where other people were waiting.

  ‘You wait here, Rosaleen. As you have seen, some of these bodies are not a pretty sight. If your father’s here, I’ll call you.’

  She sat, full of dread. What if her father was disfigured? How would her mother react? She remembered the night of April 15th. Remembered her father talk about laying bodies on the floors of the swimming pools in the Falls Road Baths, and her heart sank. Is that what was happening tonight? Would she have to climb down into the swimming pool to identify her father? Dread made her mouth dry up and a great lump gathered in her throat, causing her to gulp as she tried to swallow it. If only Joe was here … or Sean. They would know what to do. There would have to be a funeral. What did she and Annie know about funerals?

  At last Bobby came and beckoned her forward.

  ‘He’s here, Rosaleen,’ he said softly, and put a comforting arm across her shoulders. ‘Come on love. He’s in the morgue itself… it’s not so gruesome.’

  With dread she entered the room and, eyes downcast, approached the big drawer that the assistant held open. There was a big ball of fear where her heart should be. What if he was badly disfigured and she fainted?

  As if realising the trend of her thoughts, Bobby whispered in her ear, ‘It’s all right, Rosaleen. It’s all right. He isn’t marked. And remember … I was with him. I closed his eyes, straightened his limbs. You’d think he was just sleeping.’

  He was right; except for a discolouration at the right side of his brow, her father looked as if he was just taking a nap. Unconsciously, she reached out her hand and gently touched his face. It was cold, firm and waxy. Tears blinded her as she turned away. He was dead all right.

  ‘It’s him,’ she said, for the benefit of the attendant who was watching her gravely, and who now nodded and pushed the great drawer shut. ‘I’ll need you to sign a form and then I’ll get the doctor to give you the death certificate,’ he said softly, as he led the way out of the room, glad that another body had been identified.

  The minute Rosaleen entered her mother’s kitchen she knew Annie had not told her the bad news and her heart filled with bitterness. Why did she have to do everything? Annie should bear her part of the burden.

  ‘Make Rosaleen a cup of tea, Annie. She looks foundered.’

  At her mother’s words, with a pleading, apologetic look, Annie disappeared into the scullery. Rising to her feet, Thelma greeted her daughter brightly. ‘My, but you were a long time. Laura’s asleep. I’ve put her up in my bed.’

  ‘Mam … Mam, please sit down, I’ve something to tell you.’

  Thelma made no effort to obey Rosaleen. Instead she moved away from her outstretched hand and over to the fireplace. Here she stood warming her hands at the blaze and continued in the same bright voice, as if Rosaleen had not spoken: ‘You can leave Laura here. When she wakens, I’ll bring her down.’

  With a sinking heart, Rosaleen realised that her mother guessed the truth and was afraid to face it.

  Going to her, she put an arm gently across her mother’s shoulders and tried to lead her to the settee, but with an angry thrust, Thelma pushed her away.

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she cried, and great tears welled up and ran down her stark, white face. ‘Do you think I don’t know?’ Her hand clutched at the regions of her heart. ‘Part of me died with him. I knew something was wrong … I just knew it. I couldn’t understand why I felt so bereft. Couldn’t understand … It was as if I had lost something, but didn’t know what. Just a feelin’ that I’d lost something.’ She fell silent for some moments and allowed the awful feeling to swamp her. ‘Then, when Annie said that you were away somewhere with Bobby Mackay, I knew … I knew …’ a sob gathered in her throat, almost choking her, and she gulped before she could finish ‘… just how much I’d lost.’

  Full of compassion, Rosaleen tried to urge her mother towards the settee. ‘Come on, love, sit down. Can I get you anything?’

  Resisting her efforts to make her sit down, Thelma cried, ‘Yes! Yes, ye can! Ye can get me your da.’ She clutched at Rosaleen’s arm, and eyes full of dread, asked, ‘Where is he? Is he in the swimming pool?’

  When Rosaleen shook her head, Thelma bowed hers.

  ‘Thank God for that. He would have hated that. He thought it degrading.’ Her eyes swung to the picture of the Sacred Heart that hung on the wall. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she cried. ‘Eh? Eh? I didn’t do anything wrong.’ Then, bowing her head, she pleaded. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus help me … help me to bear this.’

  Wiping the tears from her own cheeks with the back of her hand, Rosaleen once more tried to comfort her mother.

  ‘He was a good man, Mam, he’ll have been prepared.’

  Another thrust sent her staggering and she plunged down on the arm of the settee and grabbed the back of it to save herself from toppling over.

  ‘Prepared? Oh, he’ll have been prepared, all right. I’m not worried about him. He’ll have made his peace with God long ago, but what about me? What am I gonna do?’ She wrung her hands in despair. ‘Oh … you don’t understand, you don’t understand.’ She turned away, then swung back again, crying in anguish. ‘Why couldn’t he have stayed at home with his wife like other men? Eh? No … no … he had to be out saving strangers. It didn’t matter about me.’ She thumped her breast with her fist and bawled, ‘If he had stayed at home, he might have died in his own bed and I’d have had some warnin’. Do you hear me? I’d have had some warnin’, so I would.’

  Stung on behalf of her father, Rosaleen cried, ‘Mam, that’s not fair! He was doing what had to be done.’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know. Don’t pay any attention to me. Ye see … well … Oh, you don’t understand!’

  Frustrated, Rosaleen felt like shouting, ‘Well then, tell me. Explain.’ But her mother was actually pulling at her hair … yanking at it … pulling it down with both hands, her eyes wild, her mouth trembling, and Rosaleen was afraid to question her. Then suddenly, just like air leaving a balloon, her mother’s body sagged, her legs buckled, and with a great howl she collapsed. On her knees, at the settee, she buried her head in her arms and wept, great sobs tearing at her slight frame.

  In the face of such grief, Rosaleen was at a loss what to do. Who would have dreamt that her mother had cared so deeply for her father? Was she being a hypocrite? If not, she had certainly hidden her true feelings all these years. Because of her offhand attitude towards her father, Rosaleen had in her own mind concluded that her mother had married him as a last resort. Of course she had cared for him, but not enough to warrant this breakdown, surely?

  During her mother’s tirade, Annie had come to the door of the scullery and was standing, her clenched fist pressed against her mouth, pan
ic in her eyes. Now, catching her eye, Rosaleen mouthed the words: ‘Get Doctor Hughes.’

  Without a word, Annie lifted her coat and fled from the house, glad to escape from the sight of her mother’s mindless grief. Stumbling down the Springfield Road, she felt ashamed. She was aware that she should have broken the news to her mother. Rosaleen had every right to be angry with her. When her mother had descended the stairs after settling Laura in bed, she had tried to tell her, but Thelma would not listen to her. She had rambled on and on, not letting her get a word in edgeways and, to her shame, she had been so tired she had drifted off into a doze as she listened to her mother’s voice droning on and on.

  As she entered the hall of the doctor’s surgery, she whispered a quiet prayer that Doctor Hughes would be present. What would they do if he wasn’t in?

  He was not there. His housekeeper informed her that he was down at the Royal Hospital, lending a helping hand.

  As she turned away, despair in her heart, the housekeeper said, tentatively, ‘His father’s here … I’ll see how he is this morning.’

  Annie knew that she was referring to old Doctor Hughes, who must be about seventy and who had retired some years ago, and who sometimes, if he felt well enough, came out in an emergency.

  To her relief he shuffled into the waiting room, and agreed to come and see her mother. Soon they were out on the Springfield Road, she slowing her step to suit his and he plying her with questions about her mother’s condition.

  When they entered the kitchen, they found Rosaleen sitting on the settee, her face buried in her hands. Of their mother there was no sign.

  Going to Rosaleen, Doctor Hughes gently took her hands away from her face and asked, ‘Where is your mother?’

  ‘She’s up cleaning the rooms.’

  Her voice was bitter, scornful. After a quarter hour of mindless grief and belittling Rosaleen’s attempts to comfort her, Thelma had calmly dried her face and risen to her feet. Watched by a bewildered Rosaleen, she had fetched her brush and dust pan, duster and polish.