Across a Summer Sea

by Lyn Andrews

‘There now, ye’ve no excuse. We’ll have a grand night,’ Sarah Jane said triumphantly.

  ‘Ye never know, I might catch meself a decent feller,’ Kath Noonan laughed, winking at Mary.

  ‘And pigs might fly, Kath!’ Sarah Jane retorted. Kath had the knack of picking the most useless and unsuitable men in the city.

  ‘That one has her poor mam heart-scalded!’ Rita muttered to Mary. ‘She never seems to learn.’

  ‘Some never do,’ Mary whispered back.

  ‘Mary, you’re a fine-looking girl, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting yourself an eejit of a feller to give you a good time,’ Sarah Jane laughed.

  ‘I’m not looking for a feller, eejit or otherwise, thank you!’ Mary retorted good-naturedly. The women she worked with knew she was married but had been told that Frank had deserted her. It saved face and innumerable questions.

  They all trooped into the bagging room where everything was covered in white dust. It got up your nose, into your eyes and hair and dried the back of the throat so much that after an hour or two talking was almost painful. Mary concentrated on the forthcoming evening and wondered what she had to wear that was halfway decent. Maybe on the way home Rita would accompany her to one of the street markets, although she didn’t have much money to spare. That was nothing new, she thought with resignation.

  She had confided her thoughts to her cousin during their dinner break and they had been met with approval but at the end of the day she was sorry she had mentioned it. She was tired. Her arms and back were aching, her eyes felt gritty and there was a slight throbbing over her left eye.

  ‘Some fresh air will sort all that out and the chat will lighten your spirits,’ Rita stated firmly, dismissing her complaints. Rita enjoyed shopping.

  The air, though far from fresh, did help and by the time they reached Henry Street, where they intended to do some food shopping first, Mary felt better. They wandered past the stalls heaped with vegetables from the country districts and Rita stopped and fingered some cabbages.

  ‘They’re not very big. How much are you wanting for them?’ she asked.

  ‘Two fer the price of one! The bargain of the day, ma’am, at a penny an’ I had nothing to do with the rearin’ of them. Blame that on the feller I had them off this morning when ye were still snug in your bed an’ I was out in the wet an’ the slime!’ the stall-holder replied.

  ‘Did you hear that, Mary? When we were in our beds! Weren’t we up before the dawn ourselves!’ Rita replied with spirit.

  ‘That’s as may be, ma’am, a penny is me price.’

  ‘I’ll take them even though they’re no more than babbies.’

  ‘There’s no pleasing some folk! Aren’t I after giving them away at that price and won’t they be gracin’ your bacon this very night, ma’am.’

  ‘Crubeens it is tonight,’ Rita shot back.

  ‘Begod! Crubeens an’ it’s only Thursday! There’s wealth for ye!’

  Mary laughed. It was almost like being back in Great Homer Street Market.

  Further down there were two or three women selling second-hand clothes and both girls rummaged through the piles.

  ‘Here, Mary, this will suit you very well,’ Rita called, holding up a brown tweed skirt. ‘She’s asking sixpence for it but it’s good thick tweed and plenty of wear in it yet.’

  ‘From the county of Donegal, too, ma’am, and a bargain,’ the woman added.

  Mary looked doubtful. It was good quality and hardly worn but it was a bit dear.

  Seeing the hesitation and not wanting to lose a sale at the end of a none-too-successful day the woman rummaged around and found a brown cord three-quarter-length jacket. ‘Now ye have a costume that’s fit for the Quality and for the bargain price of one and six! Doesn’t it look grand with the fine head of hair ye have, ma’am?’ As further persuasion the jacket was held against Mary’s hair.

  ‘It does suit you, Mary, and it’s great quality,’ Rita urged.

  ‘I can’t afford to buy it and have a night out,’ Mary hissed, feeling embarrassed.

  ‘Mary, haven’t I already said I’d treat you? Here, we’ll take it.’ Rita delved into her purse and handed the coins over before Mary could stop her.

  ‘God bless ye for the generous woman ye are!’ The stall-holder beamed at them both and handed over the folded clothes.

  ‘Oh, Rita! You’re too good!’ Mary cried, hugging her.

  ‘Don’t you deserve a bit of a treat? You work so hard and you never go out.’

  ‘But you haven’t bought yourself anything!’ Mary protested.

  ‘Ah, haven’t I the good coat Davy bought me at Christmas and the red wool skirt I bought myself at the same time and my good white blouse? Now we’d better get home or Mam’ll think we’ve deserted her and be giving out that she’s the crubeens boiled and no cabbage to go with them.’

  When they arrived home it was to a scene of chaos. All the children seemed to be fighting or arguing except for Tommy and Brendan who were inexplicably sitting on Molly’s knees. Davy was in and was sitting by the fire engrossed in a newspaper, looking far from happy, and there was no sign of any meal being prepared at all.

  ‘In the name of all the saints, what ails you, Mam?’ Rita cried.

  ‘What’s wrong with those two?’ Mary demanded.

  ‘Haven’t the pair of them had the heart across me! Haven’t I been up at the Mater hospital with them for hours!’ Molly replied, glaring at her son-in-law.

  ‘And I a man coming in from his work to bedlam and no food on the table!’ Davy retorted, glaring back.

  Obviously there had been a row, Mary surmised.

  ‘At the Mater? What for?’ Rita asked, looking concerned.

  ‘After school didn’t they go off to see the cattle being driven to the meat factory by Cork Street Fever Hospital? When the poor beasts are so terrified that they stampede down those narrow streets like the gathering swine and with the corner boys all roarin’ and chasin’ them.’

  ‘Brendan, haven’t I told you a hundred times to stay away from there on Thursdays? You know it’s the day the cattle are driven to the slaughter and don’t they know it too. Aren’t they mad with fear and terror!’ Rita cried.

  Mary rushed across to her son who was looking pale and had bandages on his arm and leg. On Thursdays the cattle brought from the outlying farms were driven through the streets at a frightening pace by the drovers armed with sticks and no one was really safe as the poor, sweating, stumbling animals crashed about.

  ‘What happened, Tommy? Are you badly hurt?’

  ‘Mam, it was all so quick! We were standing on the corner by the Disinfectant Yard of the Fever Hospital and suddenly a group of them came at us! They were all frothing at the mouth and roaring! We tried to run into one of the shops but they were too quick and then I slipped and fell and one trampled me!’

  ‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You could have been killed!’ Mary cried, her face paling at the thought.

  ‘It’s only the mercy of God and His Holy Mother that they weren’t. Just cuts and bruises, the pair of them,’ Molly declared.

  ‘I should be takin’ me belt to the pair of ye!’ Davy growled.

  Rita gathered her son to her. ‘Thanks be to God your granny was here to see to you! Well, let that be a lesson to you. And what have you been told about going near that Fever Hospital? You’ll catch something nasty and then they’ll take you in and no one will be able to come and see you in case we all get it! Oh, you’ll be the death of me yet!’

  ‘Well, do you think that now a man could get some peace and a bit of something to eat?’ Davy shouted, losing his temper entirely.

  ‘And is that all ye care about, your belly?’ Molly shouted back. She had had such a fright when Tommy had limped in and told her that he and Brendan had been ‘trampled’, she was barely recovered herself.

  ‘Davy, will you sit down and read your paper. We’ll have the meal on the table in a few minutes,’ Rita tried to pacify him, feeling guilty
that they had lingered at the market buying clothes.

  ‘There’ll be no meal on the table this hour is what I’m thinking! I might as well go to the pub!’ he replied, storming out.

  ‘Oh, Rita, I’m sorry! We shouldn’t have gone looking for clothes. If we hadn’t then we would have been home,’ Mary cried guiltily.

  ‘Ah, take no notice of that feller. Wasn’t he only looking for an excuse to go drinking. I could see the puss on him the moment he came in,’ Molly said derisively.

  ‘Mam, do you blame him? The place like a lunatic asylum, no tea and no sign of me either! Isn’t that enough to drive a man to drink?’

  Mary thought it was time to intervene. ‘Right, all of you children in the other room! You too, Brendan and Tommy. And no noise out of you. Molly, put the kettle on while I make a start on this cabbage and put the pig’s feet in to boil. That’s the last time I go gallivanting after work!’ she declared firmly, catching up the big iron cooking pot and the cabbages, which had been hastily dumped on the table and forgotten amidst the uproar.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘YE LOOK VERY WELL, Mary. Those colours suit ye,’ Molly said admiringly.

  Mary smiled and looked at herself in the mirror. Her aunt was right, the dark brown cord jacket was set off by the high-necked white blouse she’d bought in Paddy’s Market. She’d swept her hair up and the narrow-brimmed brown and beige hat she’d borrowed for the occasion was perched at a jaunty angle. She had put on a little weight and it somehow made her look younger than twenty-eight.

  ‘And red certainly suits Rita,’ she commented, smiling approvingly at her cousin who wore a red skirt, a white blouse and a smart red coat trimmed with black braid.

  ‘Don’t you be after having too much drink taken,’ Davy instructed his wife a little sharply.

  ‘Would you just listen to him that came falling in the door last Friday!’ Rita laughed good-naturedly.

  ‘Get off the pair of ye and enjoy yourselves,’ Molly urged, steering them both towards the door.

  ‘I’ve never tasted either oysters or porter,’ Mary confided as they walked to meet the others.

  ‘Then you’d better go easy with the porter or it will go straight to your head. They do say oysters are an acquired taste, but I like them well enough.’

  ‘Do they only sell porter?’ Mary asked, thinking that she’d really prefer a port and lemonade or even a glass of Madeira wine.

  ‘No, they sell all kinds of drinks.’ Rita laughed. ‘You can tell you don’t drink much.’

  ‘There was never the money or the occasion, except for weddings and funerals.’

  ‘Well, you mind what I said and watch the porter.’

  ‘I will indeed!’ Mary promised.

  They met up with the others on the corner of Anne Street and there were exclamations of delight and admiration for the outfits they’d all managed to conjure up - mainly by begging and borrowing from sisters, cousins and neighbours.

  The Oyster Bar was a dark, low-ceilinged, smallish place further up Anne Street and was already crowded.

  ‘Sarah Jane, go and see if you can find us some room at that table over in the corner while Mary and me go and find a barmaid,’ Rita instructed.

  Sarah Jane and the others pushed and elbowed their way through the throng, while Rita informed the barmaid: ‘There’s six of us for oysters and five for porter.’ Then she turned to Mary. ‘What will you have?’

  ‘Do you have any Madeira wine?’ Mary asked a little hesitantly.

  ‘Ma’am, this isn’t the Imperial Hotel!’ the woman replied with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Then maybe port wine?’ Mary thought it best not to ask for lemonade as well.

  ‘A large or a small glass?’

  ‘Large,’ Rita said before Mary could reply. ‘We’re at the table in the corner.’

  The men who had been occupying the table had moved after much light-hearted bantering with the girls and soon the drinks and the oysters were brought. Mary looked at the plate of greyish-green shells with apprehension. ‘How are you supposed to eat them? She’s brought no knives or spoons.’

  They all fell about laughing at her inexperience until Rita explained that you just tipped them down your throat, directly from the shell.

  ‘Go on, Mary, they won’t poison you!’ Maura Grennan urged.

  Mary lifted a shell gingerly to her lips.

  ‘Tip back your head!’ Sarah Jane instructed.

  Mary did so and swallowed hard. It tasted salty and rather bland. It was a very strange experience.

  ‘Well?’ Maura enquired.

  ‘Not bad,’ Mary said cautiously.

  Rita laughed and raised her eyes to the smoke-stained ceiling.

  After three more drinks Mary felt decidedly light-headed but was enjoying herself. They were a lively group and there was much laughter and as the evening wore on the singing and the dancing began. It was mainly traditional dancing that Mary couldn’t do, but she was dragged to her feet for a couple of rather stilted and confined reels which left her breathless and flushed. When yet another glass of port appeared she protested but the irrepressible Sarah Jane just laughed and waved aside her protests.

  Before she had time to take even a sip she was hauled to her feet by a tall and good-looking young stevedore.

  ‘Oh, please, I can’t catch my breath!’ she cried.

  ‘And sure a fine-looking girl like you can’t be sitting on your own!’ he laughed.

  ‘I’m not on my own.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see anyone else sitting with you. Come on and take a turn around the floor with me.’

  ‘It’s a bit crushed.’

  ‘ ’Tis nothing! I’ve seen fifty people on their feet in here many a night.’

  She could say nothing else and so, smiling up at him, she let him guide her towards the dancers.

  ‘You’re not from Dublin, are you?’ he shouted over the din.

  ‘No. Liverpool.’

  ‘I was in Liverpool once myself, a grand place it is.’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘So, why did you leave it?’

  ‘My husband . . . died, so I came to live with my aunt.’ She could have bitten her tongue. Now he would think she was available. ‘But I have my children to care for,’ she added hastily.

  ‘How many have you?’

  ‘Seven,’ she lied.

  ‘Begod! Did you wear the poor feller out?’

  She hid a smile but at least the ploy had worked. At the end of the dance he led her back to the table. She had no wish to pick up any man. She had enough problems already.

  ‘I thought you were getting along famously with your man over there,’ Maura said curiously. ‘What did you say to him that made him take fright?’

  ‘I told him I had seven children and no husband.’

  Rita pealed with laughter. ‘Holy God! Mary, aren’t you a gas!’

  ‘I remembered a woman telling me that there’s not many men who would take on a woman with a gang of kids and anyway, apart from not wanting to get mixed up with men, I’m not free to do so.’

  Rita nodded. She supposed Mary was taking the sensible attitude.

  ‘Ah, well, it’s only a bit of fun anyway.’ She laughed again. ‘Now, Maura, have you enough drink taken to give us a song?’

  ‘Try and shut her up! You know what she’s like after a few glasses of porter!’ Sarah Jane replied, rolling her eyes expressively.

  When they finally left the Oyster Bar it was late and as the fresh air hit her Mary swayed. ‘Oh, Rita, I think I’ve had one glass of port too many!’

  ‘Mary McGann, I believe you’re drunk!’ Rita cried, a little unsteady herself.

  ‘You’ll have a head the size of a bull in the morning!’ Maura giggled.

  ‘Oh, I hope not! I’ve got to take Tommy back to the hospital,’ Mary groaned. Her head was beginning to spin and she clung to Rita’s arm. Why had she been so stupid as to drink so much when she wasn’t used to it?

  Sh
e barely remembered the journey home. Once safely in the door, with much shushing and stifled giggling, Rita helped her to undress and lie down on the mattress, which made her feel even worse. The whole room began to revolve sickeningly when she closed her eyes.

  She struggled to sit up, afraid to lie flat in case the awful nausea swamped her again. Rita had gone to bed and Molly was snoring gently. The three children were curled up sound asleep. Oh, God! Maybe a cup of water would help, she thought, trying to get to her feet.

  ‘Mary, what ails you?’

  Davy’s voice seemed to come from far away but she realised that he was helping her to get up. She must have wakened him.

  ‘I . . . I don’t feel very well. I think I had too much port wine.’

  ‘And you not used to the drink. Come on, a bit of fresh air will do you good.’

  He had his arm around her waist and she leaned heavily against him as he led her towards the door.

  ‘Davy, wait! I . . . I can’t go out into the street like this, in my nightdress!’

  ‘Here, put this old shawl of Molly’s on.’ He dragged the garment from its hook and put it around her shoulders. ‘It looks better on you than it does on her.’

  Mary began to feel uneasy. Bad as she felt she didn’t want to be alone with him in the dark and empty hallway. ‘Davy, I think that just a drink of water will help,’ she protested feebly. She had never felt so ill in her entire life.

  ‘Later, after the fresh air. Believe me, I know about these things.’

  His grip had tightened and she began to feel afraid. Yet if she cried out, made a fuss, she would wake them all and how would it look? She had no desire to upset either her aunt or Rita, they had both been so good to her.

  Once in the hall she tried to draw away from him. ‘Davy, I’m fine!’

  ‘Sure, you’re far from that, Mary.’ He pushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘But even though you’re jarred you’re a good-looking woman. I thought that from the first time I set eyes on you.’

  ‘Please, Davy! You know I’m married!’

  ‘And isn’t he an eejit to have let you go? If you were my wife I wouldn’t be so stupid. You must miss him - well, miss being in bed with him. Do you miss it, Mary?’