Chapter 2
“Ivy, I’ve got the kettle on.” Jem Ryan, the local jarvey and Ivy’s friend, was standing in the open door of his livery building – the people-door built into the tall double doors of the entrance used for horse and carriage.
The livery, a long barnlike building, formed one side of The Lane and was directly across the cobbled square from the row of Georgian houses that were the tenements. It was brilliantly white with black trim. Jem and his crew of lads had freshly painted the exterior over the summer.
“Jem, yer blood should be bottled.”
Ivy examined Jem’s handsome figure. There was such a difference in the way Jem carried himself these days. He stood tall, his broad shoulders pulled back, chest out, head high. Ivy let her eyes roam down his strong masculine body. His long legs were planted apart, his hands on his hips. With his mahogany hair gleaming in the pale winter sunlight, green eyes smiling, clean-shaven chin held high, Jem Ryan looked the king of all he surveyed.
“Conn,” Jem said, referring to one of the lads who worked for him, “is bringing a bucket of food, enough for everyone, from the Penny Dinners.”
The Penny Dinners, set up to serve the poor in the community, seemed to constantly serve stew but it was a welcome addition to the diet of the hungry. The nuns nearby ran a penny-dinner service from the rear of their convent.
“I wish you’d told me that before I let young Seán run away.” Ivy checked but the young lad was already out of sight. “The only thing Seán will get at his place is a thick ear.”
“Yeh can’t save everyone, Ivy,” Jem said gently, “no matter how hard you try.”
“Seán seems to be making a friend of yer one that moved into Granny’s old place.” Ivy pushed her pram into the stable. She left it standing outside one of the newly filled stalls, well out of the way of the stall’s inhabitant, giving the curious bay mare a quick caress when the animal put her head over the half-door.
Jem Ryan was investing a great deal of money in his livery business. He’d bought young horses to pull the traps and carriages he was refurbishing. Jem’s uncle had been a magpie when it came to picking up cheap, out-of-fashion old vehicles of all sorts. The man had had great plans for his business when he’d invited Jem to leave his home in Sligo and join him in Dublin. Time and a debilitating illness had put paid to his grand ideas. While nursing his uncle through his long final illness, Jem had allowed the business to fail. He’d sold off all the horses except his favourite, Rosie. He’d worked only enough to keep food on the table and the bills paid.
“Pete Kelly, you’re not in your mother’s now. Put your back into cleaning that floor!” Jem shouted at a young lad half-heartedly sweeping out one of the long aisles that divided the stables. Jem employed a number of local lads. He fed them and paid them pennies to put their hands to the work that needed doing – it kept them off the streets.
The year 1925 had started with a bang for both Jem and Ivy. They’d barely survived the shocks that had been in store for them during the year. Now the year was dying and Jem was pushing forward with his plans for expansion. He had a chance now to make something of himself and he was going to take it.
“I hear yer one that took over Granny’s place has a radio.” Jem walked over to a part of the stable which he’d had the lads clear of trash and set up as a rest area.
“What do you mean, a radio?” Ivy strolled over to join him. She watched him pull the steaming kettle from the top of the cast-iron closed fire the local blacksmith had made and installed. The fire stood on a thick sheet of metal. The wall behind it was also protected by a metal sheet. The exposed metal chimney climbed the interior wall, adding to the heat generated by the fire.
“Just what I said, Ivy Murphy – a radio.” Jem gave the little stove a satisfied grin. He’d been terrified at the thought of putting a fire into his building but the blacksmith had done him proud and the heat source was welcome on days like this. “Sit yourself down here, Ivy – there’s great heat from the stove and you’re soaking wet.” He pulled up a rickety wooden chair and Ivy gratefully sat down.
“Why would your woman need one of them radio contraptions?” Ivy asked as Jem opened a little freestanding cupboard and took out one of the cups and saucers he kept on hand for Ivy. His lads, she knew, were a mite hammer-fisted and enamel mugs lasted longer in their hands. Jem took an enamel mug out for his own use. “Don’t soldiers and sailors use them things for talking to each other?”
“They’re making them radios now so you can hear music, all kinds of music they say, played by professional people and you’ll be able to get news from around the world.” Jem shook his head in astonishment.
“Go way!” Ivy had heard everything now.
“Honest to God.” Jem was unaware of the thrill he gave Ivy every time he served her. He’d been looking after himself for years and thought nothing of mucking in to any chore that needed to be done. Ivy was more accustomed to men who believed women were put on this earth for their convenience. Her father and three younger brothers wouldn’t be caught dead making a cup of tea for themselves let alone for a woman.
“I went into Piggotts and had a look at these new radios.” Jem handed the filled cup on its saucer to Ivy. He pulled over another chair and sat across from her after checking the chair to be sure its legs were even. He took a big swig of tea before saying, “By God, Ivy, them radios are mighty.” He shook his head in wonder. There were so many new marvels being invented every day. It took a man all of his time to keep up.
“Yeh didn’t buy one, Jem Ryan, did yeh?” Ivy sipped the welcome brew while looking around the open space. Jem had created a decent-sized room that held a wonky-looking table, a couple of freestanding cupboards and a load of old wooden chairs.
“I wanted to.” Jem gulped tea from his mug. “I really did, Ivy. The radio itself isn’t such a big deal. I could make one meself if I had the bits. It’s the earphones.”
“The what?”
“Earphones,” Jem repeated, lifting the hand not holding his mug to cover his ear. “Yeh need them to be able to hear the radio. They cost a fortune, Ivy, and only one person can listen at a time. That’s no great shakes I’m thinking.”
“But still, Jem,” Ivy marvelled, “imagine being able to hear music any time yeh wanted. It beats believin’.”
Ivy loved listening to Old Man Solomon’s gramophone. It was the talk of The Lane. The old man always brought the machine down for the summertime street parties and played it for the entertainment of his neighbours and friends. He allowed the children to turn the chrome handle to power up the machine. However, no-one else was allowed touch the delicate black records he kept carefully packed in their brown-paper sleeves. The magical 78 records produced wonderful music that blasted out of the tall wide-mouth megaphone. That machine was a marvel and, now, radio. What was the world coming to?
“There’s talk of a radio station being set up right here in Dublin, Ivy. I read about it in the paper.” Jem’s green eyes gleamed with delight over the rim of his enamel mug. He took a gulp of tea. “Can you imagine such a thing?”
“The world is changing in leaps and bounds, Jem. Remember when yeh picked me up outside the morgue?” Ivy had been coming from viewing her da’s body when Jem happened to pass. “You talked then of the changes taking place in the world. Do you remember?”
“Of course I do.” Jem sipped his tea.
“I suppose it was kind of hard to forget.” Ivy held out her empty cup on its saucer for a refill. “Me first carriage ride.”
“We’re only talking ten months, Ivy.” Jem stood to fill Ivy’s cup. “Who would have believed so much could happen in such a short space of time?”
“Well, at least we’re living in those exciting times you talked about. God knows, no one can say we’re not willing to move with the times.” She took the cup and saucer Jem held out to her,
“You and me, Ivy, are moving so fast ahead there’s days I’m dizzy.” Jem took his seat again.
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“Jem, are yeh about?” Conn Connelly’s voice came ahead of his body as he opened the people-door. The smell of the stew he’d picked up from the Penny Dinners wafted into the room. He stepped over the lintel and into the livery, closing the door behind him quickly. “I don’t know – here I am, out searching for food to feed the hungry while me boss is sitting in front of the fire with a good-looking woman. Some people have all the luck.”
“How’s it going, Conn?” Ivy thought the changes in her young neighbour’s appearance since he’d started working for Jem were astonishing. The lad was filling out, his long skinny body beginning to develop muscle. His skin glowed with health and vitality, his blue eyes, framed by long, thick, black lashes were clear and sparkling and there was a shine of health to his thick black hair. Conn was growing into a handsome young man.
“Can’t complain, Ivy.” Conn set the bucket of stew he carried on top of the fire. He began to rummage in the freestanding cupboard for mugs. “How’s yerself?”
“Getting by, Conn, getting by.” She nodded when Conn held one of the mugs aloft. She’d enjoy a mug of stew. “Jem, remind me – who built the cupboards you’ve got in here?” She glanced at the sturdy, obviously homemade pieces of furniture that decorated the space.
“One of the lads we trained up to answer the phones,” Jem answered absentmindedly.
“Jimmy Johnson,” Conn said, handing Ivy her mug of stew. “He makes the stuff when he has a minute free. He’s working on a table and benches now. We won’t know our luxury when he finishes.”
“Jimmy Johnson,” Ivy sighed. Tim Johnson’s son, one of little Seán’s many uncles. “He not here now, is he? On the phones?”
“No,” said Jem, looking at her questioningly. “He’ll be over later.”
“When you’ve finished your stew, Conn,” said Ivy, “will yeh run over and give Jimmy a knock for me?”
“Aw, Jaysus, Ivy!” Conn pulled a chair over to the table, before dropping into the seat. “Me ma would do her nut if she saw me going down them stairs.”
“What are yeh talking about?” Ivy snapped.
Conn shifted his eyes sideways towards Jem, hoping he’d help him out. Conn didn’t like to badmouth neighbours.
“I pass their building when I bring me pram around the back.” Ivy usually pushed her heavily laden pram around the tenement block into the back yard and down to her rear entrance. “The place is a bit whiffy, I admit, but everyone knows the Johnsons are a lazy lot.” Ivy didn’t admit that she ran past the house where the Johnsons rented the basement flat. She didn’t want anything to do with that family.
“It’s stinking, Ivy,” Jem said. “The neighbours are always complaining to the rent man. The lads seem to use the stairs down into the place as a toilet. I don’t blame Conn for not wanting to go down there. I wouldn’t fancy it myself.”
“So what d’yeh want Jimmy for, Ivy?” Conn was using his fingers to scoop up the potatoes, peas and carrots sitting in the bottom of his mug.
“I want to have a word with him about making something for me.”
“What do you need?” Jem asked.
“I want something to sell me Cinderella dolls from.” Ivy and the family she’d employed to help her were frantically dressing a consignment of small rubber dolls she had bought from Harry Green’s warehouse. They were using the accumulation of high-quality material Ivy had collected over the years to dress the dolls. She planned to sell Cinderella dolls outside the Gaiety Theatre during pantomime season. “I thought I could use something like them usherettes use to sell ice lollies and chocolates during the interval.”
“What, a tray thing with straps that go around your shoulders?” Jem asked.
“Yeah, just like that.” Ivy nodded. “I don’t want to sell the dolls from me pram. The auld pram wouldn’t create the right impression. I’m going to charge a lot of money for those dolls. I have to think about presentation.”
“Listen to your woman!” Conn stood to refill his mug at a nod from Jem.
“Conn, a good friend of mine told me times were changing.” Ivy nudged Jem with the toe of her boot. “We have to change with them.”
“No one could accuse you of not moving with the times, Ivy,” Jem remarked. “It seems every time we turn around you have some new plan or scheme you want us to go along with.”
“Just planning ahead, Jem.” Ivy shook the last of her stew from the bottom of her mug into her mouth. She could have used her fingers like Conn but she hated dirty hands. She passed the empty mug to Conn and shook her head when he offered her a refill. She finished the tea cooling in her cup, then stood to refill the cup from the teapot sitting on the stove. “How are your brother and sister doing, Conn?”
“I’ve a load of them, Ivy.” Conn was on his knees taking an enamel bowl out of the cupboard. He wanted to fill the thing with warm water – then the lads would have no excuse for not rinsing out the cups they used. Conn had no intention of becoming the general dogsbody for some of the lazy lads too used to their mothers doing everything for them. “Which ones do you mean?”
“Did anyone ever tell yeh yer a cheeky bugger, Conn Connelly? Yeh know very well I mean Liam and Vera. It’s not often two of our own take to the stage.”
“There’s been a bit of excitement there. Hang on – I must get some water.”
Conne took an empty bucket over to the standing tap. He appreciated having an indoor supply of water – it was great not to have to stand in line. He was back in no time and put the freshly filled bucket on the stove to heat.
“So what’s happening with Liam and Vera?” Ivy sipped her tea.
“The talk is that the headline act booked into the Gaiety over the Christmas and New Year had to pull out.” Conn decided to have a mug of tea himself. He bent to get a fresh mug out of the cupboard.
“The fella that was to play the Prince in the panto?” Ivy asked in tones of horror. The pantomime was a huge occasion to Dubliners. The newspapers carried stories and gossip about the show and its players for months before the big event.
“The very same.” Conn raised his eyebrows at Jem and, at a nod, he took his mug to fill along with his own.
“What are they going to do, do you know?” Ivy asked.
“To hear Liam tell it,” Conn took his seat again, “they were lucky enough to get another fella in – some big noise by the sound of it – but he hasn’t agreed to stay for as long as they need.”
“How does Liam know all of this?” Ivy asked.
“Wait for it . . .” Conn put his mug down and used both hands to beat out a drum roll on the table. “Liam, his ruddy dog and our Vera are going to be in the pantomime. They’ve started rehearsing their parts.”
“Go way!” Ivy kicked at Jem’s feet. “Did you know about this, Jem?”
“First I’ve heard, Ivy.” Jem pulled his feet out of Ivy’s range.
“Me da nearly fainted when Liam told him how much they’re going to be paid.” Conn grinned. “As you know our Vera and Liam have been making a few bob from their appearances around the town at Amateur Night. They’ve been mostly winning lately.” He knew his brother and sister had worked very hard to perfect an act they could take to the big bosses of Dublin theatre life. “Some big noise saw them and he approached them about appearing in the panto. They’re only doing bits and the boss said they could still appear in the occasional Amateur Night. It seems that’s good publicity for their upcoming appearance in the panto. So, put that in your pipe and smoke it!”
“Well, if that wouldn’t make the cat laugh!” Ivy grinned – it was good to see someone achieve their dream.
“We’ll go and see their act one of these evenings, Ivy,” Jem said softly. “Get to see them before they become famous. We’ll be able to say we knew them ‘when’.”
“Jem, I’d love that.” Ivy stood suddenly – she had to get home. “You tell me where and when and I’ll be ready.” She loved the time she got to spend with Jem on their rare public outings. “If you�
��d give me a shout when Jimmy gets here for work I’ll come over and talk to him about that carpentry job.”
“I’ll walk out with you.” Jem stood. “You know where I’ll be if anyone wants me, Conn.”
Chapter 3
“I can find me own way home, you know, Jem Ryan.” Ivy appeared to pay no attention to her surroundings as she pushed her pram at speed around the block of houses that formed one arm of The Lane. She was, in fact, keenly aware of everything around her. She’d been feeling eyes following her lately and it was making her nervous.
“I wanted a word with you.” Jem’s long legs easily kept pace with Ivy.
“Oh, aye, what’s up?” Ivy glanced around. You were never truly alone in The Lane. There was always someone hanging around. She’d been forced to become more careful since her da’s death. The kind of people who made their living by taking advantage of others knew Ivy’s da was dead and her brothers had left home. She would seem fair game to them.
“Not here and now.” Jem was aware of the eyes and ears paying close attention to them. “I’ll come over to your place tonight when Emmy’s in bed.” His adopted niece lived with him at the livery.
“Give us a clue, will yeh?” She didn’t want to worry and wonder for hours.
“We need to talk, Ivy.” Jem stopped walking when they reached the area that opened onto the back yard of the tenement block and stared down into Ivy’s violet eyes. “There’s a lot been happening around here you don’t know about,” he whispered. “You’re running around the place like a chicken with its head cut off. It seems to me that you’re not giving yourself time to breathe lately. I’ll be over later.” He bent down and pressed a demanding kiss into her pouting lips. He knew he shouldn’t. People were beginning to talk about them. He knew he’d be forgiven for any dalliance but Ivy would be crucified in gossip.
Through Streets Broad and Narrow (Ivy Rose Series Book 1) Page 39
