2004 - Dandelion Soup

by Babs Horton

  “Sure ifll be full of old codgers waiting to pop their clogs.”

  “It won’t be the same as having kids about the place.”

  “Siobhanll be lost in the holidays.”

  “When does she go away to school?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “You’ll miss her.”

  “I will that.”

  “Can’t she just go to school in Cork and come home weekends?”

  “She could but her mother has other ideas. Hetty was at this posh school in London and says she met all sorts. The higher echelons of society, would you believe? Hetty also went off to a finishing school in Paris. That’s where she got all her fancy ideas from and it’s what she has in mind for Siobhan.”

  “No offence but I can’t imagine Siobhan in a finishing school,” Donahue said with a grin.

  “She’d finish the buggers off all right, single-handedly,” replied Dr Hanlon smiling.

  “She’s bright that daughter of yours, she needs to be challenged.”

  “I know that Michael. But you can’t argue with Hetty. She says she’ll meet a grand set of girls from good families at the convent in London. When Hetty was there she was hobnobbing with all sorts. Spanish nobility, Italian princesses…One of the Spanish girls used to have all her clothes sent over from Paris.”

  “They must have been millionaires.”

  “Hetty and the Spanish girl were good friends, but when they were in the finishing school in Paris she had a fling with an unsuitable chap and the mother whisked her away. Hetty wrote to her loads of times but never got an answer.”

  “Probably married with a castle full of kids by now,” Donahue said.

  “I dare say. Anyway, Siobhan is in the shite at the moment.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m afraid somehow she found out about the kid up at Solly Benjamin’s house.”

  “A kid?” said Donahue. “I thought he had a bit of stuff up there.”

  “No, that was all just gossip.”

  Leary and Donahue listened mesmerized as Dr Hanlon told them the little he knew about the child.

  “So where does Siobhan come into all this?”

  “You know what she’s like, she’s a nosy little sod putting her beak into other people’s business. She saw the child, and apparently Padraig had seen her too in the Dark Wood. Anyhow, she told Sinead about her and blabber-mouth told her mammy and now they’re off up to St Joseph’s to see Sister Veronica.”

  “Why, what can Sister Veronica do?” Leary asked suddenly.

  “Anything she likes. Shell get the kid taken off him without a doubt.”

  “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

  “No. She’s transformed him, that child, I’ve never seen the fellow looking so happy. It must have been a lonely old life living there all by himself. Ah, well, there’ll be all hell up now.”

  Suddenly the door opened and the three men turned to look at the newcomer. A small swarthy man, no bigger than a jockey, stood framed in the doorway.

  “Come in,” said Donahue. “We don’t bite until the moon is full.”

  The man grinned and walked jauntily across to the bar.

  “Would you be wanting a drink?”

  “I could murder a Guinness.”

  A stranger in Ballygurry was an interesting occasion.

  “Have you come on the train?” Dr Hanlon asked, knowing full well there was no train on this particular day.

  “No. I came off the boat yesterday and hitched a couple of lifts, one from a halfwit of a farmer and then a couple of flatulent nuns.”

  “I’ve never heard of the Flatulent order, are they French?”

  Leary snorted into his beer.

  The newcomer looked at Donahue as if he had a screw missing.

  “Will you be staying long?”

  “Until I finish me pint.”

  Donahue giggled.

  “Would that be an English accent?” he asked.

  “London, mate, north of the river.”

  “Have you friends here in Ballygurry?”

  “Nope. I’m not staying. I’ve come to pick up a kid.”

  The three men stared at him in amazement.

  “What sort of a kid?”

  “The usual type.”

  “With horns?” asked Donahue.

  The man looked askance at Donahue.

  “A kid. My kid,” he spluttered into his pint, “not a bleeding goat.”

  He downed the rest of his pint swiftly.

  “Cheers,” he said, “I needed that.”

  The bell jingled above the door as the man left.

  “Ah well, he seemed a nice enough chap for an Englishman. Lefs hope he gets to the kid before Sister Veronica and her band of washerwomen.”

  “Will we go up and have a look?” said Donahue.

  “Can’t. I’ve a surgery to start,” said Dr Hanlon. “And if Miss Drew comes in one more time to show me her bruises I may be tempted to end it all myself.”

  Sister Agatha showed an excited Miss Drew and a flustered Mrs Cullinane into Sister Veronica’s study. Miss Drew looked with interest at Sister Veronica. The nun was usually so composed in a chilly kind of way but now she looked positively rattled. Her hands were shaking and there were two spots of high colour on her cheeks.

  Mrs Cullinane, hiding behind Miss Drew, was wishing fervently that she hadn’t come at all and began to bob up and down on the spot anxiously.

  Miss Drew was the first to speak.

  “Sister Veronica, I know how very busy you must be and I’m sorry to bother you but with Father Daley being away we didn’t quite know where to turn.”

  “Spit it out, Miss Drew, I haven’t all day.”

  Miss Drew flinched and continued.

  “The first thing is that while I was away I learned something. Such a shock to me it was, but I feel I have to tell someone. Mrs Cullinane here agrees with me.”

  Mrs Cullinane nodded her head anxiously and blushed.

  “What is it, Miss Drew?”

  “It’s to do with Miss Nancy Carmichael. The thing is, Sister, by pure chance I came across a letter belonging to her by accident while we were away. Shocking, it was, quite shocking…”

  “Get on with it, Miss Drew.”

  “Well,” said Miss Drew with barely concealed glee, “have you ever heard of a place called Kilgerry up Ross-macconnarty way?”

  Sister Veronica stared unblinkingly at Miss Drew.

  Miss Drew noticed that the pulse in Sister Veronica’s neck raced feverishly.

  “No, I’m afraid I have not.”

  “Well, Miss Carmichael’s mother used to work there as the nanny to the posh family.”

  Sister Veronica swallowed hard.

  “What has that to do with anything?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well, you’d hardly believe it but Nancy Carmichael is illegitimate and you’ll never guess who her father was…”

  Miss Drew tailed off.

  “Oh, I think I can,” said Sister Veronica quietly. She leaned heavily on the table, breathing hard. Her face was puce and beads of sweat bubbled on her top lip.

  Miss Drew was delighted with the nun’s reaction. Sister Veronica was absolutely livid, with a face on her like she’d explode. Serve Nancy Carmichael right for letting her come all the way home on her own.

  Sister Veronica’s head was in a spin. God Almighty! What else was she going to hear today? She’d had just about as much as she could stand.

  To Miss Drew’s dismay, she said no more but eventually straightened up and looked across at her. Sister Veronica steeled herself, drew herself up to her full height. She’d had quite enough shocks for one day. She could barely think straight.

  “There was something else I believe that you wanted to tell me, Miss Drew?” she said distractedly.

  It was dusty inside the cupboard where Donny and Siobhan were huddled together in fright. It was dark and smelled of mice and mildew.

  Donny whisp
ered to Siobhan, “Siobhan, what’s illegitimate mean?”

  “Sure I don’t know. It’s some sort of incurable disease I expect.”

  “Mrs Cullinane has heard some very shocking news, very shocking indeed,” said Miss Drew in a breathy croak. “She wanted, well, we thought, that you should be the first to hear all about it.”

  “What is it, Miss Drew?” Sister Veronica said, giving her a withering glance.

  “It seems Siobhan Hanlon, who as you know is a meddlesome little devil, has told Mrs Cullinane’s Sinead a secret that she made her promise not to tell on pain of having her teeth pulled out with pliers.”

  In the cupboard Siobhan grabbed Denny’s arm. “Bloody cheek! When I get out of here I’ll piss in her bran tub! And I’ll kill Sinead,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Siobhan Hanlon is a proverbial pain in the neck. I fervently hope that the nuns in London will instil some discipline into the child. I think Dr Hanlon spoils her, myself.”

  Siobhan nudged Donny in the ribs. “Cheeky old bitch,” she hissed.

  “Well, the thing is, Sinead, being a sensible girl, has told her mother the secret.”

  “Sensible!” sniffed Siobhan. “She’s as thick as a donkey’s dick.”

  “And pray what is this enormous secret?”

  “The Black Jew has a young girl locked up in his house against her will.”

  “Ifs hardly news, Miss Drew.”

  Miss Drew blushed.

  “Ah, well, the thing is we all thought it was a young woman but according to Siobhan ifs not at all, ifs a little girl that he has trapped in there.”

  “And how does Siobhan know all this?”

  “Well, apparently she says that she saw them together up in that glass thing in the roof. And that Padraig had seen her too and he said she had a rosary, so she must be a Catholic.”

  “Padraig O’Mally!” Sister Veronica spat out his name.

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “I might have known he’d be involved.”

  “She hates Padraig,” Donny whispered.

  “She hates everyone,” Siobhan replied.

  “Where in God’s name did this child come from? He’s been living up there on his own for years.”

  “I don’t know, Sister, but ifs all very odd, if you ask me.”

  “We must go up there,” declared Sister Veronica, “and ascertain if ifs the truth. And if it is we shall take steps to remove the child and bring her to the safety of St Joseph’s.”

  “The three of us?” said Mrs Cullinane, and there- was a quiver of fear in her voice.

  “I’ll phone the bishop first and tell him what we’re going to do. But I for one, Mrs Cullinane, am not afraid of Solly Benjamin. There is great evil afoot in this village at the moment and we, the soldiers of Christ, must be brave! We have a child to rescue, a Catholic child by the sound of it.”

  In the cupboard Siobhan clutched Denny’s hand tightly.

  “This is all because of me and my big mouth!” she whispered. “We have to get there first and warn him.”

  Donny nodded reluctantly. Siobhan thought that he looked as if he was about to be sick.

  Solly Benjamin was sitting in a wicker chair under the horse chestnut tree in the garden. Beside him on a plaid rug Dancey Amati was playing happily with an old saucepan and a few old spoons.

  Occasionally, Solly glanced down at her. She was a contented child and played happily for hours on her own. This was her favourite game, making pretend soup.

  Dancey whispered quietly to herself, “Take a fistful of garbanzos.”

  She wandered over to the drive, picked up a pile of gravel and laid it on the rug.

  “A clutch of white beans.”

  For beans she had selected a mixture of odd-shaped white pebbles.

  “Two wide-brimmed hatfuls of spring water.” Water from the garden tap had to do. For olive oil she squeezed the sap from buttercup petals.

  Slivers of monastery beef were wrinkled leaves that she picked from the flowerbeds.

  Honesty leaves for silvery garlic.

  The tomato was a red rubber ball she had found close to the high wall.

  She picked dandelion leaves with care, and though she didn’t know which way was west she had a guess.

  She put all her ingredients into the saucepan and stirred them thoroughly with a stout stick she found lying in the grass.

  Dancey looked up at Solly and smiled. She had a wonderful smile that transformed her whole face. Solly wondered had she played this game in her previous life. She stood up now and wandered round the garden carefully examining clumps of dandelions. She had a thing about dandelions. She came back to the rug and placed the dandelion leaves she had selected carefully in the saucepan along with the other ingredients.

  Now came the cooking. She had made a pretend fireplace from large stones she had gathered from round the garden. She put the saucepan on top of the fire and sat cross-legged, occasionally lifting the lid and peering inside.

  After a while she picked up the saucepan, spooned the liquid and pebbles into two cups and held one up for Solly. At this point he always joined in the game and smelled the soup, smiled with appreciation and pretended to drink it.

  He was just about to take a pretend mouthful when he was startled by a shout.

  “Hey, mister! Over here!”

  Solly looked up from his soup and was flabbergasted to see two small children standing on top of the high wall that bordered the Dark Wood. They were jumping up and down and waving at him madly.

  He squinted in the bright sunlight. One of them was Siobhan Hanlon. The other one a little boy who looked terrified out of his wits.

  “Hey, mister!” Siobhan yelled. “Come quick!”

  Solly stood up and hurried over towards the wall.

  “What is it? Are you safe or is there a grizzly bear after the pair of you?”

  “I’m real sorry and it’s all my fault,” said the girl.

  “What is?”

  “I told them you’d a child up here and they’re coming to get her. I’m real sorry, mister.”

  Just at that moment the gates to the garden opened with a clank and rattle and Solly stared towards them in dismay.

  The big beefy nun from St Joseph’s was striding purposefully up the path, followed by the ferrety woman from the sweet shop and a petrified-looking Mrs Cullinane. Bringing up the rear was a thin-faced nun with a smug smile.

  Dancey stood up in alarm and knocked the saucepan of soup all over the plaid rug.

  She ran across to Solly and took hold of his hand.

  “Feckin’ hell!” shrieked Siobhan. “We’re too late, Donny, the old bitches are here. Scarper!”

  Siobhan, in panic, grabbed hold of Donny by the arm. There was a screech and the sound of rustling leaves as she pulled him off the wall and they plunged headlong into the Dark Wood.

  Solly thought that they looked like two angels falling from grace. Listening for the sound of breaking bones, he was relieved to hear the crashing of undergrowth as they fled through the wood.

  Then he turned to face the delegation of hard-faced women who were marching up the gravel drive towards him and Dancey.

  Sister Agatha waylaid Siobhan and Donny as they crept out of the Dark Wood. She took hold of an ear of each of them and yanked them across the road and up the drive towards the orphanage. Siobhan squealed and struggled to escape but Donny went quietly, speechless with fear.

  Sister Agatha dragged them in through the front door and down the dingy, reeking corridor. Beneath her habit her keys clanked as though she were a jailer taking prisoners to the dungeons. She opened the door to Sister Veronica’s study and pushed the pair of them roughly into the room.

  A clock on the wall flinched and yelped a dissonant chime, pulled itself up short and ground to a halt.

  Siobhan and Donny stood side by side on the rug. Siobhan shivered and glanced sideways at Donny. The state on him! Shite! His knees were banging together and his teeth were c
hattering so loudly they sounded like castanets being played by a drunk. Oh, hell’s bells, it was all her stupid fault. She should never have dared him to get into the cupboard.

  Siobhan stood stiff backed, biting her lip, her sweaty hands clasped in front of her as she looked up and up at the enormous nun.

  “What do you think you were doing, Donny Keegan?”

  “T-t-trying t-to warn him,” he stammered.

  “And why may I ask?”

  Donny tried to speak but couldn’t get the words up over his quivering tonsils.

  “We were trying to warn the Black – S-Solly Benjamin that you were coming for the little girl,” said Siobhan.

  “You speak when you’re spoken to, my girl!”

  “There’s no point asking a boy to speak when he’s too afraid to open his mouth.”

  With that Sister Veronica slammed her fist down on to the table and Siobhan jumped in fright. An old cat who had been happily perched on the window-sill woke with a start, arched his back and spat in alarm.

  Donny Keegan gulped. Siobhan sucked in her breath with a whistling sound.

  “Well, your silly prank will backfire, Miss Clever Clogs, because very soon the guards will arrive and the child will be brought here to me.”

  “Won’t that be just grand for her?” muttered Siobhan.

  Why doesn’t she keep her big mouth shut? Donny thought, but there was no point hoping, Siobhan always did what she thought was right.

  “I would dearly like to slap that silly face of yours, Siobhan Hanlon, for God only knows you’re in need of a good hiding, but when I’ve finished with Donny Keegan 111 have your mother up here and let’s hope shell knock some sense into you.”

  Then she lifted a leather strap from a nail on the wall and slashed it down across the table. A china statue of a saint on the bookshelf leaped up in the air and landed with a clatter.

  Siobhan was frightened almost witless but dying to laugh at the same time. Sister Veronica was off her rocker, nutty as a feckin’ fruit cake.

  “Hold out your hand, Donny Keegan.”

  Donny flinched.

  His tiny dirty outstretched hand shook. Siobhan glanced across at his face. His eyes were wide and his eyelashes glittered with tears, his chin was wobbling with fear.