For Many a Long Day

by Anne Doughty

  She made up her mind, pulled on her jacket, collected the key of the door and walked quickly along the pavement until there was a gap in the flow of carts and motors large enough for her to cross to the other side of the road. A few minutes later, she was in the park, walking back up the narrow path towards the summer seat where she’d sat with Ruth and Tommy on Sunday.

  It was cooler today, the sun less bright, but it was warmer here in the park than in the empty, unheated house. She was suddenly aware that the sight of flowers and the rustle of drifting leaves at her feet had made her smile. Moments later, as she came up the slope, she smiled more broadly as she recognised the pleasant-faced, white-haired, elderly woman who had greeted them on Sunday. She was sitting on the summer seat she’d thought of sitting on herself, feeding an array of small birds with crumbs from a paper bag. She paused on the narrow path as she spotted a robin, bolder than the rest, hop on to the arm of the seat, his eye cocked expectantly. A few minutes later, the crumbs had all vanished. The robin had been given some expected treat and had now flown away.

  ‘Good morning,’ Ellie said, as she came up the seat, where bright eyes and a smiling face looked up at her. ‘I didn’t want to frighten your birds.’

  ‘That was kind of you. I do hope you’re going to come and sit down and talk to me. I’m fortunate enough not to be a lonely old woman, but I do miss talking to young people. Even some of my grandchildren are rapidly approaching middle-age,’ she said, laughing easily.

  Ellie thought what a lovely face she had. Though deeply lined as one would expect with someone in their seventies, or even eighties, the lines were not harsh. There seemed to be a hint of laughter in the very face itself.

  She sat down willingly.

  ‘I saw the robin come to your hand. My father has a wren that sits on the anvil, or even on his hammer, but it won’t come to his hand,’ she said smiling. ‘He says only a robin will do that.’

  ‘So you don’t live in Belfast, do you?’

  ‘No, I’m the wee cousin up from the country,’ she said, mimicking Tommy and laughing.

  ‘We’ll you certainly don’t look like a country cousin,’ the older woman replied, laughing heartily herself, as she ran an eye over Ellie’s pretty dress.

  As their laughter faded, Ellie saw her look away for a moment as if some sad or sudden thought had crossed her mind.

  ‘And where in the country is home? she asked, the smile returning as she spoke.

  ‘Near Armagh, a little place called Salter’s Grange.’

  ‘Is your father the blacksmith there?’

  Ellie nodded.

  ‘Then your grandfather was Thomas Scott and your father is Robert.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Ellie, quite taken aback, ‘how on earth do you know that?’

  ‘Because, my dear, my beloved John, who died six years ago this August, served his apprenticeship with Thomas and worked with him for many a long day,’ she said quietly, wiping a tear unselfconsciously from each eye. ‘And I once made a home in the old house opposite the forge, which I expect is a ruin by now.’

  ‘Then you must be Mrs Hamilton,’ said Ellie quickly. ‘I’ve heard my father talk about you and your living opposite the forge. He said you used to sing when you were doing your work.’

  ‘My goodness, what memories you bring …’

  Ellie watched her face change as she caught a hand to her mouth, almost as if she were afraid she might be overwhelmed by them.

  ‘You promise you won’t let me bore you,’ she said suddenly. ‘Old people can be so tedious,’ she went on, ‘telling the same old stories.’

  ‘But it’s not just old people that tell the same old stories,’ Ellie protested. ‘I’ve heard people not all that old tell the same old stories, but they’re always stories you’ve never asked to hear.’

  ‘Yes, you are quite right. It’s not the stories that are wrong, it’s the people themselves. The stories are what they want to believe. They don’t always have much to do with how things really were.’

  Ellie nodded, thinking of listening to Uncle John’s tirade the evening before.

  ‘Now do tell me your name, please. You must be Robert’s youngest daughter, but I haven’t seen him since John’s funeral. He and your mother both came to Rathdrum that day.’

  ‘That’s near Banbridge, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said, looking pleased.

  ‘I’m Ellie.’

  ‘Of course. Your mother was Ellen. I’ve only met her once and it was very briefly,’ she said, a slight frown shadowing her face. ‘And I’m Rose Hamilton. Please, please, call me Rose. I know it’s not usually done, but I’ve no one to call me Rose anymore,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because Ellie, although I am so very fortunate and have sons and daughters and grandchildren … and great-grandchildren,’ she added, with a little laugh, ‘I’m Ma … or Mother, when they’re being polite,’ she added, now laughing aloud, ‘or Granny or Grandma or even Grandmother, depending on which family it is and what they’ve been taught, but I no longer have my dear friends, Anne and Mary and Peggy and Selina and Elizabeth … and … others. So there’s no one left to call me Rose now,’ she ended wistfully.

  ‘Rose is a lovely name. I think you grew roses once at Salter’s Grange. I have a little garden in the ruins of the old house and there’s a pink rose I found there run wild.’

  ‘A rambler, with masses of tiny blooms and wicked little thorns?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie, her eyes lighting up with pleasure. ‘Could it possibly be what you planted?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. Perhaps it’s a great-great-grandchild. I’m not sure how long a rambler like that can go on propagating itself if it’s left to get on with it all on its own. But I have a grand-daughter called Rosie, who might know. She worked for McGredy’s in Portadown. She still gardens though she’d married now with three little ones. I’ll ask her when James next takes me to see her in Dromore.’

  ‘Is James your son, the gentleman you were walking with on Sunday?’

  ‘Yes, he is. He’s my eldest. Rather an important gentleman now, so I’m told, though he’s very modest about it himself. He’s in one of the Government Departments. Economic Development, I think it’s called. He’s been very busy moving his office from the City Hall to the new building up at Stormont. But he’s very good to me, drives me around to visit my family and takes me to the Mournes when I pine for the mountains. You can see the hills from this seat when the leaves fall, but I was born in Donegal and was brought up in Kerry, so these Antrim Hills aren’t quite what I call mountains. Though I am very fortunate to have them and this park.’

  ‘You can almost forget about the city when you’re sitting here, can’t you,’ Ellie said, looking towards the hills, still hidden by the summer’s growth, a quiet longing in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t you like the city, Ellie?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m always glad to come and see Auntie and my cousins, but I don’t think I’d like to live here. My bedroom is at the top of the house and I can see fields from my window. I think I was missing them this morning. And the little, humpy green hills of Armagh. I’m even missing the ride in and out to work in the town and getting wet as often as not,’ she ended laughing.

  ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘Freeburns. It’s a drapery business. It used to be quite small, but my boss is very go ahead.’

  ‘Yes, I think I can remember it. Just round the corner from the marketplace. It almost looks down Thomas Street. Mrs Freeburn used to sew mourning dress. She had a notice in the window … that was a long time ago …’

  ‘Were you remembering something very sad? Ellie asked, as the silence grew longer.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I was,’ she replied, nodding rather sadly. ‘One of my oft-told stories. About escaping with my children from a rail disaster, thanks to my sons James and Sam. But it’s much too sad a story for such a lovely morning.’
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br />   She paused and turned to look at Ellie directly. ‘Would it be very rude of me to ask if you have someone you hope to marry?’

  ‘No, not rude at all,’ said Ellie promptly.

  She wondered what to say, or where to start. She couldn’t remember ever having talked to an older woman as lively or as interesting as Rose Hamilton. She found herself wishing they really could be friends, then she could ask to hear her stories. What was it like when she was young? How had she met her husband? And how did she know he was the person she wanted to marry?

  She’d love to know about her children, daughters or sons, who they had married, what they’d done and where they all were. It seemed to her that if she were able to listen to Rose talking about her life, she would learn all the things that her mother had neither the patience, nor the wisdom, nor the interest to teach her.

  Neither of them was aware of time passing as Ellie spoke of George and their plans, of her sisters and what she knew of Canada, until a tall figure stopped in front of them, tipped his hat courteously and said with a slight smile: ‘Mother, I was told that you had gone missing without leave.’

  ‘Goodness, James, it can’t be lunch-time already?’

  ‘I am reliably informed that it is.’

  Rose and Ellie both laughed.

  ‘James, this delightful companion of mine is Ellie Scott, Robert Scott’s daughter. She’s visiting Annie Magowan, Annie Scott-that-was down on the Lisburn Road. Can you believe it?’

  ‘To my discredit, I seem to remember pulling that same lady’s hair in the schoolroom beside Grange Church. And you say she lives locally?’

  ‘Not only that, Mrs Wilson’s been buying our vegetables at Mr Magowan’s shop for years and we didn’t know he was Johnny Magowan from Ballyards.’

  ‘It is just possible that keeping the shop’s previous name may have confused us.’

  Ellie decided that James Hamilton was a nice man. He seemed to be laughing at himself very slightly all the time. His way of speaking was very friendly, even if it sounded a little bit formal to her and his accent was rather posh.

  ‘My dear, I can’t ask you to lunch, Mrs Wilson would scold me if she thought she wasn’t fully prepared, but please, will you come and see me again? Can you spare the time? What about lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘Not tomorrow, mother dear. Previous engagement.’

  ‘Oh what a nuisance,’ she said crossly. ‘When do you go, Ellie?’

  ‘Saturday morning. Quite early, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Friday then. Can you possibly come Friday? Come to me here when you can and we’ll have lunch and if you have to run away afterwards I’ll understand.’

  ‘I’d love to come,’ said Ellie, as Rose began to get awkwardly to her feet.

  She found it difficult to watch her struggle and wondered why James merely stood by, holding her stick till she was firmly on her feet.

  ‘There, I’m perfectly all right, you see,’ she said, smiling up at James. ‘Pleased as I am to see you, I would have come home by myself had I not been having such a happy morning.’

  ‘Perhaps mother, Ellie, if I may also call you so,’ he began, with a little bow toward her, ‘might need to know the number of our house. Then your meeting may not be prevented if it has the bad taste to rain on Friday.’

  Rose stopped, looked from one to the other, and laughed.

  ‘Yes, we know. Old ladies are forgetful. But why not, when I have far more important things to think about! Thank you Ellie, my dear, for a lovely morning. I shall look forward to Friday. Give my regards to your Aunt Annie, if she remembers me. Goodbye.’

  ‘Now have you got everythin’, love? Your ticket, your handbag and the carrier with the material, forby your wee case?’

  Ellie smiled as Aunt Annie went through the routine she’d heard her use every morning with Uncle John and Ruth and Bobby too on schooldays. Perhaps because her own mother had never bothered to make such an effort, she found it very endearing.

  ‘It’s a pity you hafta go in to come back out again, but then I suppose it’s only because you know the Armagh drivers that they’ll drop you off here. Time ye were away now and don’t be long till yer back, as the saying is. Tell your Ma and Da I was askin’ for them.’

  Annie came to the door with her, gave her a big hug and watched as she walked down the short garden path and disappeared behind the overgrown privet hedge. Minutes later, beyond her neighbour’s more ordered garden, she saw the small figure reappear, her case in one hand, her purchases in the other, her bag over her shoulder. Just as she reached the stop, Annie heard a tram approaching. She closed the door, well pleased her favourite niece had got off to a good start on her journey home.

  Ellie could hardly believe how quickly the week had passed and how very varied it had been. As they ran without any hold up past the bakery, past the junction with the avenue leading to the Workhouse and on towards the city centre bus station, she began to wonder what she would say when asked about her ‘holiday’. People always asked about holidays when you came back.

  It would have to be different things for different people of that she was sure. Daisy and Susie would want to know what she’d bought, which of the new styles had most prominence in the windows of Donegal Place and Royal Avenue and what she and Ruth had done together. Mr Freeburn would want a full report on leisure and sports clothing as displayed in the city centre. She might tell him she met Mrs Patterson in Robinson and Cleavers, but she would most certainly not mention her relationship with Miss Walker or what she’d said about Freeburns having such a shrewd buyer.

  She peered out of the window and saw the news she’d expected to see on the news boards. Further Rioting, said one. RUC baton charge, said another. There was no doubt what Charlie Running would want to hear about. She had a lot of questions to ask him too, though not quite as many as she would have had if James Hamilton had not appeared for lunch the previous day.

  He’d been to a meeting with the Mayor in the City Hall which had ended earlier than he’d expected and Rose had wanted to know what was going to happen. How did the Guardians hope to stop the rioting without making concessions? What point was there in delay when all the time distress was increasing and property being destroyed.

  Ellie was quite surprised at Rose’s questions, but it was clear she knew a good deal more about strikes and stoppages than she would have guessed. She referred to other labour troubles and asked why the government was still in recess. At one point she asked quite sharply why it had met in September merely to extend the recess to November when there was a full scale crisis on their doorstep.

  James was very proper and said nothing that was still confidential, but Rose made very shrewd guesses. When she said that they thought if they weren’t in session they couldn’t be blamed for what was happening James had to admit that ‘she wasn’t far wrong’. But after that, it was Rose herself who changed the subject and asked Ellie about her cousins.

  The Armagh bus was not very full and the conductor put all her luggage safely up on the racks out of her way. At least this time she didn’t have to worry about breaking the eggs.

  Once out of the city, the journey went very well. She sat back and watched the line of the hills slip away behind them as they approached Lisburn. Gratefully, she ran her eyes over the trees lining the route. Even a week further on they were showing much more positive signs of autumn. In the main street of Moira, the four large trees that lined the road had spread inches of shrivelled leaves over the footpaths. Men with twig brooms were sweeping vigorously. Heaps of leaves, like small haystacks were awaiting collection by a horse and cart, a big heavy horse with broad shoulders and gentle eyes. Just like the ones that came to the forge from the surrounding farms.

  She thought of Robinson’s next door and then of George. There’d been no letter in the week before she came away, so there should be a letter waiting. Yes, she was glad to be going home, whatever she might find there.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Autumn lin
gered that year, the weather still fine and pleasant as Ellie settled back into her routine at home and the young staff of Freeburns began the customary preparations for Christmas and the January sale. Susie had her fifteenth birthday in November, invited all her colleagues to a party, which they enjoyed enormously, and began to make real progress with her ambition to get Joe to talk a bit more. Daisy continued to go out with Frank Armstrong, but now no longer blushed every time his name was mentioned. Nor did she try to convince anyone that his asking her out was just his ‘being polite’.

  There was no longer any tennis to look forward to, but it seemed that the redeployment of Miss Walker, the arrival of Susie, and Ellie’s own promotion to Senior Assistant had brought about a marked change in the atmosphere in Freeburns. Everyone seemed happier and little treats and outings were now planned every few weeks to help them keep their spirits up as the days shortened and got much colder.

  December came with regular flurries of sleet, snow and chilling rain, as wet as July had been, but infinitely more uncomfortable. As Ellie bent her head against the bitter wind on her journeys to and from Armagh, she tried to keep her thoughts away from her cold, wet legs and the moisture running down her icy face, by thinking of all the pleasant things that had happened in the previous months.

  There were small and slightly unexpected events, like the smile on Mr Freeburn face when the items she’d recommended before her holiday had arrived and he’d seen them put on display. There was the success of her new dress. While there might be no opportunity to wear it yet, it was still a great pleasure to have something hanging on the back of the bedroom door that fitted perfectly and suited her so well. She’d never thought she could cut on the bias like the magazines had recommended, but she’d persevered and she’d managed it.