by Anne Bennett
And long may it continue, he thought and it had a chance if Angela wasn’t having a child every year. Bringing babies into the world, she might struggle to cope and finding enough for them to eat would be a constant headache … What woman in that situation would enjoy sex when at the end there might be yet another mouth to feed?
‘Penny for them,’ Angela said.
‘Oh they’re not worth a penny,’ Barry said dismissively. ‘I was just thinking how much I want to ravish my lady wife but will have to contain myself till tonight.’ Angela laughed and Barry grabbed her around the waist and whispered huskily in her ear, ‘But it will be all the sweeter for the wait.’
‘Barry!’ Angela protested. ‘Stop it, you are getting me all of a fluster. Hold my hand while we go round the flower beds and try and control yourself.’
With a broad grin on his face, Barry did as Angela asked but she wasn’t really cross, rather she felt wanted and desired by the person she loved most in the entire world.
The next day Barry took Angela to the canal. He was no stranger to the canal for he had learnt to swim in there like his brothers before him. Most boys learnt to swim in the ‘cut’ as it was called, but it was skinny dipping so nice girls didn’t go near. Angela had been one of the nice girls, Mary had seen to that, and she’d looked at the dirty, torpid oil-slicked water that smelled quite rank and thought she hadn’t missed much not being allowed near the canal. And she also knew that whatever inducement had been offered, she wouldn’t have gone into that water for a pension and she was glad she was a girl and would never have been expected to.
However, it was very pleasant walking along the towpath and periodically stepping out of the way of the shaggy enormous-hooved horses that pulled the highly decorated barges through the water. ‘Why are they decorated with elephants and roses?’ Angela asked.
Barry shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘Always have been so maybe no one remembers the reason why now. Dad told us lads that what the boat people really don’t like is being called river gypsies.’
‘Why?’
‘Cos they aren’t I suppose,’ Barry said. ‘Dad said they were farmers and thrown off the land when the railways came in. I suppose this was the only way of earning a living and giving them somewhere to live as well.’
‘I suppose,’ Angela agreed. ‘Really that’s what life is all about isn’t it, making enough money to live on?’
She felt sorry for the boaties, as Daddy said they were known, and she had heard many talk of them in a disparaging way. They wore a uniform of sorts, thick boots, cord trousers, cotton shirt, a waistcoat and always a cap. The women wore dark dresses nearly to the floor though often their boots could be seen peeping out beneath them. Their shawls though were more colourful and their bonnets were trimmed with lace. Their children in comparison were very scantily clad in a variety of items and usually barefoot and skipped nimbly from boat to towpath and back again with ease, helping their parents operate the locks.
She had found the whole thing fascinating and she had enjoyed their couple of days off. They couldn’t afford any more time off work however and so the next day Angela was back in the shop and customers found that though she’d always been a happy person before, now it like she had a sort of glow about her, for though she was still young she had become a woman like them. Something else gave her more self-assurance than before and that wasn’t totally due to being loved up so effectively by Barry – it was to do with her feeling of belonging.
The McCluskys had welcomed her freely into their home and treated her as one of the family and though she loved them all and she couldn’t have loved Mary and Matt more if she had been born to them, as she grew up it had bothered her that her name was Kennedy for Matt and Mary had not adopted her in the normal way, but just took her to live with them. She had not been lacking in love and it shouldn’t have mattered what her name was. It did, however, and she wasn’t sure why it did, and she could never have told Matt or Mary, for they would never have understood and would undoubtedly have been upset. However, now legally she was a McClusky and Barry’s parents were hers too and that made her very happy and contented.
Life continued as it always had. Some days Matt was quite bright and other times very ill. Barry reminded her that each day was a bonus and on days when Matt was well, Barry often spent most of the evening reading snippets out of the paper for him and they’d fall to discussing the articles. Mary liked to see Barry showing so much concern for his father and giving him some time, for Mary said he looked forward to Barry coming home because time hung heavy on him.
None spoke of how long Matt had, though they all knew it couldn’t be long and privately Angela wondered if he would see Christmas.
When December arrived, however, Matt was still with them, though he slept most of the day and it was Angela who was feeling under the weather and when she was sick in the chamber pot a few mornings running Barry was beside himself with worry. ‘You’re doing too much in that bloody shop,’ he railed. ‘Caught a chill, most likely as well, going out at the crack of dawn. You’ll have to tell him it’s too much for you.’
Angela knew that Barry was more anxious than angry and she hid her smile because she was fairly certain she knew what ailed her. She hadn’t had her monthlies either and she knew they stopped when you were expecting a baby, Mary had told her that, and part of her wanted to catch up Barry’s hands and tell him he was going to be a father and dance him around the room at the delight of it all. But she hesitated to say anything because Barry had gone on about the body being pulled out of her if they had a lot of children too close together. He might think this pregnancy too soon, though he must have known there was a good chance of her becoming that way with the sex they enjoyed nearly every night.
Mary couldn’t understand her. She had noticed the absence of rags steeping in a bucket of disinfected water every month and heard Angela being sick in the morning and wondered why there had been no announcement. She knew Angela was excited and yet it was a muted excitement and Barry seemed to be totally unaware, at all, and so it was about halfway through December when she said to Angela as she came in from work one evening, ‘Isn’t there something you need to share with Barry?’
Angela stared at her. ‘You know!’
‘Course I know,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve got eyes and ears and a brain in my head, but apart from all that there’s a sort of look about you, oh I don’t know how to describe it, just something different, but men don’t see these things. Barry doesn’t know does he?’
Angela shook her head.
‘But why haven’t you told him?’ Mary asked.
Then Angela told her about Barry wanting to space any family they might have so that she wasn’t worn down with it.
‘Well, ‘Mary said, ‘I don’t know how he intends to do that. I think you just must be grateful for whatever God sends.’
‘I thought he might feel it was too soon.’
‘Now, listen to me,’ Mary said. ‘All that planning your family rubbish is for the future surely. This is your first child and I’ll tell you if I know my son, he will be tickled pink at the news and I should not delay telling him. Oh,’ she added, ‘and when you do don’t let on that you’ve mentioned it to me first. It’s important that the husband is the first to know.’
Mary was right, Barry was so delighted he didn’t know what to do with himself and he picked Angela up, spun her round, declared she was a clever girl and kissed her passionately and the next thing he said was, ‘Who else knows?’
‘No one.’
‘No one?’ Barry repeated. ‘Not even Mammy?’
‘No one,’ Angela assured him, ‘Though maybe your mother guesses something’s up. We’ll tell her together tonight.’
Barry suddenly clasped his hands to his head and cried, ‘God, I can scarcely believe I’m going to be a father.’
‘You’d better because it’s going to happen,’ Angela said.
‘My darling you’ve made me the ha
ppiest man in the world,’ Barry said, holding Angela tight.
Angela laughed lightly and said, ‘Especially when I deliver a son for you.’
‘Son or daughter makes no odds to me.’
‘I thought all men wanted a son?’
‘I am not all men,’ Barry said. ‘And how could I not love a baby you and I have made with love?’
‘Ah, Barry,’ Angela said and she melted into his arms.
Barry was so concerned about Angela’s pregnancy that he began to irritate everyone. He would barely let Angela lift a finger and said that she definitely had to give up her job. In the end, Angela told him to stop fussing. She wasn’t ill and now that she was over the sickness she felt as fit as a fiddle. ‘And as for giving up my job, don’t you think I will be giving that up soon enough and then won’t we miss my money and the bags of groceries I bring home every week?’
Barry knew Angela spoke the truth and seeing the sense of her words said grudgingly, ‘All right, keep your job if it means so much to you but I don’t want you climbing steps or on chairs to reach things.’
‘George wouldn’t let me do anything like that,’ Angela said reassuringly. ‘He’s almost as bad as you.’
And he was, Angela was being honest, but he wasn’t that happy about Angela’s pregnancy because he knew that he was soon to lose her and would have to get someone else in to help him. He had thought and hoped, being so young, it might be some time before they began a family.
Angela liked George and they got on well together but she often sensed an inner sadness in him that seemed to make him a more caring person and he was extra solicitous towards Angela once he knew of her pregnancy and she told this to Barry to set his mind at rest. Barry was relieved but as he held Angela close he told her what he really wanted was to earn a decent wage so that he could provide for them all.
TEN
Even before Angela announced her pregnancy Barry knew he would have to get Angela’s old bed downstairs for his father, because now he was too ill to make the bedroom on his own and the stairs were so narrow, it was difficult for Barry to carry him. It was even more cramped in the small living room with the bed in place but no one bothered complaining, there was nothing else to be done. Now someone would have to sit with him all night too, dozing as well as they could in the chair. ‘That will be my job of course,’ Barry said.
‘Why you of course?’ Angela said.
‘Because it’s not a job for you,’ Barry said. ‘Not for women, particularly you and my mother. It will be too much for her.’
‘Isn’t that for me to say?’ Mary asked her son. ‘And let me tell you, I have more experience of spending the night in a chair and taking what rest I can, for when three of your brothers got the whooping cough I stayed up night after night so Matt could get his rest, for he had a job to do. And so if you think you are doing this by yourself you are mistaken, for you will not be fit to do your job if you were to do that. And remember, Matt is my husband, so my responsibility.’
Barry shook his head. ‘Not totally, Mammy,’ he said. ‘He is my father and if he was of right mind what d’you think he’d say to me letting you sit up with him night after night and me seeking my bed as if he was nothing to me?’
‘Why don’t we take it in turns then?’ Angela said. ‘And before anyone says a word, Matt is my father too and this way we will only have to do it every third day and we still won’t be leaving him alone.’
And so it was established and when she told Barry of her pregnancy he did balk a bit at her missing sleep and spending her nights in an uncomfortable chair, but he was overruled by Angela and Mary. In this way they limped through Christmas as Matt took a downward turn. He was slipping in and out of consciousness and everyone knew one time he wouldn’t wake up again. The neighbours came to see if they could help but there was little they could do, and when the priest saw the state of him he said he should have been told how ill he was and he needed to administer the Last Rites, and it didn’t matter a jot that he was unconscious. Mary was greatly comforted when the Last Rites had been given to Matt who, she knew, would soon meet his Maker. The doctor also popped in periodically and when he came just after Christmas, he told Mary Matt was holding on by a hair’s breadth and he could go any time.
That was not news to any of them and yet Mary was very glad that she was the one with Matt when the end came in the early hours of Tuesday 8th January 1913. Matt had been restless that night and so Mary had been unable to settle and was sitting beside his bed wishing she could do something, anything to ease his passing, when he suddenly opened his eyes. Mary was startled because she hadn’t seen his eyes wide open like that for a while and they weren’t rheumy and pain-riddled, but seemed quite clear and she was even more amazed when he fastened those eyes on her and said, ‘We were a good team, Mary,’ for Matt had said nothing except the odd unintelligible mumble for some time. However she replied in like manner, ‘We were, Matt, a very good team indeed.’ They weren’t a couple to show affection for one another. It wasn’t their way, but uncharacteristically Mary leant forward and kissed Matt’s dry paper-thin cheek. She saw his lips turn upwards in a slight smile before his eyelids slid shut again. Mary sat back down in the chair and held Matt’s hand firmly and eventually his rasping gasps for breath slowed and she knew he was nearing the end even before she heard the death rattle in his throat.
The room was suddenly very still and Mary knew Matt was gone. With a sigh Mary got to her feet and pulled the sheet over her husband’s face before going upstairs to wake Barry.
Barry had thought that because he knew his father was dying, had known for a while, that when he eventually did it would be easier to bear, but he found that wasn’t the case at all. ‘I suppose it’s because death is so final,’ he said to Angela.
‘I suppose so,’ she replied brokenly. ‘Oh God, Barry, I will miss him so very much.’
Both Angela and his mother seemed awash with tears and Barry envied them those tears because what he wanted to do was throw himself on the floor and howl his eyes out. But he knew that was a luxury he couldn’t allow himself for everyone was relying on him. He was a bit at sea himself and very grateful to Stan Bishop who had told him when his father was diagnosed with terminal illness he would help him with the arrangements for the funeral and so forth if he wanted him to. Barry did indeed need his advice. He had to see him anyway to take a few days off and Stan proved to be a tower of strength.
As was the custom, the neighbours had a whip-round for flowers and though Mary accepted the flowers with good grace, she told Angela she wouldn’t be surprised if Matt was turning in his grave. ‘Couldn’t abide flowers on a grave that would just wither and die in no time at all,’ she said. ‘He always said if the one who died is the man of the house and maybe the sole breadwinner any money collected should be given to the widow to buy food or to help with the rent. No one can eat flowers.’
Maybe not, but a good send-off was considered of great importance so on the day of the funeral the wreath from the neighbours was laid on the coffin before the altar at St Catherine’s alongside the family flowers. It was also fairly littered with Mass Cards, which were sent by Catholic relatives and good friends, including Matt and Mary’s two sons in America. They both sent loving letters of condolence and each had folded a ten-dollar bill inside the envelope which they said was to ‘help’ with things. It was more money than Mary had ever seen in her life and Barry advised her to put it straight into the Post Office where they would change it to sterling.
The day was a keen one and it was cold enough in the lofty church during the long and mournful Requiem Mass, despite the fact that it was packed. Angela dreaded the walk to Key Hill Cemetery in Hockley in such cold and as they stepped out of the church their breath escaped in wispy trails from their mouths and they were assailed by a biting wind sending flurries of ice-laden snow that fell from a leaden sky.
The coffin was pushed before them on a cart as they walked in a procession, led by Fat
her Brannigan. Barry came after him, with his arm around his mother and Stan Bishop took care of Angela. Everyone else followed behind and stood dithering at the graveside while Father Brannigan intoned prayers for the dear departed.
Eventually it was over, the prayers said, the coffin lowered, the clods of earth thrown on top and the crowds turned thankfully to make their way to the back room of The Swan public house on Bell Barn Road where Mary and Angela had made enough food to feed the masses, helped greatly by George Maitland who had donated a great deal of the food and willingly gave Angela time off to be with Mary and help her through this dreadful time. Mary shed tears at George’s generosity and only wished she could thank him in person but it was Saturday, and that was his busiest day in the shop and though he would have liked to close to attend the funeral he knew he would let a lot of people down if he did that.
Many people marvelled at the spread the two women had managed to conjure up in those austere days. They certainly appreciated it and Angela watched the food they had taken days to prepare disappear faster than the speed of light. She couldn’t begrudge them, though, for by coming to the funeral they were showing respect for Mary, and Angela knew if Mary thought she had the support of the neighbours it would help her cope better.
And the neighbours did gather around Mary after the funeral which meant Angela could stop worrying about her and mourn Matt herself. But life must go on and she returned to work the day after the funeral and accepted condolences from George and many customers, knowing that the pain at the loss of Matt would eventually settle to a bearable ache and she would be able to look forward to the birth of her baby who she thought would help them all.
