by Anne Bennett
She stood in the playground and let the memories flow, her and Maggie skipping or throwing a ball up the wall or joining with others to play cops and robbers or tag. The bell was rung by an older child as it had been in her day and when the teachers came into the playground the children lined up in front of them and Connie went up to the teacher who was obviously Mrs Cleary and pointed her mother out and the teacher approached her smiling. ‘Connie didn’t really need to point you out for she is the image of you,’ she said to Angela.
‘I know, but she’s excited I’m here. I don’t usually make it because I work long hours in a shell factory. I’m playing hookey today.’
‘She told me what you do. You have a bright girl there, Mrs McClusky. She says her father is a soldier.’
‘He is,’ Angela said. She bit her lip anxiously and then because the teacher was so approachable, she went on, ‘He’s missing, not officially, but we have heard nothing for more than five weeks. I’ve had the day off to see if I can find out more.’
‘Oh good luck,’ Mrs Cleary said. ‘I must get the children back to the classroom before they break ranks and run amok in the playground, but I do hope you find all is well.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angela and watched Mrs Cleary leading her class in, with Connie giving her a surreptitious little wave as she turned the corner, which caused a smile to tug at Angela’s mouth.
The women in the office at Thorp Street Barracks couldn’t really help. ‘I thought you might have casualty lists or something,’ Angela said.
‘We will have,’ said the young woman behind the desk. ‘You must understand they are difficult to compile when the conflict is still going on.’
‘And you must understand that Barry is my husband, the father of our daughter, and I am desperate to know what has happened to him.’
‘I know,’ the girl said more sympathetically. ‘You’re not the first to ask, believe me.’
‘Maybe that’s because we are told nothing,’ Angela said ironically. ‘See, these are not numbers on a page, or percentages, they are people, sons, fathers, sweethearts and uncles and these people need to know and as soon as possible what has happened to their loved ones. Has anyone even made an educated guess how many have died in this Offensive to date?’
The girl shook her head. ‘They may have done that, but I have no figures given to me.’
Angela felt suddenly so helpless and downhearted. She felt her shoulders sag and she had the desire to lie on the floor and weep.
‘Look,’ the girl said. ‘All I can advise is to try to be patient for if anything has happened to your husband you will be informed in due course.’
‘And that’s all the help you can give me?’
‘Yes I’m afraid it is.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angela, wondering what she was thanking her for.
She thought of going back to work, but she was too dispirited. They had all known in the factory why she’d had the time off and would be asking questions she couldn’t answer and it would make her feel worse than ever.
On the other hand, going home to Mary to tell her she knew no more than when she had set out that morning was not a great prospect either. But she could hardly walk the streets all day and she supposed Mary had to know how it went regardless and so she turned for home and arrived in tears.
Mary cried too when Angela told her what had happened at the Barracks with the girl in the office. Later, when she was calmer she said, ‘I was so cross with the girl behind the desk and it really wasn’t her fault. She was only young and if she hasn’t been given the information there is nothing she can do about it.’
‘I suppose not,’ Mary said. ‘We just have to wait then?’
‘Fraid so.’
‘Bloody hard isn’t it?’
‘It is bloody hard. I think it’s the hardest thing in the world.’
Angela was glad when it was time to collect Connie. Connie had not known whether she would or not, so she was delighted to see her mother and all the way home she chuntered on about her day and how good it had been. They were going to go in the front door, but there was something stopping it from opening so they went in the entry door. They found the body of Mary slumped against the front door, blocking it, and there was a crumpled telegram in her hand.
With a cry Angela was on her knees beside her. Mary wasn’t dead, as she had feared, but she needed help and Angela went out of the entry where the children were playing and sent Freddie Webster for the doctor for she knew him to be a sensible boy who lived down the yard. The doctor had a surgery on Bristol Street, which was no distance, and Angela watched Freddie’s legs pounding as he tore down the street and knew he would be there in no time and gave a sigh of relief.
Connie was sitting on the floor patting Mary’s face gently and as her mother came in the entry door she turned with troubled eyes and said, ‘Why won’t Granny wake up?’
Angela got down on the floor beside her daughter and held her close as she said, ‘Granny is very tired and needs the doctor to help her wake up.’
‘Oh. Is he coming then?’
‘Yes he’s on his way,’ Angela said. ‘So soon Granny will be as right as rain again.’
‘Yes,’ said Connie, happier now for she knew doctors were very clever people, not that she ever went to the doctor’s because they cost money and anyway she was never sick, not that sick to need a doctor. But if there was something wrong with Granny that needed a doctor he would fix her in no time, she was sure.
‘Now we need to make Granny more comfortable,’ Angela said. ‘We need a pillow and a blanket.’
‘I’ll get them, Mammy.’
‘You get the pillow from my bed,’ Angela suggested, getting to her feet. ‘I’ll fetch the blanket, it’s too big for you and you might fall down the stairs.’
When they returned to the room Angela moved Mary a little away from the door and placed the pillow beneath her head and tucked the blanket around her as Freddie’s mother, Nancy put her head around the entry door and said, ‘Our Freddie’s just come in and said you sent him for the doctor.’ She came into the room as she spoke and saw Mary comatose on the floor. ‘Oh my God! What’s happened to Mary?’
‘This happened,’ Angela said, indicating the crumpled telegram she had prised from Mary’s grasp and put on the mantelpiece.
‘Barry?’ Nancy asked and Angela just gave a brief nod because Connie was watching her and she knew who Barry was.
‘Ah poor soul,’ Nancy said sympathetically. ‘And poor you.’
Nancy’s words caused tears to prickle behind Angela’s eyes because she hadn’t even begun yet to deal with the enormity of her loss.
Then Nancy turned to Connie and said, ‘Would you like to come and play with our Jenny?’
Jenny was a big girl of eight, but Connie shook her head. ‘I need to stay with Mammy. I want to see my Granny wake up.’
‘The doctor might send her to hospital so they can help her,’ Nancy said. ‘And you wouldn’t want her to go on her own would you?’
Connie shook her head and Nancy said, ‘Well I’m sure your Mom would like to go with her and when your Granny wakes up she’ll like it if your Mom is there, but she can’t take you with her because they don’t let children into hospitals.’
Connie turned to her mother and said, ‘Don’t they?’
Angela shook her head for tears were too close to risk speaking. Nancy was aware of this and knew it was important to get the child away because Angela was holding herself together with difficulty.
Nancy bent down on her hunkers and said, ‘So d’you want to come home with me then? I’m sure I have a spare thruppenny bit in my purse and you could go down Bristol Street with our Jen and buy some sweets.’
Connie smiled and Nancy stood up and held out her hand and Connie took it and as they passed Angela Nancy said quietly, ‘Don’t worry about tonight, she can stop with us if it makes life easier.’
‘Thank you,’ Angela said brokenly. ‘You are very
kind.’
The door had barely shut behind Nancy and Connie when Angela sank to her knees as her legs refused to hold her up and, as the tears flowed, anguished sobs came from deep within her. She cried in deep sadness and despair at the loss of her lovely Barry. It was as if a deep black hole had opened up in front of her for she couldn’t visualize a future without him.
Angela had got a grip on herself by the time the doctor arrived minutes later. He said that Mary had suffered a heart attack, which Angela had thought it was and said she had to go to hospital immediately. He asked Angela if she knew what might have caused it and she showed him the telegram. ‘Her son?’
‘Is he also your husband?’ the doctor asked and Angela nodded mutely and he understood her distress and saw that she was barely coping with it.
She travelled in the ambulance with Mary holding her hand and then she sat for hours on a hard chair in a bleak corridor with paint peeling from the walls and illuminated by small high and very dirty windows and she thought about Barry. She wondered how he died and hoped it had been a quick death. She would hate to think of him suffering and thought she would never know.
And she suddenly knew what it was all about. God had enacted his revenge and Barry had paid the ultimate price for her transgression. Mary might pay as well for she wasn’t out of the woods yet and they said the next twenty-four hours would be critical and if she pulled through, she had a chance.
Mary made it through the night and as soon as Angela knew that, she went off to the factory and gave in her notice. News of what had happened to Barry and Mary McClusky had flown around the area as it tended to, especially in those cramped streets and so Maggie had heard all about it and told all her workmates as soon as she arrived at the factory and they all felt sorry for Angela.
‘Shame about her old man copping it like that,’ one girl remarked. ‘But I bet she weren’t so bothered about her mother-in law. I wouldn’t mind a bit if mine popped her clogs ’cos she’s a right pain in the neck.’
‘Oh it isn’t a bit like that for Angela,’ Maggie said. ‘Her mother-in-law Mary brought her up.’
‘How come?’
Maggie found herself telling the whole tale of Angela’s childhood, engendering even more sympathy for her. So when she arrived to give notice everyone, including Mrs Paget, made a fuss of her and said how sorry they were about Barry and his mother and Mr Potter expressed his deepest condolences. He quite understood why she had to leave and said so as he shook her by the hand and said she was one of the best drivers he’d ever had working for him. She left feeling she had been greatly liked and appreciated and though it didn’t change what had happened, it made her better able to cope.
Despite how her workmates felt about her though, she knew if Mary died it would be her fault, like Barry’s death was, and it caused an ache in her heart every time she thought of this. Overlying it all though was a feeling of guilt that she knew she would always feel and she deserved to. That was her punishment.
Mary didn’t die, though they said her heart was very weak and another heart attack would probably kill her. But if she had a stress-free life and no heavy physical exertion she might live some years yet.
Mary wasn’t impressed and said she wished they hadn’t fought so hard to save her, and this upset Angela for she wasn’t sure what she would have done if she had lost Mary too, and she prayed hard for her to pull through, and she said she needn’t have bothered, but of course she couldn’t argue with Mary and risk upsetting her.
A week later Mary was much better physically so they were getting ready to release her from hospital and the doctor asked her if she had any pain in the chest area. ‘I have a throbbing, almost unbearable ache constantly in my heart,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it for there’s not a physical cause. It’s just the tearing pain I have with the loss of another son. I am more than ready to go home. There’s worse than me might need this bed.’
Angela knew exactly how Mary felt for her pain too was sometimes agonizing and she got through it, one day at a time. She had told Connie her daddy wouldn’t be coming home, but she didn’t seem that bothered and Angela tried not to let that upset her. After all she was too young when he left for her to remember him and lots of her friends’ daddies were away too. In fact there were few men about generally. In contrast to Connie’s reaction, Finbarr and Colm were totally devastated by news of their young brother’s death. They sent heartfelt condolences and Mass cards for Masses to be said for the repose of his soul. Even Father Brannigan sounded sincere for a change when he said how sorry he was.
A fortnight after the telegram, a letter came. It was from Barry’s commanding officer expressing his condolences. He described Barry as an outstanding young man he had been proud to know for he proved to be honest, reliable and brave, and saying the loss of him must be a grievous one for them to bear. He went on to describe him as a first-rate soldier too and completely fearless in battle. He put his life on the line many times to save comrades and, stalwart to the end, he eventually gave his life to save another and he would be recommending him for a military medal.
When Angela finished reading the letter out to Mary and folded it up she had tears in her eyes, but they were tears of pride. ‘Thought a lot of our Barry obviously.’
‘And why wouldn’t he be?’ Angela asked. ‘Barry is a son and husband we can both be proud of.’
‘He is that,’ Mary said. ‘Now I wish I could find out what had happened to Stan.’
‘Stan must be dead, Mammy,’ said Angela. ‘I wrote to his sister after we got the telegram to see if she had news of him and in her reply she said that the deal she made with Stan was for no contact.’
‘I know that but surely the war changed all that?’
‘Not as far as Betty was concerned. Stan wrote to her once to explain he was enlisting and telling her about the money put in trust for Daniel when he is twenty-one, but she didn’t reply.’
‘So he could be alive or dead and she’d never know?’
‘That’s about the strength of it,’ Angela said. ‘We are his point of contact. Any telegram or communication would come here. I don’t understand why we haven’t had a telegram or anything, but after all this time he must be dead.’
Stan wasn’t dead, but he was in hospital, or the loony bin as he preferred to call it. When they collected him up from the battlefield he was unconscious and it was some time before he realized it had been Barry McClusky who had saved his life and so lost his own, and he had wanted to weep, for it was the opposite of what he would have wanted to happen.
He had not got away totally unscathed and they were ages putting his insides back together again and then they had to dig shrapnel out of his body, but he knew he would survive physically. Whether he would ever get over the mental anguish he felt when he thought of Barry sacrificing himself for the worthless person he thought he was, was another matter.
Barry had had so much going for him, a lovely wife, an adorable child, a mother who thought the sun shone out of him and a job he had enjoyed and was good at. His own life was sterile in comparison. No one would grieve overmuch if he had died in the war. He more or less expected death and instead he was still here now because of Barry.
Stan knew they were all worried about his mental state and put some of it down to battle fatigue because he had been in it since the beginning, and he couldn’t really explain about the black cloud that hung over him. He only knew it would never disappear. It would always be there because he had inadvertently hurt the woman he loved.
He loved Angela with every shred of his being, though he had never shown it. He was an honourable man and wanted Angela to be happy and knew that what would make her happy was if Barry was to return from the war unscathed. It was his fault that Barry wasn’t doing that because he would be alive if he hadn’t taken the full force of the exploding shell. Barry sacrificed his own life in an effort to save Stan’s miserable skin. However could he face Angela with that on his co
nscience?
Well he couldn’t he decided and he had told the authorities there was no one to inform about his whereabouts, so no one knew where he was, but as soon as he could convince the doctors he was sane enough to be released, he would disappear into the countryside where no one knew him.
Through the late spring and summer of that year Mary and Angela coped with the loss of Barry in their own way and Connie helped a great deal and prevented them sinking into serious depression and gradually they didn’t so much ‘get over it’ but rather learned to live with the pain. ‘Day to day I can cope as long as I keep busy, but odd things catch you out like the other day someone was whistling a tune Barry used to whistle.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Mary said. ‘Mind how the two of us would nag Barry not to take his socks off and throw them down in the room and he would take no notice?’
‘I remember.’
‘Well I came upon one the other day,’ Mary said. ‘It was behind a cushion and I cried bucket-loads and I thought if he was here now he could throw his socks wherever he wanted to.’
Angela smiled ruefully. ‘Seems irrelevant now,’ she said. ‘I crossed the road the other day to avoid the hurdy-gurdy man because the memories of the last time we saw him were too painful.’
The summer drew to a close and the schools reopened and Connie was as keen as ever to go back, especially as Angela drew money out of the savings to buy her some serviceable clothes for school, a thick coat, woolly stockings and stout boots for the winter and when she was all dressed up in her new things to show her Granny she said she was as smart as paint.
Angela hated the slide into the dark nights of winter for since the attack she’d been afraid of the dark. And she hated the way sometimes the mornings seemed reluctant to start the day and it was often murky and grey and sometimes that continued into the day. And that’s how it was on Monday 11th November when the church bells began to peal. All the churches around were chiming out the joyful news that the war, which had near annihilated all their menfolk was over at last. The bells had been silent for four years and everyone knew what it meant when they were chiming now.
