by Anne Bennett
‘I demand to know what she’s complained of,’ Francis said. ‘How else can I protest against it?’
‘Don’t even think you can,’ Mary answered scathingly. ‘If you examine your conscience, you’ll know what Bridie has complained of. And I’m telling you it has to stop, here and now. You think if she complains she won’t be believed, she’s even told me that. Well, let me tell you, if this doesn’t stop, the letters she’s sent to me, telling me what you try to do and what you say, will be given to prominent people in your life. Aunt Delia, for example, or Father O’Dwyer. Believe me, if you do not leave my sister alone she will not be the one painted black in this instance because I’ll tell my tale too. Some people might then begin to wonder about Sally McCormack so think on, Uncle Francis.’
Francis began to bluster. ‘Mary, for God’s sake. You know there was no proof that I’d ever touched that gypsy brat. As for your sister … Well, let’s just say she has a vivid imagination.’
‘And me? Have I a vivid imagination too?’
‘You misunderstood me.’
‘Like Hell I did,’ Mary spat out.
‘Look, Mary, Bridie has got the whole thing wrong, out of proportion. That’s all it was and that’s all I’m prepared to say on the subject.’
‘Well, it isn’t all I’m prepared to say,’ Mary barked out angrily. ‘I don’t care what label you put it under, or how you try to justify it, if she writes to me in the same vein again, you will have cooked your goose as far as your family, your wife and your standing in the community are concerned. I hope you understand that.’
Francis understood all right. He stood at the crossroads of his life and he knew if he was to go forward, Mary would ruin him. Somehow, he had to control the fascination Bridie held for him in order to keep the life he had and, though he made no reply, Mary knew she’d frightened him and dearly hoped it was enough to help her sister.
CHAPTER THREE
Mary never told Bridie of the conversation she had with their uncle Francis and the threat she’d issued, so Bridie didn’t look for any significant change in his behaviour once Mary left for home.
But at the harvest, which the two families had always worked together, Uncle Francis was quite curt with her, when he spoke at all. She didn’t see why he should seem so annoyed with her, but preferred that attitude to his previous one, so didn’t bother worrying over it.
She still viewed the coming winter – the rambling season and Christmas – with apprehension, but she needn’t have worried. Francis made no attempt to waylay her, or even say anything slightly suggestive, but rather seemed to avoid her if he could.
She was able to say this in a letter to Mary, who was glad she hadn’t Bridie to worry about for that autumn she had discovered she was expecting again. The baby was due in April and she knew she’d have her hands full soon enough.
In the New Year 1931, Father Dwyer began a fortnightly social in the church hall for young Catholic boys and girls over the age of sixteen. There was to be no strong drink, but it was a place to meet and chat and dance to the records played on the old gramophone belonging to the priest.
It hardly headed the list of exciting places to be but, as Rosalyn said, it was better than nothing and might brighten up those bleak winter months. Nearly everyone in the place was known to them anyway – most of the girls they’d been at school with, while the boys were usually their brothers or cousins, or friends they’d known for years.
Bridie could have been in great demand and yet as the winter came to an end, she’d given none of the boys the slightest encouragement to take an interest in her. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Rosalyn asked, as they walked home together one night. ‘It isn’t as if you don’t know the boys. You even know most of their families.’
‘I know.’
‘Don’t you like any of them?’
‘Not particularly. Not the way you mean.’
‘Don’t you want to be kissed and held and … well, you know?’
Oh how well Bridie knew and she also knew she’d had enough of that sort of carry-on with her uncle to last her a lifetime. There was anyway no point in it.
‘You’ll never get married the way you go on,’ Rosalyn told her.
‘I might not want to get married.’
‘Oh God, Bridie, you can’t want to be an old maid?’
‘Look, Rosalyn,’ Bridie said. ‘Say I really liked one of those farmers’ sons at the social tonight and we began walking out together. If we should decide in time to get married, where would I live? If I moved out of the farmhouse what would happen to Mammy and Daddy?’
‘They’d get someone in to help them. Lots have to do that,’ Rosalyn said. ‘You can’t stay with your parents all the days of your life, Bridie. It’s not healthy.’
But Bridie knew her father would hate to get a stranger in to help him on the farm. He’d rather break his neck trying to do it all himself than that.
‘Daddy said you’re wasting yourself,’ Rosalyn said.
‘Oh, did he?’ Bridie retorted. ‘What does he know?’
‘He was only concerned about you,’ Rosalyn said. ‘You know how fond he is of you.’
Fond, Bridie thought grimly, is that what they call it these days? ‘Your father should mind his own business,’ she cried angrily. ‘He should look to his own life and keep his nose out of my affairs.’
‘Look here, Bridie.’
‘Leave it be, Rosalyn,’ Bridie said. ‘I’m away home.’
Rosalyn looked after her cousin’s retreating figure and couldn’t for the life of her think what she’d done or said to upset her so much.
Bridie was ashamed of her outburst and glad that Rosalyn was not one to bear a grudge, for she couldn’t wait to show her the latest letter from Mary telling her of the birth of another boy whom they’d called Mickey after Eddie’s father. There was also one from Ellen saying her and Sam would be over for a wee holiday later than usual, maybe September time.
When they arrived, the hay was all safely gathered in as the summer had been glorious and Ellen came with tales of the hungry baby Mary could barely satisfy. ‘She’s feeding him every minute and he’s so big, you’d never believe it,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve told Mary that child doesn’t need milk, he needs good roast meat and potatoes, that one. And as for Jamie, I tell you that child is one body’s work. Dear Lord, Mary often doubts he’ll ever grow up, he’s in so many scrapes.’
‘We’re all longing to see them,’ Sarah said.
‘Maybe next year I’ll come with her to give her a hand – Jamie will surely fall overboard the minute her back was turned.’
‘He sounds a handful right enough.’
‘He’s full of life and fun, that’s all,’ Ellen said. ‘They have only the streets to play in too, remember. You can’t always be at the park.’
‘There’s more space here.’
‘Aye, that’s true,’ Ellen said. ‘But there’s dangers too. Jamie might easily sink into the midden, or drown in the river, or fall down the hillside.’
Bridie laughed. She longed to see Jamie and the new baby and wondered as the work slowed down for the winter whether she’d be able to go over to see them. Even a week, or failing that a few days, would be better than nothing.
But the trip wasn’t to be. Ellen and Sam had only been gone home a week when Sarah tipped a kettle of boiling water over her legs and feet as she attempted to fill the teapot on the hob. The scalds were bad enough and needed the services of a doctor, but a more longer-lasting concern was why it had happened in the first place. It appeared that Sarah’s left arm had given way on her.
As the scalds healed, the arm got steadily weaker and the doctor was able to offer no reason for it, or treatment, or possibility of a cure. Gradually, Sarah was able to do less and less and Bridie had taken on more, until she knew even to take a day off now would be out of the question. Her mother’s disability had tied her even more firmly to the farmhouse and yet Sarah could hardly be blamed. It was
just the way of things.
Bridie lifted the burden of the house onto her narrow shoulders and found as time passed she had scarcely a minute to call her own. Even those winter months that usually weren’t so frantically busy on the farm were not easy for her. There was still the washing to be done, the cooking and breadmaking and the dairy work, which her mother had always taken the brunt of previously.
Christmas and the New Year passed in a flurry of activity and even more cooking than usual and Bridie looked forward to 1932 with little enthusiasm, although she would be eighteen in February. This year she’d be able to go to the Harvest Dance. It was the highlight of the year – Rosalyn, being a year older, had already been there the once and had hardly stopped going on about it for weeks afterwards.
Some parents had allowed their daughters to go at sixteen, but Jimmy, Francis and Delia had been adamant that the girls were not to go till they were eighteen, for drink was served there, and that Frank should take them there and fetch them home again.
Bridie was more excited than she would normally be; since her mother had scalded herself, she’d not even been to any of the socials, though Rosalyn had urged her to. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s the only chance we’ll have to do things like this. My aunt Maria said if she knew what she knows now, she’d have stayed single longer.’
‘I don’t blame her,’ Bridie said. Delia’s brother Aiden had married his Maria and now had two boys of three and two and a baby girl of six months old. He’d gone to America and got work with a gang of navvies in Central America, but so far had found nowhere suitable for his family to live so that they could join him. Rosalyn was fond of her young aunt and, feeling sorry for her, often went round to give her a hand.
‘I told you I don’t want to get married,’ Bridie said. ‘Didn’t you tell me Maria has barely time to blow her nose?’
‘God, Bridie, you’re little better,’ Rosalyn reminded her and Bridie knew she had a point. ‘Ah, but it would be worse if I had weans to see to as well,’ Bridie said. ‘Weans are lovely when they’re someone else’s. I mean I love Mary’s, but want none of my own yet a while.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be sensible without a husband,’ Rosalyn said with a giggle and Bridie gave her a push.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Oh I know all right,’ Rosalyn said with a nod and a wink, and the girls laughed together.
But for all that, Bridie was looking forward to seeing Mary and her two sons, who were coming over for the last three weeks in August with Ellen and Sam. She knew that there would be little extra work involved for her, apart from making up the beds, as both Mary and Ellen would give a hand in the house.
When they arrived, Mary and Ellen were astounded at Bridie’s workload and Ellen gave out both to Jimmy and Sarah for allowing it. ‘Get someone in to help on the farm,’ she said sharply to her sister. ‘And if your Jimmy is too stiffnecked to do that, at least get someone in to help in the house.’
But Sarah was no more inclined to have a stranger in her kitchen than Jimmy was in his farm, Bridie knew, and realised the situation was unlikely to change. Ellen felt sorry for Bridie, but also for her sister too. She knew how much of a burden Sarah felt already and didn’t want to add to her problems by continually carping at her.
There was little Ellen could do long-term to ease the situation for the family, but she did tackle Bridie about the social evenings that she had stopped going to. ‘I got out of the way of it when Mammy scalded herself,’ Bridie said, and gave a shiver at the memory of it. ‘God, it was a desperate time.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ Ellen said. ‘But what about afterwards, when your mammy recovered a bit?’
‘There is so much to do,’ Bridie replied. ‘And I’m always so tired by the evening. It hardly seems worth it.’
‘Of course it’s worth it,’ Ellen retorted sharply. ‘It’s not helpful to be buried away in this place with two old folk and never seeing anyone else day in and day out.’
‘I see Rosalyn.’
‘Aye, but isn’t she at work every day?’ Ellen said. She knew too that soon Bridie would lose Rosalyn as well because Delia was after telling her just that day of the offer Rosalyn had received that she’d be mad to refuse. She guessed that Bridie hadn’t a hint of it, or she’d certainly have mentioned it. She knew also how much Bridie would miss her cousin and had no intention of telling her, particularly as the details were not finalised yet. However, Ellen knew it was even more vital now that her niece meet other young people. ‘You need to get out more,’ she continued. ‘Jimmy tells me you hardly ever go into the town, even on a Fair Day.’
‘We can’t both be away from the farm,’ Bridie protested. ‘Anyway, I’d hesitate to leave Mammy.’
‘Well, you’ll leave her tomorrow,’ Ellen said determinedly, ‘because you and I are going to town. Mary is here to see to things – we’ll take the rail bus in, so we will.’
‘But why are we going to town?’
‘Why? Because, my girl, I see you for ever in breeches and shirt. I bet you’ve nearly forgotten you’re a girl – a young lady. For your first Harvest Dance, I want you to be the belle of the ball. We’re going to choose the dress of your dreams.’
‘Oh,’ said Bridie, and felt stirrings of excitement at the prospect of new pretty clothes. She went to bed that night dreaming of the next day.
‘Right, Sam,’ Ellen said as the three of them reached the town, ‘here’s the list Sarah and Jimmy gave me for things they need.’
Aye,’ said Sam, taking it from her. ‘Where will you be when I finish?’
‘How would I know that?’ Ellen asked. ‘I don’t know how long things are going to take. Wait for us in the hotel and we’ll have our dinner there before heading for home.’ She nudged Bridie as she spoke. ‘Bit of a treat for you.’
It was a treat. The whole day out was just wonderful. Just to be there in the town, carefree and not with one eye on the clock all the time, worrying about her mother and knowing there would be a pile of jobs waiting for her back home, was sheer bliss. ‘Oh, Aunt Ellen,’ she said. ‘It’s tremendous, the whole thing. Thank you.’
‘God, girl, you’ve got nothing to thank me for yet,’ Ellen cried. ‘Come on now, let’s do some serious shopping.’
And with that, Ellen tucked her arm through Bridie’s, gave a desultory wave to Sam and the two set off to conquer the town.
Ellen led the way to Dumphries, the elegant and pricey dress shop Bridie had never been through the door of before, where she had Bridie try on one dress after the other.
‘What d’you think? Which one do you like?’ she asked Bridie who could only shake her head in reply. She’d never seen such clothes – how could she choose? One was as beautiful as the next.
‘Shall I tell you my choice then?’ Ellen asked, and Bridie nodded her head eagerly. Ellen held up a dress of golden brown with a pattern of green and russet running through it. ‘Put this one on again.’
Bridie took it from her aunt. It was beautiful: the bodice was of fine shimmering material over a skirt of satin and was worn just off the shoulders. It felt so good next to her skin. ‘You don’t think it too low?’ she asked, anxiously tugging at it. It showed her figure to perfection with just a demure hint of cleavage.
‘Not at all,’ Ellen said firmly. ‘It’s a dance. Everyone will wear similar things. Trust me.’
‘But my shoulders are bare,’ Bridie went on. She’d never had anything like this in her life. ‘Isn’t it …? Maybe people will think it a little fast?’
‘Bridie, you’re eighteen,’ Ellen said. ‘The time for childish dresses is past – and you don’t wear sensible clothes that you wear for Mass to a dance, especially your first.’
Bridie still looked doubtful and Ellen said, ‘I’ll buy you a stole to cover your shoulders if you’re so worried. But once the dancing starts, you won’t want a stole hampering you. Come on, take it off and we’ll get them to wrap it up. Now for the underneath.’
&
nbsp; ‘Underneath!’
‘Bridie, you don’t wear flannel bloomers under a dress like this,’ Ellen said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘We need lace bloomers and petticoats. No need for any sort of brassiere though, for the dress is fitted to show off your bust.’
Bridie felt her face flame with embarrassment at her aunt talking this way, and in the hearing of the shop assistants too. She knew full well the dress was fitted to show off her bust. That was what worried her most, especially the reaction of her mother when she saw just how much flesh the dress showed off.
She couldn’t help, though, but be impressed by the soft bloomers with deep lace edging and the matching petticoats and before they left the shop, true to her word, Ellen bought a stole of soft brown wool shot through with threads of gold that went perfectly with the dress. Then she marched Bridie to the shoemaker’s and bought her the softest, daintiest boots of tan leather.
‘And now,’ she said as they stood outside the shoemakers, ‘I’ve made an appointment with the hairdresser.’
Bridie’s hands immediately flew to her head. ‘My hair! What’s the matter with my hair?’
‘Nothing,’ Ellen said. ‘Or at least nothing that can’t be fixed.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Now don’t fly off the handle,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m not talking of shaving your head, but it needs to be thinned a little. It’s so thick it tangles easily. And then maybe a wee tadge off the length.’
Bridie had had little time to do anything with her hair but wash it for years, yet she was still apprehensive. But she needn’t have worried. Submitting to the hairdresser’s skill, she saw her natural waves again become apparent and the straggly locks cut off, reducing the length to just below her shoulders.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked Ellen, still doubtful herself.
‘Like it? Girl, it’s tremendous so it is,’ Ellen said excitedly. ‘And d’you like the length? You could wear it down to the Harvest Dance. All you’d need would be two Spanish combs to fasten at each side. God, Bridie, you’re going to look the business!’
