Till the Sun Shines Through

by Anne Bennett

  Bridie had said nothing and managed only a fleeting smile. If she stayed until the spring, the decision would be taken out of her hands and her life, and that of her parents, might as well be over.

  All the next week she dithered. Her father had never seemed so old, so stiff, and her mother’s one arm was more useless than ever. She was slow to do everything and, Bridie guessed, often in pain. How in God’s name could she leave these good kind people to cope by themselves?

  Then, one evening, her mother said, ‘I’m making an appointment for you to see the doctor this week, Bridie.’

  ‘What?’ Bridie cried, startled and alarmed.

  ‘Look at you, there’s not a pick on you,’ Sarah said. ‘People are commenting on how thin you’ve got, and there are bags under your eyes too. You’re not right and haven’t been since Rosalyn left. You’ve got to eat more; you’re not eating enough to keep a bird alive at the moment. Delia said that is probably what has stopped your monthlies. She says she’s heard of it before, but whatever it is, I’m sure the doctor will sort it out.’

  Oh by God he would sort it out right enough, Bridie thought. ‘Mammy,’ she pleaded, ‘just leave it a wee while longer. You’re right, I haven’t been sleeping, and I will try to eat more, but don’t go bothering the doctor yet?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said. ‘Your father’s worried.’

  ‘Please, Mammy? Leave it just a bit and if I’m no better in a week or two, then I’ll see the doctor.’

  Sarah reluctantly agreed, but for a while only and Bridie knew that for her the die was cast. She’d have to leave her home and as speedily as possible. She knew she would be castigated by everyone about. Neighbours were well aware how much Bridie was thought of, for her parents said so often and also said how they relied on her, but Bridie could do nothing about people’s opinion. Better they thought her the worst daughter in the world than stay and let them find out the truth.

  Later in bed, sleep driven from her with worry, she thought of what she must do. There was only one place to go and that was Mary’s; she would know what to do. But how to get to there without detection was a problem. She couldn’t tell her parents that she was going away for a wee holiday and go along to Barnes More Halt and buy a ticket like any other body.

  In fact, she couldn’t go on the rail bus at all this side of the border; anyone could spot her. If she could make it to Strabane Station, which was in the English six counties, and catch the steam train from there to Derry, she’d have a chance of getting away. A girl travelling alone would also be less noticeable in a busier place, whereas she’d stand out like a sore thumb in a country station.

  She also had to be well away from the farm before her father rose for the milking at five o’clock. She knew the first rail bus left Killybegs at five o’clock, as she’d often heard it chugging past the end of the farm while she was at the milking. According to the rail bus timetable it didn’t reach Strabane until half past six. There the travellers would get out and board the steam train for Derry, she remembered that from her last visit.

  But how was she to get to Strabane, about twenty miles away or more? She’d have to go in the middle of the night, but she’d never walk that distance in time for the five o’clock train. Her father once told her a person could walk four miles an hour at a steady pace. But his steady pace was a run for someone of Bridie’s size and that was also on a good flat road in the daylight. It would be different up hill and down dale in the pitch black. She thought bleakly that it was one thing to decide to leave, but quite another for it to be achieved. She mulled the problem over and over in her head, without coming to any conclusion, until sleep finally overtook her.

  The next day, as she was at the back of the barn searching for a sack or two to collect any tree branches brought down by the gales of the previous days, she uncovered Mary’s old bike.

  Her father was busy elsewhere and there was no one else about, so she hauled it out, dusted it off roughly and studied it. It was in a sorry state altogether: rusted up, missing some spokes and the tyres as flat as pancakes. It had once been Mary’s pride and joy and the first thing she’d bought when she’d began at the shirt factory in the town. She’d used to go in and out of town on it most days then, unless the rain was lashing or the snow feet thick on the roads, for she said it kept her fit, as well as saving the rail bus fare.

  Since she’d left, it had lain unused, forgotten about. Bridie could cycle – she’d learned from Mary when she was a child and carefree – and a germ of an idea began to grow in her mind. She didn’t know if she could ride a long distance, she’d never tried, but it was the only way she could think of. Could she do the bike up until it was fit to carry her to Strabane and cycle all that way, in the dead of night, and make it in time to catch the steam train to Derry? She hadn’t a clue, but she was determined to have a damned good try.

  With her decision made, she wrote to Mary. It was 1st December and to delay any longer would be foolish. She was sure Mary would help her when she knew the truth, but she decided she’d not tell her too many details in a letter, too risky that. She’d tell her just enough to make sure she knew how serious the problem was.

  Dear Mary

  I am in big, big trouble. It is not my fault, but I must leave here and quickly. Please don’t let Mammy know any of this and write as quickly as you can and let me know when I can come.

  Love Bridie

  She tried not to think of the ordeal before her, lest the thought of what she had to do frightened her so much she wouldn’t go at all. She busied herself instead with the task of getting the bike into some sort of working order, oiling it and cleaning it in her odd spare moments. The last thing she wanted was to be stranded on a road in the middle of the night. It was hard work, for she had to do it in bits, and she always had to remember to hide it well afterwards – it would never do for anyone to catch sight of it and start asking awkward questions

  She waited anxiously for Mary’s letter, which she wrote back by return.

  Dear Bridie

  I hope you don’t really mean in trouble, but I won’t waste time with questions now. I presume you’re not telling Mammy and Daddy what you’re doing. I hope you’ve thought this through, because they’ll probably never forgive you, but you must be desperate to consider this course of action and you know you’ll always be welcome here. Make your arrangements and send a letter, or if there’s no time for that, a telegram, and I’ll be at the station to meet you.

  Love Mary

  Bridie had waited till she was in bed to read Mary’s letter and turned onto her side and cried tears of pure relief as she read the welcome words. When she woke the next morning, her pillow was damp and the letter was still clutched firmly in her hand.

  Bridie knew the time for wishing things were different was over and done. Now she had to think of more practical issues. She’ been to Strabane just once in her life and that had been five years before and by rail bus, not bike.

  How then did she think she could just set out for Strabane with no planning? She was in bed that night when she thought of it: she’d have to follow the rail bus tracks. They would take her there all right.

  Bridie knew there was a rail bus timetable in the drawer of the press and she stole out of bed. ‘That you, Bridie?’ Sarah shouted from behind the curtain.

  As if, thought Bridie, it could be anyone else. ‘Aye, Mammy.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Grand, Mammy. I just have a thirst on me. I need a drink of water.’

  ‘That will be the bacon. I thought it was over-salty myself.’

  ‘Aye,’ repeated Bridie. She prayed her mother wouldn’t take a notion to peer out from behind the curtain. She’d find it very difficult to explain why she was easing the drawer of the press out gently and extracting the timetable from it.

  But she didn’t stir and when Bridie called out, ‘Goodnight, Mammy,’ the voice that answered her was slurred with tiredness. ‘Night, child. See you in the
morning.’

  Back in bed, Bridie moved the lamp nearer and read the names of the stations under her breath. From the station nearest them, Barnes More, there were Derg Bridge Halt, Meerglas, Stranorlar, Killygordon, Liscooley, Castlefin, Clady, then across the Urney Bridge into the English-ruled county of Tyrone and Strabane Station. She knew that she would have to memorise them and went to sleep with the station names running through her head.

  Her home and the farm had become dearer to Bridie as the time drew nearer to her departure and she often found herself looking around as if committing it all to memory, as if she might never be allowed to come back. She knew how hurt her parents would be when they found her gone. Yet that would be nothing to the shame she’d heap upon them if she stayed, she reminded herself. What if her mother had demanded her see the doctor in the meantime? She’d forced herself to eat more to allay her mother’s fears, although she often felt sick and overfull. Of course, Sarah could have tumbled to the realisation of her daughter’s pregnancy herself. Many a mother would have done by now, for she’d not had a period since mid-September and was sick nearly every morning, though she tried to hide that from her parents.

  So resolutely, she made her plans. The McCarthys didn’t possess a suitcase. When their children had left home, they’d bought whatever possessions they needed. All Bridie was able to find were two hessian bags and her meagre possessions were soon packed into them. They’d probably be easier to carry on the bike, one hanging from each handlebar, than trying to balance a case in front of her, Bridie reasoned.

  Eventually, all was ready, the bike as good as she could make it. The last thing she’d done was pump up the tyres, praying that there were no punctures in the inner tubes, or that they hadn’t perished away altogether, and had hid the bike back in the barn for the last time. With her heart as heavy as lead she lay on her bed, fully clothed, and waited.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bridie knew she would have to climb out of the window. She couldn’t risk the cottage door and she must wait until she was as certain as she could be that her parents were asleep.

  Oh, but she was so very tired; she’d been up since five and on the go all day, but she daren’t close her eyes, for if she did, she’d probably sleep until morning. Yet her eyelids were so heavy they were closing on their own. She yawned and wriggled on the bed. Maybe she’d just rest them for a minute or two.

  She suddenly woke with a jerk. Dear God, what had she done? What time was it? She fumbled for some matches and lit the lamp.

  ‘One o’clock.’ She must have dozed. What had she been thinking of?

  She listened intently. The house was so hushed that the ticking of the kitchen clock could be heard. She eased herself from the bed, pulled her coat from the wardrobe, and put it on, tucking her scarf into her neck and pulling her hat over her hair. Then, she lifted up the money box where she’d put the wages she’d fought for, grateful that she had, opened it and tipped the money into the large man’s handkerchief she’d taken in readiness from the laundry basket. She tied it with a knot and buried it at the bottom of one of the bags she’d had hidden in the wardrobe.

  Her gloves she stuffed into her pocket and she took the letter she’d already written from beneath the mattress and smoothed it out.

  Dear Mammy and Daddy

  I’m sorry I’ve had to leave this way, but I could stand the life no longer. I’m going to England, where I’m going to lodge with Mary for a wee while. I will write to you again to let you know how I am doing and I hope you will not be too upset or angry with me.

  Love Bridie

  She smiled grimly to herself as she re-read the last line. Upset! Angry! She knew her mother would be furious, raging, and doubted she’d ever truly forgive her. But it was too late for regrets.

  She laid the letter on the chest, secured it with a candlestick, and then crossed to the window. It opened with a creak and whine that sounded terribly loud in the quiet house and for a while she stopped and listened, her heart in her mouth.

  There was no stirring though, other than the wind moaning as it buffeted the house and set the trees swaying and rustling. Bridie lifted the bags out of the window and then climbed out herself.

  The raw and intense cold took her breath away and hurt her throat as she drew her breath in a gasp. The moon was full and hung like a golden globe in the clear night sky and the frost crackled underfoot on the cobbles as she made her way across them to the barn. She’d had the foresight to bring a slice of soda bread with her, which she shared between the two farm dogs, stilling the barks in their throat before they were able to rouse the house. She pulled the bike from the pile of sacks she had hidden it under, hung the bags on the handlebars and wheeled it up the lane to the main road.

  There she stopped and looked down at the farmhouse. It looked so homely, so welcoming in the light of the moon. What if she could never go back? What if that door was closed to her for ever?

  She pushed those thoughts away before she went scurrying back down the lane and into her bed. She mounted the bike and set off, glad of the warm clothes for the night was colder than she’d ever known it and the fields around were rimed in frost, which sparkled in the moonlight. She told herself to be stout-hearted. She was doing the only thing she could do and so she pedalled down the road towards Barnes More Halt and never looked back.

  She was familiar with the route to the station at Barnes More and set off confidently alongside the river Lowerymore, the two dark mounds of Barnes Gap towering before her.

  She was thankful to see that the rail tracks and the road ran side by side. The moonlight was helpful and it felt no distance to Derg Bridge Halt. It was as silent as the grave and Bridie rode past it quickly. The rail bus tracks then led over a single span bridge across the river known as the little red stream, or Sruthan Dearg, while Bridie took the road bridge further down, meeting again with the rail tracks as she began the route through Barnes Gap.

  It seemed almost menacing to ride between those imposing craggy hills with the darkness thicker than ever. The wind channelling through the gap hit her at gale force and she had trouble controlling the bike. She rode on quickly, anxious to get away from the place, remembering suddenly the gruesome tales Uncle Francis used to tell her. And she didn’t want to think of her uncle either. If the man had never existed, she’d not be scurrying from her home at the dead of night, pregnant, frightened and alone.

  The darkness was no less dense when Bridie was through the Gap and she looked for the moon, but it was obscured with clouds and few stars twinkled. She wished she’d thought to bring a torch or lantern, something to light her way. She also knew that she had to skirt the edge of Lough Mourne. It was a beautiful loch in daylight, but as she could see so little in the pitch black, she went on cautiously, afraid of going too close to the muddy banks and falling in.

  The road and railway began to climb steeply up to Meerglas Halt built, people said, for the sake of Lord Lifford, the first chairman, who lived out that way. But before Bridie had gone halfway up, she was gasping for breath and her legs had begun to shake.

  She could have taken an easier route lower down the hillside, but she’d have had to lose sight of the rail tracks then and, in such darkness, she was afraid that if she went too far away from the tracks, she’d never find them again.

  She could ride no more so she got off the bike and pushed it up the road to the station, feeling the strain in the backs of her legs. The darkness was so intense, she felt she could reach out and touch it as she eventually mounted her bike again – the road didn’t climb again for some time so she was able to ride more easily.

  Suddenly the wind picked up and icy spears of rain began to stab at her and she groaned because she’d brought nothing to cover herself with.

  The road began to dip at last and Bridie was glad to ease her legs. She freewheeled down while keeping the tracks in view as much as possible as they ran between shrubs and trees. The clouds shifted slightly and for a brief moment the moon
shone down through the driving rain and she caught a glimpse of the steel girder bridge over the River Mourne.

  She was nearing Stranorlar, the next halt along.

  She redoubled her efforts until the stone viaduct spanning the River Finn came into view and she knew she was almost there. The road led downwards and over another bridge into the town of Stranorlar, but she skirted the town, riding around the outside of it before picking up the tracks again.

  Her legs were tired, aching and cold, the rain was lashing at her and she longed to stop, to ease them for a moment or two, but didn’t dare because she knew she had miles to travel yet. She forced herself on through the inky blackness, the sound of her wet wheels on the road covered by the noise of the buffeting, blustery wind, sending clusters of icy rain hammering against her.

  She sighed as she passed Killygordon Station. As she left the bridge beyond it, she pulled in her bike, desperate to rest even if it were just for a moment or two. She could never remember feeling so cold or wet or miserable in her entire life. Her back ached, while the hands that gripped the handlebars were so cold, despite her gloves, now sodden with rain, that she wondered whether she’d ever be able to straighten them again. She was soaked through to the skin and had the greatest desire to put her head down and cry; in fact she did give in for a moment or two and laid her head on the handlebars.

  She brought herself up sharply. She couldn’t give in now. She was doing the only thing possible and was already halfway there. But it took every ounce of resolve inside her to set off again, every nerve in her crying out in protest.

  She knew Cavan Halt was only a few miles away for she’d studied the timetable in detail and resolutely set off again. She said the rosary as she rode, the litany and familiarity comforting her for these were the prayers she’d been taught some many years before when the world was a safe and wonderful place. She implored God and the Virgin Mary to help her complete this hazardous but necessary journey