Till the Sun Shines Through

by Anne Bennett

  ‘I killed a baby, Aunt Ellen.’

  ‘No,’ Ellen said. ‘It wasn’t a baby, Bridie. You stopped a baby being born, that’s all. It’s different entirely. And don’t forget it was a baby you didn’t want, forced on you by a man you should have been able to look to for protection. He’s the one who should be before the priest this minute. He’s the sex-crazed pervert the priest should be wiping the floor with, not you.’

  Mary said something similar when she was told, having been alerted to Bridie’s despair by Sam. But Bridie couldn’t get the priest’s words out of her head. ‘He said I could have had had the baby and given it away,’ she said, raising her swollen face and red-rimmed eyes to Mary’s. ‘He knows of places I could have gone to. Then my baby would have lived – I could have given it away.’

  ‘Bridie,’ Mary said gently, ‘something happens to a woman when she’s pregnant, not just to her body, but to her mind too. When the baby’s born and laid in your arms, it’s, well, I can’t explain, but the rush of love you feel … I couldn’t have given either of my sons away, not for anything.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t love the baby. It wasn’t like with you. You love Eddie, that’s why.’

  ‘No, I don’t think it is just that,’ Mary said. ‘I think it’s just nature’s way of preparing you. All I’m saying is at the moment, you’re full of remorse and guilt the priest has loaded on you, but if you’d had to give up a child you’d given birth to, you’d be feeling even worse, I think.’

  It helped Bridie to know that Mary and Ellen were supportive, but the guilt didn’t ease and it was compounded by Peggy McKenna. She’d seen the girl tear past her house that evening and, noting how distressed she was, she’d smiled. Later, passing her in the street, she’d muttered, ‘Glad to see you did your duty,’ before adding, ‘I’ll be along to see you one of these days.’

  The blood in Bridie’s veins seemed to turn to ice. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I could say just neighbourliness,’ Peggy said. ‘But you and I might have things to discuss.’

  ‘I’ve done what you wanted.’

  ‘You’ve done one thing, the thing you should have wanted to do yourself for the good of your immortal soul,’ Peggy said.

  ‘Leave me alone, can’t you?’

  ‘Oh, that’s no way to talk to me,’ Peggy said. ‘In fact, if I were you, I’d be very careful of what I said and how I said it. There’s still some in Donegal ignorant of your story that would love to hear of it.’

  ‘Please, Mrs McKenna, don’t destroy my parents lives. None of this is their fault.’

  ‘Maybe, I will, and maybe I won’t,’ Peggy said. ‘But you just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.’

  So Bridie, mindful of Peggy’s threat, was very careful over what she said to Peggy and there was plenty of opportunity for she seemed to be for ever popping up. Both Ellen and Mary noticed and had expressed surprise that Bridie had any time for Peggy McKenna. ‘Keep away from her,’ Mary advised. ‘She’s a troublemaker, I’ve told you,’ and Bridie thought if only she could.

  Christmas passed in a blur and though for the children’s sake Bridie tried to ease the load from her shoulders, it wasn’t a total success. She was glad when it was over and things were back to normal. She’d written an impassioned letter to her parents before New Year, begging their understanding and forgiveness, and Ellen and Mary had written too, both keeping to the story that Bridie had felt stifled on the farm. She’d fancied a change and knew the winter was the right time to leave.

  Bridie received no reply from her mother, but in the New Year, she got a letter from Rosalyn, whose mother had written to tell her what had happened.

  I don’t blame you for leaving, Bridie. It’s just the way you did it. I told Mammy you must have been desperate, but she said you never complained about it, but you’d been a bit odd, like depressed, before you left. I’m not surprised and I said so.

  America is wonderful, the people friendly and the house Aiden has is the cutest thing. I get on well with Maria too.

  Maria feels for you too. She said if you want to travel further afield, she could find you a place to live here and a job, no problem. You just have to say the word. There is plenty going on here: dances and movies, so many people have cars, you’d never believe it …

  Bridie was tempted to go to the States where no one would know a thing about her. And then what, said a little voice inside her – tell Rosalyn about her father?

  Bridie knew she couldn’t go. She didn’t want to be near Rosalyn, or any of Francis’s family anymore. Just as his behaviour had spoiled and tainted all the good times that had gone before, now it had spread to them all too – Frank and Rosalyn, Delia and even the younger ones. She wrote a brief note back to Rosalyn, thanking her for the offer, but saying she was settled in Birmingham and she’d got a job.

  That wasn’t a lie – she had got a job in the Woolworths store in the Bull Ring. She’d been determined to get employment as soon as possible, but Ellen wasn’t terribly optimistic that she would. ‘There’s no rush anyway,’ Ellen told her. ‘Sure I like the company and we have more than enough money to do us.’

  But Bridie wouldn’t be dissuaded. ‘I must do something,’ she said. ‘My savings won’t last for ever.’

  ‘Well, good luck to you,’ Ellen said. ‘There’s many in this city that want and need a job. And yet it is often easier for a woman than a man. If you’re determined enough, you’ll find something.’

  But as one weary day followed another and Bridie trudged fruitlessly from factory to factory, her optimism began to flag. Everywhere she went, groups of jobless men stood about and she always felt sorry for them.

  Most had totally inadequate clothes for the winter chill and their boots were often dropping to bits. They’d stand around aimlessly, greasy caps pulled well down, hands shoved in pockets and a look of despair on their faces.

  Bridie could well understand it. She wanted a job to pay her way. What if she had a child to provide for, rent to pay, food and clothes to buy? Not to be able to do these things for their families would make the men, any man, seem worthless. It struck her that Peggy McKenna was married to a man out of work and she almost understood why she was the way she was. But that was when she was away from her. When she was near – Peggy talking to her, threatening and goading her – it always made Bridie’s skin crawl.

  One evening as she eased her aching feet from her boots, Ellen asked, ‘Have you thought about shop work? There’s more women taken on in shops.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything about shop work.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about factory work either.’

  ‘Well no, but I thought I could be shown.’

  ‘And so you could,’ Ellen said. ‘But what’s there to know in a shop? It’s easy. Can you reckon up?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Bridie said. ‘I did all the book work for Daddy. I’ve always had a good head for figures.’

  ‘Well then, worth a try I’d say.’

  Anything was worth a try so Bridie tried the shops on Bristol Street, to no avail, before making for the city centre. Nearly everywhere she went people expressed doubt about her lack of experience and Bridie had become downhearted by the time she reached the Bull Ring.

  There the story seemed to be the same until eventually she asked in Woolworths. Bridie had loved Woolworths when she been there as a child and stayed with Mary. Any trip to the city centre included going to the Bull Ring and looking around Woolworths. She’d loved the rush and bustle of the place, the girls in their smart green uniforms standing behind the dark wood counters, punching the prices into the tall brass cash registers with a confidence which Bridie could only admire.

  They sold such an array of goods too, the counters often piled high with them. There were pots and pans and all manner of things for the kitchen, crockery and glassware and garden implements for those lucky enough to have a garden. There were books, large Bakelite records and a haberdashery counter and off to
the side of that was everything for the hair: brushes and combs, and slides and ribbons and such like. But, best of all, was the counter with the toys and games and, of course, the one that sold the sweets. The great thing was that nothing cost more than sixpence.

  That day, Woolworths was even more rushed than usual. Almost every counter had queues of impatient shoppers waiting to be served and shop assistants were scurrying around, trying to serve everyone as quickly as possible. For the first time, Bridie thought there was a good possibility of her getting employment. She was right: the manager was a worried man because many of his staff had been laid low with influenza. So when Bride asked about the possibility of a job, he decided to try her, despite her inexperience, but on a trial basis only. She was to start at eight o’clock the following morning.

  Her family were delighted for her. ‘It’s on a trial basis only,’ she reminded them.

  ‘Och, away out of that,’ Mary said. ‘Once they see you in action they’ll keep you on all right. One thing you’ve never been afraid of is hard work.’

  The first morning she was put on the sweet counter, the very counter she used to hang around as a child, almost dazzled by the amount of sweets on offer and the variety. In fact so dazzled was she that when Mary had wanted to buy her some as a treat, she could scarcely make up her mind what to choose. She was working with another girl who introduced herself as Jean Tate. ‘God, am I glad to see you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on me tod since the New Year. It’ll be nice to have another pair of hands.’

  ‘Are there many off sick?’ Bridie asked.

  Jean nodded her head vigorously. ‘You bet your life. Been going down like flies, they have.’

  Bridie had to concentrate hard to understand all Jean said, she spoke so fast and the Birmingham accent was still tricky for her, but she was friendly enough and anyway listening to Jean was good practice for most of the customers spoke the same way. The Woolworths girls were quite interested in the pretty and petite Irish girl in their midst, but Bridie gave them little encouragement to find out any more about her. She didn’t want them to know her past and anyway, didn’t think she deserved to have friends.

  Bridie was unaware that in trying not to give anything away, her answers were terse enough to be rude. When she’d been there a few days, Jean realised Bridie had told her little about herself and so in the canteen, she asked her directly, ‘So where in Ireland you from then?’

  ‘The north.’

  ‘The British bit?’

  ‘No, just outside that.’

  ‘What you doing over here then?’

  ‘My sister asked me over. She lives here.’

  ‘Where’s that then?’

  ‘Edgbaston way,’ Bridie said. She didn’t say that she lodged with her aunt not her sister, nor offer any further information either. No one asked her because it was, as Jean said, like pulling teeth to get her to say anything at all. ‘Maybe she has some dark secret in her murky past?’ someone suggested.

  ‘Oh give the kid a break,’ said another. ‘She’s probably just shy. She might be a bit homesick too. Ask her out with us, why don’t you.’

  And Jean, feeling guilty because the other girl was probably right, did just that later that week. ‘D’you want to come to the flicks with us Friday?’ she asked.

  ‘Flicks?’ Bridie queried.

  ‘Picture house, cinema, you know. There’s a crowd of us go every Friday, it’s a laugh.’ Bridie couldn’t imagine why anyone would want her in their company. She wouldn’t go. ‘I’m afraid I can’t. Thank you for asking, but it’s out of the question.’

  She was unaware how formal and unfriendly her voice sounded, but Jean was not easily dashed ‘Why,’ she asked, ‘summat else on?’

  ‘Aye, yes.’

  Bridie didn’t say what and Jean didn’t ask. She just went on, ‘What about Saturday night then. We’re going down the Alex to the variety show, then along to the Bull Ring after. What d’you say?’

  Bridie wanted to say yes, she’d love to go, but she shook her head regretfully.

  She reacted the same way when Jean asked her out the middle of the following week. ‘It’s Alice’s big night, see,’ Jean explained. ‘She’s been singing down this pub for flipping ages and she’s just heard a bloke what gets jobs and that for singers has heard about her and is coming down this Thursday. We want to give her a bit of support, like.’

  ‘I … I’ve never been in a pub in my life,’ Bridie said.

  ‘It ain’t a rough place,’ Jean assured her. ‘It’s a good night. They has this old Joanna – even when Alice ain’t working we have fun there, singing around it and that.’

  ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t go to something like that,’ Bridie declared stiffly.

  ‘Say what you like about her being shy,’ Jean said angrily in the canteen the following day, ‘I know what she is all right, she’s a bleeding snob, and thinks herself too good for the likes of us. She wouldn’t even get off her bleeding high horse to cheer Alice on. Well, it will be a long time before I ask her out again.’

  There was a murmur of agreement around the canteen; no one was going to rush to be friends with someone like that.

  Another nail in her coffin, as far as the other girls were concerned, was that Bridie was a favourite with the supervisors and many considered she was sucking up to the bosses and making them look bad.

  Bridie had been at Woolworths just over a fortnight when she jumped off the tram in a buoyant mood one Friday evening. She’d had to work a week in hand, but now she had her first pay packet in her pocket and she couldn’t wait to show her aunt and begin to pay her way at last. Added to that, the boss was pleased with her diligence and hard work and said there was a good chance the job could be made permanent.

  She was running up Bristol Passage and had reached the top of it when she came face to face with Peggy McKenna. ‘Finished your week’s work then?’ she sneered. ‘Your aunt was after telling me you had a fine job in Woolworths.’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Money in your pocket then?’

  Bridie, seeing the way the conversation was heading, felt sick. ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘And I must give some of it to Aunt Ellen for my keep.’

  ‘But you can spare a bob or two for me to put food before the weans, surely?’ Peggy wheedled. ‘I’m sure you’ll see your way to do that when you remember what I know.’

  With a sigh, Bridie opened her bag and extracted two shillings. ‘I can give you no more,’ she said, ‘so don’t ask me.’

  ‘This will do for now,’ Peggy said, and adjusted her shawl more tightly around her before hurrying away. Bridie followed, her earlier happiness wiped out as if it had never been.

  When Bridie reached home, Ellen couldn’t understand why she was so miserable. She thought that maybe she was missing her parents. Her first job, first wage packet, was something perhaps she’d want to share with them. ‘Why don’t you write to your parents and tell them all about your job?’ she suggested later that evening.

  ‘D’you think they’ll answer if I do?’ Bridie asked, and Ellen felt a lump in her throat at the wistful note in Bridie’s voice. ‘I don’t know, pet,’ she said. ‘But you never will unless you write to them.’

  Still Bridie’s expression didn’t alter so Ellen put her arms around her and held her tight.

  CHAPTER NINE

  On the face of it, Bridie had settled well into life in Birmingham, and was content with her job and family. But inside she was deeply unhappy. She knew she’d carry the guilt of what she’d done to that wee baby she’d been expecting all the days of her life. Peggy McKenna took two shillings or occasionally even a half a crown from her wages most weeks, which sometimes meant she had to walk to and from work and often did without her dinner in the canteen at lunchtime.

  And yet she didn’t mind the money as much as the things Peggy said to her. She told her she’d never find a man for she was bad through and through, anyone would see that, and she’d never have a fami
ly of her own and it served her right.

  Bridie never contested any of the things she said, for she believed them and felt in a way it was right she should suffer like that – it was a form of penance. Ellen and Mary noted Bridie’s despondency, but put it down to the fact that Sarah and Jimmy never wrote her the scribe of a letter in answer to the ones she sent them.

  Sarah was as angry and hurt as ever and wrote to Ellen about Bridie’s attempts at reconciliation:

  If I’d had my way, I’d have thrown her letters away unread, but Jimmy said we had to hear what the child had to say. Child. By God, she’s no child to do this to us, but then Jimmy was always soft with her.

  And not the only one, Ellen thought. Maybe if she hadn’t been so much the centre of their lives, they could eventually have got over her running away from them, but as it was she doubted it.

  Bridie had also stopped writing to Rosalyn, primarily because she was the daughter of the man who still haunted her dreams. She explained it away to Ellen, however, by saying that she had little in common with Rosalyn anymore, that their lives had veered in different directions.

  She didn’t reply either to the slightly censorious letters that came from Seamus and Johnnie. Her mother had obviously written to them to put them in the picture. Bridie didn’t much care what they had to say: they couldn’t know about her life or their parents and so didn’t even consider their opinions as valid.

  Terry, who Sarah had also written to, didn’t blame Bridie in the slightest.

  I’m surprised you stuck it so long, especially after you wrote and told me about Mammy’s arm. No wonder you just upped and left one day. It would have been better if you’d told them, but I understand why you didn’t. You saw the pressure they brought down on me; with you it would have been even worse and you might have ended up staying. Mammy will probably get over it soon enough and if she doesn’t, what odds? You have your own life to live so stick to your guns, Bridie, and the best of luck to you.

  Terry’s letter reduced Bridie to tears, but she brushed them away before Ellen spotted them. She was glad that at least one of her brothers was on her side and so she sat down and wrote Terry a long letter about the job she had in Woolworths.