No Small Shame

by Christine Bell

  Not that she needed any pictures. She couldn’t get visions of Thady out of her mind. His wee sweet face. His wee perfect fingers. How she’d come back to the house without the priest when his housekeeper’s sniff proved lunch at the Duke of Hamilton’s with visiting clergy more important than a dying wean. And the Duke not even Catholic.

  She’d met the doctor on the Main Street in Bothwell. He’d come along with her until they’d spied the black crepe bow hanging off the front door handle. He laid his hand on her shoulder, saying, ‘I’ll fetch the undertaker and come along later. Give my condolences to your mother.’

  In the days and weeks following, her and her sisters’ tears had fallen in silence while Maw went on as usual. No words to say a third time. Mary feared, if one of them had opened their mouths, Maw might shatter to pieces. If not herself. But Maw had given no inch to her grief outwardly, nor had she allowed anyone else any show either. Even at the registration office, where it seemed God had been extra greedy that week with a line of grim-faced fathers waiting to put their marks to their children’s or maybe even their wives’ passing. Mary read the register upside down while the clerk wrote in the details, without hardly looking at Maw, careful to keep his neat copperplate writing all the same perfection along the lines, like all the other pages in the register before it.

  ‘Name and address?

  ‘Age and cause of death?

  ‘Signature and qualification of informant?

  ‘Present?’

  Yes, Maw had been present though Mary wasn’t sure her mind was fully there.

  ‘Put your mark here, Missus,’ ordered the clerk, turning the register around and prodding at a line.

  ‘I can sign me own name very well, begging your pardon,’ Maw huffed.

  The clerk shrugged in a hoity manner, but Mary breathed her relief hearing Maw’s caustic pride still intact. She knew in that moment, Nellie O’Donnell would survive this time too.

  Is that all a life boils down to, Lord? Bits of paper? Cause there’d been no stone to commemorate Thady’s passing, him gone into the common ground. One more O’Donnell lost in that section of the cemetery where no-one would ever know he had a Da and a Maw, or three sisters, fifteen, nine and six. Without a stone, he could be buried right alongside his brothers and who would know? Thinking of the three of them playing up and together, running amok in the graveyard when no-one was watching, Mary couldn’t stifle a smile. Being Catholic she wasn’t supposed to think such things, especially when the second brother had been buried without even a name or in the consecrated ground. She glanced sideways at Maw, unsure if Nellie O’Donnell might be able to read her blasphemous thoughts and puckered her lips to hide her grin. Maw wouldn’t understand the smile, not about Thady being dead and all.

  But her smile wasn’t really about Thady.

  The buzz in her belly hadn’t quelled since she stepped onto the train at the Glasgow Central Station – smelling the rich leather of the seats, seeing the shiny brass of the parcel racks and fittings, the fine travelling clothes and bonnets of the ladies further along the platform stepping into the first-class carriages. For a girl never gone further than Glasgow, immigrating was not quite the tragedy Maw made out.

  Mary disguised a sign of the cross at such a mean thought, adding the prayer she hoped their journey was heading them all towards happier times. A chance for Maw to heal. The chance for herself to do what she wanted. A chance to see Liam again. Find out what he’d been doing. How much he’d missed her too. She was wearing a new navy tweed coat that, even if she did say it herself, showed off a few curves he might not recognise.

  ‘What’s that smug smirk for, my girl?’

  ‘Nothing, Maw.’ The buzz dissolved.

  ‘Read me a story, Mary,’ Hannah clamoured.

  Mary welcomed the distraction and took her younger sister onto her lap, smelling the unusual cleanness of her hair. Yes, a lot of things would be different in Australia.

  She swallowed a sudden ball of guilt, stealing a sideways glance at her mother – Maw would be all right once Mrs Merrilees was near again and Da back by her side. I’ll be a better daughter too, Maw. A daughter you might think better of, if not kept home warring with you.

  LOSING OF SELF

  ABOARD S.S. HAWKES BAY – JANUARY 1914

  I hate this ship. And I hate you for letting that woman do this to me. Mary kept her thoughts to herself but not the glower she directed at her mother while Maw squeezed the grip on her arm tighter than a jailer.

  ‘I can’t understand a word you’re wailing about, ninny. It’s only a bit of fluff off your head.’

  ‘But, Maw, she never dragged her comb through a single strand.’ Mary blinked back tears while the next jagged snip of Nurse Britts’ scissors cut away another hank of bright coppery curls, it joining the black, carroty red and yellow strands, growing like a hair carpet around the nurse and her latest victim’s feet. All of it going because a few bugs nested in the heads of one or two.

  All the way down to Doctor Halliday’s rooms, Mary had tried to reason while Maw insisted it the captain’s orders everyone on board have their hair cut off, the louse spreading through the emigrants worse than the measles, striking down one in four families in the third class.

  Everyone! I hope you’re going to confession, Maw, and tell the priest you lie to your children. Because she didn’t see her mother lining up for her turn, or any other adult, for that matter.

  Whoever died of lice anyhow? She’d more likely die of shame. No bonnet would hide their disgrace.

  ‘Did you ever hear such carry on?’ Maw rolled her eyes to the nurse. ‘I think this one fancies herself pretty.’

  ‘I never did, Maw,’ Mary gasped.

  ‘Better a plain Jane than a fancy Nance any day, I always say. Fine looks ain’t what makes a person; doing what you’re told by your maw without talking on about it will get you into heaven a lot faster.’

  Across the cabin, Mrs Merrilees winked at Mary. One hand patting the full swell of her belly, her lips hinting at the barest smile. Her other arm was wrapped around Jane sobbing into her shoulder. That brat, Samuel, nowhere to be seen.

  The next second, Mary’s head wrenched backwards and the nurse gave a few savage snips to finish before shoving her aside.

  Mary patted her head, the tufts sticking up and out, some cut so close to her scalp she might as well be bald in those patches. Sweet Jesus, it couldn’t look worse than it felt. Casting a burning black look at Maw, she ran out the cabin door and along the gangway to the lavatories where she peered into the shiny new mirror on the wall showing her uglier than the ugliest ugly duckling.

  Were they expected to walk down the gangplank into Australia looking like all the rats on the ship had been chewing on their heads in their sleep? She was too shocked and angry even to cry.

  Minutes later, shoes tapping down the corridor, she stood up tall.

  ‘Oh, Mary, lass.’ Mrs Merrilees coming through the doorway sent her tears streaming.

  ‘Fancy you and my Jane bawling over a length of hair. Come here.’ Mrs Merrilees reached both her arms around Mary’s waist from behind and squeezed her close. ‘Ssh, Goosey Lucy.’ Then she wet her fingers under the tap and damped down the longest tufts, twisting them into curls around her fingers, smiling at Mary in the mirror. ‘You know my Liam loved your hair when you were small. He thought you were a faerie with all those gold bronze curls. Did you know he cut a snippet off for luck one day and kept it? I don’t know that he’s still got it.’

  Mrs Merrilees’ words didn’t help. Knowing that Liam loved her hair. He wouldn’t now.

  Mrs Merrilees lifted her chin. ‘Hair grows back, Mary. In a few months, you won’t even notice the difference. You wouldn’t want any dirty beasts roaming around your lovely head now, would you?’

  How could she tell Mrs Merrilees that she didn’t have months? Only three weeks until she arrived in Australia looking uglier than a mangy dog. Still, she was grateful for that angel’s kindn
ess and envied Jane having the same all the time. Maw thought vanity a mortal sin, yet didn’t the woman do up her own hair every night with brown paper and pins?

  Mary leaned back gently against the warm swell of Mrs Merrilees’ belly, a sob snagging in her throat.

  ‘There.’ Mrs Merrilees nodded to her reflection in the mirror. ‘One look at those eyes and anyone can see how beautiful you are. Now dry up those tears and come along. Your maw’ll be waiting. Else she’ll think we’ve decided to swim to Australia.’

  ‘Maw’s wrong, you know,’ Mary sniffed, straightening her shoulders. ‘I don’t fancy meself pretty. Only I wasn’t so offensive up until now.’ She snuck a last glance in the mirror and found it true. She had a straight nose and some might say nice, big brown eyes, blessed with long lashes, but she didn’t go about skiting like she thought she was one of them film stars. She’d no candle to hold to gorgeous creatures like Olive Thomas or Mary Pickford. She was just a lass; a lovely lass, Liam had called her before he left. The thought was enough to make her howl again. What would he think when he saw her?

  Ugly.

  Ugly and stupid for letting someone do such a thing to her. Liam would never let someone like Nurse Britts get a hold of him. He’d call her worse than a dunderhead for letting the woman, but she’d bet he’d not get around Nellie O’Donnell. No-one did.

  Well, she glared into the mirror, she’d not let anyone force her into anything in the future. Not even her mother.

  QUEENS OF ENGLAND

  JANUARY 1914

  At first, Mary thought the younger children were out of their bunks and enjoying a midnight romp around the cabin, until, dragging herself from sleep, she recognised the hushed laughter and nonsense coming from Maw and Mrs Merrilees. She would’ve rolled over and gone back to sleep, but to hear them whispering back and forwards, in a sort of game …

  ‘If I were Queen of England, I’d order indoor bathtubs with hot running water in every house in the land,’ said Maw.

  ‘Oh, nice one, Nellie. Now, my turn. If I were Queen of England, I’d dress every table with a shiny silver service laden with a feast you couldn’t eat in a sitting.’

  ‘Yes. So shiny, you wouldn’t be chewing the tarnish along with your stew.’

  The pair broke into soft gales of laughter, only stopping to chorus, ‘Ssh, you’ll wake the children.’

  A sob rose in Mary’s throat, so long had it been since she’d heard Maw giggle hysterical along with her friend. If she weren’t blazing mad with her still, she might’ve laughed along with them.

  Mrs Merrilees’ laughter turned to a groan as she rolled over in the skinny bunk. ‘It will be better in Australia, Nellie, for our children. Isn’t that the reason we’re going? For the young ones? Liam deserves a better start. And your Mary too. It’s a shame she couldn’t take up that scholarship.’

  ‘Hush, Julia,’ Maw whispered, her voice coming over serious. ‘You know that girl’d live on daydreams and sugar plums, if she could. All she’ll end up with is a bellyache.’

  ‘You’re too hard on the lass, Nellie. She has a spark. It won’t be penned in our lot. Liam’s neither.’

  ‘Don’t go encouraging her foolish ideas, Julia. A nod to the girl wanting to go the shops, she thinks she can fly to the moon.’

  Mrs Merrilees’ patient, soft laugh greeted Maw’s darkening tone.

  Mary pressed a hand to a prickle growing in her chest, grateful to have Mrs Merrilees’ support at least. She’d still not forgiven her mother for refusing the nuns their scholarship and her the chance to stay on at school. Maw telling them she’d thank them not to go filling her girl’s head with grand expectations. She’d not forgiven herself either for not barking louder at the time. And fiercer.

  It were a balm to know Mrs Merrilees thought she had spark. That she was destined for something better. Ah … ! Maw might say no to her daughter, but she’d not say no to Julia Merrilees so fast!

  ‘Oh, Nellie. You exaggerate. It will be different in Australia.’

  ‘So you say. And Seamus in my ear the same for months. I’ve heard the song before, Julia. Bellies still went hungry in Bothwellhaugh, same as they did in Ireland. Babes still died. Only difference – the lack of warring souls in the Falls Road wanting to crush each other’s skulls.’

  Mary sighed at her mother’s oft-repeated chant. It was hard to know why Maw ever put a foot out of Ireland when any time Da came up with a scheme she vowed to return to Belfast, just see if she didn’t.

  Really, though, Mary did know what had driven her parents to Scotland. No work to be had for a steel or linen worker. They’d brought her with them, less than a year old, across the Irish sea to Scotland with hope in their hearts and a whistle on Da’s lips. Sometimes Maw teased him, he must have swallowed his whistle on that boat and he should spit it up.

  Da would only smile. ‘You can no keep out the coal dust, woman, and open your mouth to whistle too.’

  ‘I’ll not have Mary chase rainbows, Julia. It’s fine and good for a man. Liam’s not going to end up with a big belly, stuck behind a stove or a washtub all day. Mary doesn’t need educating; she’ll be some man’s wife and time for her dreams will be done. She’ll be better off if she has no such nonsense to start.’

  Mary waited, eager for Mrs Merrilees’ reply, but the moments passed and when only her own sigh broke the silence, her heart weighed into the mattress. Was this what it was like for Liam to go underground and the light close off? Did he walk the pit road full of dread and darkness each start of shift?

  Why did Maw make out that marriage and weans such a curse? I know she can’t be happy, Lord, getting over Thady and all. And that it were hard on her raising all her brothers and sisters after their mother died. But you’d think she’d find some happiness in having three daughters fit and fair. When I have me own weans, I’ll love ’em all like Mrs Merrilees. And me husband and taking care of them all. A picture formed in her mind of one, maybe two, wee cherubs playing on the floor. Liam smiling at her and them all. Of course, that wouldn’t be for a while yet. But wasn’t that what any girl wanted? One day.

  ‘I’m glad to have you with me, Julia,’ Maw whispered into the silence. ‘Your coming too is the one grace in this folly. I don’t know I could’ve borne it, if you’d stayed in the Pailis. Did I ever tell you about my sister, Deidre?’

  ‘No. You never did,’ Mrs Merrilees replied, interest keen from her tone.

  Mary gasped, pressing her face into the pillow in case Maw guessed her awake. Her mother had never mentioned any Deidre person and her a sister too.

  ‘A bright, beautiful girl with the voice of an angel was our Deidre. ’Til she ran after dreams of being a famous opera singer. All the way to London. But they wouldn’t take a girl from the slums of Belfast – with no fancy training. Catholic to boot. You couldn’t get much lower in those heretics’ eyes. But Deidre found herself a comfort. A man. A Prod who made promises, at least until he got his way. Then he sent her off with a one-way ticket back to Belfast and a pound for her trouble. My sister was dead in my arms by New Year’s. Never heard her newborn’s cry. The mite, never supposed to be here, died within the day. Deidre paid the price of her dreams. I never want that for my girl.’

  ‘Oh, Nellie, how awful sad. But you can’t lump Mary in the same. She’s a good lass.’

  ‘Don’t I know that? I’m her mother. Deidre was a good girl too. I plan for my girl to stay that way.’

  Maw’s bitterness hung in the dark, while waves lapped on the side of the ship.

  A tremor ran through Mary, her name having stolen the joy from their talk. She wanted to stay angry with Maw, only it was hard to fight someone claiming to want the best for you. It gladdened her to know that Maw thought she was a good girl, but cancelled out her mother thinking all goodness might seep from her if she went following after any dreams or joy.

  How could Maw suggest she’d do any such thing as her sister? Maw didn’t know her at all.

  BIRTHING A BEAST
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  FEBRUARY 1914

  A whole week passed with no chance for Mary to speak to Mrs Merrilees out of Maw’s hearing. Until one afternoon, she leaned over the ship railing, planning her words, grateful for a few minutes respite from the endless deck sports and jaunts around the decks with Jane and her sisters. Sweet as Jane was, at eleven, she was not yet old enough to be Mary’s bosom pal. But Jane’s maw had always been an ally.

  Tonight, straight after supper, I’m gonna find Mrs Merrilees and ask her to help convince Maw. If anyone could persuade her mother to let her stay on at school – one more year to get her certificate – Mrs Merrilees could.

  She started when to the east a slash of lightning lit up the late afternoon sky, followed by another and another. Each bright flash surged more brilliantly than the last, as if a storm were chasing up behind them. She searched the sky for the moon and found only a wafer-like crescent barely visible on its back. Suddenly, the still, grey water around the bow seethed and a school of flying fish streaked above the surface, flying straight as silver arrows and not tipping the water for some thirty to forty feet. Beautiful as they were, a sudden chill prickled her spine as if some unseen evil was running its fingers up her back. A bizarre sensation mingled with the fine layer of perspiration ever present since they’d sailed into the Indian Ocean.

  Pity the poor beggars below battling not only the heat but measles.

  The captain had ordered the steerage passengers to cramp up even more to squeeze in a quarantine bay. Doctor Halliday walked with a hunched back now, the walk of a man desperate for sleep. Another baby had died in the early hours, but when they’d held the service Mary had stayed below deck, pleading she couldn’t watch another bundle drop into the ocean. Even though each was sewn into canvas sacks and weighted with irons to sink from view straight away, it was the picture of the little bodies floating down, down through the fishes and shipwrecks to join all the bones of history she couldn’t get out of her mind.