Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Nellie

‘PROMISE we’ll always stay together,’ whispered Nellie. ‘Promise faithfully.’

She had to whisper because most of the other girls in the stuffy, tar-smelling cabin were asleep. Nellie didn’t feel like sleeping. In fact, she’d never felt so wide awake in her life. She sat hunched on the narrow bunk that had been her bed for the last four months, and her best friend, Mary Connell, sat hunched on the bunk opposite. Mary’s pale face, half hidden beneath a prim white nightcap, was barely visible in the darkness.

Over the creaking and shuddering of the ship Nellie could hear Sarah Ryan’s muffled sobbing. Poor Sarah must be having another bad dream. The Elgin, which was carrying nearly 200 Irish orphans halfway around the world, had seen plenty of nightmares. None of the girls could forget the horror of the Great Hunger, the famine that had killed so many thousands back home in Ireland.

‘Of course we must stay together,’ Mary whispered back. ‘You know I’d be scared to death without you.’

Nellie reached for Mary’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of, angel. We survived the Hunger, and we survived the workhouse. We’ve even nearly reached South Australia without being shipwrecked! And now we’re going to work for rich people in Adelaide. No more sleeping in dormitories, no more eating corn mush!’ Such beautiful pictures now formed in Nellie’s head: a warm little bed of her own, and herself sitting in front of a steaming plate of stew, with a pile of fresh soda bread a mile high . . .

Mary gave a tiny sigh. ‘I wish I was like you, Nell,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been strong.’

‘I’ve had to look after myself, just as you have – I’m not one bit stronger than you.’

‘Yes, you are! Nobody would ever believe you’ve just turned twelve. When you told the Guardians at the workhouse that you were older, it would hardly even have seemed like a fib.’

‘It wasn’t my fib,’ protested Nellie. ‘It was Father Donnelly who told the Guardians I was thirteen. He said to my dada that older girls would have the best chance of getting out of the place. He was right, too, for if the Guardians had known I was only eleven, I’d not be here with you.’

‘And thank goodness you are,’ said Mary, ‘for I’d miss you so much if you weren’t.’

‘And I can’t think how much I’d miss you,’ Nellie replied, gazing earnestly at her friend through the darkness. ‘We must always look after each other, Mary. Goodness knows what could happen to us in Australia. Superintendent O’Leary told me it’s a very peculiar place. He said there are snakes that can poison you to death in a second, and animals that bounce like india-rubber balls.’

Mary shuddered. ‘I’ll always be there for you, Nell, I promise.’

‘And me for you. Never forget it.’

There was a sigh, and a thump, as Peggy Duffy turned over in the bunk above Nellie’s head. ‘Do hush up, you two! Think of us who’s trying to sleep, now.’

‘Oh, hush yourself, Peg!’ retorted Nellie. ‘We’re making no noise at all, and it’s you who’s disturbing the peace with your moaning.’

In the morning the Elgin would be docking at Port Adelaide. And after that, as Nellie knew, all the girls had to find work. She’d heard that there were plenty of jobs for Irish maidservants in the colonies. Perhaps she and Mary could work together! Someone in a fine big house might need two maids just like themselves. She imagined how much fun they’d have. They might even be put to work outside, in the sunshine. Mr O’Leary had said that the weather in Adelaide could be very hot.

Thinking about Mr O’Leary made Nellie remember the Killarney Union Workhouse, which had so recently been her home. She was grateful to it because it had kept her alive when she had nothing but the rags she stood up in, but what a cold, grey, cheerless place it was! Each day was as dreary as the last, with rules that told you when to work, when to eat, when to sleep.

Nellie felt that she would always be haunted by the thin, careworn faces of the women and children there. They were the faces of people who had given up all hope.

She gave herself a little shake and made herself see happy pictures again: pictures of Mary and herself picking apples, throwing grain to hens, running through a flower-filled garden . . .

‘It will be such a grand adventure, being in South Australia,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think so, Mary?’

‘I’d feel much better about it if I knew that only good things would happen to us. The dear Lord only knows where we shall be in a year’s time, Nell.’

‘Oh, let’s make a plan!’ Nellie cried. She loved making plans: they were exciting, and they gave you something to work towards. Nobody could take a good plan away from you. ‘In this country we can do things we couldn’t have dreamed of back in Ireland! Let’s say what we wish for, and then after a year we can see if our wishes have come true. Shall we do it?’

‘Nell, you know I hate to make plans for the future,’ Mary said. ‘It’s such terrible bad luck.’

‘That’s pure nonsense,’ said Nellie. ‘Just cross yourself and say “I know this won’t happen”. That will break the bad luck, won’t it? Come, say what you most wish for.’

Reluctantly, Mary crossed herself. ‘Well then . . . I know this won’t ever happen, but what I want is to be a nursery maid in a great big house and look after little children. I did love the babies at the workhouse. It was cruel that they were stuck in such a place, the poor things, and most without their own mothers to look after them.’ She paused, thinking. ‘Oh, and I wish that I shall never be hungry again, not ever. So what do you wish, Nell?’

‘I’m with you entirely on the bit about not being hungry. But I want so many other things as well. Most of all I want to be part of a family. I miss my own family so much.’

Mary patted her hand. ‘Don’t be thinking about that now. What are your other wishes?’

Nellie sat up a little straighter. ‘Well, I don’t want to be called “orphan” or “workhouse girl” ever again. I want to be only myself, Nellie O’Neill.’

‘And you are yourself,’ laughed Mary. ‘Who else might you possibly be?’

‘You know what I mean! You know how you hate it, too, when you’re treated like the filth on somebody’s boot.’

‘Well, yes, but I don’t let it bother me. And I’d not waste a wish on it.’

‘Maybe you should let it bother you, for it’s not fair,’ said Nellie with passion. ‘And I still have one more wish. Don’t laugh! – I want to learn to read.’

Mary gave her a wondering look. ‘Why?’

‘You don’t need to read when you’re scrubbing floors or emptying slops,’ said Peggy’s voice from the bunk above. ‘You’re a daft eejit, Nellie O’Neill. Now go to sleep!’

‘Maybe I don’t need to,’ Nellie said, ‘but I want to. My dada could read. He read the Bible to us children every night.’ She thought sadly of the last time she’d seen her father, so weak from hunger and disease. ‘Be strong, Nellie,’ he’d said to her. ‘Don’t let the workhouse break your spirit. Remember that the O’Neills are descended from Irish kings.’

‘I know your wishes will all come true,’ said Mary. ‘You have a face on you that good luck can’t resist.’

‘I hope you’re right, Mary angel,’ said Nellie. ‘And good luck will touch you on the shoulder too, I just know it will.’

The two girls reached forward to hug each other, and then turned around to go to sleep. Soon their journey would be over, and their new lives would begin.