Hilda Malone lost her grip on life towards the end of January 1928 and the funeral was held soon after. St Catherine’s was packed with neighbours, friends and the few relations she had left, and both Angela and Connie attended the little ‘do’.
The following morning Angela was sick in the pot and when she came back from emptying the contents into the lavatory Connie had the kettle on and was cooking the porridge.
She turned as her mother came in the side door. ‘What was all that about?’
Angela shrugged. ‘Could be anything.’
‘You didn’t drink too much?’
‘Connie, you were by my side most of the time,’ Angela said. ‘I drank nothing, if you are talking of alcohol. I had two glasses of lemonade and a cup of tea and that was all I had.’
‘Well, it couldn’t have been anything you ate or I would be sick too, for we ate a lot of the same food.’
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s easy to pick up these odd bugs.’
What she said reassured Connie, but Angela was concerned that it was no bug, however much she wished it was, for the sickness more or less confirmed the fact that she was pregnant with Eddie McIntyre’s child. When she went into the bar at ten thirty that morning Breda was there too, which was unusual. It was half an hour before the doors opened and, as Angela was removing the towels and sorting out the glasses, she said to her, ‘God girl, you look a bit peaky. You all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You sure?’
Angela sighed. ‘You may as well know. It’s not something I can keep secret for long anyway. I was sick this morning and my monthlies were due the end of November and I’ve seen nothing.’
‘Ah almighty Christ!’ Breda exclaimed. ‘That scandalous bastard has filled your belly and left you high and dry. I said a novena that there would be no repercussions from that mad period you and Eddie McIntyre enjoyed together and the novena was no bloody use either.’
‘It was my fault as well.’
‘Yes, but it’s you alone who will carry the stigma and suffer name-calling, and Connie too most likely. And the child will be known as a bastard all the years of its life.’
‘I know,’ Angela said in a voice little above a whisper.
‘I know someone who can get rid of it for you.’
Angela gasped. ‘I can’t do that, Breda. It would be murder.’
‘Course it wouldn’t be.’
‘Yes, it would be,’ Angela said firmly. ‘Look, I wish this hadn’t happened and I don’t want this child, but I will do my level best to ensure it never feels unwanted. I cannot murder it because it’s inconvenient.’
‘All right then,’ Breda said. ‘How are you going to square this with young Connie?’
Angela’s sigh this time was heartfelt, for that was the one thing she worried about constantly, the thing that jerked her awake through the night and caused panic attacks in the day when she envisaged telling her. Since Christmas, they had been making tentative moves to retrieve the closeness they once had. It was early days and Connie was still not totally sure if she could rely on her mother any more. Angela was aware of this and understood it. She knew there was no way she could tell her daughter, not quite fifteen, that she was having the bastard child of Eddie McIntyre in such a way that she would understand any part of.
She risked losing her daughter’s love, trust and respect, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to destroy the life inside her. She remembered Mary warning her about trying to abort a child when Angela had been pregnant with the child she had left on the workhouse steps. She’d said some abortionists knew bugger all and others were dirty devils that could leave a woman with an infection which meant they could never conceive again. And she had gone on to tell her that she had seen the results of some of their handiwork, like the young lass who had bled to death because she was ‘too scared of going to prison to summon an ambulance’.
Furthermore, there was always a risk that the child would be damaged and how could Angela live with herself then? No, for better or worse, she would have this child and if she lost her daughter through it then that’s the price she must pay. It was a harsh punishment but she needed to suffer for being so sinful.
* * *
Each day, Angela wondered if it would be as well to tell Connie so she would have time to get used to it, or if it was better to let her tumble to it herself. She didn’t know if she was doing right or not, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak of it until she had to. She didn’t yet look pregnant so day followed day with Connie ignorant of the Sword of Damocles that would shortly spear her heart … Angela just couldn’t bring herself to tell her daughter, and although the months passed by, with loose clothes she was able to hide the truth from the world for a bit longer.
She couldn’t help but think that being with child was some sign from God, that she must pay the price for her sin with Eddie. She couldn’t shake off the need to confess but couldn’t face Father Brannigan, the local priest at her church. He would know her voice and would no doubt never let her forget it. She thought about the kind priest who had heard her confession at St Chad’s and felt herself drawn to the church.
The following Friday, she found herself at the back of St Chad’s watching the men and women come and go from the confessional and wondered if she had the courage to come forward. She sat there for a while and, as the church crowds thinned out, she knew that she would soon miss her chance. Father John was just about to leave the confession box, thinking that he was finished for the day, and so was surprised when a young woman entered the cubicle.
‘Can I help you, my child?’ He could feel from his long years of experience that this was a soul needing God’s forgiveness, not just one of the congregation who came out of a sense of duty and only confessed to swearing and haranguing their husbands or scolding their wives.
‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’
When Angela spoke, the priest looked at her curiously through the grille, for he felt that he recognised her voice. He realised it was the very same woman who had come to the church after abandoning Chrissie and then come back years later to confess her sin.
The priest made the sign of the cross and waited patiently for her to speak.
‘Father, I am ashamed to say that I am with child but have no husband.’
‘I know you, my child, you have come to confess with me before and told me of the child that you left at the gates of the workhouse. How has this happened to you again, were you attacked once more?’
The priest had such a kindly voice, so full of compassion, that Angela felt even more shame and started to weep.
‘Come, tell me what has happened and remember that God loves sinners more than those who are not.’
Angela spilled out the story of what had happened with Eddie. ‘Father, it was my lust that has got me to this terrible situation.’
‘Yes, you are human and to sin is part of that condition, but from what you tell me this man was the greater sinner. He led you astray, though you willingly followed, but I can see that you are truly sorry.’
‘I know that I must have this child and bear the shame. I know I should have done that also before with the child that I left at the workhouse.’
‘God moves in mysterious ways, my child, and we have no way of knowing why He sends us the tests or the trials that He does, but we must try to do the right thing. You should bring the child up in the ways of God and pray for His forgiveness. His grace will guide you. But I must tell you that I have news of the workhouse child that you left on the steps. The child’s name is Chrissie and she is no longer kept at that awful institution.’
Angela could scarce believe this news and said through her tears, ‘I don’t understand. What has happened to her? Is she in any danger?’
‘No, my child, far from it. She lives with my sister and myself and is happy and safe with us. I made enquiries after you came before and when the workhouse was to be closed we took her in. She is thriving now.’
Angela felt an overpowering relief flood through her. Thank God her child was now safe and so close too, maybe just in the rectory attached to the church. If she wanted she could just stand up and walk over there and see her, hold her in her arms again like she had longed to.
‘Oh Father, how can I ever thank you? My little girl is safe now and it’s all because of your help.’
‘My child, I should love to speak with you properly, perhaps after confession we could talk …’
But Angela knew that she must leave, her shame at being pregnant again out of wedlock was too great, and she stood up, saying, ‘Bless you, Father, and thank you. Please tell my daughter I love her dearly.’
She ran as fast as she could away from the church, almost as if she had the devil at her heels. She made it home to her back-to-back and fell in the door, overwhelmed with the news she had just heard and full of emotion.
As she tried to catch her breath, Angela suddenly felt a pain in her lower belly and felt the need to dash to the lavatory. There she saw scarlet blood was seeping from her and staining her stockings.
For a moment she didn’t know what to do, then she hurried up the yard, packed herself with a towel and clean underclothes and made her way to the Swan. She went inside and told Paddy she needed to see Breda as a matter of urgency.
Breda came down wrapped in a dressing gown, rheumy-eyed and tousle-headed from sleep, but she knew Angela well enough to know that she wouldn’t have woken her up unless it was of crucial importance.
‘What is it?’ she said.
‘I’m bleeding,’ Angela said. ‘I mean lots.’
‘Oh Christ,’ Breda said. ‘Look, go back home, put on plenty of water to boil and sort out all your towels. I’ll throw some clothes on and be round in a jiffy.’
Though as she dressed, Breda couldn’t help feeling that, if Angela was to miscarry this child, it might be the best solution all round.
Angela said to Breda, ‘I’m losing it, aren’t I?’
Breda nodded her head. ‘I very much think you are.’
‘I don’t care,’ Angela declared. ‘I’m glad.’ But tears glistened behind her eyes as she went on, ‘Now you know the true extent of my wickedness – being glad at the death of a baby.’
‘This isn’t your fault and I know you don’t mean that,’ Breda said. ‘You did nothing to hasten the birth and I’ve heard the doctor say that if a woman miscarries often the child is damaged in some way.’
‘That would be a comfort in a way to know that,’ Angela said and then as a contraction took hold of her she grabbed Breda’s sleeve. ‘You won’t leave me?’
‘Only to tell Paddy he must manage on his own,’ Breda said. ‘It won’t hurt him and Monday is one of our quiet days anyway.’
So Breda left to do that and returned again and the two women waited hours and hours until eventually Angela got the urge to push. The tiny life that had ebbed away inside her was so small that even when it slipped out of her it wasn’t the unbearable ache she had felt with her previous two pregnancies.
‘It was a boy,’ Breda said, wrapping it in a towel and letting Angela see too. There didn’t look to be anything wrong with it but she knew you could never guess at what was happening inside the little body. He looked beautiful and perfect and quite dead and Angela stroked the downy hair on the little child’s head, knowing she would have loved this child like her other children. The tears spilled freely from her.
‘Sad, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ Breda agreed. ‘But in this instance maybe all to the good. Now we must tidy this room before Connie sees it.’
‘Oh God, yes.’
‘It’s all right, I have a plan,’ Breda said. ‘I’ll take the bloodied towels to my house and put them in my boiler in the cellar. Wouldn’t do for all the people in the brew house to see them.’
‘No indeed. And the child?’
‘Let us deal with that too,’ Breda said. ‘The child was stillborn so there will be no funeral or grave or anything. We will dispose of the body if that’s all right with you.’
Angela swallowed deeply, for she thought it a very clinical way to deal with the body of a child that had once been a living being inside her. But she had to think of practicalities and so she nodded her head. ‘Yes please.’
Breda gave Angela a few days off work and Connie went to bide at the Swan because she was told her mother had a fever that was infectious. By the time Angela was fully on her feet again, any lingering sadness about losing the baby was replaced by relief and she was back to her own self. Sometimes she thought of all the things that had befallen her and was heartily glad to draw a firm line under everything and make peace with her daughter again.
By the summer Chrissie could read very well; true to her word, Eileen had introduced her to the library. Chrissie could hardly believe there were so many books in the whole wide world as there were in that library, and the thought of being able to take those wonderful books home for two whole weeks sent frissons of excitement shooting through her. At first, she couldn’t read well enough to follow the books she chose, but because she wanted to read on when Eileen finished a chapter she made great strides forward and Eileen knew the girl was far from stupid.
There were sometimes many children in the library, but Chrissie noticed one in particular. She was always alone; no adult, no cluster of friends surrounded her as she perused the shelves quite seriously. She had beautiful golden ringlets, which were always tied up with a ribbon, and once, seeing Chrissie watching her with such intensity, she flashed her a smile and Chrissie saw her eyes were a brilliant blue. That night, as they ate dinner, she told Eileen and Father John about her, saying she was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen and that her golden ringlets were tied back with a red ribbon.
Father John remembered the lost locket had ringlets tied up with a red ribbon and felt an icy finger run down his spine as he said, ‘How old is the girl?’
Chrissie wrinkled her nose as she thought and eventually said, ‘Older than me. The sort of age when she should have left school.’
‘Maybe she has.’
Chrissie shook her head. ‘No, I overheard her talking to the librarians. She’s very friendly with them. Seems she’s at St Paul’s.’
‘Must be a clever girl then, for that is the only Roman Catholic girls’ grammar school in the city,’ Father John said. ‘And, talking of Catholicism, it might be as well to get you baptised before you start school in September. I have explained the faith to you and I suppose you do want to become Catholic, don’t you?’
Chrissie didn’t care what religion she was, she’d have been happy with no religion at all, but she looked from Father John to Eileen and knew her becoming a Catholic was important to both of them. They had been so kind to her that if they’d asked her to dance on red-hot coals she would have considered it, and this was such a small thing to ask and so she said, ‘Yes, Father John, I’d love to become a Catholic.’
Father John gave a sigh of relief. ‘People would think living with a priest would be odd if you weren’t a Catholic,’ he said to Chrissie. ‘And, quite apart from anything else, your mother was a Catholic.’
Chrissie was suddenly so very still she could hear the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. Her eyes widened as she stared at the priest and into the strained silence Chrissie asked tentatively, ‘Father John, do you know my mother?’
‘No, my dear,’ Father John said. ‘I really wish I did.’
‘But you said …’
‘What your mother told me was in confession. You remember I told you I cannot repeat anything people tell me in confession.’
Chrissie nodded.
‘I surmised that your mother was a Catholic as she sought absolution from God for a terrible crime she thought she had committed, but she wasn’t one of my parishioners or I’d have recognised the voice.’
‘What crime did she commit?’
Father John shook his head. ‘That I cannot tell you, my dear. But I will say your mother said she loved you very much but was unable to care for you.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know John can’t tell you that,’ Eileen chided gently. ‘He has already told you why. Now we really need to discuss your baptism, for that is the first step.’
So Chrissie was christened into the Catholic church so that she could be confirmed by the bishop the following spring along with boys and girls of similar age. It all seemed very strange to her. Aunt Eileen was what was called a godmother and Peter, one of Father John’s brothers, a godfather. She had to stand by a bowl in the church Father John called a font and put her head back and he poured water all over her head.
Afterwards, Eileen made a little fancy tea for them all and Peter joined them but no one else because it was a bit of a secret thing. Chrissie didn’t mind that, for she didn’t know anyone she’d have liked to invite, but she did wonder why Auntie Eileen had insisted on secrecy and asked her to explain.
‘As I was brought up Catholic,’ Eileen said, ‘if you had been the daughter of my best friend, the likelihood would be that so was she. In that case you would have already have been christened a Catholic when you were just a baby.’
‘It’s quite monstrous to have to go through such subterfuge,’ Peter said. ‘But necessary, I know. Many people seem to have such contempt for children from the workhouse, even though it’s not their fault they ended up there. Incidentally, I applaud what you are doing and must say I think Chrissie a splendid girl.’
Chrissie blushed immediately, but she liked Peter. He was very like Father John in his mannerisms and his looks, only he wasn’t a priest.
‘My mother was a Catholic,’ she said. ‘So Father John said I had to be brought up a Catholic as well.’
‘That’s what the church says, all right,’ Peter said to Chrissie and then he turned to Father John and said, ‘I didn’t know you knew the mother?’
‘I don’t,’ Father John said. ‘But she came to see me in confession and that fact alone would have pointed to her being a Catholic. The confession she made confirmed it.’
‘But you have no idea who she is?’
Father John shook his head. ‘None, except she is not from this parish for if she was I would have recognised her voice. I did ask her to wait but when I came out of the confessional there was no sign of her.’ He looked across to Chrissie and said, ‘I’m sorry, Chrissie.’
‘It’s all right,’ Chrissie said. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It would be lovely if I could find my mother, but if I can’t I would rather be here than anywhere else in the world.’
And Eileen was not the only one to lower her head so that Chrissie would not see the tears in her eyes.
Confession was a worry for Chrissie and she asked Eileen for advice.
‘You confess what you have done wrong to the priest,’ Eileen explained. ‘He gives you a penance, prayers to say, and that’s all there is to it.’
Chrissie, however, couldn’t think of anything she was doing wrong. She had been so grateful at being taken from the workhouse and housed with these lovely, lovely people that she tried very hard not to put a foot wrong.
‘It might have been easier to go to confession if I had still been in the workhouse,’ she told Eileen.
‘How’s that?’
‘Some warders were always telling us how wicked we were,’ Chrissie said. ‘Sometimes it started as soon as you raised your head from the flat, uncomfortable pillows, and it would go on through the day, though often I didn’t know what I’d done to make them say that.’
‘That is just silly,’ Eileen said dismissively. ‘You’re not wicked. Let me see, do you always remember your morning and evening prayers?’
Chrissie coloured. ‘The evening ones are always easier to remember,’ she admitted.
‘There you are then, that’s one sin to confess.’
‘Oh, I’ve thought of another,’ Chrissie said. ‘When I say I’m the orphaned daughter of your friend, or you say it and I agree, that’s a lie, isn’t it?’
‘Well yes, I suppose it is, but could you imagine what would happen if we let it be known that you were some little workhouse waif?’
Chrissie nodded. ‘They would look down on me so I am glad we are telling a lie. Is it wrong to be glad you are telling a lie?’
Eileen smiled. ‘Probably but not very.’
‘Still, another one to add to the list and tell Father John.’
‘I suppose so.’
However, Chrissie found the hardest thing about confession was telling someone she knew well and thought so much of all she had done wrong.
‘He can tell no one,’ Eileen said reassuringly. ’He can speak of nothing you tell him in confession.’
‘I know,’ Chrissie said. ‘But it is his good opinion I care about before anyone else’s really.’
‘Chrissie, Father John will think no worse of you because of what you tell him.’
Chrissie wrinkled her nose. ‘Maybe not now, but what if I was to do something really bad?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, um … oh, I don’t know, steal something perhaps.’
Eileen laughed, but gently. ‘But you wouldn’t steal anything anyway,’ she said. ‘You know that’s wrong and wouldn’t need Father John to tell you that. Remember, we are all given a conscience and free will. If you are tempted to do something you know is wrong, that is your conscience at work. If you ignore the conscience and go ahead anyway, you can do that because that’s your free will.’
‘And then you have to confess it to Father John?’
‘Well yes, because if you don’t the sin stays on your soul.’
Chrissie put her head on one side and a shy smile played around her mouth as she said, ‘You know, taking it all round, I think it’s far better for me to stay on the straight and narrow.’
Eileen burst out laughing and blessed the young girl’s blossoming personality.
Chrissie knew, however uncomfortable she felt about confession, she had to go through with it. Her soul had to be clean before she could take communion and it had already been noted that she didn’t ever go to the rails at Mass on Sunday morning. Those who had the temerity to ask Eileen why had been told that the girl had been traumatised by the death of her family, but that she was now coming to terms with it. Many accepted that, for the child hadn’t been to school either, and most said they were glad that she was eventually getting over it.
Before she went to confession for the first time, Eileen had given Chrissie a little red book. It was a catechism, the beliefs of the Catholic Church, and all children learnt it, so Eileen and Chrissie read a little bit of it every night. Chrissie tried to commit it to memory, beginning with the basic questions.
‘Who made you?’ Eileen would ask and Chrissie would answer, ‘God made me.’
‘Why did God make you?’
‘God made me to know Him, love Him and serve Him in this world and be happy with Him forever in the next.’
And so on and Father John would test her at breakfast the following day. She picked up the catechism as quickly as she had reading and writing. She was also soon learning arithmetic, partly because she was bright and partly because she was desperate to please her new guardians, particularly Eileen, who she had begun to love deeply.
The first time she followed Eileen out of the pew to kneel at the rails of the altar to receive communion she was incredibly nervous, even though Father John and Eileen had gone over it the night before and she had seen many do it at Mass every Sunday. She watched what Eileen, who was beside her, did and put out her tongue and received the host, which melted away on her tongue as she returned to the pew. Father John had told her that it was not bread, that during the Mass it changed into the body of Christ. That made her feel a little bit sick but she didn’t share that feeling, knowing even he might not understand. But still, she thought, if that’s what they want me to do every Sunday – forego my breakfast so that I can take part in communion – then that’s what I’ll do.
In Father Branningan’s parish, Angela and Connie sat together in silent prayer after taking communion. Angela’s body was recovering from the miscarriage and she was starting to feel like her old self again. All of the business with Eddie and the aftermath was starting to feel like a bad dream. She often thought back to Father John’s words about never knowing God’s will and took comfort in them. Whatever she had done – and she truly felt ashamed and wanted to be forgiven – she knew in her heart that to have that poor baby boy had not been in God’s plan for her. She hoped now that she could forget about these events and that she would never have to see Eddie McIntyre again.
Connie felt that she had got her real mother back again in the last few weeks. She was loving and kind and asked about her daughter’s studies. Maybe they really could get back to where they had been before. As they left the church, Connie thought it was a good moment to tell her mother about something that had happened recently.
‘I ran into Daniel at the Bullring the other day.’
Angela was not too surprised – on a weekend the whole of the city seemed to come out – but she was surprised that Daniel would be out at the busy market with the fishwives and the city’s hoi polloi.
‘What was he doing there?’ she asked.
‘He said that it was Stan’s birthday and he was going to get him a present from Woolworths.’
‘Did he say how Stan was getting on in the shop?’ Angela asked.
‘He said it was going well, but that Stan was still learning the ropes. He said that he could do with someone who knew about how everything worked to help him out still as there was so much to learn.’
‘Are you going to see Daniel again?’
Connie thought it was funny that her mother had asked that and that her attitude seemed to have mellowed.
‘Well, now you ask, we did like seeing each other again and he asked me out for a walk on Sunday. I accepted.’
Angela thought about this. Connie and Daniel had been friends and it didn’t now seem right that her falling-out with Stan should stand in the way of her daughter’s own life. She was growing up and had to make her own decisions.
‘Well, I think that’s a good idea. He’s a nice young man and going places.’
Connie smiled to herself – yes, this definitely seemed like the mother she knew and loved.
‘Don’t you think it’s time to put your disagreement with Stan aside, whatever it is? It can’t really have been so bad after all this time?’
Angela didn’t answer, for she wasn’t sure herself. She had missed Stan so much, and knew that all the problems she’d had were a result of not having such a steady man in her life. But could they be friends again?