Though Rose dreaded the cold of winter and longed for the warmth of summer, the long, warm and very dry spells of that summer brought her little pleasure. It seemed as if the heat itself had encouraged the nightly rioting in Belfast. The tiny, overcrowded houses spilt their human contents into the streets to continue ongoing battles and keep up the avenging of insults the other side was supposed to have perpetrated with a succession of stonings, burnings and looting.
The riots went on through July and August, coming to an end finally after three days of heavy rain that flooded some of the poorest areas of the city and left crops damaged throughout the countryside. The newspapers put the official number of deaths at thirty, but the personal stories that reached Armagh to be passed on to the forge made it clear the actual number had to be much higher. In addition to the deaths, hundreds had been injured, many of them seriously.
‘How is she, Mary? Is she going to stay in Belfast?’ Rose asked, when one damp and misty September morning, her friend appeared at her door.
‘No, she says she can’t bear the sight o’ the place, though the neighbours has been kind. Catholic and Protestant alike. She says the whole place is entirely different from when she an’ Kevin were married and that not a year ago. It’s the feel in the air she can’t stand. An’ forby, she’s no money. The little bit they’d saved for things for the baby has gone in rent an’ sure there’s nothing comin’ in. Peggy’s not that strong yet to go out to work an’ she’s got no one to mind the wee boy.’
Rose sighed. Hardly a day passed when she hadn’t thought of Peggy and wondered how she was coping with the shock of Kevin’s death and the long hard labour which started the day he was buried. There were times when the enormity of Peggy’s loss came close to overwhelming her. What would she do if she lost her own beloved John? Where would she go? How would she live without his love and comfort. It was not so much providing for the children, but coping with a life that would have lost all its meaning.
‘So will she come home?’ she said, pushing away her own sad thoughts.
‘There’s nothing for it,’ said Mary matter-of-factly. ‘Me Ma’s not keen on having the child, she says she’s too old to go through all that again. She does her bit comin’ down to help me, but she doesn’t want a baby in the house. Still, when it comes to it, I think she’d be glad to have Peggy back. Da’s getting awful crotchety with the arthritis. Ma says he only opens his mouth to complain. Isn’t old age awful, Rose. D’ye think we’ll be like that if we live long enough?’
She had to laugh. It was the directness and lack of calculation about Mary she so loved. What she thought, she said. But what she may have lacked in tact, she more than made up for in kindness.
‘I can’t imagine being old, Mary,’ she said honestly. ‘Oh, I can imagine failing. Being a bit deaf or losing my sight. Not able to walk very much, like poor Sarah. I dread the thought of it, but I can’t imagine not being the person I am now. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Aye. I can’t see you different, somehow. But there’s many that are,’ she said, a frown on her face. ‘There’s people I used to know when I was a girl. Some of these men marchin’ around in hard hats. They were only a few years older than me. Sure, I made hay with some of them an’ had a bit of fun behind the haystack,’ she said, winking mischievously. ‘What gets inta them d’ye think that they go so serious an’ get so puffed up in themselves. Behavin’ as if they knew it all an’ most of them have no idea. They don’t know the half of what goes on.’
Rose shook her head.
‘I sometimes wonder if it’s fear, Mary. Fear of losing their farm, or their job, or of being ill, or getting old. So they build themselves up. Pretend nothing can touch them. Forever playing “I’m the King of the castle and no one can knock me down.” And to prove it they have to find someone weaker to knock down, and so it goes on,’ she ended abruptly, straightening herself up and pulling a sour face.
Mary laughed.
‘Ye might be right, Rose. It wouldn’t be the first time,’ she said, grinning. ‘But tell me this an’ tell me no more, as the saying is,’ she went on leaning forward and dropping her voice confidentially. ‘Why is it only the men?’
‘You’re forgetting Mary-Anne,’ said Rose, with a smile.
‘An’ isn’t she better forgotten?’ replied Mary, so promptly that Rose burst out laughing again.
‘But why only the men?’ Mary persisted.
Rose was silent a moment. Why indeed? She’d never thought of that, though it was true enough.
‘Perhaps it’s because men don’t bear children,’ she said seriously. ‘Because we carry life, we’re more concerned with the ordinary business of living. For us there’d always be something far more important than marching or rioting.’
‘Aye, maybe ye have it there, Rose dear. Sure what attention wou’d ye pay to anythin’ if ye’d a child sick?’
The two friends moved on then and talked of other things. Mary confessed her anxiety about Jane, now eight years old and not as tall as her little brother William. She was never without a cold and now after the hot, dry summer she had a cough. In return, Rose confided that John was in very low spirits, because Thomas had grown so silent he could hardly get a word out of him.
They agreed as they parted that the doctor might well do something for Jane, but there was little anyone could do for Thomas with Mary-Anne around.
On a pleasant Monday afternoon in October, Rose was startled by what sounded like a cry from the direction of the forge. Immediately, she dropped her sewing and went to look out. As she reached the door, she saw a young horse burst out of the shoeing shed and race down the lane, his leading rein trailing on the ground, a young lad in hot pursuit.
‘John,’ she cried, as she flew across the space between the house and the forge, dodging round a parked cart and a hay float waiting for repair.
But the figure who lay just inside the shoeing shed was Thomas. His grime-streaked face was deathly white and dark bubbles of blood were pushing through a long gash on his forehead. As she knelt down beside him the hammering stopped next door.
‘John, come here. Come here quickly,’ she shouted.
‘My God, Rose, what’s happened?’ he cried, kicking aside a still glowing horse shoe and dropping to his knees beside the crumpled figure.’
‘I don’t know, but we’ve got to get him to the hospital,’ she said as the blood began to stream down his face.
‘Robinson’s trap is our only hope,’ she went on. ‘Run and ask George will he take him. Then ask Sophie has she anything for bleeding,’ she said, cradling Thomas’s head in her lap.
Rose had never before seen a head injury and she was horrified by the blood now pouring down his face. If she didn’t do something to stop it she knew he would bleed to death, where he lay, on the hard earth floor of the shoeing shed.
‘Lord, tell me what to do,’ she prayed, tears of anxiety and frustration welling up in her eyes.
‘Stop it,’ she said to herself fiercely, as a tear dripped down on Thomas’s face, making a clean mark.
Before she actually thought about what she was doing, she’d felt around the wound for the pulsing vein that was pumping out his blood. She couldn’t halt the flow, but she could reduce it. She kept her fingers pressed to the vein and used her other hand to wipe the blood and grime from his face with a loose corner of her apron.
He moaned, his eyes flickering and closing again as if the sunlight penetrating the outer area of the shed was too bright to bear. He tried to say something, but she could see his lips were too dry. She moistened the other corner of the apron with spittle and wiped them gently.
‘Rose?’
‘Yes, it’s me Thomas. Don’t move now, like a good man, till John comes back. I think we’ll need a doctor to stitch you up,’ she said softly.
‘I think it was maybe a wasp stung the poor beast,’ he said, with an effort. ‘M’ leg’s broke. I heard it crack afore I fell,’ he said, looking up at her with a wry look on his face. ‘I’ve an awful pain in m’head.’
Rose laid her free hand across his forehead and listened for any sign of John’s return. He’d been gone a few minutes only, but already it seemed like hours. Though the bleeding had slowed it still seemed such a lot as it trickled between her fingers and down her bare arm. It would take half an hour at least to get him into Armagh and up to the Infirmary. Would there be any blood left by then?
She heard a step behind her and tried to turn her head to see who it was, but she couldn’t move her head without disturbing Thomas, who now lay still again, his eyes shut.
‘Is he dead?’
The voice was familiar but for a moment she couldn’t place it.
‘No, but his leg’s broken. John’s gone for Robinson’s trap.’
There was a rustle of skirt and a moment later, Peggy Donaghy was kneeling beside her, her once rounded face pale and drawn, her eyes lifeless, their sparkle gone.
‘Can I do something to help, Rose?’ she said coolly.
‘Yes. Go over home and bring me a bowl of spring water, a cup and a clean cloth. There ought to be one in the wash house. See if wee Sarah’s still asleep and tell her to stay where she is if she’s awake.’
Peggy left without a word. The events of July, the blood spilt so liberally in the street where she’d started her married life with such hope and joy, Kevin lying as Thomas now lay, came into her mind so sharply.
‘How is he, love?’ John said breathlessly, as he dropped to his knees beside her. ‘George is harnessing the mare. He’ll come round by the lane and back up here. Maggie’s away lookin’ for blankets to put under him and Sophie sent you this,’ he said quickly, handing her a soft pad of linen saturated in some sharp smelling liquid. ‘She said to feel for the throb and press it, but not too hard and not all the time. Put this on the wound and hope it’ll clot. Don’t for any sakes wash it, she said.’
‘I knew that much,’ she said briskly, ‘but I’ve sent for a bowl of water to make a cold compress. He said he had an awful head.’
‘Did he speak t’ ye?’ he asked, his voice almost breaking with emotion.
‘He did. He says his leg’s broken. He thinks a wasp stung the horse.’
‘Ach dear, dear. Such a wee thing to cause such grievance. That beast couldn’t be a quieter animal if it tried.’
He got to his feet as the wheels of the trap sounded on the cobbled lane and Peggy appeared with water and a cloth.
Maggie Robinson had padded the floor of the trap with blankets for John had made it clear that it wouldn’t be possible for Thomas to sit up.
‘Will you go with him, Rose?’
‘What about Mary-Anne?’ she said, thinking of her for the first time.
‘She’s away out.’
‘I’ll go, surely,’ she said, relief breaking over her.
‘I’ll stay till you come back, Rose, and see to the wee ones,’ said Peggy, as she arranged herself on the floor of the trap and strong arms lifted Thomas gently back into her lap, his broken leg bound firmly against the good one with a piece of rope.
While the door of the trap was wedged open to accommodate Thomas’s length, Peggy made a compress for his head and Rose put the cup of water inside the empty bowl and placed it beside her so she could moisten his lips as they went.
‘Are ye right, Rose?’ George asked, as she braced herself against the back of the driver’s seat.
‘Yes, I am. Take it easy on the lane till I get the knack of it,’ she said, looking at John, trying to reassure him with a soft look. ‘Peggy’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she added when she saw how white he’d gone. Peggy nodded calmly and Rose herself felt comforted.
She was cramped and uncomfortable, her back aching with the awkward angle she needed to sit at, so she could keep her fingers on both Sophie’s pad and on the throbbing vein. She wondered how she would ever manage to keep going the whole way to Armagh when she was in such pain herself by the end of the lane.
She concentrated on Thomas, not sure whether to be pleased or anxious he was no longer conscious. She kept the pad damp on his forehead and his lips well moistened in the hope that the slight comfort might somehow touch him, but in truth, it was she herself who was comforted. As they neared the outskirts of Armagh and the hot sun was shut off by the cool shade of the chestnuts opposite the gates of Drumsollen, she suddenly remembered being just as painfully cramped in a strawlined cart, a red-headed baby in her arms, a bag of turf poking through her thin shift.
The baby had survived and so would Thomas. If thoughts and prayers could keep him safe, then he’d not lack for them. She made the sign of the cross on his forehead and spoke to George.
‘I think maybe we could risk going a wee bit faster.’
‘Whatever you say Rose. Anything that’ll help Thomas.’
A group of men were standing awkwardly outside the forge when George drove her back up the lane. John was the first to reach the trap, swinging her down in one easy movement, his eyes on her apron and hands, still covered in dried blood.
‘Well,’ he said, anxiously.
Rose looked at George, but George shook his head.
‘Rose’ll tell you,’ he said, nodding to the onlookers. ‘I didn’t understan’ the half of it.’
‘They said the leg is broken cleanly and should heal well enough,’ she began, looking at the sombre faces. ‘The head wound is more serious, but they’ve got the bleeding stopped and put stitches in. They can’t tell if there’s a fracture to the skull. The doctor said that would show up in a day or two.’ She paused and went on as steadily as she could. ‘He said another half inch and Thomas would have lost his eye.’
There was a sharp intake of breath and relieved comments as the men looked gravely at each other. As they dispersed, they said they’d be back tomorrow for the latest news.
Left alone after George had turned the trap and set off down the lane, Rose leant against John, suddenly desperately weary.
‘Come on over home,’ he said encouragingly, as he slipped an arm round her. ‘Peggy’ll have ye a cup o’ tea in no time. She’s one great girl, that Peggy, after what she’s been through, playing wi’ wee Sarah an’ gettin’ Hannah to help her make the supper. She had them all peelin’ or scrapin’ or washin’ stuff to have it ready for Ma comin’ home.’
‘Have you told Mary-Anne?’
‘She’s not there to tell. I went up when school was out an’ wee Annie came to the door. She says she’s at Battlehill at some class or other. She’ll not be back till the night.’
‘What did ye say to Annie?’
‘I said nothin,’ for the poor wee thing was half afeerd to open the door. She didn’t ask.’
Peggy was pouring tea as they stepped into the kitchen.
‘I heard the trap,’ she said, ‘or rather Sam did. So we made the tea,’ she said cheerfully, her eyes meeting Rose’s, full of the question she would not ask in front of the children.
‘Poor Uncle Thomas’s has had an accident and he’s got a bad head,’ Rose said, as four pairs of eyes met hers, ‘but they’ll make him better in hospital. I’ve heard they give patients oranges every week. Wouldn’t that be nice?’
She put out her hand for her tea and saw for the first time the blood that had trickled down her arms.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, as she made for the wash house. As she shut the door behind her, her hands began to shake uncontrollably as she’d known they would if she’d tried to take the cup of tea Peggy had held out to her.
‘Come on, Rose,’ she said to herself as she washed. ‘If Peggy Donaghy can do what she did this afternoon, you can keep up a bit longer.’
John got up early next morning, put on his Sunday clothes, walked into Armagh, and was just about to knock at the entrance door of the hospital when it was opened by two night nurses coming of duty. They pointed him to the Matron’s office. The news was encouraging, she said. Thomas was conscious but confused. He told her he’d had a headache after he fell, but his mother had come and kissed it better and he’d slept the best at all. She’d told him about the visiting hour that afternoon and wished him good morning.
By eight o’clock, he was back in the forge. Rose was sure she could hear the relief in the rhythm of hammer on anvil as he began the days work on his own, for the first time in years.
She spent most of it sewing, grateful to be sitting down, for she felt so weary, her mind preoccupied with going through every minute detail of yesterday’s calamity.
After she’d managed to drink her cup of tea, she and Peggy had taken a little walk down the common, both of them glad to leave the children to their books and be quiet together.
‘Peggy, I’ve thought of you so often,’ said Rose. ‘Is there anything in the world I can do to help you?’
‘Thinkin’ about me is a help. If I didn’t know there was a few people knowin’ the hurt of it, I couldn’t keep goin’. An’ as for ministers and priests, they should be banned. Tellin’ ye the man ye love is in a better place when all he ever wanted was to lie in my arms. That was his heaven, he said. And mine,’ she added, tears tripping down her face unheeded.
They put their arms round each others waists like old friends, though they had only been friends at a distance until now.
‘The only people who understan’ are people like you and Mary that love their men. My mother’s sorry enough for me, but she’s forgotten what it was like to love my father. An’ to tell you the truth, lookin’ roun’ me I don’t see many that loves their husband more than they love themselves, though maybe I shouldn’t say it.’
‘Say what you feel, Peggy. That’s what a friend is for.’
They turned back at the bottom of the common, the air beginning to cool. Already dew was forming on the bright bunches of hawthorn berries and the fronds of golden bracken in the hedgerow.
‘Promise me, you’ll come up again soon, Peggy, and we can talk properly. You were wonderful today. You gave me such courage.’
‘Me? Me give you courage? I thought it was the other way round.’
Rose shook her head and kissed Peggy on the cheek.
‘I’ll be thinking of you and Thomas tonight,’ she said as they parted at the foot of the lane.
Now that he was in safe hands and there was little more that she could do practically, she found the evening the hardest part of the day.
Being on his own, John had to use all the hours there were and besides, this evening he had to wait for Mary-Anne to come home. She knew he dreaded telling her of Thomas’s injury, but she had to leave that task to him.
‘Well, have you seen her?’ she asked, when he came in at last, threw his cap on the settle and dropped down beside her.
‘Aye I saw her, an’ short shrift she gave me,’ he said, his face stiff with anger.
‘What did she say, love?’ she asked gently, putting a hand on his.
‘I had to go up to the house, for she lit past the forge so fast I coulden catch her,’ he explained. ‘She said the Lord’s will would be done an’ as much as closed the door in my face.’
‘And did you explain the blow to the head nearly killed him?’ Rose went on, hardly able to grasp what John seemed to be saying.
‘She diden give me half a chance. I said, “I’m afraid Missus Scott, Thomas has had a bit of an accident,” thinking maybe she’d say “Come in, John and tell me what’s happened,” but no, not a word. I must have told her he was in the hospital, but all I mind now was her saying about the Lord’s will being done. As if the Lord would strike down a good man like Thomas. Is it any kind of a religion at all that wuman has?’
‘People believe what they want to believe, John dear. Now go an’ have a wash while I heat up your dinner. Sure you must be starving and it nearly nine.’
The week passed and by the end of it there was no doubt at all about Thomas’s well-being. When it became clear that Mary-Anne had no intention of going to see Thomas in hospital, they took it in turns to visit him on the few days visiting was allowed. His head was swathed in bandages and his leg in plaster, but he was already out of bed and walking on crutches. Rose sat with him in the glass veranda that looked out over the city and told him the news, and the names of all the people who’d been to the forge to ask after him.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever known Thomas talk so much,’ she said that evening when John asked her how she’d got on. ‘He’s looking really well, if you can forget the bandages and so on. He says the food is great and the nurses are kind.’
‘Well, he’d better enjoy it, he’ll not get much kindness when he comes home,’ said John sharply. ‘She’s been down to the forge each day to collect the takings, an’ divil the enquiry about him. She must have some of her own people goin’ to ask about him, but wouldn’t ye think she could just ask if I’ve heard anything fresh from anyone whose been in town?’
By Friday, George Robinson brought back the good news that Thomas would be allowed home sometime the following week if he continued to mend as well as he was doing. John walked over to the house at once to tell Rose.
It was a pleasant autumn day and after she’d heard the good news, everything she did seemed to go well. Her spirits rose and she sang as she went about her work. Even the bread turned out nicer than usual. She hoped John might get in a little earlier than he’d been able to do all week, but she knew he was trying to keep up with the most urgent work, so that Thomas wouldn’t be anxious about letting their neighbours down. But he was late and when he did step into the house and she greeted him with a smile, he hardly managed to return it.
‘James and Hannah, time you were off to bed now,’ she said easily.
They kissed their father and left him sitting dispiritedly on the settle.
‘What on earth is wrong, love. It’s not Thomas, is it?’
‘No, Thomas is fine. It’s that wuman, Rose. God forgive me the thoughts I have about her. She came down a while ago and gave me my pay,’ he said, his face tight with anger.
‘Did she say that?’
‘No, she didn’t have to. I don’t mind the word, but the face said everything. She was treating me like you wouldn’t even treat an apprentice.’
Rose saw him drop his head in his hands.
‘Maybe I was wrong to leave Sir Capel, just because I wanted to be my own man. When it’s brought us to this.’
‘To what, John?’
By way of answer, he put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out some money.
‘To that, Rose. For a week’s hard work. Count it.’
But she didn’t need to count it. One glance told her it was the amount she usually set aside for the milk, eggs and butter from the farm.
‘Was it a bad week, John? Did no one pay for anything?
‘No, there was money in every day. I didn’t take a note of it when she came askin’, but there was a fair bit. People made sure they paid up, knowing Thomas was in hospital.’
‘And did you ask her how it came to so little?’ said Rose gently, not wishing to upset him more than she need.
‘Aye, I did. She said there was bills to pay. That I needn’t think the work was all profit.’
‘And were there bills?’
‘Surely, there’s always bills, but Thomas spreads them out. She must have paid the whole lot at once. You’d a thought she’d know better,’ he said bitterly.
‘Oh yes, John, she knows better,’ said Rose, nodding her head. ‘She’s done it deliberately. That woman would starve us out of here if she could. But we’ll not let her. If we go, we’ll go of our own free will. Now don’t worry,’ she said, squeezing his hand, ‘I’ve a bit in the top drawer and Thomas will be home next week. He may not be working, but he’ll not let her do that again.’
She took up the shillings, made a little pile of them and set them in the window ready to go to the farm in the morning.
‘Next week, keep a wee note of what comes in. We’ll not let her beat us, John, will we?’