The war had ended only a month after her Dermot’s death. Peace at last! Adolf Hitler shooting himself in a bunker rather than being captured, and Winston Churchill and the British people ecstatic with their victory. Eamon De Valera had spoken to the Irish people, the whole Doyle family sitting listening to Radio Eireann as he thanked God for sparing Ireland from the conflagration that had left much of Europe in ruins, and praised the success of their neutrality and spoke of their small nation and how she had stood alone for hundreds of years, never accepting defeat or surrendering her soul. United around the radio, Majella had reached for her children’s hands, all of them knowing that they too must start again.
The last six years had been hard. Majella was lonesome without Dermot, watching her children grow up.
The boat lost, Dermot had left them penniless, dependent on the generosity of others. She thanked God that at least they owned the roof over their heads. The boys were strong and healthy, prepared to work hard, and she did not know how she would have coped without Esther’s help. Her beautiful daughter almost running the house and caring for Nonie, when she was too low and depressed and unable to get out of bed. Prayer was her only consolation in these times of trouble.
Not long after her fourteenth birthday Esther had left the whitewashed convent school, staying home to help with the house and minding Nonie and her small brothers. Mother Brigid had pleaded with Majella to let her stay on and do her exams, so that in time she could study to be a teacher or a nurse. Esther hoped that her mother would listen to the nun, but Majella and Gerard wouldn’t hear of it, and so she had given in to their wishes, though she missed seeing her friends and the stimulation of learning and studying.
“You lucky ducker!” joked Anna Mitchell, her very best friend. “No more books and exams and nuns telling you what to do and say! I wish my ma and da would let me leave school too.”
Esther tried to put a brave face on it, but she missed the girls and the chat, and even the nuns. Being stuck at home wasn’t much fun, but she tried to get used to it, making a point of seeing the girls after school or at the
weekend. Gerard and Donal had followed their late father into the fishing business, and thanks to the generosity of the local people a fund had helped purchase a replacement boat, Gerard agreeing to pay off the balance of the cost with a loan from a big bank in Eyre Square in Galway. Her older brothers worked long and hard, putting to sea as often as possible. The fishing was good and they were both well prepared for hard work.
Gerard himself had grown thick and muscular over the years, a stockier version of their father. He demanded that his meals be ready and served the minute he returned from fishing. At night he would sit at the table counting out the money they earned, passing only a fraction of it over to Mother for the housekeeping, making her plead for any little bit extra she might need. Esther hated him for that. Gerard planned to buy a small farm from one of the old bachelors or spinsters in the locality when the time was right. He had already purchased a small flock of sheep that rambled around their fields and the grassy headland. “Me or mine’ll never be beholden to the charity of others again,” he’d say, determined.
Donal was the complete opposite, and would give you his last penny, if he had it. For the moment he seemed content to let Gerard boss him around and be rewarded with a small wage, and he would slip off and play Gaelic football or hurley with a few of the local lads whenever he had a chance. He was well over six foot, his fair hair bleached by the sun and wind and, she supposed, handsome, judging by all the girls that were mad about him. Even Fidelma and Anna had taken to flirting with him every time they saw him. He had a way with women and
was the only one in the house that could put their mother in a good humour, coax a smile back into her eyes.
Esther herself was closest to Thomas; they had always been best friends. He was one of the brightest boys that had ever stood in the small parish school, for ever stuck in books and reading, trying to discover more about the world. Mr. Brennan said that he was one of the best pupils that he had ever had the privilege to teach, and had given him a hearty recommendation for a scholarship place in the Christian Brothers school outside Galway. He’d won it no problem. Majella was fierce proud of him too, and at night would clear a spot for him at the kitchen table so that he could get all his homework done.
Esther would often stay up late, keeping him company, helping him study for his exams, asking him questions, reading his essays. She envied him his education and would often find he’d left her a book or a piece of poetry or a short story he had enjoyed on the small side table in her room.
Liam and Paddy were as wild as March hares and their mother was worn out with scolding and chastising them. They never stopped fighting and bickering and kicking footballs, and galloping around the place pretending to be cowboys and Indians. “They’ll get sense when they’re a bit older!” Majella would declare hopefully, though Esther doubted it.
Nonie had become a sturdy child. Deep blue eyes were topped with a wavy mass of black curls that tumbled around her wide, open face. She lived in an imaginary world, rambling around the fields and ditches, playing games in her head, not caring if she was wet or that splodges of dung or
dirt clung to her clothes. Mixer, the old dog, followed her around devotedly, trying to guide her away from brambles and briars like a mother hen with a chick. Esther loved her with all her heart, but knew just how difficult it was for her mother having to cope with such a “special child.” They all knew how awkward it was for Mr. Brennan to manage Nonie in the small school which Mammy had insisted on sending her to, saying, “She needs to be with other children.” Liam and Paddy told them how hard it was to get Nonie to stay sitting in her seat, or to listen to the lesson. The child could make no head, arse, or tail of the simple alphabet and numbers that all the other children were learning.
“It doesn’t matter, pet!” Mother would say, hugging her close, but heartbroken at the bewildered face of little Nora Pat, who only wanted to be out and about with that yoke of a dog. Esther was the one who would sit for hours with Nonie, endlessly patient, trying to explain things to her: using a spoon, buttoning her cardigan, tying her laces. It was Esther who had got her three-year-old sister walking, by refusing to lift her.
“Nora Pat! You are far too heavy for me to carry any more!” she had insisted, watching proudly as, screaming angrily, Nonie had tried to follow her outside to the garden. Ever since she had mastered those first steps her little sister had become her constant shadow, always in her way, trying to copy her making bread, washing the clothes, demanding attention. She knew that Nonie adored her, but often wished for some peace away from her and the demands of the family.
Her mother had sought consolation in the arms of the
Church, and was a daily mass-goer, praying constantly for her retarded daughter and for the soul of her husband. Her life had become a round of novenas and the rosary and benediction and special intentions. She looked forward to the annual retreat and the pilgrimage to Lough Derg. “Don’t tell me she’s gone off praying again!” Their Aunt Patsy sighed, exasperated by the overzealous behaviour of her sister.
Esther did as much to help with the running of the household as she could, her mother coming to rely on her more and more. She did admit that at times it was boring, doing the same humdrum work day in, day out, her brothers gobbling the food she put on their plates as fast as she served it, their clothes soiled within hours of being put on. Still and all, what else would she be doing? Often she felt taken for granted, her brothers never giving much thought to her constant hard work at home, Ger even complaining about the pocket money he gave her every week.
Outside the sky was speckled blue, the day rather unsettled, as Seamas Murphy arrived to instruct her brothers with the clipping and shearing of their few sheep. The old man had a large flock of his own, and didn’t begrudge a few hours of his time to teach and supervise Dermot Doyle’s young lads. Thomas, Liam and Paddy scattered wide to drive the flock to the small side field, where their twelve woolly sheep bleated frantically, bewildered by the shouts and running of the boys. Seamas produced shears and clippers, Esther watching as Gerard dragged the oldest
of the ewes from the front of the group, tugging at her tough grey fleece.
Her older brother didn’t usually take instruction kindly, but she could see that for once he was intent on listening to the old man and following his example, gripping the ewe between his sturdy thighs and knees, Donal helping to hold the struggling animal still. The thick, matted fleece peeled away, revealing the pale pink-white of the sheep’s skin, with barely a skim of wool. The old ewe suddenly seemed small and young and vulnerable as her heavy layer of protection fell away to the ground. Gerard had made two or three small accidental nicks on her skin, but otherwise the sheep was just fine, bleating and snorting disdainfully as she leapt away from her brother.
Nonie watched wide-eyed. “The poor baa-baa! Poor sheep-sheep!”
“It’s just her wool, pet!” hushed their mother as Nonie tried to get even closer to watch.
Esther and Liam helped to gather up the huge pile of dirty-looking wool, rolling it into a big pile as Ger, encouraged by Seamas, began to clip the next ewe.
“That’s it, lad. Hold her firm!” The sheep bleated pathetically, as if it were going to be slaughtered. Nonie darted in and out among the long-haired sheep, petting and whispering to them. “Will someone lift that child!” urged Seamas. “Before she gets hurt!”
“Come inside, Nonie, and give me a hand!” pleaded Esther to no avail, knowing full well that Nonie was far more interested in what was going on outside than anything inside. It was strange, Nonie’s mind was usually
flibbertigibbet-like, unable to concentrate on one thing for any length of time, unfocused, forgetful even, and yet there were times when she set her mind on things, and could not be budged or persuaded away from them, like the time she made Esther put her hair in plaits every day for a period of about two months, or would only eat her breakfast, dinner and tea off a small blue china plate.
“I’m staying with the sheep,” she announced firmly. “Why are Ger and Donal hurting them?”
“They’re not, Nonie,” explained Esther. “The sheep’s coats have got too long and heavy for them, sure the poor creatures can barely move with them, so they’re just getting their hair cut, and then they’ll feel much better, and Mammy will use their wool to knit a fine cardigan to keep you warm in the winter. D’e see, pet!” Nonie seemed puzzled. Esther hoped that something of what she had said had soaked in. Trying to explain things to Nonie could wear you out at times. Often it was easier not to bother. “See, Nonie! Tom is taking away her dirty old heavy coat, and she’ll have a nice light short one for the summer.”
Nonie seemed doubtful, her eyes fixed on the newly shorn sheep. Liam and Paddy were wrapped up in a game pretending to be cowboys lassoing part of a herd on an imagined Wild West ranch, while her older brothers engrossed themselves learning about the handling of their reluctant animals.
“Esther, come and give me a hand with the meal!” bossed her mother. “The men’ll be hungry and I’ve a nice bit of corned beef nearly ready, so we’ll not be wasting the rest of the day watching a few stupid sheep.”
By the time the dinner was ready the rain had begun
to spatter from the now inky sky, the day turning fierce, cold and blustery. Ger insisted on trying to finish the job, ordering Donal to stay outside with him. Seamas had come inside out of the wet, and sat by the fire shaking his head. “Majella, I told Ger we’d finish the job tomorrow or the next day, but that son of yours is as stubborn as they come.”
At least Nonie had been persuaded indoors, and sat all the while at the window, watching the others. By midafternoon the headland was blasted by howling winds and Gerard was glad to join them at the fireside, Nonie quiet and uncommunicative, lost in some secret space of her own.
Just after sunrise Esther realized that Nonie was missing from the bed they shared, her pillow and side of the blanket cold. Nervous, she checked her brothers’ and mother’s rooms. They all still slept; Nonie must be somewhere close by. Feeling panicky and frantic, Esther raced outside, searching and calling for her little sister, pulling open the creaking wooden door of the deserted water closet; she tried the outhouse, and round by the back of the house. Ignoring the rain-soaked ground, she began to run, searching. Relief filled her veins when she spotted Nonie not too far in the distance, safe … she was with the sheep. Something about the animals looked strange, different. Perturbed, Esther quickened her pace.
“Nonie! Are you all right?”
A single ewe bleated plaintively in the early-morning air. The sheep looked even more stoical than before. Esther
couldn’t help herself from bursting out laughing as she came closer, for across the frame of each animal dangled a fleece, like rough grey rags flung over their clean white bodies. One small sheep stood dwarfed by the massive fleece that had been flung over her; others had become tangled underfoot.
“They were cold and wet, Esther! I was right worried about them. They needed their coats back. Ger shouldn’t have cut them.”
Patches of sheep’s wool clung to Nonie’s shoes; she must have fetched the fleeces from the outhouse where they had been stored.
“What the hell’s going on?” demanded Ger, who had raced across the fields, breaking out laughing the minute he saw the sheep. “God almighty, Nonie, you gave me the fright of my life when I saw those fleeces gone. I thought someone had stolen them.” Esther and Ger fell around the field laughing, almost hysterical, as the bewildered sheep sniffed and bumped into each other, confused by the smell of another’s fleece. The noise roused the rest of the family, who joined them, her mother tramping across the field worried.
“‘Tis all right, Mammy! Nonie’s here. She was only trying to help the sheep keep warm!”
“Will you look at the creatures! Honest to God, Nonie Doyle, you’re the kindest girl any mother could have.”
Paddy and Liam chased among the sheep, pulling off bits of the wool and flinging it at each other, while Nonie vainly tried to keep the fleece in position. Tom knelt down beside her, trying with infinite patience to explain yet
again about the sheep not needing their wool. “They won’t be cold,” he promised.
“But they were shivering,” she insisted stubbornly.
“I promise it’ll all be grown back by the time winter comes, and they’ll have huge new woolly coats. Mammy needs the wool, else we’ll be the cold ones. Humans don’t grow coats, Nonie.”
This seemed to finally satisfy her, and she helped her brothers to lift the pieces of fleece and shaggy wool from the sheep and carry it back down to the outhouse, racing and running in her nightdress among the boys.
“She’s so funny, Mammy. She’s such a cute wee thing.” Esther smiled, linking her arm in her mother’s. Her mother looked tired, worn out like a lot of the women in the area. Her hair had already started to lose its colour and was streaked with fine lines of silver, her skin taut and reddened by the constant winds and rain.
“Aye, she is that, right enough, funny, silly, whatever folk like to call it, Esther. She’s a small girl with big blue eyes and nobody’s going to get cross with her when she does daft things but ‘twon’t always be like that, Esther, folk won’t be half as kind when she’s a lump of a girl of seventeen or twenty. It’ll be hard for her then.” Esther stopped walking, noticing the tears welling in her mother’s eyes. “Think on then! How will the neighbours treat her when she’s a grown woman with the mind of a simple child?”
There was no denying her mother’s worry, she obviously fretted about Nonie constantly. Nonie looked back up the field towards them and suddenly raced back, flinging herself into Majella’s arms.
“I love you, Mammy,” she shouted. The words came so easily to her little sister.
Majella held her tightly as Esther looked on. “And I love you too, pet.”
Esther had to turn away to hide her own emotions.