The Magdalens and the nuns, an isolated community of women, celebrated Christmas together. Sister Gabriel had supervised the erection and decoration of a rather lopsided fir tree in the large hallway; also a large plaster-cast set of nativity statues had been unwrapped and placed at the bottom of the stairway, the crib on its bed of straw left empty. A serene-looking Mary with a rather austere, cross-eyed Joseph were watched by a chipped grey donkey and an ox, the scent of pine in the air the only real indication of any change to the convent’s drab routine. All Christmas week the penitents worked as ever, though a small haphazard procession of family members were permitted through the gates and
up the driveway to visit a few of the women. The local shopkeepers and laundry customers, as part of the festive season, delivered small hampers and charitable gifts to the Sisters of the Holy Saints.
The Maggies worked late into the dark December nights, trying to clear a huge backlog of washing, as all work ceased late on the eve of Christmas. The laundry lights were dimmed, the huge machines fell silent, and all the sinks along the tiled wall drained for the Christmas.
Father Enda came to say the midnight mass. The chapel was illuminated by what seemed about a hundred candles, the nuns sitting rapt and attentive in their carved wooden seats along both sides of the chapel, the Maggies crowded into the benches. The women’s voices had never sounded as sweet as they rose to praise the coming of the saviour, the birth of the child Jesus. Father Enda was confident and excited as he proclaimed his favourite gospel to the crowded female congregation. Esther could not help but think of the midnight mass back home in the simple stone chapel in Carraig Beag, with all the neighbours and family gathered to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
Afterwards there was a mug of hot tea and a warm mince pie for everyone before they climbed the stairs to bed.
The next day was strangely relaxed, with none of the urgency to get to work. Ina and two of the kitchen girls were off for the day, insisting that they wanted to spend it with their own families, so the meals were being prepared by the women themselves. A few of the Maggies were showing off wearing new cardigans. Esther wished she had something new to wear too, though she doubted anything
could make her feel less drab and dreary. Huge joints of roasting beef were sliced and served with mounds of boiled spuds and carrots for the dinner, followed by steaming hot Christmas pudding with a little cream. Ina had made most of the puddings herself, though a few were gifts from customers. Esther couldn’t help getting downhearted thinking of her little sister Nonie and how much she had enjoyed Christmas, their mother chopping onions for the stuffing, taking the goose out of the oven, begging Nonie not to touch it or she’d blister her skin. It made no difference: Nonie had to touch it, blister or not. Home would never be the same without Nonie, and she said a silent prayer for her mother who had to endure this Christmas too.
“Are ye having any more pudding?” enquired Sheila, passing round the dish.
“I’m stuffed! I couldn’t eat another thing!” Esther laughed, as her stomach was already protesting at the unaccustomed amount of edible food.
“Give it to me! I’m starved!” joked Bernice.
Over the past few weeks Bernice had become enormous and bloated, her fingers, face and ankles and feet puffy.
“The crater should be in bed resting, instead of standing and working,” worried Detta. “‘Tis dangerous late in the pregnancy to get like that.”
Sister Gabriel had seemed unconcerned, letting her keep on working although the baby was almost due.
“Will youse all stop worrying. My ma was just like me on all five of us, she was like a barrage balloon on my brother Billy, and it did none of us any harm!”
However, Bernice was glad of a bit of a rest and the
chance to put her feet up. She was in high dough, laughing and singing at the table, herself and Rita telling dirty jokes, all of them laughing and eating and singing loudly to try and hide the lonesomeness and hurt of Christmas Day. Not one single visitor crossed the threshold of the iron gateway or the convent door that whole day. Esther had never imagined she would find it so hard, and yet looking at the pretty face of young Sister Goretti, who was from Kilkenny, she recognized a fellow-feeling. If nobody had bothered to come and see the Maggies, then the nuns were equally abandoned. They too must have memories of sitting around the family table, sharing the Christmas meal with those they loved, instead of the false gaiety of the refectory.
As soon as the last heavy pots of tea were poured and all the teacups stilled, Sister Gabriel rose from the table at the top of the room. A hush descended on the women.
“The speech!” nudged Maura.
They all sat back to listen as the nun rambled on about goodwill to all men and women, and the rewards of hard work. Then she moved on, mentioning Mary and the birth of her child. The Christmas speech went on for an age and some of the listeners started to doze off.
The end was signalled by Sister Josepha and Sister Margaretta coming to stand alongside her. They each had a wicker basket filled with individually wrapped packages. Each woman and girl was called in turn, some swaggering, some stumbling nervously as they went up to receive their Christmas gift from the nuns. Esther’s package contained a bar of lavender soap and a matching toilet water; she was also given a bag of golden humbugs supplied by Mellon’s,
the sweet and grocery store on the corner of Convent Road. Each penitent examined her simple gift intently, though by and large they were all the same, except for the scent of the soap or different-tasting sweets.
As Esther was leaving the refectory to go upstairs, Sister Margaretta stopped her, and brought her to the office to collect a large brown-paper parcel which bore a Galway postmark. Her heart leapt as she ran upstairs to open it. Her Aunt Patsy had sent a large flannelette nightgown for her confinement, and some outsize underwear which, considering the size she was now, she was glad of. There were two slabs of fudge and a small fruitcake. Her brothers had each sent a Christmas card and a brief note. None of them had mentioned the baby at all. Her aunt had also included a small bottle of cologne and some hair slides. Sitting there on the hard metal bed, looking at these unexpected gifts from home, her family seemed less distant and she felt less forgotten.
During the late afternoon she rejoined the others for parlour games, shrieking with laughter as they played charades and blind man’s buff, the sight of a heavily pregnant Bernice trying to catch the three Marys making her nearly wet her knickers. Trays of sandwiches were served at six-thirty and afterwards there was a choral session in the chapel, Sister Goretti playing on the organ and singing in such a pure soprano voice that it made Esther want to weep.
“Come back upstairs after!” whispered Rita as they filed out of the chapel. The rest were all going to the recreation room where the young nun had promised to play Christmas carols for them to sing along with.
Maura, Bernice, Sheila, Detta, and two girls from the other room were all gathered on the beds next to Rita’s.
“What’s your poison, Esther?” joked Maura.
“Here you go!” said Rita, passing her a glass of clear liquid.
“What is it?”
“Gin, or else there’s a drop of whiskey if you’d prefer it.”
Unsure of which was the worst, she decided to opt for the whiskey. Rita had two bottles of spirits hidden in the locker. A large carafe of water stood on the top, alongside a bottle of “tonic.”
“‘Tis a bar you should be running, Rita, honest to God!”
Esther sipped the whiskey slowly; she didn’t much like the taste, and worried about its effect on the baby.
“It’s far too late to make any difference with me!” Bernice grinned, stretching out her massive body full length on the bed.
“Where’d ya get it?” quizzed Denise in her broad Dublin accent.
“‘Tis a secret. And I’m not telling!”
Esther knew well how Rita had got the alcohol, but wasn’t saying a word to the rest of them.
Uncaring as to the actual source of their drink they sat for hours, telling silly stories as the music drifted up from below.
“I’m telling you girls, ’twas a lucky thing for Mary.”
“What Mary are you talking about, Ber?” smirked Rita, hiccuping.
“The Mary, Our Lady. ’Twas a lucky thing that she were out in the Holy Land and in Bethlehem, for if she’d been in holy bloody Ireland, she’d have been put in the laundry like the rest of us, and her babby put in the orphanage.”
“You’re drunk!” said Detta quietly. “Jesus would never have been put in an orphanage.”
“That could have been his first miracle … escaping an orphanage!”
“That might have changed things a bit!” Maura grinned.
“Listen, girls, did I tell youse the way you can tell the size of a man’s mickey is by the size of his shoes?”
“That’s a lie!”
A heated argument ensued, which had them all rolling around the beds, everyone trying to prove their point of view.
“It’s so long that I can’t remember what one even looks like!” wailed Detta, which had them laughing till the tears ran down their cheeks.
Undisturbed, they drank long into the night, glad of each other’s company.
The next day things were expected to return to normal, and by midday the laundry was back in operation. They all worked in silence, Rita hungover, as white as a ghost, bags under her eyes. Esther herself felt like she had been
chewing on a piece of carpet all night. Bernice’s baby was born late that afternoon. An easy birth, Sister Jo-Jo told them.
“The gin!” Rita winked behind her back. Because of the day that it was, he was named Stephen.