The air of excitement that permeated the room was enough to make even the most pessimistic man there hopeful. A large group of men had turned up to hear what the visiting speaker had to say. As words such as equality and cooperation rang out, the old familiar desire for justice stirred in Patrick’s heart.
The International Working Men’s Association had recently formed branches in Belfast, Cork, Dublin and Cootehill and it was from the latter town that three men had come to rally support from the people of Dundalk.
As Patrick walked home to a wife who thought he was having a drink in Paddy Mac’s, his mind was filled with the hope of a better life for his young family. It made no difference to him what kind of an accent a man spoke with, his own being a mix of Irish and English. Changing the flag of a country didn’t necessarily mean better conditions for the majority of its people and Patrick truly believed that a much more radical approach was needed.
So as not to make a liar out of himself, Patrick dropped into Paddy Mac’s and was surprised at how few men were there.
“I’m glad I called in to give you a bit of business, Paddy. You don’t appear to be selling too much this evening.”
“Ah, it’s the weather has everyone cowering indoors. That and the fact that there’s no money to be earned around these parts lately. But I don’t worry about it too much, Patrick, for the men cannot bear to be cooped up in the house for too long.” Paddy Mac poured the young man his usual beverage. “Another day of this weather and we’ll be packed so tight, I won’t have need of a fire to warm the place. The only ones to show their faces this evening are the likes of yourself, only living a stone’s throw away.”
Patrick took a mouthful of the drink set before him, then placed himself in front of the blazing fire. As a cloud of steam rose from his soaking clothes, Paddy Mac commented that he must have walked at a snail’s pace to arrive so wet.
“I was on my way back from town when the heavens opened. I felt like I was in the middle of a waterfall, the rain was that heavy. It’s after easing off a bit now. I’ll go home as soon as I’ve finished my drink, in case it starts up again.”
The adrenalin from the meeting he had attended earlier had not been completely dissipated by his two mile journey on foot, and Patrick could not hold back from sharing with Paddy Mac the words that had made such a big impression on him.
“Well, what do you think yourself? Do you not see why the whole country should be supporting this, Paddy?”
“I haven’t come across that crowd before, they must be very new, alright. But there’s not many here would be interested in going to Cootehill, Patrick. Not by my reckoning anyways. It’s the likes of those poor unfortunates in the factories that will take the trouble. What business does a village full of fishermen have with a rally such as that?”
“Because we are all labourers, whatever manner of work we do. We should be paid a fair wage for a fair day’s work. Women, too, they are exploited even more so than men. And children are the most vulnerable of all,” Patrick was repeating the words that had captivated him earlier.
“But sure it’s always been that way. Isn’t that what class and money shields you from, a life of hard work and little means,” one of Patrick’s neighbours had joined the conversation.
“Hard work isn’t such a bad thing, if it’s justly rewarded,” said Patrick. “When the herrings are in the bay do we not all work harder than ever because of the season? And harvesting a crop, we do the same.”
“And when there’s not a fish to be caught or a crop to be brought in due to bad weather, who pays us then? When there’s no work to be had,” another man asked.
“If we were better paid we would have enough savings to cover hard times. Maybe then we could afford the rent increases laid upon us when the landlords suffer a loss of revenue from their crops,” Patrick replied.
He looked around Paddy Mac’s and realized that he was the youngest man there. The tanned, weather-lined faces looking back at him belonged to men old enough to be his uncles, if he had any left. With a sigh, Patrick admitted to himself that he would be wasting his time trying to rouse support in a fishing village. Most of the younger men had either emigrated or taken up seasonal work in England.
Draining the last drop of his ale, Patrick wiped a line of froth from his moustache and bade goodnight to the room.
“I suppose this is not the place for such talk. It will be in the big towns and cities that the change will come about. I’m off to my bed, with any luck there’ll be a day’s work to be had tomorrow. I’ve a nest of hungry mouths at home to feed.”
As Patrick turned to leave, one of the men called out to him.
“It’s not that we don’t agree with what you say, son, but it will be up to the likes of yourself, young and full of spirit, to bring about the change. Don’t lose heart, Patrick.”
Those words rang in the young man’s ears as he ran home with the wind beating the rain into his face. He pulled his cap low onto his forehead, which offered a small amount of protection to his eyes but when he finally reached his door Patrick’s face had been scrunched up so much, the muscles ached when he tried to relax them.
“We could do with a decent break in the weather, love. There’s no one foolish enough to bring a boat out in that, not even me.”
Catherine watched in silence as her husband peeled off his wet clothes. She had banked the fire and was sitting mending a tear in one of her aunt’s aprons. It belonged to the hotel where Maggie had been working as a cleaner since her return from England.
While Patrick was turned away from her, Catherine let her eyes linger on his broad back and slender waist. She had always loved his shoulders and how they formed a wide triangle with the rest of his upper torso. Her stomach lurched at the thought of another woman gazing with the same longing at the man standing before her. The feeling intensified as Mary-Anne’s taunting came to mind.
Swinging around as he draped a blanket across his shoulders, Patrick caught the look on her face and mistook it for worry over their lack of funds.
“Don’t worry, Catherine love, I’ve a feeling I’ll get some work tomorrow and as soon as the weather eases up we’ll have the boats back out again.” Patrick pulled his chair closer to the heat of the fire.
“Did you spend the entire evening in Paddy Mac’s? You don’t smell as if you did.”
Patrick was taken aback at the sharpness in his wife’s tone.
“Would you rather I drank more and let my children go hungry?” he shot back.
Aware that a row was brewing, the young husband announced that he was tired and turned towards his bed, but was stopped in his tracks by the words he next heard.
“My father called there earlier this evening with word of a job for you tomorrow. So your feeling was right, wasn’t it? A pity you weren’t in Paddy Mac’s or he could have put your mind at ease about feeding your children.”
As he bit his lower lip, Patrick tried to think up a reasonable excuse for not being found by his father-in-law.
“He must have been there when I was out walking. Sure I couldn’t sit in Paddy Mac’s all night with one drink in front of me now, could I?” said Patrick.
“Aren’t you the fool to go out walking in such weather and you having suffered from such a bad bout of pneumonia when you first arrived here,” Catherine said, sarcastically.
“You know well I’ve never suffered from that. It doesn’t suit you to be so sharp. Do I have to answer to where I spend every minute of my day? Your father could have left a message at Paddy Mac’s if he had a mind to.”
“He was sure you’d be here in such weather so he came straight over. Got soaked to the skin doing so. He said for you to call to the house before the children go to school and he’ll tell you about the work,” Catherine put her sewing away and stood up, taking a deep breath.
“When I asked after Ma and the family, Da said they were all fine but that he hadn’t seen Mary-Anne since yesterday, as she was spending a few days with Mrs. Gilmore at the hotel. Was it as far as there you walked in such bad weather, Patrick?”
Before he could answer, Catherine rushed past him and dived onto their bed, unable to control her anger any longer. Patrick knew if he owned up to attending the meeting earlier that evening, it would only make matters worse and give her more to worry about. He sat for an hour by the fire, shivering in his blanket until he was sure Catherine had fallen asleep.
As he pulled the cover from his shoulders to drape across his fully clothed wife, asleep on the edge of the bed, Patrick prayed that his movements would not disturb her. He eased himself under the covers, still shaking with the chill in his bones and thought how ironic it would be, if he was to fall victim to pneumonia as a punishment for not being honest with his wife.