‘You look a bit shattered, lad,’ Patrick Kennedy said to his nephew three days later, as he and Blackie settled into their seats on the train. ‘I imagine it was a rough crossing on the ship.’ His bright blue eyes remained focused on Blackie, his expression full of warmth, and just a little concern.
‘It was bad, Uncle Pat. I was thankful when it was over, what with having me suitcase an’ all to worry about.’ His nephew looked pale and tired, an overgrown boy the height of a man.
‘A lot of people don’t make it in one piece, sometimes even not at all,’ Patrick muttered, shaking his head.
Shifting slightly on the seat, he glanced out of the window. The two of them were sitting in a third-class carriage on the train travelling to Leeds and beyond. Its final destination was Scotland.
Blackie explained, ‘People were seasick. Many passed out from exhaustion, and some nearly fell overboard when the ship rocked and swayed. Another boy and me, well, we clung together and managed to stay alert, and upright. Still, I’ll tell ye, Uncle Pat, we had to use all of our strength to survive the lashing sea. All I can add is that it was cold, wet and dangerous, but, somehow, we managed.’
Patrick couldn’t help smiling when he said, ‘Let’s face it, you’re a young and strong spalpeen. Of course you made it, but I don’t fancy it again.’
Blackie eyed his uncle, and shook his head. ‘In my opinion ye would’ve been all right. Mam used to tell me ye were a tough man, strong as an ox, and that I should pattern meself after ye.’
‘Ellen was always singing my praises, sure and she was, Blackie. Close we two were, growing up.’ A sad smile crossed his face at thoughts of his late sister.
Settling back against the seat, his eyes taking in the train and all the details of the carriage, Blackie considered his uncle for a moment, and then said in a grateful tone, ‘I want to thank ye, Uncle Pat, for bringing me to Leeds and offering me a new life. It is right kind of ye.’
‘My pleasure, lad, I wanted to do it, and I’d promised Ellen I’d look after you, and also give you a fresh start.’
‘I didn’t understand at first why Michael and Siobhan said Dennis had to see me onto the ship. But I’m glad he did. The docks were noisy, busy with people getting on ships to America, Canada, all kinds of places. I needed him to survive it.’ Blackie paused, and after a moment he added, ‘And will ye have to repay Dennis for minding me, a’course?’
Patrick nodded. ‘He’d have kept an eye on you, his mother and Father O’Donovan arranged that. But yes, I gave him some money for his trouble. Always pay your debts, Blackie, and be sure to make it earlier rather than later. That puts you on the winner’s side, sure and it does. And people will trust you, and favour you.’
‘I’ll heed that advice, and I hope to learn a lot from ye, Uncle Pat, and in every way, not just about carpentry and building.’
Patrick Kennedy simply nodded, and reached for a satchel on the seat next to him. Opening it, he took out two bottles and handed one to Blackie. ‘Your Aunt Eileen always keeps the medicine bottles from the doctor and, as you see, they come in useful. There’s water in there, clean drinking water.’
Next he took out two packets of sandwiches and again gave one to his nephew. ‘Sliced ham, the best I could do,’ he said, removing the greaseproof paper wrapping.
Blackie thanked him, and said, ‘I’m ravenous …’ He paused, and added, ‘But then I always am.’
‘I know. None of us gets enough nourishing food. When did you last eat, Blackie?’
‘Yesterday. A packet of bread and cheese Siobhan gave me. Same the day before.’
Patrick sighed, thinking of the state of the country – not only of Ireland, but England as well. The greatest empire in the world. The rich lived off the fat of the land whilst the poor had to manage on the scraps carelessly thrown to them. Would there never be a change for the better? There were moments when he thought about entering politics, wondering if he could bring about change. But generally he dismissed it before the idea, the thought of it, took hold. He preferred to make money.
Hard work had never bothered him; he went at it with drive, determination and enthusiasm. He sensed the same ambition in his nephew, which was why he had brought him to Leeds, to better himself, to give Blackie a chance to make some good money.
Somebody had once said that money was the source of all evil. In his opinion, it was the source of good health and a secure life. He would somehow manage to dodge the so-called evil.
There was a companionable silence between the two of them as they ate the ham sandwiches and drank the water, and the train rolled on to the north.
At one moment, Patrick said, ‘We’re lucky to have a carriage to ourselves – because it’s Thursday. The weekends are a trial. Too many folk travelling, rushing about.’
‘Is that why ye changed the day, Uncle?’
‘It is. I didn’t want us to have to push and shove our way through the crowds,’ Patrick explained. ‘Tiresome.’
‘I hadn’t realized how big the docks would be in Liverpool,’ Blackie said, with wonder in his voice. ‘And so many boats. It astonished me.’
‘Ships,’ Patrick corrected. ‘You can put a boat on a ship, but you can’t put a ship on a boat. It’s the smaller of the two. Remember that.’
Blackie nodded. ‘I will … where are they sailing off to?’
‘All over the world – India, Africa, America, and even the South American countries. Long voyages, sure and they are, but we’ve always been the people of seagoing islands.’ Patrick smiled at Blackie. ‘And perhaps that’s because we are islanders, surrounded by the sea, and we want to see the world.’
‘Mum told me ye were in the Royal Navy when ye were young – sixteen, she said.’
‘I was,’ Patrick answered.
‘Did ye like being a sailor on a big ship, Uncle Pat?’
‘Oh to be sure, I did. What a life! I enjoyed every moment I was at sea, and I still miss it sometimes, even now at my age.’
‘Mam said ye joined the navy the year before I was born, so ye can’t be that old now,’ Blackie observed, swift as usual with a comeback.
Patrick gave him a long, hard look, then said, ‘I’m thirty, lad, and I thought you knew that.’
Blackie shook his head, and after a moment he said, ‘Ye don’t look it. Ye are still a young spalpeen, Uncle.’
Patrick laughed. ‘If only, Blackie, if only.’ The laughter stayed; he looked pleased.
‘So why did ye leave the Royal Navy if ye liked it so much?’
‘Love,’ Patrick murmured, a soft look slipping onto his face. ‘I fell in love with your Aunt Eileen. And after a few years, the loneliness – when I was at sea – got to her. She wanted me with her.’
‘And so ye left because of her.’
‘Only too true, but why so many questions, my lad?’ Patrick probed. He hadn’t expected this inquisition.
‘I like to know about people,’ was the boy’s fast response.
‘Don’t we all,’ Patrick chuckled, still amused. ‘It’s a natural trait of the human being … we’re all nosy, curious about other people’s lives.’
‘I suppose,’ Blackie answered, wondering if his uncle was annoyed with him for pestering. He didn’t seem to be. But Blackie decided to keep quiet, and settled back against the seat.
He couldn’t help studying his mother’s brother, who had been her favourite. That was not so surprising to Blackie. Patrick Kennedy was a handsome man with the brightest blue eyes, reddish-blond hair and finely sculpted features. He was tall, well-built, and his presence and his looks attracted people to him.
Men liked his easy-going, friendly manner, his vast knowledge of world events and sports. A man’s man, his mother had told him once. And a woman’s man as well, she had thought to add. They fall at his feet, she had murmured, and he enjoyed every moment.
Blackie now smiled to himself, remembering the day she had said that, and how he had believed she meant they literally fell on the ground at his uncle’s feet. It was his older brother, William, who had explained what that meant, and in great detail, not leaving much out about what a man and a woman did in a bed when not sleeping.
Blackie closed his eyes as different memories flooded back. The water and ham sandwich had been restorative, and this, plus the motion of the train, lulled him to sleep after a few minutes.
Patrick Kennedy regarded his nephew for a while, studying him. He was Black Irish to the tips of his toes, just like his own wife Eileen, descendants of those rescued sailors from the great Armada of centuries ago.
He himself was descended from the Norsemen, who had sailed from Nordic lands, going around the top of Scotland, down into the Irish Sea. The Vikings in their long ships with carved heads at the fore and aft, heads of beasties and monsters … all that had been aeons ago.
And through all those centuries, the men and women of Ireland had been noted for their fine looks; their colouring had told everyone their true origin. They were also deeply rooted in its Celtic traditions, the Druids they came from, and the history of their ancient island with its multifaceted folklore.
How odd all this was, Patrick suddenly thought, very odd indeed, being able to know a person’s country of birth at a glance. Would he be able to pick out an Englishman? Yes. A Frenchman? Of course. A smile flickered in those deep blue eyes … every man had his origins stamped on him, no two ways about it. And clothes told their own story, even if the face and colouring did not. Every country had its own style of dress.
Patrick’s eyes focused on his nephew once again. He had been pleased to see that Blackie had arrived off the ship looking neatly dressed, not in rags. For a split second, he had been startled by the boy’s height and build, and by those staggering looks.
Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill, to give him his full name, was one of the handsomest young men he had seen lately. And he looked older than thirteen.
I’m going to have to keep a strong hold on him, Patrick realized unexpectedly. Keep him near me and under my wing. Women will be after him, and women of all ages. A sigh escaped, and Patrick closed his eyes, thinking of his own past and, to be exact, his present. Women. Trouble on two legs. Another sigh escaped: I’ll think about that tomorrow.