Читать книгу Daughter of Mine - Anne Bennett - Страница 4

Lizzie Clooney and her cousin, Tressa, almost danced along Colmore Row to the Grand Hotel where both girls worked. ‘Imagine, a Christmas social,’ Lizzie said, her eyes shining at the thought.

‘Aye,’ Tressa replied, almost hugging herself with delight. ‘And to be held on the nineteenth of December before the hotel gets really busy. I mean, we have to grab this opportunity while we can. It isn’t as if we are meeting Catholic men on every street corner.’

Lizzie knew her cousin had a valid point, for although they enjoyed all the delights of Birmingham, the city they’d now lived in for nearly two years, they’d never encouraged any of the boys who’d pressed them for dates, certain they’d be Protestants. Never could Lizzie or Tressa contemplate marrying someone of another faith, for they both knew such a person would never be accepted into their families, who lived in Donegal in the north of Ireland.

Small wonder really, when you looked at the history of the place. Hadn’t there been enough trouble between the Orangemen and Catholics there to last anyone a lifetime, without them adding to it? ‘Everyone had better watch out,’ Tressa said warningly, but with a bright smile plastered to her face, ‘for I’m after catching a rich and handsome man at this social.’

‘Tressa!’

‘Well, I am. Are you not?’

‘No,’ Lizzie said, and then added more honestly, ‘well, not really.’

‘Are you mad?’ Tressa demanded. ‘This is our chance. D’you want to be an old maid all your life?’

‘No, of course not,’ Lizzie said with a laugh, ‘but I don’t want to get married yet a while.’

‘Well I do,’ Tressa declared. ‘If one takes my fancy, that is.’

‘You be careful,’ Lizzie cautioned. ‘You’ll get talked about.’

‘Och, will you listen to yourself?’ Tressa said contemptuously. ‘We’re not in a little village in Donegal now, Lizzie, where everyone knows everyone else’s business and would condemn you without judge and jury if the notion took them. I think if you ran naked down the city streets here, there would only be the mildest curiosity.’

‘Tressa!’

‘Oh don’t worry,’ Tressa said. ‘I’m not intending doing that.’ There was a slight pause and then with a twinkle in her eye, Tressa added, ‘Not straight away at least,’ and the two girls laughed together.

‘Think of it,’ Tressa said later. ‘Our futures might be decided by that night.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

‘What’s up with you?’

‘What d’you mean?’ Lizzie said. ‘Why do you want to tie yourself down so soon? For the first time in my life, I have freedom to do as I please, and money in my pocket to spend as I choose. I have bought new clothes, been to theatres and cinemas and dance halls. I don’t want to be tied to a house, doing the washing and cooking and cleaning without a halfpenny to bless myself with, for a long time yet.’

‘Don’t you think about it sometimes?’ Tressa asked.

‘Think about what?’

‘Being head over heels, besotted by someone?’ Tressa said. ‘And sex and things.’

‘Sometimes,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. But I don’t dwell on it. Sex an’ all verges on impure thoughts, anyway.’

‘You don’t confess it?’ Tressa said incredulously.

‘Aye, sometimes.’

‘You’re mad. No one can help their thoughts and I’m telling no priest what I’ve been thinking about. It might turn his hair white, or else give him a heart attack.’

‘And then he’d fall out of the confessional and roll down the aisle,’ Lizzie said, and the two girls collapsed helpless with laughter at the thought, and then, when the laughter had abated somewhat, Lizzie continued, ‘I wonder what penance he’d give you when he recovered himself?’ and that started them off again.

Through all the hilarity, though, Lizzie realised Tressa’s religion sat very easily on her, while she worried about every mortal thing. Maybe she’d fare better if she could view life in the same way as her cousin. But then she’d always thought Tressa had her life well sorted, and that had been the way of it throughout all of their growing up.

They’d been born within two days of each other: Lizzie on the 5^th July 1912 on her father Seamus’ farm in Rossnowlagh, Donegal, and Tressa two days later above the grocery store in the nearby village of Ballintra, that had become Eamon’s when he married the grocer’s daughter Margaret. She was an only child and so had inherited the whole business on her father’s death.

Lizzie and Tressa had always been the best of friends, but even before they’d begun the national school together in Ballintra, Tressa had been the boss. The point was, Tressa was the youngest in her home. She had two brothers, Will and Jim, followed by two sisters, Peggy and Moira, but then her mother had suffered two miscarriages before Tressa’s birth and so much was made of Tressa when she was born hale and hearty. But, as there were no other children after her, she’d been petted and spoilt in a way Lizzie’s mother Catherine never approved of. Catherine believed that to spare the rod was to spoil the child and her children were taught to do as they were told and promptly, or they’d know the consequences.

That was the problem. Lizzie had learnt quickly to do as she was told and Tressa had learnt, just as quickly, how to get her own way. Her parents, and certainly her older sisters, had always given in to her and she expected everyone else, and certainly her cousin Lizzie, to do the same. She’d lay plans before her in such a way and coax and even bully until Lizzie would find herself wavering and finally giving in to whatever Tressa wanted.

By the time they’d left school, this was firmly ingrained. But although Lizzie had plenty to do at home, for her mother believed Satan made work for idle hands, Tressa had a different life altogether, for there was no opening in the shop for her. Since she’d left school at fourteen she’d hung about the house, only helping the odd times when they had a rush on.

Her father wasn’t keen on her taking on any other sort of job either. ‘You’d shame me,’ he’d said. ‘People will say I can’t afford to keep my own daughter at home.’

‘Quite right,’ Margaret nodded in agreement. She didn’t really want this child, this true gift from God, to leave her side. She wanted her near all the days of her life, and when she eventually married Margaret wanted her to marry in the village, where Margaret could take pleasure in helping rear any grandchildren, like she had with the others.

But Tressa had been bored and wanted to go to England. She didn’t really care where, she just wanted to sample city life, the sort of life Clara Dunne described that sounded so much more exciting than Tressa’s own. Clara was from the village and had got a job in one of the hotels in Birmingham, and Tressa had soon decided that that would suit her just fine and dandy.

‘Oh, Lizzie, you should hear her,’ Tressa had enthused to her cousin. ‘She said you wouldn’t believe the shops, and there’s a big market called the Bull Ring where you can pick things up for next to nothing. And that’s not all,’ she went on, seeing that Lizzie was unimpressed so far. ‘There’s picture houses, with proper moving pictures, and dances, and something called a Variety Hall where there are all manner of acts on. Oh, Lizzie, wouldn’t it be wonderful to be part of it?’

‘It would, right enough,’ Lizzie had said and then had promptly forgotten about it, for she was wise enough not to yearn for things she couldn’t have.

However, Tressa wasn’t used to having her wishes thwarted, but for once Margaret stood firm and said that she wouldn’t countenance the idea of her leaving, and certainly not by herself.

Tressa had no intention of going by herself. She’d automatically assumed that Lizzie would go with her and had said, ‘I wouldn’t be alone, Mammy. Lizzie would be coming with me.’

‘Does she want to go too?’

‘Of course she does,’ Tressa had said airily. ‘She just doesn’t know it yet.’ But she added this last comment under her breath. All she had to do was convince Lizzie it was a great idea. She’d done it many times before.

But Lizzie had proved to be unusually difficult. ‘Don’t give in to her this time,’ her elder sister Eileen had warned her. ‘You’re making yourself a rubbing rag.’

Lizzie thought Eileen had a cheek. How many times had she come begging, ‘Could you do that pile of ironing for me, Lizzie,’ or ‘churn the butter,’ or ‘wash the pots,’ or whatever it was. Eileen would always have a good reason for not being able to do it right then. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ she’d promise, but she never did. Even though Lizzie might resent it, she always did it and usually without a word of complaint.

But it was one thing scouring pots, ironing the family wash and making butter. It was quite another to go to a strange country she’d never had a yen to go to, because of a whim her cousin had to see the place. ‘I don’t know, Tressa,’ she’d said.

Tressa hadn’t been too worried. Lizzie often had to be persuaded to do things and eventually Lizzie had said, ‘If I was to come, and I’m not saying I will, mind, how d’you know there would be jobs for us both?’

Tressa allowed herself a little smile of triumph. ‘Clara said that in the New Year two of the waitresses are leaving, one to get married and one to look after her ailing mother, and of course she is getting married herself later. She says the boss likes Irish girls and so do the Americans, and the tips they give are legion. She said she’ll miss that when she is married herself,’ for Clara was sporting an engagement ring with a huge diamond in the centre of it. ‘She’s getting married in the spring and moving down south somewhere,’ Tressa said. ‘We really need to go while she’s there to speak for us.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Lizzie had promised.

A couple of days later, Tressa watched Lizzie working in the dairy, pummelling the poss stick up and down in the churn. Lizzie’s arms throbbed with pain and her back ached, and despite the raw, black day she was sweating so much she felt it dampening under her arms and running down her back. It wasn’t even her turn to do the churning, she thought resentfully. It was Eileen’s, but she had had to mend the tear in the hem of her skirt for the dance she was going to that night.

Lizzie was also going to the dance and she had yet to have a wash and then iron her own clothes, but it was no good asking Eileen. She’d say she’d do them and then forget.

Tressa, knowing her cousin well, guessed what she was thinking about and so she said, ‘They’d manage without you here, you know. Your problem is you allow yourself to be put upon.’

And by you too, Lizzie might have said, but she knew Tressa had a point for there was Peter and Owen to help her father and even Johnnie, at eleven years old, was making a fine turn-out too. Her eldest sister Susan lived not far away and Eileen was on hand to help her mother. And she knew Eileen would have to help if Lizzie wasn’t there to cajole and coax and boss about. ‘You’re right,’ she’d said to Tressa. ‘I’ll go to this place Birmingham with you, directly Clara can get us jobs, and give the place a try-out at least.’

Of course it hadn’t been that easy. Lizzie’s own parents had to be convinced and give their permission for their daughter to go. ‘It’s all Tressa’s doing,’ Catherine remarked to Eileen. ‘If that Tressa went to the North Pole and gave our Lizzie the nod, she’d go along with her.’

‘Aye, Mammy, I know,’ Eileen said with a sigh, annoyed that her compliant sister was even contemplating leaving. ‘Still, maybe when all’s said and done, she’ll not stay long.’

‘That’s true right enough,’ Seamus had put in. ‘God knows she hasn’t a clue what city life is like and might not take to it at all. Let her get it out of her system anyhow and then she can never claim we were holding her back.’

Lizzie also thought she might not like the life, and that is what she said to console Johnnie, who was so dreadfully upset that she was moving out of his life. Looking at him, Lizzie had thought, was like looking at herself as a small child, for both of them had the dark brown wavy hair and the same deep brown eyes, snub nose and wide mouth. Only that day Johnnie’s eyes had swum with the tears that had also trickled down his cheeks. ‘Sure, I’ll be back before you know it,’ Lizzie had said, holding her young brother tight.

Of all his sisters and brothers, Johnnie loved Lizzie most. As she was seven years older than him, when he was younger he had looked upon her as another mother, and, in truth, Lizzie had done a lot of the rearing of him. With her temperament she seldom became angry and had far more patience than Eileen. In the long winter evenings it would be Lizzie who’d play cards or dominoes, or read to him to while away the time, and she was always ready to help him with his homework. And in the finer weather they’d walk together over the rolling countryside, or down to the sea to watch the huge rollers crash onto the sand leaving a fringe of foam behind them. Johnnie knew his life would be poorer without his sister, so he clung to the idea that she’d be soon back. ‘D’you promise?’ he’d said.

‘I can’t promise that, Johnnie,’ Lizzie had replied. ‘I don’t know myself how I’ll fare. We’ll just have to wait and see.’ She knew that Tressa had no intention of returning home, but for herself, she wasn’t sure how she would cope with any of it.

That morning, in late January 1930, as they’d stood at the rail of the mail boat, watching the shores of Ireland being swallowed up by the mist, Tressa had given a sigh of satisfaction and said to Lizzie, ‘I’d say we’ll be sure to catch ourselves rich and handsome men in England?’

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. ‘Let’s have a bit of fun and live a bit first.’

‘And Birmingham’s the place to do that all right,’ Tressa said. ‘So, are you glad you came at least?’

Before answering, Lizzie looked down at the churning sea the boat was ploughing its way through, which was as grey as the leaden sky, and she felt excitement beginning to stir in her. She smiled at her cousin and said, ‘If I’m honest I’m often glad when you bully me into doing something I’d not given a mind to before. I’m no good at adventures and maybe I never will be. Perhaps I’ll always be the kind of person that will have to have my arm twisted to do anything at all. So in all honesty I can say aye, Tressa, I’m glad I agreed to come and I’m so excited I can hardly wait.’

Birmingham lived up to the girls’ expectations, although Lizzie had been initially alarmed by the traffic, cars, buses, lorries and trams cramming the roads, and the throngs of chatting and often raucous people filling the pavements. She’d thought she’d never sleep for the noise and bustle around her. She shared an attic room with Tressa and two other girls called Pat Matthews and Betty Green, and on the first night sleep eluded her, despite her tiredness, and she kept jerking awake when she did doze off.

It was a full week before Lizzie slept all night, so wearied by the twelve-hour shift she’d just finished, nothing could disturb her. From that night it became easier and she began to enjoy city life, and there was great entertainment for two girls with money in their pockets, especially living where they did. They were almost in the centre of the city, where the cinemas, theatres, music halls and dance halls abounded, and at first Clara had taken them in hand to show them around.

She suggested both girls took dancing lessons soon after they arrived, for she said Irish dancing was nothing like the dancing done here. However, Lizzie and Tressa caught on quickly, for they found the years of dancing jigs and reels had given them agility and the ability to listen to and move with the music and to follow instructions.

Lizzie loved to dance and she was so looking forward to the social. Whatever Tressa said, you weren’t promising a man your hand in marriage for doing the rounds in a quick step or a waltz and she was determined to enjoy herself. The first thing to do was to find something suitable to wear.

The Bull Ring was the place where bargains were to be had, but in a way Lizzie hated going there. She knew of the slump and the men without work and she’d even seen some of the hunger marches go down Colmore Row. But there was no evidence of deprivation in the hotel, in the food served and facilities offered, for the people who came were, in the main, well-to-do and successful, so Lizzie and Tressa were inured from the poverty.

They weren’t aware of the teeming back-to-back houses not far from the city centre where families lived in a constant state of hunger, cold and deprivation, pawning all belonging to them to prevent them all starving to death. It was only in the Bull Ring that these things were brought home to them. Lizzie was sorry for the shambling women she saw there, who were sometimes barefoot, which had shocked both girls at first. They often had a squalling baby tied to them with a shawl and a clutch of filthy, ragged, barefoot children with pinched-in faces, and arms and legs like sticks. They would dart like monkeys to snatch at anything falling off the barrows before the coster could pick it up. The barrow boys would shout at them and often raise a fist, but they were too hungry to take any notice and it tore at Lizzie’s heart to see them.

Tressa laughed at her softness when one day she gave a group of children her saved pennies to buy a pie each so that they could have a full belly for once. ‘They needed it more than me,’ she said in defence when Tressa chided her. ‘That eldest boy was about the same age as Johnnie. Think of the difference.’

‘And what of the razor blades, shoelaces and hairgrips you buy nearly every time you’re let out alone? We have enough in now to stock a shop.’

‘Ah, Tressa, doesn’t it break your heart to see those poor men with trays about their necks, and many of them blinded or with missing limbs?’ Lizzie said. ‘They fought in the war-to-end-all-wars and now have no job. They’re like debris, thrown out on the scrap heap. I have to buy from them.’

There were always more of the poor about on a Saturday, hoping to snatch a bargain, but that afternoon, two weeks before the dance, the girls were on a mission. Tressa wouldn’t let Lizzie look to left or right and led her straight down the cobbled streets from High Street into the melee and clamour of people and the costers shouting their wares above the noise.

The place had a buzz all of its own and there was always something to see, but that day there was no time to stand and stare. They skirted the flower sellers, around the statue of Nelson, shaking their heads at the proferred bunches and the market hall where the old lags were with their trays. The old lady stood outside Woolworths as she did every day, shouting her wares: ‘Carriers, handy carriers,’ and they passed Mountford’s, where the smell of the meat turning on a spit in the window would make your mouth water.

The rag market was where they were making for, and when they entered it, it still had the familiar whiff of fish lingering, for it sold fish in the week. But now, goods of every description were laid out on carpets or rugs on the floor. Lizzie got a bronze satin dress with lace underskirts: the bodice was decorated with beads and fancy buttons and cut to show the merest hint of cleavage. She even picked up a pair of bronze shoes and a brown fur jacket at the second-hand stall and was well-pleased.

Tressa was equally as happy with her dress of dark red velvet bound in black, for with her blonde hair she suited red. The smart black jacket fitted like a glove and the two-tone shoes were a find. If they pinched a bit, so what. She just had to have them. They made the outfit. The girls were well satisfied and as Tressa said when they dressed up in their room later and spun around before the mirror, ‘Don’t the pair of us look just terrific?’

The days seemed to drag, but eventually it was time to lift the dresses down from the picture rail where they’d been covered by a sheet, and the two dressed in their finery. Even Lizzie, never one to give herself airs and unaware of her beauty, was stunned. The skirt, which reached the floor, rustled delicately when she walked; and the beads on the bodice, shimmering in the light, brought out the beauty of her creamy skin and made her eyes dance and sparkle. Tressa’s gown was pretty enough and she did look beautiful in it, but it was Lizzie’s that drew the exclamation from Pat and Betty, who’d demanded to see them both before they set off.