The Dublin Girls

by Cathy Mansell

Genres: World War II; Sagas

Synopsis

Dramatic, emotional and romantic, if you love Lorna Cook, Tracy Rees and Jenny Ashcroft, you'll love this gripping and heartrending novel from Cathy Mansell, author of A Place to Belong.

In 1950s Dublin, life is hard and jobs are like gold dust.

Nineteen-year-old Nell Flynn is training to be a nurse and planning to marry her boyfriend, Liam Connor, when her mother dies, leaving her younger sisters destitute. To save them from the workhouse, Nell returns to the family home - a mere two rooms at the top of a condemned tenement.

Nell finds work at a biscuit factory and, at first, they scrape through each week. But then eight-year-old Róisín, a delicate from birth, is admitted to hospital with rheumatic fever and fifteen-year-old Kate, rebellious, headstrong and resentful of Nell taking her mother's place, runs away.

When Liam finds work in London, Nell stays to struggle on alone - her unwavering devotion to her sisters stronger even than her love for him. She's determined that one day the Dublin girls will be reunited and only then will she be free to follow her heart.

Look for more gripping, heartwrenching page-turners from Cathy Mansell - don't miss A Place to Belong, out now.

(P)2020 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: July 23, 2020

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

Dublin City, 1950

Water dripped on to her head and shoulders, running down the thick rubber apron over her feet as Nell stretched to hang the heavy biscuit tins on the hook above her. Her arms ached and her fingers were red and sore from rubbing. It was beyond her how people could send the tins back in such a filthy state. By now, she was flagging and had lost count of how many she had washed, guessing it was near one hundred. As she dropped another sticky tin into the large vat of water, the sound of the siren that heralded the end of the eight-hour shift almost brought tears of relief. She had yet to receive her first week’s wages, having already worked a week in hand, and wondered what she and her sisters would eat tonight.

Outside on the Dublin streets, cold wind blew in her face, making her shiver as the traffic gathered momentum, belching gassy fumes into the air. She was still coming to terms with the buses that now replaced the electric trams. She glanced across to where twenty-two-year-old Liam was waiting, a shopping bag hanging from the handlebars of his bicycle. She broke away from the stream of workers flocking through the factory gates, and walked towards him. In spite of how he made her heart race, she must stay strong.

‘What are you doing here? I . . . we’d agreed.’

‘No, Nell. I didn’t agree.’

She glanced down. ‘I have to go. You know how it is.’

‘Only too well. Don’t tell me you like it in there? You’re sacrificing your career, everything you’ve worked for.’

‘I can’t think about that now. I thought you understood.’

‘You’re nineteen. You can’t replace your mother. Won’t you reconsider, or at least let me help?’

‘No, Liam. They’re my family. My responsibility.’ She walked on.

At first, he didn’t follow, but then he was riding alongside her. ‘My mother asked me to give you this. Go on, take it. You’ll offend her if you don’t. I’m not giving up on us, Nell.’ He handed her the bag and cycled away.

Dear Liam. If only things were different. But they were what they were, and she had to get on with it, even if it meant letting go of what she loved the most. Tears gathered when she thought about Ma. Her death – so sudden, only weeks ago – had changed the course of their lives. A heart attack, the doctor said. With Kate and Róisín still at school, finding work had been Nell’s priority if she was to keep a roof over their heads.

She inched the bag on to her shoulder and walked along Peter’s Row until she came to Wood Street. Standing on the factory floor all day aggravated her already painful chilblains, making her feet throb as she cut through and crossed over the Halfpenny Bridge that linked one side of the city to the other. It was early November and the evenings were already drawing in. Tired and hungry, she reached Dominick Street. She glanced along the row of shabby, neglected Victorian houses, once occupied by wealthy English lords and their families before Ireland gained its independence. Now home to Dublin’s poor.

For as long as Nell could remember, they’d lived on the top floor alongside a host of decent families whom her mother had called the salt of the earth. The women no longer stood gossiping in the doorway in the late afternoon. The majority had been rehoused by the Dublin Corporation, moving to new estates in Inchicore, Cabra and Raheny. Now, only a few families remained in rooms on the floors beneath them. Tonight, the dingy hallway was dark and smelly, but light from the street lamp filtered through the broken fanlight. Bulbs were no longer replaced. As she passed through the hall, Joan Kinch – the oldest of eight children, whose mother had been a good friend to Ma – bounded down the stairs.

‘Are ye coming for a stroll down O’Connell Street later? We can take a look in Clery’s window. Sure, me mam will keep an eye on Róisín.’

‘I’m sorry, Joan. I can’t.’

Exhausted, she climbed the eight flights of stairs. The squabbles and noisy rows that penetrated the walls appeared to echo through the house tonight as she reached the top two rooms, which she shared with her siblings. When their father was alive, they considered themselves lucky to live at the top of the house, with large sash windows overlooking the street below. The other advantage was they were further away from the noise and brawls that took place at night. Her parents worked hard to give them a decent life compared to some. Her mother had kept their little home spotless, with a nourishing meal waiting. Now each time she came through the door a lump formed in her throat, and after three weeks she still found it difficult to come to terms with how their lives had changed overnight.

Róisín rushed to greet her, wrapping her thin arms around her sister’s waist.

‘Hello, pet. It’s freezing in here. Why’s the fire out?’ Nell asked.

Kate, her long auburn hair over one shoulder and her nose buried in a library book, glanced up. ‘I tried my best, but it kept going out. I can never light that thing.’

Nell bit back her frustration. ‘It won’t light without fuel. Now, put that book away and go down to the yard and bring up a bucket of coal.’

‘Ah, I hate going down there in the dark.’

Nell glared at her. ‘You should have thought about that earlier, shouldn’t you?’

Kate, used to having everything done for her by their mother, was in for a rude awakening.

‘You’d better pull your weight around here, Kate, or things will get a lot worse.’

Kate scowled at her sister and snatched up the coal scuttle.

‘I’m hungry.’ Róisín held her tummy. The eight-year-old had never been strong, and although she went to school most days, their mother’s death had hit her the hardest. She looked up, and a curly lock of fair hair fell across her face.

Nell smiled. ‘I know, honey. You peel the spuds while I get the fire going.’ She raked the ashes and placed small pieces of wood on top.

‘Mrs Kinch called up with some of them pig’s trotters she cooked earlier.’ Róisín wrinkled her nose. ‘I hate them. They make me sick.’

‘Well, I hope you said thanks. Did she ask you questions?’

‘She wanted to know how we were managing.’ Róisín burst into tears. ‘I miss me ma. I want her to come back.’

Nell stood up. ‘It’s all right, honey. But we have to make the best of things. Otherwise those nosey parkers from the St Vincent de Paul will come round, and we don’t want that, do we?’

The two rooms comprised a parlour, with a fireplace and two comfortable armchairs their father had picked up at the auction, a double bed where their parents had slept, and a table and four chairs. Above the mantel was a statue of Mary, two brass candlesticks with candles and matches in case of a power cut, and a framed family photograph portraying happier times. The adjoining room, where Nell slept, had a small scullery in the corner – sectioned off by a curtain – with cupboards, a heavy black gas cooker and a large earthenware sink. Their father had died before he got round to plumbing it in, so their mother had had to go down to the yard and wash the clothes in the wooden tub with a washing board and a cold water tap. The walls in both rooms showed signs of damp, and her mother had put in for a Corporation house. They were all excited about the prospect, despite the reports in the Evening Press that most of the close-knit community who had already moved were unsettled.

Kate struggled in with the coal, and soon flames were shooting up the chimney. She put the potatoes on the gas ring to boil.

‘What else have us to eat? What’s this?’ She opened the shopping bag on the table where Nell had placed it as she came in. ‘Have you got shopping, then?’

Nell nodded. If she mentioned where it came from, Kate would assume she was seeing Liam again and think about the nice treats he used to bring them. The bag held a pound of sausages, a loaf of bread and some lard.

‘Set the table, Kate, and I’ll cook these,’ she said.

Nell placed the links of sausage and the lard on a plate and took it to the scullery, where she pricked the skins before dropping them into the hot fat. To lift her mood, she switched on the radio, and her hips swayed as she worked to the beat of Rosemary Clooney singing ‘This Ole House’.

‘I love the smell of Donnelly’s sausages,’ Kate said as they sat round the table. ‘Ma always fried onions with them.’

‘Well, we have none.’ Nell tucked into her dinner and then glanced across at Róisín, whose small trusting face looked up at her big sister. ‘Come on, pet, eat something, it’ll make you feel better.’

Róisín picked up her fork and played with her food. ‘Lucy Flanagan said . . . she said if we didn’t have a mam or dad, I’d get took away. I won’t, will I, Nell?’

‘No! Definitely not. Take no notice.’ She patted the young girl’s hand.

‘But we might have to move,’ Kate chirped in. ‘There’s hardly anyone left in the tenements. Where do you think they’ll send us?’

‘I don’t know, Kate, and right now I’m struggling to pay for this place. The rent’s due on Friday.’

‘Ma managed.’

Nell swallowed. ‘Ma struggled, and if you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself, you’d have noticed. The money Da left her didn’t last, and what she earned as the priest’s housekeeper kept us going.’

‘She never said.’

‘You need to grow up and consider yourself lucky to have stayed on at school when girls your age are working in the biscuit factory. We both might have to do the same if we are to stay together.’

‘No. No, I won’t.’ Kate glared at her. ‘Miss Leach says I have great potential . . . and besides, I’m not working in any old factory.’

Róisín whimpered, and Nell patted her hand to comfort her.

‘That’s enough, Kate. This isn’t helping.’ Filled with despair, anger spread through Nell like a fire and she gripped the table. If their mother was here, she’d have slapped Kate.

The door knocked and Mrs Kinch, who lived on the floor below them, walked in. ‘It’s only me. I want to make sure youse are all right.’

Nell smiled. ‘We’re okay, thanks, Mrs Kinch. Please, sit down. Would you like tea?’

‘No, sure I’m grand. And call me Amy. I’m going to be keeping an eye on youse for a while, so I am.’

‘Thanks, Amy.’

Kate glared at Nell, then got up and took Róisín away and sat her by the fire.

‘How’re ye gettin’ on at the biscuit factory?’ asked the older woman.

‘Well, okay, I suppose.’ Nell leant her arms on the table. ‘Have you any idea when you might be rehoused?’

‘No, but it won’t be long, love. Ten of us. And with the kids growing, we’re cramped.’

Nell nodded. ‘By the way, thanks for the crubeens.’

‘I’d be able to do more for youse if the aul’ fella didn’t drink.’ Amy gave a little laugh. ‘Ah, sure that’s the way of it.’ She glanced over at Róisín lying on the rug in front of the fire. ‘Sure, that child’s dead on her feet. I’ll be off and let you settle down for the night. You know where I am if you need ought. And, Nell, you’d better let the housing people know about your mam.’

Nell had put off writing the letter, knowing how much a new house would have meant to her ma. Amy went on, ‘The Corporation won’t give youse a house now. Sure, if push comes to shove, you can always move in with us.’

As kind as Amy Kinch was, the thought of that happening filled Nell with despair.



Nell got out of bed and tiptoed across the room. She could hardly see the rooftops outside the grimy window. The sky was grey and overcast, and seagulls swooped overhead. A sign of rough weather at sea, Ma used to say.

She glanced into the room, at the double bed where her sisters slept. Kate’s long hair spread across the pillow. At fifteen, her figure was creeping into the contours of womanhood. Róisín, her curly honey-blonde head the colour of Nell’s own short bob, was just visible above the blanket.

The smell of last night’s dinner hung in the room and she opened the top half of the window. Dressed in her warmest clothes, she sat on her bed. The noise of a door banging below them was a familiar sound, but this morning it echoed through the house. Mr Kinch worked on the docks; she set her clock by him. A quiet, polite man, until drink turned him into a foolhardy and boisterous drunk who remembered none of the nasty things he’d said to his wife and his neighbours, the following day.

She boiled herself an egg, leaving the cornflakes and milk for her sisters. She placed a slice of bread under the grill and, as she waited, her mind drifted to her brother, Danny. At the age of twenty he had seen no future in Ireland and felt he could best help the family by emigrating along with many others. Their parents had given him their blessing, but her mother had cried buckets after he’d left.

Their father died shortly after that, devastating the family. Danny returned for the funeral and decided to stay, but within months he contracted consumption and died. It wasn’t uncommon, and Nell had known many men and children who had died of the disease. Nell was sure that losing her son and then her husband, so close together, had contributed to her mother’s death.

Now the responsibility of the family rested on her shoulders and filled her waking hours. She scraped a small amount of butter on to her toast and dipped it into the egg. The yellow dripped down the eggcup on to the plate and she mopped it up, wondering how her money would stretch this week. When their father was alive, they were always sure of a decent meal and good clothes on their backs, even if they were from the second-hand market.

As she put on her boots, Nell noticed the soles were wearing thin. She missed her father, not least for his talent to repair their footwear, but also his ability to keep calm in a crisis. What would he do in this situation? He was a Protestant, her mother a Catholic. It made no difference, Ma always said, as they were praying to the same God. But Father John had refused to marry them in front of the main altar because of it; their vows were taken at the side altar.

Nell and her sisters were brought up in their mother’s faith, but it was well known that Protestants got the best jobs. However, as things stood, she had welcomed the job she was offered. She was sure her father’s dedicated service, over many years, had swayed the application in her favour.

She shrugged her coat on and wound a blue scarf around her neck. Before leaving, she glanced again at the sleeping girls. Kate was always a puzzle to her. Even in their present plight, she seemed to think it was her right to carry on her education, despite knowing that Nell had given up her chance of a nursing career.

With no choice but to trust Kate to get Róisín ready and drop her at the school gate, she hurried downstairs. Families were stirring, quarrels erupting and babies crying – all part of normal life, living in a tenement. As she walked towards the factory, fifteen minutes from home – ten, if she ran – Nell’s worries about paying the rent multiplied. The small allowance she had received as a trainee nurse wouldn’t pay the rent. The biscuit factory paid more, but she hated the work. Yet what else could she do?

Jacob’s biscuit factory had dominated the skyline for as long as she could remember. Until his death, her father had worked there as a cooper, making wooden containers for shipping biscuits abroad.

This morning, as she turned into Wood Street with ten minutes to spare, her mind flitted back to her first day at the factory, two weeks ago. She would never forget the sweet smell of the fancy biscuits; the almonds and sugar icing filled her senses as she walked into the factory. The supervisor had kept her waiting, and Nell had stood in the middle of the floor, her face flushed from the heat of the enormous ovens, waiting to be shown what to do.

She’d watched the dough swirling around in the big mixers before falling into a trough, then noisy machines rolling the dough on to sheets that men fed into the hot ovens. Women worked in rows, decorating biscuits by hand. Embarrassed, standing in view of everyone, she had picked her nails until the supervisor walked towards her.

‘Come along, then – and stop gawping,’ the woman had snapped.

Nell followed the woman with buck teeth, through to where golden biscuits were being packed. The aroma intensified, and the whiff of chocolate was so strong it made her mouth water. She continued through to a room that was light and airy, with large windows, and she hoped this was where she would be working. But they had gone up some stairs to where women were packing biscuits into tins decorated with colourful labels, which then moved along a conveyor belt where they were sealed around the edges.

Her heart quickened when she was taken to another part of the factory where the temperature dropped and a draught swept around her ankles. Girls and women were scrubbing tins next to a stack piled high, ready for lowering into the large vats for washing.

‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of your chargehand,’ the supervisor announced. ‘You’ll have a ten-minute tea break, and you know the rules.’ With that, she walked away.

Disappointed, Nell stepped into a vacant space between two women, the tantalising aromas of the lovely biscuits replaced by caustic soap and swishing water.

Now into her third week, she still dreaded the day ahead. She walked past the hot ovens, where the steel floor felt warm beneath her feet, towards the cold wet room where she worked, and her spirits dropped to an all-time low. She was tying the heavy apron around her waist when the chargehand – a pleasant woman in her forties – approached her.

‘Nell, I want a word in the break.’ That was all she said, leaving Nell to wonder what she’d done wrong and in fear of losing her job.

The morning dragged. At eleven, everyone stopped working and rushed upstairs to the canteen, but Nell lingered behind. Was this the end of the line for her at the biscuit factory? If so, she dreaded to think what fate awaited her and her sisters.

‘I won’t keep you long,’ the chargehand said. ‘I’m sure you are ready for your break.’

Her words gave Nell hope and, straightening her shoulders, she removed her wet apron.

‘You’ve done well in the short time you’ve been with us,’ the woman continued. ‘In fact, you’ve overreached your daily quota.’

‘Is . . . is that good?’ Nell asked, tentatively.

The woman smiled. ‘There’s an opening in the labelling section, and I will put your name forward.’

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘Now, you’d better hurry if you want that cup of tea.’

Most of the women took their breaks in groups, laughing and joking, but Nell hadn’t yet made any friends and didn’t like to push her way into their conversations. Instead, she usually went home for lunch, despite having little time to make herself a sandwich.

When she reached the canteen, it was buzzing with noise and the clatter of crockery. She fetched her tea and glanced around for somewhere to sit.

‘You can sit over there,’ one woman told her.

Nell sat down and smiled at the woman next to her, who just burst into tears and rushed from the room.

‘Take no notice of her,’ another said. ‘She won’t last long. Not got the stamina.’

Suddenly, the siren pierced the air, making Nell jump. Everyone scrambled to their feet and made their way back towards the stairs.

Heartened by what the chargehand had said to her earlier, for the rest of her shift Nell washed the tins with renewed vigour. Her spirits uplifted, she smiled as she listened to the women singing ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ and joined in with them.



Instead of the usual tiredness on returning from her day at the factory, tonight Nell felt optimistic and took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t surprised to find Róisín alone and Kate down the street with one of her friends.

‘I’m cold. And Kate said she’d be back to light the fire before you got home.’ Róisín was sitting in her coat and scarf, looking pale and tired.

‘Don’t worry, pet, I’ll soon have the place warm.’ She pulled the young girl towards her, wrapping her arms around her. There were only a few pieces of coal in the scuttle, and they were down to their last sack; she would have to think of a cheaper way of heating the room.

Once the fire was lit, she removed Róisín’s coat and sat her in front of the flames, placing a blanket across her knees. Róisín had always been delicate, and their mother had worried about her poor appetite.

‘I’ve good news to give you,’ Nell told her, ‘but first I must get fresh water for the spuds.’

As she struggled back upstairs with the heavy bucket, a figure in dark clothing was ahead of her. ‘Ah, Nell. Just the woman I want to see.’ It was Father John from St Saviour’s Church. He was the last person she wanted to talk to right now, and he didn’t even offer to carry the water.

She followed behind, spilling some of the water in her efforts to keep up with him, until they reached the top landing, where he stood back to let her go through into the room.

‘What can I do for you, Father?’ She placed the bucket in the corner of the room, reminding herself not to fill it so full next time.

The priest removed his heavy black coat and sat down. ‘It’s more what I can do for you. I won’t beat about the bush. Since your mother died, you seem to have forgotten your religious duties.’

‘Sorry, Father. I don’t like to leave Róisín. She’s not always well.’

‘The church is only feet away, girl. It’s not an excuse.’ He raised his eyebrows as Nell busied herself filling the kettle and putting a light underneath the saucepan. ‘I hear you’re working. That must be a help, but you can’t be managing on that? Have you been to the St Vincent de Paul?’ She wasn’t sure which question to answer first. ‘And what about your other sister, Kate?’

‘What about her, Father?’ Nell placed a cup and saucer on the table in front of him.

‘Well, now. In the circumstances, she can’t continue at school.’

What he said was true, but she couldn’t help the growing resentment she felt towards this middle-aged priest who offered no comfort other than to preach.

The door opened, and Kate burst in. ‘Hello, Father John. To what do we owe the honour?’

‘Concern for the welfare of your souls, young lady,’ he replied quickly. ‘So much so, I’ve dragged myself up these dark stairs to do my duty.’

‘You shouldn’t have troubled yourself.’ Kate, as self-absorbed as ever, ignored Nell’s warning look as she poured tea for the priest and placed the last of the biscuits on a plate.

Throughout the conversation, Róisín slept in the chair by the fire. Kate pulled over a chair to join her.

The priest sipped his tea and crunched a biscuit. ‘Are you keeping up with the rent?’ he probed.

‘I’m doing my best, Father. I hope you’ll excuse me if I cook the dinner, we’re all hungry.’ She moved towards the scullery.

‘Aye! I’ll be away, then.’ He crunched another biscuit and drained his cup. Standing up, he slipped his coat on, then looked across at Kate. ‘And as for you, young lady. I don’t see why you can’t take over where your poor mother, God rest her soul, left off. Call at the house after school tomorrow.’

Kate’s mouth opened and closed. ‘I don’t want to be a cleaner, thank you, Father.’

He glared at her. ‘You must help your sister to keep this family together. I’ll be expecting you. If not, I’ll just have to tramp up these stairs again.’

Nell, despite stifling a giggle, knew pride came before a fall.

Kate was deep in thought as she walked home from school with Róisín. No one would dictate to her – and certainly not Father John. Her plans were above cleaning or factory work. Ma had become housekeeper for the priest after their da died, because she was a mother with children to feed and rent to pay. But that wasn’t Kate’s life; she had ideas of her own. And she’d only agreed to go along with it to please Nell and to get her to stop whining on about money.

Besides, Nell was up for promotion, she’d told them last night. So that should solve things. As the oldest, she was duty-bound to take their mother’s place.

Kate missed her ma, but wished she hadn’t died before they had been rehoused. They could have had a brand-new house, with their own bathroom and an indoor toilet. Now, they would probably be stuck in the slums for ever.

Back at the dreary room, she changed out of her school uniform and put on her best dress and beige woollen duffel coat, bunched her hair into a ponytail, then took Róisín to Mrs Kinch because she didn’t want to stay on her own.

‘Ah, sure, that will suit you fine, so it will,’ Amy Kinch said when Kate told her where she was going. ‘It’ll take the weight off your sister’s shoulders.’

Outside, Kate cringed. Suit her fine, my eye. If her life turned out like Mrs Kinch’s, she’d die of shame. She had no intention of going to see Father John. But as she walked past the church on her way towards Dorset Street to browse the shop windows, a young man was placing his bicycle against the railings and turned towards her.

‘You don’t have the time, do you?’ he asked. ‘Only my watch has stopped, and Father John will lecture me if I’m late.’

She had never seen him before and was immediately struck by his good looks and dark hair; the way he smiled at her made her heart race. ‘It’s . . . it’s just past four o’clock,’ Kate replied. ‘Have you come about the job?’ She couldn’t bring herself to say cleaning.

‘Well, yes, I guess so, but as I’m late, it won’t go down well.’

He unzipped the top of his black bomber jacket to reveal a grey jumper, and he wore smart blue trousers. As he removed his bicycle clips, Kate noticed his slender fingers and clean nails, and wondered what he worked at.

‘What job is that, then?’ She didn’t think she was at all cheeky in asking.

‘I’m here about the clerk’s job. What about you?’

Her face coloured. ‘Oh, I . . . I just want a word with Father John.’

‘Well,’ he half smiled. ‘I’d better get it over with.’

She walked with him to the presbytery. ‘If we go in together, he’ll be more lenient with you.’ She felt the heat blooming on her cheeks, and her heart thumped as she stood next to him.

‘It’s worth a try.’ He straightened his shoulders and Kate pressed the bell.

Minutes later, the door opened, and the priest frowned at them both.

‘Well, now. You’re late, Michael. Not a good start.’

‘I’m sorry, Father. I’ve come straight from work and the traffic is heavy this evening.’

‘No excuse,’ the priest replied. ‘Well, you’d better come in.’ As the flustered young man stepped over the threshold, Father John turned his attention to Kate. ‘Come back in half an hour, Kate,’ he said. ‘We can talk then.’

Annoyed to have been dismissed so rudely in front of the young man, Kate pulled the hood of her duffel coat over her head and went inside the church. She’d sit in there and wait. Intrigued by the stranger, she kept repeating his name over and over in her head. Meeting him was the most exciting thing to happen to her in ages, and she knelt to offer a prayer that he would get the clerk’s job.

Suddenly, working for the priest didn’t seem such a bad idea. That way, she would get to see Michael again.



When Nell returned from work on Friday evening, she lit the fire and opened two tins of soup before picking Róisín up from her neighbour.

‘She’s been a bit quiet,’ Amy said. ‘But she’s drunk half a mug of buttermilk.’

‘Thanks, Amy. Did Kate say she was going to see Father John?’ Nell helped Róisín into her coat and picked up her school satchel.

‘Aye, she did, and it will be a godsend to you. A couple of hours each day should help, depending on h. . .