The Irish Nanny

by Sandy Taylor

Genres: Historical Fiction; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

London 1940. As the war rages in Europe, Rose Brown steps on board a ship bound for America, hoping to escape the danger. She's frightened, but her widowed mammy and three sisters in Ireland need the money she earns as nanny to the rich Townsend family. But while Rose plays with baby Sarah in the salty spray on deck, disaster strikes, and the ocean liner begins to sink. In the chaos, Rose and the baby are separated from the family.



Pulled from the sea with the child still in her arms, Rose is afraid as never before. And when she arrives in Brooklyn to search for Sarah's family she feels completely adrift in this unfamiliar land where looming Brownstones line the streets, and workmen in flat caps jostle her on the sidewalks. But just when Sarah's father is within reach, the howling air-raid sirens and deafening bombs she thought she'd left behind shatter her plans once again as tragic news arrives from Pearl Harbor.



As fear and panic grips America, what heartbreaking sacrifices will Rose have to make to protect her precious charge? And can she reunite the family before it is too late?

Release date: July 30, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

The morning we arrived in New York was a fine one.

I was woken in the tiny cabin I shared with the baby by the call of the gulls. It had been days since we’d heard any birdsong, and although the caws of the birds were harsh, the familiar sound was like music to my ears.

I knew we must be close to land, so I dressed quickly and changed the baby and wrapped her up in her blanket. I tied a scarf around my head and carried her into the narrow corridor and up the stairs, until I reached the deck level, holding onto the banister with my free hand. Other passengers were making their way up too, anxious to catch the first glimpse of America. There was a buzz in the air, a sense of excitement.

A man held open the door for me and I stepped out into the fresh air. The sea was as huge and grey as ever, mountainous waves swelling and falling around the side of the ship. The air smelled of the sea but it was different now; it had a different texture. I felt salt on my lips and tongue and I could faintly pick out the smells of engine oil and pollen and fried food.

Dawn had broken and the sky was a pale apricot colour, streaked with pink, tinting the tops of the waves.

‘Look!’ someone cried. ‘There it is!’

I followed the direction of their pointed finger and there, hazy on the horizon, was the skyline of New York.

It was a wondrous sight, this silhouette of buildings against the grey sky, one I’d seen in newspapers and on the posters that adorned the walls inside the liner but never in real life and I was filled with emotion.

It was impossible not to feel moved when such a sight as this emerged from the chill of the morning, the buildings gradually losing their haziness and becoming more solid as we approached.

There was also immense sadness because of all that had been lost. I should not have been standing here alone with the baby and I missed those who should have been standing beside me, sharing this moment. I missed them with all my heart.

Ballykillen seemed like a lifetime ago and a million miles away, the faces of my beloved family blurred, as if behind a sheet of glass. When would I hold them again? When would I smell Mammy’s roses that trailed across the old stone wall at the back of the cottage? When would I see my home?

I was sailing towards a new country. A new life awaited me: new opportunities, new experiences, new people. But my heart felt like stone and I feared that I would never again feel joy, only sadness and pain. This had been Polly’s dream, not mine. It was Polly who had longed for a world beyond the little village where we had grown up. This was not my dream.

The closer we drew to the harbour, the louder the gulls’ calls became and the more excited the chatter of those on deck. There were now little boats around us, fishing boats and pleasure craft and ferries.

The baby had narrowed her eyes against the cold air, but seemed entranced by the spectacle before us. She would never remember this terrible journey; she would never remember the people who had been lost and I envied her, for I knew that I would carry their memory with me forever.

I was ten years old when I met Polly Butler and it was a day that I would never forget. I didn’t go to school much, because as the eldest of four, I was needed at home. I didn’t mind, because I loved Mammy and I was happy to help her with the little ones. I’d only gone to the convent for a couple of years, which wasn’t long enough to learn much. It also meant that I didn’t have any friends. All that changed the day I was collecting wood for the fire. A few girls ran past me, giggling and laughing.

I watched them until they were almost out of sight and wondered where they were going. I suddenly had a desperate longing to go with them. ‘Where are you off to?’ I shouted after them.

They kept running. ‘Where are you going?’ I shouted again.

The tallest girl stopped and turned around. ‘What’s it to you?’ she shouted back at me.

I could feel my face going red. ‘I just wondered, is all.’

‘We’re on a secret mission.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if we told you, would it?’

‘I suppose not,’ I mumbled.

‘Well, if you must know,’ said Finola Dunn, who lived two doors down from me in Cross Lane. ‘We’re going to get apples from Mulligan’s.’

‘I didn’t know Mulligan’s sold apples.’

‘He doesn’t,’ she said, grinning. ‘But he has a fine orchard full of them and we thought we’d relieve him of a few. I suppose you can come with us if you want to.’

I knew Mammy wouldn’t want me to steal apples but oh, I wanted to join them. I decided I would go with them but I wouldn’t pinch any apples. ‘Oh, I do,’ I said.

‘Well, you’ll have to be as quiet as a mouse,’ she said. ‘Or he’ll have us up before the judge, miserable old sod.’

‘I won’t open my mouth.’

‘Then you are welcome and mind you keep up.’

I dropped the sticks and started after them. It felt so good to be running through the woods with the girls. I felt a part of something and it felt great, as if I was about to go on some big adventure.

We continued deeper and deeper into the woods, where the trees were so close together that it was getting hard to see in front of us. I tripped over twice but scrambled to my feet, for fear of losing them. We finally emerged into bright sunshine and started running alongside the Blackwater River.

We stopped at the high stone wall that surrounded Mr Mulligan’s grand house. He lived alone, for he had neither kith nor kin to call his own. You could feel sorry for him but Finola was right; he was fierce miserable. If we got caught, he would surely slay the backs off us but it would be worth it to be in the company of girls of my own age.

The tall girl put her finger to her lips and we all fell silent. ‘Not a word,’ she said softly.

‘Tuck your dress into your knickers,’ whispered Finola, looking at me.

I did as she said and watched as one by one they scaled the wall. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to do it and hung back. I was beginning to think that this wasn’t such a great idea after all, especially as I had no mind to be stealing apples. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you a leg-up,’ said one of the girls.

She had two red plaits that bounced off her shoulders and a cheeky grin. I liked her at once. ‘Thanks,’ I said, smiling. She cupped her hands and I put my foot in them. I was over the wall in a minute and landed in a heap on the other side. I wanted to cry out but remembered that I had to be as quiet as a mouse, so I rubbed my leg and stayed silent.

A basket came flying over the wall, followed by the girl.

We all stood together in a huddle, not moving, just listening, like animals stalking their prey. The only sound was the wind blowing through the trees and the beating of my own heart, pounding in my ears.

‘Remember,’ whispered Finola again, ‘not a word.’

The garden was huge, stretching right down to the river. We skirted the house and crept into the orchard. In front of us were row upon row of trees, heavy with fruit. I wondered why old Mulligan needed all these apples, if he wasn’t going to sell them. Wasn’t it a sin to let God’s own bounty rot on the ground when it could be enjoyed?

‘We just take the fallers,’ whispered the girl who had hoisted me over the wall.

‘What do we put them in?’

‘You can share my basket, then we can split them up afterwards.’

‘I don’t want the apples,’ I said.

‘Then what, in all that’s holy, are you doing here?’

I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that it was the company I wanted, not the apples.

‘Shush,’ demanded the tall girl.

We worked silently, spreading out across the orchard, picking up as many of the fallers as we could. I could hear some giggling and Finola telling someone to shut up.

‘Leave the rotten ones,’ whispered the girl.

My leg was throbbing from the fall but I set to and started filling the basket. Every now and again the red-haired girl smiled at me.

All of a sudden, I heard someone yelling. It was old man Mulligan tearing down the garden towards us.

He was shaking his fist and shouting. ‘Ya little barbarians, I’ll have you before the judge.’

The girls scattered in all directions. I watched as Finola heaved herself back over the wall but I couldn’t move. It was as if I was frozen to the spot. Then I felt someone grab my shoulders and pull me into the bushes. ‘Not a sound,’ she said.

I looked at her gratefully; it was the girl with the red plaits. We squatted down. I was terrified. Mammy would be disappointed in me and the priest was sure to read my name out at Mass on Sunday. I would bring shame on my mammy and the good name of my ancestors who had gone before me.

I looked at the girl beside me; her shoulders were shaking and she had her hand over her mouth. She must have been crying with the shame she had inflicted on her family. I put my arm around her and it was then that I realised she wasn’t crying at all; she was giggling and that made me start giggling.

‘Polly Butler,’ she said, wiping away the tears that were running down her cheeks.

‘Rose Brown,’ I said.

We stayed a bit longer, till we were sure that Mulligan had gone back to the house.

‘Will we have to climb the wall again?’ I asked.

‘No, we can cut down by the river.’

‘But what about my sticks? I’ve left them in the wood.’

‘Then we’ll double back and I’ll help you carry them home.’

We held hands and ran along by the river; I could feel my heart bursting with pure joy. I had had the adventure of a lifetime and I had met Polly Butler, who became my best and only friend. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

It was because of Polly that I got the job in Cork. We were sitting on the wall outside the church when Father Luke walked down the path towards us.

‘Are you putting the world to rights, girls?’ he said, smiling.

‘No, Father, just passing the time of day,’ said Polly.

‘And how’s life treating you both?’

‘Grand, Father,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Is it fourteen you are now?’

‘It is, Father.’

‘I seems like yesterday that I baptised the pair of you. How did you do in your leaving exams, Polly?’

‘To tell you the truth, Father, I didn’t do that great. Sister Ignatius said that my calling lay in a different direction to the rest of the class. She just didn’t say which direction,’ said Polly, grinning.

‘Then I hope it’s in the direction that our dear Lord has planned for you.’

‘I don’t know about that, Father, but I have a fine job already lined up,’ said Polly.

I stared at Polly. I couldn’t believe that she was lying to a priest and now she would have to go to confession and admit that she had lied to him. Jesus, she’d be shamed.

‘In the town, Polly?’

‘No, Father, I’m off to the city.’

‘Then I wish you well. I shall light a candle and ask the Blessed Virgin Mary to keep an eye on you.’

I waited until Father Luke was out of hearing. ‘How could you lie to the priest?’ I said.

‘I didn’t lie. I have a grand job in Cork, only waiting for me to step into.’

‘Cork?’

‘Yes, Cork. I’m going to work in a swanky hotel and I’m saying goodbye to this Godforsaken hole.’

I didn’t think that Ballykillen was a Godforsaken hole; I thought it was the most beautiful place in the world and I had no mind to be going anywhere else.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? How could you get yourself a grand job in Cork without telling me? We tell each other everything.’ I could feel my eyes filling with tears. What would I do without my best friend?

‘Jesus, Rose, are you crying?’

‘And why wouldn’t I be crying? You seem quite happy to leave me here on my own and swan off to a swanky hotel in Cork.’

‘You daft girl, you’re coming with me. You didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you?’

I stared at her. ‘And how did we get this job in a swanky hotel in Cork? Don’t they want to give us the once-over?’

‘My Uncle Pat is the doorman and he recommended me, and I recommended you. He told them that we were two good Catholic girls with nice manners and tidy ways. So, it’s all sorted, all we have to do is turn up.’

‘Didn’t you think to ask me first, Polly Butler?’

‘You would have said no.’

‘You’re right, I would. I don’t want to leave Ballykillen, even if you do.’

‘There’s no work in town as well you know and what little there is, I wouldn’t be seen dead doing. Anyway, your mammy is all for it.’

‘You’ve spoken to my mammy?’

‘Of course I’ve spoken to your mammy! She’s your mammy and she has a right to know that you’re off to Cork to seek your fortune.’

I knew that what Polly was saying was right; there was no work in the town and Mammy needed my wages, but for it all to be decided behind my back was putting me in a sour mood.

‘I just think it would have been polite to have been asked.’

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ said Polly.

‘I’m not sure what I feel right now. It’s not easy having your future decided for you.’

‘Well, if I’d left it up to you, we’d be shovelling shite up at the slaughterhouse.’

I shuddered. I hated passing the place, all those poor animals, unaware that their days were numbered, but it was the only job going because no one was queuing up to do it.

‘So, if you want to shovel shite while I’m working in a swanky hotel in Cork that’s up to you and a bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, Rose Brown.’

I slipped my arm through hers. ‘I know you have my best interests at heart, Polly, it’s just come as a bit of a shock, that’s all. Did you really tell my mammy?’

‘Of course not, ya daft eejit. I just thought you’d make your mind up quicker if you thought she was all for it.’

‘Looks like we’re going to Cork then,’ I said, grinning.

‘Looks like it. Now all I’ve got to do is get my Uncle Pat to put in a good word for us.’

‘But you said—’

‘Ah, sure it will be no bother at all,’ she said, grinning.

As it turned out, Polly’s Uncle Pat didn’t have as much influence as she thought he had and the pair of us were summoned to Savages Hotel in Cork city for an interview.

‘You’ll need decent shoes for a start,’ said Mammy, looking down at my feet. ‘And where in the name of God are we going to find the money for new shoes?’

‘I don’t know, Mammy.’

‘Go across to Mrs Feeny. Orla’s just had her Confirmation and she may have a pair of shoes that you can borrow.’

‘I’d be ashamed, Mammy.’

‘Well, you can’t turn up in those, Rose. They’ll think it’s a tinker that’s walking through the door.’

I looked down at my shoes. They were shabby and scuffed, Mammy was right. ‘Alright so, I’ll ask.’

‘Be sure to tell Mrs Feeny that it’s just a loan and ask after her bunions.’

‘I will, Mammy.’

I walked across the lane to the Feenys’ house and knocked on the door. It was opened by Orla.

I’d never taken to Orla Feeny – she had airs about her, not fitting to her station.

‘And to what do we owe this visit, Rose Brown?’ she said, lounging against the door frame.

‘I have business with your mammy.’

‘And what sort of business would that be?’

‘Not yours, Orla Feeny, so if you would get your mammy, I’d be obliged.’

‘Mammy?’ shouted Orla. ‘It’s Rose Brown at the door. She says she has business to discuss with you.’

I waited patiently while Orla stood there staring at me, looking for all the world as if she was sucking on a lemon.

‘Well, ask the child in, don’t leave her standing on the doorstep,’ shouted Mrs Feeny.

Orla reluctantly stepped out of the way, barely giving me enough room to squeeze past her.

Unlike her daughter, Mrs Feeny was a lovely woman. She was feeding her latest baby from her titty.

‘You’re growing like a beanstalk, Rose Brown,’ she said, smiling at me.

I smiled back. ‘I have something to ask you, Mrs Feeny,’ I said. ‘In private,’ I added. I didn’t want Orla to know my business, for it would be round town before the end of the day that I’d come begging for a loan of her good Confirmation shoes.

‘Orla,’ said Mrs Feeny, ‘take yourself off out of it.’

Orla raised her eyes up to heaven and reluctantly went out of the door, making sure she made her feelings clear by slamming it behind her.

Mrs Feeny took the baby off her breast and put it over her shoulder, patting its back until it gave a huge burp.

‘This little feller is an angel, Rose. He burps on demand and he’s no trouble at all, unlike that skit of a girl who nearly took the door off its hinges. She takes after her father’s side of the family, they’re an awful cranky lot. Me knees are only worn out, praying to Our Blessed Saint Jude.’

Mrs Feeny placed the baby in a basket beside the fire. ‘Now, what can I do for you, child?’ she said, sitting down at the table.

I sat opposite her. ‘I have an interview for a job in Cork, Mrs Feeny, but my shoes are a disgrace before God. Mammy wondered whether you had a pair of Orla’s shoes that might fit me, just for a loan.’

‘Wait there now while I pop upstairs and get her Confirmation shoes and if they fit you, then you’re more than welcome to them.’

‘Thank you.’

I looked around the little kitchen. It was clean and cosy. The baby was making snorty noises in his basket. I went across to him. He had a round little head and bright blue eyes. There was a trickle of milk running down his chin, so I wiped it away. ‘Aren’t you a little dote?’ I said. ‘Aren’t you the sweetest feller? Unlike your sister,’ I added. He smiled up at me and gave another huge burp, then he laughed, showing little pink gums, as if he’d done a grand thing.

‘You’re the cleverest boy in Ballykillen,’ I said.

Mrs Feeny came down the stairs and handed me the shoes. ‘Try them on, Rose and let’s hope they will suit.’

They fitted perfectly. ‘They’re fine, Mrs Feeny,’ I said. ‘I’m awful grateful to you.’

‘Thanks be to God,’ she said, smiling.

‘I’ll take good care of them.’

‘I know you will, Rose. Now tell me about this job of yours.’

‘It’s in a grand hotel and I’m going with Polly Butler.’

‘Your mammy will miss you, child.’

‘And I’ll miss her,’ I said, my eyes filling with tears.

‘I’d say your Kathy will step up to the mark. Life has a habit of working out, Rose, and I will be sure to keep an eye on them all.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Feeny,’ I said, getting up from the table. ‘And thank you for the loan of the shoes.’

‘You’re very welcome, child, I hope they bring you a bit of good luck at your interview.’

‘Mammy says to ask after your bunions.’

‘I’m demented with them, Rose, but we all have our crosses to bear and God in his wisdom has decided to send me bunions. Thank your mammy for asking, she’s a good woman.’

‘I will, Mrs Feeny.’

I walked back across the lane, hiding Orla Feeny’s Confirmation shoes under my jumper. It all suddenly felt very real and I was terrified. I didn’t want to leave home. With a bit of luck, I wouldn’t get the job.

I didn’t go indoors straight away, I stood outside the cottage that had been my home since the day I was born. All the cottages in Cross Lane looked exactly the same but ours had a ship in a bottle in the window that my granddaddy had made, God rest his soul. How could I leave this place? How could I leave Mammy and my sisters? How could I do that?

I walked into the cottage, carrying the shoes.

‘I have the shoes, Mammy, and they fit as if they were made for me,’ I said, smiling.

Mammy took them. ‘Now aren’t they lovely, Rose? It was good of Mrs Feeny to give you a loan of them. I’d say you will impress those that matter in that grand hotel in Cork.’

Mammy put the shoes on the table and put her arms around me. ‘They’ll be lucky to have you, my darling girl, even if you were in your stockinged feet.’

‘But I don’t want to leave,’ I said. ‘Why can’t things stay as they are? Why does everything have to change?’

‘Because that is God’s plan. We are born and we die and in between, we do the best we can.’

Mammy brushed my hair back from my face and I leaned into her. She smelt of kindness and love and security. She smelt of home.

My mammy was beautiful, with eyes the colour of the sea. Only Bridgy, the youngest, had inherited her eyes and everyone said that she was going to be as beautiful as Mammy when she grew up. My eyes were like the sea as well, only on a grey day, when it was the colour of mud.

My mammy loved roses; that was why she named me Rose. ‘As soon as I looked at you, with your little rosebud lips, I knew you were my Rose,’ she said.

She had managed to grow them against the back wall, even though we only had a bit of a yard. The neighbours came to admire Mammy’s roses and wanted to know her secret.

‘You have green fingers,’ said Mrs Feeny. ‘Like your mother before you.’

When I was a child, I kept watching Mammy’s hands, waiting for them to turn green, but they never did. I decided that Mrs Feeny needed her eyes testing.

Life wasn’t easy for Mammy. My lovely daddy was a sailor and he died just before Bridgy was born. Someone had left a hatch open on the ship and he’d fallen to his death. I had been too young to realise how heartbroken Mammy was, because she just carried on caring for us. I have since learned that we were almost taken into the workhouse, but the Navy took responsibility for the accident and Mammy was awarded a small pension that was enough to feed and clothe us and to pay the rent on our little cottage.

Just then, my three sisters came into the room.

‘Jesus,’ said Kathy. ‘I’m only sick of school. Sister Concepta is a baggage of a woman.’

‘You can’t be saying that about a nun,’ whispered Agnes. ‘She is married to God Himself.’

‘Well, I pity God. I don’t even think the woman likes children.’

Agnes shook her head. ‘Ah, Kathy,’ she said softly.

As soon as Agnes started to speak, everyone fell silent, even Bridgy who could talk the hind legs off a donkey. My darling little sister didn’t speak much and when she did, her voice was barely a whisper.

I looked around at them all and I knew that if I got the job in Cork, nothing would ever be the same again.

Me and Polly were out the strand, paddling our toes in the water. ‘Orla Feeny gave you a loan of her new holy Confirmation shoes?’ said Polly, amazed.

‘Orla Feeny wouldn’t give me the drippings off her nose, Polly. It was Mrs Feeny who gave me a loan of them.’

‘Ah sure, she’s a lovely woman. How she managed to have a daughter like that is a mystery. Perhaps she was a desperate sinner in another life and God decided that Orla was her penance.’

‘I have it on good authority that bunions are her penance, Polly.’

‘Do you believe in all that stuff?’

‘All what stuff?’

‘That we’ve had more than one life? That we’ve lived before?’

‘I’m not sure, but I’m leaning towards the idea. Just imagine, we might have been royalty in another life.’

‘But wouldn’t we remember if we’d been royalty?’

‘I haven’t looked into it properly, Rose, but as soon as I have, I’ll be sure to let you know.’

I couldn’t help thinking that if we’d been royalty in another life, then we must have done something pretty bad to have fallen so low.

I looked across the water at the green patchwork of fields that tumbled down to the sea and the lighthouse, standing tall and white further up the coast. I’d spent half my life on this beach, paddling with my sisters and digging in the sand. I loved everything about my home town: the main street, the quayside, the little alleyways and the steep hills. I could walk through the town with my eyes closed and still know my way home to our cottage in Cross Lane.

I didn’t want to work in a swanky hotel; I didn’t want to be in a big city surrounded by strangers. I belonged here amongst my own, amongst the people I loved.

‘You’re quiet,’ said Polly.

‘I’m going to miss this place, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m not. I can’t wait to get away.’

‘But isn’t there a small part of you that wishes you could work in the town?’

‘For God’s sake, Rose, Cork city is twenty miles up the bloody road and we’ll be back every Friday on the Thrupenny Rush. The train had earned its name because it cost threepence for a ticket and it only stayed in Ballykillen station long enough for us to dash through town and hand over our wages.

‘Anyone listening to you would think we were emigrating to America.’

‘Shudder the thought,’ I said.

‘Do you know your trouble, Rose Brown?’

‘No, Polly Butler, but I have no doubt that you will tell me.’

‘You have no adventure in you, not a scrap. If it was up to you, you’d probably marry some feller from Ballykillen and pop out a baby a year. You’d be happy waiting down the quay for yer man to give you a few pennies for food and be as contented as Minnie Ogg.’

‘Is Minnie Ogg contented?’

‘She must be, to stay married to that eejit of a man.’

Billy Ogg was desperate, alright. He was the porter on Ballykillen station and the way he strutted around waving his little flag and blowing his whistle you’d be mistaken for thinking he owned the place.

I sighed. Maybe Polly was right; maybe I should look on this as a. . .