The workhouse gates clanged shut behind us, as me and the mammy walked down the hill towards the town. I was six years old and I had lived in the Union Workhouse my whole life. I was leaving the only home I had ever known.
‘Don’t look back,’ said the mammy.
She was holding my hand so tightly that it hurt. I tried to pull away but she yanked me back so hard that I nearly fell over.
I’d never met this woman before and I felt a bit frightened of her. How could I have a mammy? I was an orphan, at least that’s what I’d been told. She didn’t look at me, not once. We got to a cottage where a woman was sitting on her doorstep eating potatoes out of a bowl. She stood up as we came near.
‘Well, if it isn’t Moira Ryan,’ she said, folding her arms over her dirty apron.
‘I’ll thank you to step out of my way, Bridgette McCartny,’ said Mammy.
The woman ignored her. ‘And is this the child?’ she said, looking down at me.
Mammy glared at her. ‘And what business is it of yours who she is?’
The woman knelt down in front of me. She smelled bad, like Mr Dunne who cleaned the drains.
‘Would you like a potato, child?’ she said, holding one out towards me.
I liked potatoes and I was hungry. I nodded and took it from her.
‘She doesn’t want anything of yours,’ said Mammy, knocking the potato out of my hand.
The woman stood up. ‘The workhouse hasn’t changed you, has it, Moira Ryan? You’re still the same mean-spirited cow you were when you went in. All I can say is, God help this poor fatherless child.’
Mammy didn’t say a word; she just stared at Mrs McCartny until she started to go red in the face.
‘You think you’re better than us, don’t you?’ said the woman. ‘Well, you’re not. You ran these streets with your bare arse hanging out of your drawers the same as the rest of us. At least I was properly married in the sight of God before I let my man take liberties.’
‘And he’s been taking liberties with every other woman in the town ever since,’ said Mammy. Then she kicked the bowl of potatoes so hard that they all rolled down the hill.
‘The exercise will do you good,’ said Mammy, walking away.
‘And if you think that this town will welcome you home, Moira Ryan, you’re sadly mistaken,’ shouted the woman.
Mammy lifted her bundle up over her shoulder. ‘And do you really think I care whether this godforsaken town welcomes me or not? I’d rather be welcomed by Satan himself!’ she yelled back.
The mammy was getting cross again so I kept silent.
We got to the bottom of the hill and started to walk through the streets. My mammy was tall and her legs were very long, I had to run to keep up with her. My boots were too tight and they hurt my feet.
‘My boots are hurting, Mammy,’ I whispered.
She didn’t answer but she slowed down.
A few people said hello to us and smiled at me but Mammy ignored them and kept walking.
I had never known anything but the workhouse and I looked in wonder at all the shops and houses and little alleyways, at the blue skies above the chimneys and the glisten of sunshine on the water between the humble dwellings, which were mostly white and not much taller than the mammy. Some of them had half doors. An old woman was leaning out of one of them; she smiled at me as we walked past and I smiled back.
‘When are we going back home, Mammy?’ I said.
‘That’s not your home, that was never your home and we’re never going back.’
My eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn’t say goodbye to Nora.’
The mammy stopped walking and shook me by the shoulders. ‘Forget about Nora, forget you ever lived there, do you hear me?’
I nodded but I knew that I would never forget my best friend Nora, who had big blue eyes and yellow hair and a weak leg. Who was going to help her up the stairs now? Who was going to protect her from Biddy Duggan, who was mean and spiteful and pinched her hard on her little arm? I was going to miss Mrs Foley too; she looked after us and told us stories and taught us our prayers.
‘Now stop your blathering, we’re being met,’ snapped the mammy.
In my dreams my mammy had a kind face and a lovely smile and twinkly eyes, nothing like this tall sullen woman. I was beginning to think that being an orphan might not be such a bad thing.
We cut down an alleyway between two rows of run-down cottages and there in front of us was the sea. I knew it was the sea because Mrs Foley had shown Nora and me a picture of it. Mammy put down her bundle and sat on a wall.
There were lots of boats, small ones with names on the sides and big ones with sails that nearly touched the sky. Men were standing around smoking pipes and young boys sat with their legs dangling over the side of the wall, fishing lines tipping the water. There were women in black shawls untangling nets and children with no shoes on, chasing each other around. I wished I could join them, I wished Nora could see the sea.
I walked over to the mammy. ‘I like the sea,’ I said shyly.
‘It’s not the sea,’ she snapped. ‘It’s a river.’
‘It looks like the sea,’ I said quietly. ‘Mrs Foley showed us a picture.’
Her hand shot out and she slapped me hard across the face. ‘I told you to forget that place and everyone in it, or are you deaf?’
My cheek stung and I wanted to cry but I didn’t because I knew that the mammy would be cross. I stood very still beside her in case she got cross again.
‘I’m sorry I slapped you, child,’ she said suddenly. ‘I have a fearful temper at times.’
I climbed up onto the wall and sat beside her. She put her arm around my shoulder. I leaned into her. She didn’t smell bad like the woman with the potatoes, she smelt nice, maybe she smelt like a mammy.
‘And a sharp tongue,’ she added.
I sat and watched the river flowing gently by; it was lovely. A couple of boys were jumping in. I wished I could jump in. On the opposite bank, green fields swept down to the water’s edge and I could see little houses dotted about the rolling hills. I hoped that we were going to live here. If we lived here, I’d come down every day and I’d play chase with the other children and maybe I’d jump in the water and maybe I’d walk up the hill and visit Nora.
I felt a bit braver with Mammy’s arm around my shoulder so I said, ‘Is this where we’re going to live?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘It all depends on himself.’
I didn’t ask who himself was, because the mammy sounded cross again, so I jumped off the wall and ran across to the boats. I breathed in the smell of the river and it made me smile. I was hungry and thirsty and tired, and I missed Nora and Mrs Foley and Mr Dunne’s dog but the smell of the river made me smile.
I heard someone calling ‘Cissy’. I carried on looking at the river.
Then the mammy was towering above me. ‘Are you stupid as well as deaf?’ she shouted.
I didn’t know what I’d done this time so I just stared at her.
‘I was calling your name; didn’t you hear me?’
I shook my head. My name was Martha, at least it was this morning.
She must have realised that I didn’t know what she was talking about and she softened.
‘Your name is Cissy, child. Can you remember that? Your name is Cissy Ryan.’
I nodded. ‘Okay, Mammy,’ I said.
I tried the name out: ‘Cissy Ryan,’ I said softly.
And then she smiled and touched my hair. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Your name is Cissy Ryan.’
A horse and trap came into the square. Mammy picked up her bundle and walked towards it. I followed her.
There was a boy sitting up on the trap. The big brown horse was shaking its head and stamping its feet. It looked cross, like the mammy.
The boy jumped down. ‘Yer not afraid of old Blue, are you?’ he said, smiling at me.
‘Will he bite me?’
‘Not unless you give him reason to,’ said the boy. ‘If you’re kind to him then you and he will become great friends.’
I stared at the horse and decided that he wouldn’t make much of a friend. He wouldn’t be able to play ball with me or chase with me. Nora was my friend and I missed her and I wanted to cry.
The boy knelt down in front of me. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, showing brown arms that made the shirt look even whiter and on his head he had a blue faded cap.
‘My name’s Colm,’ he said softly. ‘Do you have a name?’
I nodded shyly.
‘Her name’s Cissy,’ said the mammy, pulling herself up into the cart. ‘Now are we going or is it your intention to stay here all day, Colm Doyle?’
The boy winked at me and grinned. He had very white teeth and brown eyes that crinkled up at the edges and his hair was very black and shiny; I thought that he was lovely.
He lifted me up onto the cart beside Mammy. ‘Home then, is it?’ he said.
‘Today would be good,’ said the mammy.
‘Right ye are, Mrs Ryan. Come on, Blue, these fine ladies want to go home.’
‘I wouldn’t have known you, Colm Doyle, you’re like a rasher of bacon.’
‘Ah, but it’s all muscle, Mrs Ryan.’
‘How’s the old goat?’ said Mammy.
‘I’d say he makes a career out of being hard done by. He won’t even open the door to the priest unless he’s brought a drop of the hard stuff with him but sure, he’s harmless enough.’
‘I’ll keep my own counsel on that one.’
‘You do right, missus,’ said Colm. ‘And does himself know you’re coming?’
‘He does, but he’s in for a shock.’
‘It’s a pity you haven’t a drop of something on you to soften the blow,’ said Colm.
It was exciting sitting beside Colm, watching Blue trotting along the lanes. Every now and then the horse made a snuffly noise and raised his head as if catching the breeze. I watched his tail swishing and the way the sun shone on his back, making it shine like silk. Sometimes he turned around as if he was making sure we were still there. Maybe we could be friends? Maybe we could find different games to play.
The sun was warm on my face as we passed little cottages and farms and raced between tall trees that were bent so low they brushed the top of my head, making me giggle.
‘Are you hungry, Cissy?’ said Colm.
I was very hungry but I remembered how the mammy knocked the potato out of my hand. ‘No,’ I said.
‘You can eat if you like, child,’ said the mammy.
‘Would you like an apple?’ said Colm.
‘I would,’ I said shyly.
Colm took an apple from out of a paper bag. He rubbed it on his shirt and passed it to me.
I took a bite, it was sweet and juicy.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘You’re very welcome, Miss Cissy. What about you, Mrs Ryan?’
‘No, thank you, Colm,’ she said. ‘I need an empty stomach for what I’ve got to say.’
I didn’t know what they were talking about and I didn’t like to ask. There were so many things I didn’t understand about this strange day.
We went through an old stone archway, towards six white cottages facing each other across a kind of yard.
‘Whoa, boy,’ said Colm and the horse came to a stop outside one of them. Blue’s long legs were still moving up and down as if he was impatient to keep going.
‘Welcome to Paradise Alley, Cissy,’ said Colm.
I looked at the cottage we’d stopped outside. It was small and white and there was smoke drifting out of the chimney. ‘Is this where we’re going to live, Mammy?’
She stared at the cottage, not saying anything, just staring at it.
Maybe she hadn’t heard me. ‘Mammy, is this where we’re going to live?’ I said again.
She looked down at me. ‘Like I said, it all depends on himself.’
Colm handed Mammy the bundle. ‘May God sit gently on your tongue, Mrs Ryan.’
‘I don’t think God will want to be anywhere near my tongue this day, Colm Doyle.’
The mammy knocked on the door and walked into a room that was so dark I couldn’t see where I was going. It smelled very bad and I wanted to cover my nose but I knew that would be a rude thing to do. At first, I thought the room was empty but then I saw a black shape huddled beside the fire.
He stared at me and it was like looking into the face of the Devil. Mrs Foley told us all about the Devil; how his eyes were like two pieces of burning coal in his head and how he had the tail of a goat. I couldn’t see whether the man had a tail and I wondered if he might be sitting on it.
‘That’s not staying under my roof,’ he roared, pointing a bony finger in my direction.
Frightened, I hid behind Mammy’s skirt.
‘I told you I never wanted to see that thing and you have the nerve to bring it into my house.’
‘She has a name.’
‘And that name is bastard. Have you no shame, woman?’
‘Have you?’ spat the mammy.
‘I have no call to be ashamed.’
The mammy shook her head. ‘You haven’t changed, have you? You’re still the same bigoted old fool you’ve always been but don’t worry, Cissy is not staying here.’
‘Well, at least you have some sense left.’
‘And neither am I.’
I still had the apple in my hand and I was squeezing it so hard that the juice was running down my dress.
‘What are you talking about, Moira?’ said the old man. ‘You’re here to look after me.’
‘Am I now?’
‘You’d still be up there if I hadn’t offered you a roof over your head.’
‘When I needed a roof over my head you left me and my child in that godforsaken hole to rot. You only want me now because my mother is dead and I’m useful to you. Well, thank you for your kind offer but I’d rather live with the pigs.’
The mammy seemed even taller as she glared at the old man. I peered out from behind her skirt and I hoped with all my heart that we weren’t going to live here.
‘Do you not fear the wrath of God?’
‘Don’t talk to me about God, you hypocrite. You think that laying on the church steps, roaring drunk is fulfilling your Easter duties?’
‘You’ve turned into a bitter woman, Moira.’
‘And whose fault is that? You bullied my poor mother, God rest her soul, and you worked her to the bone, while you drank away every penny that came into the house. I’ve never seen a woman welcome death like she did and it was because she knew she was getting away from you. And now I’m getting away too. Come on, child, we have no more business here.’
‘And what am I supposed to do?’ he yelled.
‘You can rot in hell for all I care,’ she said.
Mammy had her hand in the small of my back and was almost pushing me towards the door.
‘Wait,’ said the old man.
We waited.
‘Get rid of her and we’ll say no more about it.’
Mammy spun around. ‘My child is not something to be rid of like a pile of rubbish. If you want me to stay here and look after you then Cissy stays too.’
The old man stared into the fire as if he’d find the answer in the flames and then he spoke so quietly I could hardly hear what he was saying. ‘Well, if you’re going to stay, make yerself useful. I want me tea.’
‘Then you'll ask properly for it, I won’t be bullied like my mother.’
‘You’ve changed, Moira,’ he said.
‘Oh yes, I’ve changed alright and you’d do right to remember it. Cissy, say hello to your granddaddy.’
I looked at the old man sitting by the fire. ‘Is he really my granddaddy, Mammy?’
‘He is, God help us.’
‘I thought he was the Devil himself,’ I said, staring at him from behind Mammy’s skirt.
And to the surprise of both of us, the granddaddy started chuckling.
A few weeks later, I was sitting on the doorstep outside the cottage when Colm and Blue trotted up the alleyway. ‘What are you doing sitting there?’ he said, smiling down at me.
‘The granddaddy is having a wash, Mammy says he smells like a dead ferret.’
‘Yer mammy’s right well enough, the old man has a powerful stench about him.’
‘He was cursing and swearing because he didn’t want to have a wash but Mammy said no Christian man has a right to smell like he does.’
‘I don’t know about Christian,’ said Colm, getting down off Blue’s back. ‘It’s not often you see him darken the doors of the church unless it’s a funeral and there’s a chance of some refreshment on the cards.’
‘He doesn’t like me,’ I said.
Colm sat down beside me on the step. ‘Well, if it’s any comfort, I’d say he doesn’t like anyone very much.’
‘Mammy says he’s an old goat.’
‘I think that’s doing old goats a disservice, Cissy… I’m surprised your mother came back here.’
I stood up and stroked Blue; he shivered under my hand and turned his head. ‘I like Blue,’ I said. ‘I like him better than the granddaddy.’
‘I told you, you’d be great friends.’
‘Mammy says I have to go to school. Do you go to school, Colm?’
‘Sure, I’m too old for school, I’ll be twelve on my next birthday. I help my father with the milk round.’
Colm didn’t have a cap on today and his dark hair was falling down over his eyes. He brushed it back from his face and smiled.
‘What do you have to do?’ I asked.
‘Well, me and Blue go all round the houses and the shops and we deliver the milk so that the people can have a grand cup of tea and the babies can suck on their bottles. Would you like to come out with me tomorrow?’
‘I’ll ask the mammy,’ I said.
‘Well, let me know and I’ll call for you in the morning. Now me and Blue must get home for our dinner.’
I very much wanted to help Colm with the milk round and I hoped the mammy would let me. There was nothing to do in the cottage. Mammy said I had to keep out of the granddaddy’s way and as there was only one room downstairs I never knew what to do with myself. I wished I was back in the workhouse because I had Nora to play with. Sometimes we helped Mrs Foley sort out the clothes that came in the charity bins, or we played with Mr Dunne’s smelly dog. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with Nora, sleeping in our little bed with our arms around each other, but Mammy said that the only way we would go back there was over her dead body. I wanted to ask Mammy how we could go back there over her dead body but I knew she’d get cross.
Just then Mammy came walking under the archway. She smiled at me. ‘Has he had his wash?’ she said.
‘I haven’t been in, Mammy,’ I said.
She opened the door and I followed her into the room. She looked different, maybe even happy. I thought she looked beautiful when she wasn’t cross.
‘I can see you’ve managed to have a wash,’ she said, looking down at the bowl of dirty water on the floor. ‘Would it have killed you to tip the water away?’
‘That’s what you’re here for,’ growled the granddaddy.
‘Not for much longer,’ she announced. ‘I have a job.’
The granddaddy looked up. ‘What are you talking about, woman?’ he snarled.
‘I’m talking about a job,’ she said.
‘Your job is to look after me.’
‘My job is to do as I please.’
‘I’ll send you back to that place,’ he warned.
‘No you won’t because I have a job; they wouldn’t take me back.’
‘I’ll send her back then,’ he said, glaring at me across the room.
Mammy walked across and bent down in front of him. She put her face so close to his that they were almost touching. ‘You just try,’ she said very quietly. ‘And I’ll slice the nose off ya while you’re asleep.’
I knew she meant it because she had a fearful temper and a sharp tongue. The granddaddy touched his old red nose and glared at her but he knew she meant what she said.
‘Yer a wicked woman, Moira Ryan,’ he said.
‘I intend to be,’ she said, taking off her shawl and hanging it behind the door. ‘I have a grand job down at the laundry and I’ll have my own money to spend as I wish.’
‘You’ll give your money to me,’ snarled the granddaddy.
‘I will in me eye,’ said the mammy. ‘I’ll feed ya and I’ll give you money for the baccy and a pint of Guinness on a Saturday night but I intend to keep the rest of it for me and my child.’
‘Go boil yer head,’ said the granddaddy, picking up a stick and poking at the peat in the flames.
I could tell that the mammy was happy today, even though she was being mean to the granddaddy, so I took a deep breath and said, ‘Can I go with Colm on the milk round tomorrow please, Mammy?’
‘You can of course, my love,’ she said, smiling at me.
I felt like crying because she’d called me her love. Maybe she liked me, maybe my mammy might even love me one day. I ran up to Colm’s house. He lived at the top of Paradise Alley in a big grey house. It was bigger than all the cottages and there was a yard round the back with a stable for Blue to go to sleep in. When I got there Colm and his daddy were in the stable, shovelling out the hay.
‘Hello, Miss Cissy,’ said Colm’s daddy, grinning at me.
I liked Colm’s daddy. His name was Jack and he looked like Colm, with the same black hair, brown eyes and smiley face.
‘Have you come to help us clear out Blue’s shite?’ he said.
I knew that shite was a bad word but I liked it. ‘Shite, shite, shite,’ I muttered under my breath. I liked the sound of it on my tongue and I giggled.
‘What are you so happy about?’ said Colm.
‘The mammy said I can come on the milk round tomorrow,’ I said.
‘Well now, we’ll have to dress Colm in his good suit and tie and his black top hat if he has a lady up in the trap with him,’ said Colm’s daddy, winking at me.
I laughed and ran back down the alley and into the cottage.
‘And who’s going to look after me?’ the granddaddy was saying as I walked through the door, ‘when you're up in the town at your grand job?’
‘I’ll get your breakfast and then Cissy will see to you.’
‘I’ll not have her waiting on me,’ he growled.
‘She won’t be waiting on you, she’s not your servant, but if you can keep a civil tongue in your head, she’ll bring you a cup of tea and run any errands you need. If you don’t want her help then you can get your own tea and run your own errands.’
‘I’m a sick man, you know I can’t do that.’
‘Yer not as sick as you think you are, old man. And isn’t it a miracle that your legs manage to take you to the pub but can’t seem to take you anywhere else? The choice is yours. Cissy will bring you your tea or you’ll go without, it makes no odds to me.’
He glared at her. ‘Well, don’t expect me to talk to her.’
‘I’m sure she has no desire to talk to you.’
But Mammy was wrong: I did want to talk to him. It was better than talking to meself and oh, I had so much to talk about and as the granddaddy had no wish to talk to me, he wouldn’t be answering me back.
That night in bed I thought of the three lovely words I’d heard today: ‘shite’ and ‘my love’.
They stayed in my head as I dropped off to sleep.
shite, shite, shite, my love, my love, my…
Mammy woke me very early the next morning so that I could go on the milk round with Colm. I rolled over in the little bed and lay in the warm space that she had left behind. Weeks had passed since the day I’d left the workhouse, and I still missed sleeping beside Nora but I liked sleeping next to Mammy now too. Sometimes I’d wake in the middle of the night and feel her arms around me. I’d lay there all warm and safe and listen to the noises of Paradise Alley outside the little window. I liked having a mammy, even if she was cross most of the time, because some days she would smile at me or ruffle my hair or tell me I was a good girl for sweeping the floor. I still wasn’t sure that she was really my mammy because she didn’t look like me. The mammy’s hair was very dark and so were her eyes. My hair was fair, almost white and my eyes were blue. I thought that maybe there’d been a mistake and she was someone else’s mammy. Perhaps one day a girl with dark hair and dark eyes would knock on the door and tell me to give her back her mammy. I used to think that Mrs Foley was my mammy and that I had lots of brothers and sisters.
Sometimes me and Nora would go up to the top of the house where the poor demented souls lived. We’d climb up on a chair and look out of the window. We’d watch the people trudging up the hill and wonder if today was the day that the mammy would come to collect us. The trouble with this was that we didn’t know what our mammies looked like so we wouldn’t know if it was them that were coming anyway.
We weren’t supposed to go up to the floor where the poor demented souls lived because Mrs Foley said you wouldn’t know what some of them were going to do next. She said it wasn’t their fault, God had just decided to make them that way.
‘Have they not got mammies who could take them out the strand for an ice cream?’ said Nora.
‘I’ll tell you what I think, Nora,’ said Mrs Foley, smiling fondly at her. ‘I think they wouldn’t want to go for an ice cream even if a mammy did come to see them.’
‘Why not?’ said Nora.
‘Because they’ve been here so long, they’d be afraid to go outside.’
‘That’s sad,’ said Nora.
Mrs Foley smiled at her, but it was a sad sort of a smile. ‘This is their home, Nora, and this is where they feel safe,’ she’d said.
One day we were looking out of the window when Mrs Perks, a desperate mean woman, caught us.
‘Get away downstairs to your own quarters,’ she yelled. ‘You have no right to be up here.’
‘We were doing no harm,’ I said quietly.
‘We were just looking for our mammies,’ said Nora.
Mrs Perks laughed but it wasn’t a kind laugh. ‘You have no mammies,’ she spat at us. ‘You’re a pair of scruffy little orphans. Now get away out of here.’
Me and Nora jumped down from the chairs and ran out of the room.
Halfway down the stairs we sat down. ‘What’s an orphan?’ said Nora.
‘I haven’t a clue,’ I’d said. ‘But I have a feeling it’s not a great thing to be.’ . . .
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