The Magdalen (14 page)

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Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna

BOOK: The Magdalen
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“By Christ I'd kill the man that put his mickey inside that little girl!” swore Bernice in her strong Dublin accent. “I'd bleeding kill him!”
The nun pretended to look shocked, but they could all tell that her sympathy lay with young Tina.
 
 
At teatime the news spread around the refectory that Tina had been delivered in Holles Street, of a stillborn boy, by Caesarean section.
“Is Tina all right?” Maura had enquired from Sister Gabriel.
The nun had refused to give any information on the young girl's condition, telling Maura to sit down and attend to her own business. Maura had returned to the table beetroot-red with embarrassment. The women considered her a spokesman on their behalf and she knew the nun had taken pleasure in rebutting and demeaning her in front of them all.
“That poor little girl!” Detta sighed. “Poor Tina.”
“‘Tis God's will and Nature's way that the child was taken,” murmured Maura. “Tina's already had more than her fair share to contend with.”
That night the nuns made no mention of the young girl or her dead child in their prayers.
T
ina returned from the hospital about ten days later. She looked skinnier than ever, her hair caught up in short bunches on the side of her head. Esther had really missed her. She joined them in the huge refectory at teatime, making no mention of the baby or what had happened. They each murmured how sorry they were, Esther barely able to say the words. She couldn't imagine what she would do if her baby died. Tina had kept on buttering the stale-looking soda bread, piling runny scrambled egg on top of it as if nothing had happened.
The doctors had forbidden any heavy work, so she was assigned to help in the kitchen with Ina Brady,
setting the tables and washing-up. Twice Tina had fainted at mass and Sister Gabriel had actually sanctioned her not rising too early, and having a later breakfast for the moment. “The Lord will understand,” was all the nun would be drawn to say.
Even when they were on their own Tina made it clear to Esther that she didn't want to talk about what had happened in the hospital, and made no mention of the baby or its father. “Jasus, Esther! I want to forget it. He wasn't a proper baby, not really.”
Perplexed, Esther agreed, no longer making any mention of it at all, glad to see that the colour had returned to Tina's cheeks and she had begun to lose that haunted look that clung to her childish face, and was almost back to her chatty self. Tina would gossip about everybody else in the place and told endless stories of growing up in Dublin's Liberties and its narrow rows of houses, on top of each other, and the grand tenement building she lived in, surrounded by neighbours and all the local children. “Janey Mac, Esther, they'd drive you crazy, always in and out to each other and the childer fighting and playing games till it's dark out in the street, and all the mammies screaming for them to “come to bleedin' bed!'” Esther knew how much Tina loved and missed her home, no matter what it was like. “I miss the kids something terrible,” she complained.
Esther in turn missed the peace and tranquillity and wide-open spaces of Carraig Beag, the sound of the sea, the constant turn of the tide and the shifting of the sand, the lone cry of a gull buffeted by the sea-breezes, the smell of the ocean …
 
 
One Sunday they'd all been sitting in the recreation room with a novice called Sister Goretti, who was endeavouring to get the women to sing a selection of hymns. She normally worked in the orphanage and had been sent over to teach them songs that they would sing at a special All Souls mass that the parish priest was saying for them. The Maggies were for the most part being obstreperous, deliberately singing off key and mixing up the words, which was making the Sister's pretty face flush with annoyance. “Come on now, girls, I know you can do better!”
They all liked Sister Goretti, and often wondered how in God's name such a pretty young woman had ended up joining a convent. Bernice and Rita had surmised she must have had a broken romance and been jilted at the altar, for what else could have persuaded her to join the order? Only the young ones from the orphanage sang properly, their sweet voices filling the room.
Sister Margaretta had appeared all flustered at the door. “Is Sister Gabriel here?”
“She's upstairs having a rest.”
“Run up and get her straight away, Goretti, tell her I need her urgently.”
The older nun glanced around the room quickly before slamming the door and disappearing back across to the entrance hall. It wasn't often they got to see the nuns running around. Goretti returned with Sister Gabriel racing along the corridor, her habit flying behind her. Despite the singing they could all hear raised voices and shouting coming from the visitors' parlour.
Fifteen minutes later Sister Gabriel opened the door.
“Excuse me, Sister, but I have to ask Tina to come and join me. She has a visitor.”
“Janey Mackers, there's someone come to see me.” Tina grinned, getting to her feet.
Through the open door Esther got a glance of the bowsie-looking man who had managed to free himself from the nun and was trying to enter the recreation room. He was drunk and, spotting Tina, pulled her towards him the minute he saw her.
“Daddy!” she wailed, the two of them falling into each other's arms. Father and daughter were alike, thought Esther, both having the same almost ink-black hair and buck teeth.
“Please, Mr. Hegarty! Wait in the parlour, you must wait there!” remonstrated Sister Gabriel, her expression filled with utter contempt.
“I'll thank you not to interfere, Sister. This is between me and Tina. A father's entitled to see his daughter, you know!” Tina stood between them.
“I've come to take her home, Sister. The family need her.”
“Your daughter is in our care, Mr. Hegarty. I must remind you that she is under-age.”
“I don't give a shite about that! She's my child and I've come to take her home. None of youse are going to stop me!”
“She's not well.”
“I don't bleeding care. I'm taking her out of this place!” he said, grabbing at Tina's arm.
“I absolutely forbid this, Mr. Hegarty. Tina is settled here,” said the nun, grabbing hold of Tina too, the two of them beginning a tug-of-war. “I'll go to the authorities and get an order against you, if I have to,” threatened the nun.
Tina began to wail. “I want to go home! I hate this bleedin' place! Don't let them make me stay here, Daddy!”
“Youse have nothing! I can take my child out of here if I want to, and no nuns nor bishops or the Pope himself can stop me!” he declared grandiosely.
“Then there is nothing I can say or do to stop you, Mr. Hegarty. It's a pity that you didn't show more consideration to your daughter before this, or even visit her in Holles Street when she lost her child.”
“That's none of your business!” He sprang forward as if he were going to punch the nun who towered above him.
A look of pure disgust flitted across her face. “Tina, go upstairs and pack your things, if that's what you want.”
Reluctantly Mr. Hegarty agreed to wait in the parlour, Sister Margaretta standing guard at the door, while Tina went upstairs to the dormitory to pack her few items of clothes.
Esther couldn't understand it. She'd really miss Tina, but if going home was what she really wanted, then the nuns had no right to stop her. Sister Gabriel stood aloof and angry in the hallway when Tina came back downstairs.
“You don't have to go, Tina. You can stay here with us,” suggested Sister Margaretta, uselessly trying to change the girl's mind. “Your father can't force you to go with him.”
“I know, Sister. It's just that I want to go! I want to go home and see my little brothers and sisters again. I really miss them!”
“Come on, Tina girl!” cajoled her father. “The nuns don't own you! They'd have you slaving away here in the laundry for the rest of your days if they had their way.”
“How dare you, Mr. Hegarty!”
“Sssh, Daddy! I'll be fine, Sister Gabriel, honest. Things will be different this time. The young ones need me; Daddy can't manage them.”
Maura and Sheila had pushed their way out into the hallway. “Listen, Tina love!” pleaded Maura, rushing up to her, catching hold of her hand. “Do what Sister says! Stay here, you'll be safe!”
“He'll be at you, lovey, the minute you get home!” warned Sheila. “Leopards don't change their spots, no matter what promises they make!”
Tina pretended not to hear them as she pulled on an ill-fitting red coat, her father steering her in the direction of the hall door.
“Take care of yourself, Tina!” called the group from inside.
“Best of luck, Tina!” shouted Esther.
“Thank you, Sister Gabriel.” The nun drew back as Tina tried to shake her hand, nodding to Sister Margaretta to open the door, her eyes gleaming furiously as the stocky figure of Jackie Hegarty led his daughter out of the Holy Saints Convent and down the driveway. The rest of them shouted and waved goodbye. Sister Gabriel didn't even bother to chastise them; turning her pale, marble-like
countenance to them she only sighed, before climbing the stairs back to her room.
“Isn't it well for Tina,” declared Helen, one of the orphanage girls, enviously, “having her daddy come and take her out of this place!”
“Shut up, you!” rounded Sheila disdainfully. “What would you know about it?”
“Well, I hope things go well for her too,” added Esther.
“Jesus, Esther! Are you some class of an eejit or what?” She hadn't a clue what they were going on about. “‘Twas Tina's daddy put her in the family way. Didn't you know that?” said Maura sarcastically.
Esther blushed. God almighty! She'd never heard the like of it.
“I'll split that bastard if he lays one more hand on that little girl. What kind of a man is he at all, sneaking into his child's bed!”
Esther felt sick to her stomach thinking of what Tina had endured. No wonder the nuns and the rest of them wanted her to stay in the laundry. No matter how hellish they all thought it, at least it was safe. Esther knew the others considered her a “country girl,” unwise in the ways of the world and a big city like Dublin. Down home she had never heard of such a thing, never heard speak of it; yet here in the city awful things happened. Thinking about Tina would break your heart if you let it.
Sister Gabriel O'Sullivan walked slowly back up the stairs. From the landing window she caught a last glance at the child Tina walking through the gates with that father of hers. She'd be back. Next year or the year after,
pregnant once again, looking for their help and charity. The next time she'd send her down to their home in the midlands, where her father wouldn't be able to find her and drag her home. Kneeling down by the side of her bed, she prayed. She had failed in her duty to the young girl. She should have been able to protect her from the likes of Jack Hegarty. She asked the Lord for strength to carry on her work with these feeble, fallen Magdalen women.
T
he Maggies loved Saturday evenings, when the work was finally done and the laundry locked. “There's a dance night on the wireless tonight, Esther; we're all going to stay up and listen to it!” announced Sheila. “Will ya stay up too?”
“I'm tired.” Esther felt exhausted. She'd only finished in the steam room at six-thirty, almost missing her tea.
“Holy God, Esther, don't be getting all mopey on us!” warned Rita. “What would you country girls normally do of a Saturday night?”
“Go dancing!” they all screamed in unison.
There was a rush for the toilets and odds and ends of make-up were found and shared, even Detta putting blusher
on her cheeks and a smidgin of lipstick on her mouth, Esther brushing her hair till it shone and coating her long eyelashes with mascara. The recreation room filled up, all the Maggies sitting around on chairs listening to the wireless, the volume turned as high as it would go.
“We'll pretend that we're at the Metropole, having a dance and the time of our life with a gang of gorgeous fellahs,” joked Bernice.
As the music swelled and the tempo increased, shyness disappeared and one by one the women got up and danced.
“Will you look at Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers!” jeered Rita as Detta and another old lady called May Noonan took to the floor.
Esther laughed, watching the shenanigans of her friends, the lack of male partners no bother as the women danced together. “Will ya stop sitting there like a feckin wallflower, Esther, and get up!” Bernice and Sheila screamed, pulling her to her feet. She'd always loved dancing, as it made you forget things. “Hey pretty baby, come dance with me!” blared the song as Rita swirled her round and round the room.
 
 
Sundays were their only day off. She thanked God that the nuns kept it as a day of rest and prayer. There was the usual early-morning mass, and for the rest of the day the penitents were expected to pray and read the Bible and reflect on their errors and wrongdoings. Sister Margaretta held a prayer group in the afternoon which Detta and a few of the older women attended. Rita and Bernice and the rest of them were happy to just put their feet up and doze. Some of the
Maggies were lucky enough to go outside for a monthly afternoon visit with friends or family.
Since Esther knew nobody in the city she was content to be left to her own devices, taking the opportunity to get out of the harsh convent and laundry buildings and walk in the fresh air, in the sprawling grounds that enclosed the laundry, the mother-and-baby home, and the orphanage. Esther thought of the poor girls, like Helen, who had been born in the home and raised in the orphanage, and had never known a family, and then just when they were ready to grow up and leave were sent into the laundry to work. What chance did they ever have of a normal life?
Walking along the gravel paths, passing the wide beds now bearing only a few dusky rose-hips and fading purple, orange and wine-coloured chrysanthemums, she could see the first tips of snowdrops pushing through the frost-hardened earth. Ignoring her, one of the nuns walked along the Rosary Walk, head bowed, lost in meditation. The penitents were not allowed to venture up the stone steps that led to the winding walkway that symbolized the decades of the rosary, though it ended at the stone grotto of Our Lady, where all were welcome to pray. Sister Vincent prayed silently, barely acknowledging Esther's presence as they passed each other.
Esther turned down by the nuns' graveyard and out towards the side of the gardens where a bare, overgrown orchard gave way to the riverbank. The water ran fast and deep and wide after all the rain of the past few weeks. It fed the laundry, and the remains of an old watermill straddled it. The cold fresh air invigorated her, awakening her from the constant sluggishness she normally felt. In the
distance she could see groups of people passing to mass, noticing how the children stared at her and the adults ignored her. At the far corner of the north wall stood the Holy Saints Orphans' Home, almost a quarter-mile from the main convent. She was curious to see it, wondering if that was where her baby would end up. There was little contact between the institutions, except in the delivering of laundry. Perhaps some of the children being raised there were the offspring of the Magdalens. Rita's baby Patrick was in the nursery there. Esther knew that if she were Rita it would break her heart to have her child so close and yet so distant. At times when the air was still you could hear the orphans singing or playing out in the yard, the boys kicking a football, the girls skipping or playing hopscotch. How did the mothers stand it? She hoped the nuns were kinder to the orphans than they were to the Maggies, though judging from stories she'd heard from Saranne and Helen, who'd been raised there, the children of sinners fared almost as badly as their mothers.
She was glad to have grown up in the country, where the wide-open spaces of Connemara were filled with nothing but sea and sky. The Dublin air smelt of soot and smoke; some days it would near choke you! Oh, how she missed the tang of the salt air that blew in off the Atlantic Ocean! She didn't know how the city people stuck it, living so close together. Imagine being able to hear your neighbour cough or swear or worse. The houses and flats drab and dreary and grey, all crowded together. The children playing in grey streets. Sometimes Esther found that the whole grimness of the place was driving her crazy. The constant laundry work was exhausting, even for a strong
girl like herself, and she could see that it had taken its toll on some of the women, wearing them down, breaking their bodies and minds.
Having grown up in a house full of boys and young men, she had begun to realize just how much she liked the company of the Maggies, laughing at their jokes, listening to their stories, often working in silence together or sitting at long masses and rosaries, sharing the rhythm and routine of the laundry and its work. Rita and Bernice entertained them, telling exaggerated tales of their romances and expressing their opinions of men. “Every girl in this place is here because of sex!” declared Rita. “We all love it, are mad for it, man-bloody-mad!”
“Speak for yourself!” jeered Kathleen. “We don't all have a filthy mind like you!”
Esther never mentioned Conor. It pained her too much to think of him and Nuala McGuinness. It was a pain she reckoned would never leave her.
Few of the women in the laundry went outside. Their skin had developed a pale white sheen, as if all the colour had been bleached from their flesh, which she supposed came from a lack of sunlight and fresh air. She would die without such things. She hated the sense of being closed in, locked away. It was as if she were in prison, and would not be released until after this child was born. How she longed for that day!
Her baby was growing at such a rate. Her belly was getting huge and she had constant backache. She was tired too, sometimes almost falling asleep in the afternoon, the heat and steam making her drowsy. The baby was tired too, she could tell. It kicked forlornly on and off. Maura
had shown her a book that Sister Gabriel had. There were drawings of a woman's stomach and what happened as the baby grew inside. She loved the drawing of a baby, curled up, sucking its thumb, and wondered if her baby did such a thing. Poor wee tired baby, sucking its thumb!
A doctor had come to the convent. He had volunteered to examine any expectant mothers, and they were given the time to go up and see him. He was a gruff-looking grey-haired man with nicotine-stained fingers which he spread across the mound of her vulva and stomach as he checked the position and size of the baby. He pulled down her eyelids and checked her legs and ankles. So much for that! “You are anaemic-looking and the baby is a bit small,” was all he said.
Bernice pranced in after her, looking for all the world like a big pod ready to explode, and Esther wondered what the doctor would have to say about that.
Liver! That's what the stupid doctor had insisted she eat. The smell and very look of it revolted her. It reminded her of when she was a little girl and her daddy used to take herself and the boys into Galway of a market day. All the poor cattle would be herded up the street and down one of the narrow lanes to be butchered, the whole street smelling of the animals' blood and dung and fear. Ina would bring it over to the table to her on a special plate, the smell alone making her want to vomit, Bernice and Sheila and Rita jeering her about it.
“Lovely liver, Esther! Will we get Ina to cook you another slice or two of it!”
“Don't mind them, lovey,” consoled Detta. “Think of the good it will do you and your baby.”
“I bet you all the new mothers up in that fancy private nursing home, Stella Maris, are eating the very same thing fried with onions and butter,” said Maura, being kind to her.
The liver looked and tasted like old brown shoe leather, and she had to force herself to swallow it, as she knew Sister Gabriel was watching. Once, it had been served so undercooked that it felt like a mouthful of blood, and she'd made a run to the toilet before vomiting.
Esther thought of refusing it, but Maura had told her that Carmel Dunne had tried that a few years ago and Sister Gabriel had made Ina serve her with nothing but dry bread until she got her appetite back. Since Esther was always starving, she wasn't prepared to go hungry over it. The food was atrocious, the meat often tainted, the bread mouldy and even the breakfast porridge cold and lumpy by the time they got it. Esther often went hungry, tempted to join a few of the girls who rooted through the kitchen bins for scraps.
“How that old rip Ina Brady is let run the kitchen is beyond me!” complained Rita.
“Our food is like slops, only fit for pigs.”
“Don't be blaming poor Ina,” protested Detta. “She only cooks what they tell her and what is provided.”
They all knew how hard they worked and the long hours they endured and how busy the laundry had become, yet so little of the money they earned seemed to find its way back to provide comfort and care for them, the Magdalens.

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