Ma, I'm Gettin Meself a New Mammy Read online

Sister Mary Ann Augusta grabbed a hold of Mairead Causetello, shouting te Sister Eleanor, who was trapped over by the window, trying te sort out a mix-up with the suitcases, ‘Get them all off the stairs, please!’ and ran with Mairead, who was trying te keep up, dragging her suitcase with a nightie sticking out, and looking like she was going for good with the amount of teddies and a long ragged cloth doll trailing its blonde plaited wool hair along the floor.

  Sister Herod Mary pushed past me, muttering, ‘God give me patience!’ and grabbed a hold of Poppy, making herself look like a bull about te do battle, with steam coming outa her nose. I could hear the air coming out through her nostrils. Her brown eyes looked inta the distance as she made a run for the convent passage. I took off running up behind her, trying te get past by running from side te side, but she blocked the passage and I had te slow down. The noise of chatter and laughter hit us as we rounded the corner going through the door inta the inner hallway.

  The Reverend Mother was smiling and oohing and aahing, saying, ‘Yes! It is lovely to see you, too! Oh, how are you! Hello! You are very welcome!’ swinging her head from side te side with her arms hidden under her cloak, getting herself buried with the mound of people all crushed inta the hall and more outside on the top porch and down the steps. I could hear more cars whirring up the drive and doors slamming.

  The Reverend Mother lifted her head above the crowd, trying te make room for the nuns pushing through with the two girls. ‘Have a lovely time! And be very good, won’t you do that?’ she said, lowering her head and keeping her back straight, talking te the two girls. Then she straightened her head up, her eyes landing on me with the smile still stuck te her face. I watched as it dropped suddenly inta a glare, with her eyes narrowing and her head shaking slightly, telling me I was in for it. ‘Martha!’ she shouted out, sounding very nice as her face curled inta a smile again. ‘Tell the Sisters to bring the children along.’

  I raced off back down through the passages and on te the children’s landing, roaring at Sister Eleanor, who was roaring at everyone else te get back te their playrooms and wait until they were called.

  ‘No, Sister! The Reverend Mother said ye are te send them up now!’

  There was a silence for a few seconds, then a stampede started. ‘We’re going! Hurry!’ And I was sent flying as bodies steamed inta me and charged down the passages.

  ‘Stop!’ screamed Sister Eleanor.

  Nobody listened! There was a crush for a few minutes as they all got stuck in the heavy door with the springs, and kids heaved in and out, their faces getting red with all the effort. Then it gave, and a few bodies got through, and the rest spilled after them. They were off!

  ‘Really, Martha! How could you be so silly?’

  ‘What did I do?’ I roared, hating te get inta trouble with Sister Eleanor and always roaring back when she roars at me.

  ‘Jesus!’ she said, looking down the passage. ‘Someone is going to break their necks before we can even get them out the door!’

  She took off like a giant bat, with her two hands grabbing a hold of her habit te stop herself tripping over the hem, with her black veil flapping out behind her, flying te catch up after the herd of kids hell-bent on getting up te the convent and getting outa here for their Christmas holidays.

  I took off after her, hearing Sister James Teresa breathing heavily up behind me, dragging a load of babies and shouting after me te come and hold the door open.

  ‘Sorry, Sister!’ I grabbed hold of the door, watching as she rushed past carrying baby Louisa Ellen in her little red coat and matching hat with the black velvet rim around the edges.

  ‘Hello, sweetie sugar plum!’ I crooned, making a grab for her, trying te tickle her chin.

  ‘Come on! I haven’t got time,’ Sister James Teresa complained, huffing up the passage with a load of little legs trailing after her.

  ‘Me goin t’see Santy!’ little Alfie stopped te tell me.

  I looked down at him standing in his little fisherman’s hat and his laced-up little brown boots, and laughed, ‘Yeah, Alfie! When ye go te sleep tonight, then when ye wake up, Santa Claus will have left loads and loads a toys and sweets for ye!’

  ‘Yeah!’ he said, listening te everything I had te say. Then he shook his head up and down, saying, ‘An I no wet me bed!’ looking very serious.

  I took in a deep breath, looking down at him, saying, ‘Oh, I don’t know. But I think ye have te be the best, bestest boy in the whole wide world!’ widening me eyes and putting out me arms, showing him the world. ‘Aren’t ye?’

  ‘Yeah, Oi am!’ he said, shaking his head up and down.

  ‘Now hurry! Everyone will be waiting on ye. Let’s go!’ And I grabbed his hand and we set off with Alfie moving his little legs like propellers, but we were hardly moving at all; it was mostly the noise of me jumping up and down making it look like we were flying. Alfie looked up at me, laughing, his neck swinging back on his head, thinking this was great.

  ‘We’re here!’ I puffed, leaving him with Sister James Teresa as she came outa the parlour, seeing a young couple off with Louisa Ellen and grabbing Alfie, holding onta his hand and waving out the door at the people taking off with the babies.

  I watched as the baby was carried over te a big black oldfashioned car and the husband held the door open while the lady stooped down with Louisa Ellen in her arms, then slid in along the green plush-looking leather seats, and the husband checked te make sure she was sitting in comfortably, then slammed the door shut. He rushed te the front of the car, grabbing hold of his long dark coat with a velvet collar flapping around his legs with the wind blowing up from the avenue, and wrapped it around his legs, whipping himself inta the driver’s seat, then started up the engine. The blonde lady gave a little wave back te the nuns, then turned her attention te the baby, smiling and holding her close te her chest and patting her back. Then the car turned slowly around the big entrance and purred off, gliding down the avenue.

  There goes a happy lady, I thought, staring after the car. Poor Sister Mercy! She’s going te miss the baby. She lives for her. Every day after her dinner is over she comes tearing over from the convent te spend her recreation with Louisa Ellen down in the kitchen, staring and fussing and laughing with the baby at the slightest thing she does. Louisa Ellen’s face lights up at the sight of Mercy. Gawd! Poor thing! No, Martha! Don’t be mean.

  I wandered over te the gong, hanging up the little silver one in its place on the little rope attached, and headed for the convent stairs, looking back as the last of the children went out the door and the group of nuns stood on the steps waving them off. ‘Goodbye now! Yes! Thank you,’ the Reverend Mother said, ‘and a very happy and peaceful Christmas to you, too!’

  The place had grown quiet, and I felt meself feeling a bit flat. The children and the people had taken all the excitement with them. So! What now? I asked meself, wondering where I will fit meself in for the Christmas.

  Sister Benedict came outa the chapel and rolled herself off te the convent. ‘Now we shall enjoy a lovely time of peace! Isn’t it wonderful?’ she stopped te say te me.

  ‘Yeah! Happy Christmas, Sister Benedict!’

  ‘And a Happy Christmas to you, too, Martha. Enjoy yourself! You earned it. My goodness, you worked very hard! Look at all the shine on everything. All the credit is due to you,’ she whispered, leaning inta me. ‘So go off and relax for yourself!’ Then she took off.

  I turned, heading down the stairs and through the convent door inta the kitchen passage. The lovely smell of cooking and baking hit me straight away. Ah! Sister Mercy is helping out Sister Thomas by doing a bit of cooking in our kitchen. I wonder what’s te eat.

  I hurried in, seeing Mercy pouring honey over a huge ham with cloves stuck inside the lumps of fat cut in crosses, and the whole thing was covered in brown sugar. She looked up, smiling at me! Yeah, I’m in luck!

  ‘Hello, Sister Mercy! Happy Christmas te ye!’

  ‘Ah, and a happy Christmas to you too, Mar
tha. Go on! Your dinner is warming in the oven.’

  ‘Oh thanks, Sister. I’m starving!’

  ‘Was dere a big crowd up dere?’ she asked me, nodding her head te the convent.

  ‘Oh, indeed there was, Sister! It was like Amiens Street train station, the amount of coming and going.’

  ‘Ah, I hope everyone has a good Christmas,’ she said, smiling te herself, thinking as she wrapped the ham in tinfoil.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, bending meself in two and sticking me head inta the oven.

  I lifted out a big white plate covered with a pie dish and took off the cover looking at lovely roast meat with roast potatoes and cabbage and carrots and gravy – lovely! – the steam going up me nose, driving me mad with the hunger.

  ‘Dat’s a lovely bit of beef! Enjoy dat.’

  ‘Thanks, Sister!’ I said, heading outa the kitchen and up te the refectory. Then I turned back and headed inta the kitchen again. ‘Sister, can I take a jug of milk?’

  ‘Yeah! Take a jug and go out to the dairy and help yourself. Make sure yeh cover it with the muslin. Oh! You can help yourself to some a dem buns dere.’ She nodded over te the windowsill.

  Me eyes whipped over te where she was pointing, landing on the tray with the mound of little buns with cherries. Cakes! And the steam is still coming outa them! Ah, gawd! All the birthdays I missed are coming in one day!

  ‘Dere’s some custard simmering warm over on the stove; pour some of dat over them.’

  ‘Thanks, Sister, this is fine,’ I said, struggling off with the hot plate in one hand and six cakes on a plate in the other, taking off quickly out the door before me luck runs out.

  I hurried up te the refectory, dying te get me teeth inta the grub, and back again for a whole jug of milk, for meself, I hope. A body flew past me in a blur out the door as I walked in. ‘Sorry!’ it said, making me cakes wobble on the plate. I looked after her as she whirled around, swinging a brown leather suitcase. ‘Bye, Martha! Happy Christmas to you! Have a great time!’

  Oh! She’s talking to me! ‘And a happy Christmas te you, too, Dilly! Be seeing ye after the holidays!’

  ‘Not if I see you first,’ she shouted, laughing her head off with the excitement of going away for the Christmas.

  I rushed inta the empty refectory, having the whole place te meself. Ah! This is going te be lovely, I muttered, grabbing a knife and fork, me eyes never leaving the plate. I polished off the lot of the cakes and two glasses of creamy milk. Oh, I could polish off another dinner! That just got me started. I wonder if she needs any help down in the kitchen. Then I could help meself . . . Hm! Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead. Yeah! Better not chance me luck too far. Still, she’s not a bad aul soul when she has a mind te be.

  I stood up, stretching, feeling the tiredness hitting me after the Christmas rush of all the cleaning and polishing and fussing. Gawd! It’s great having the Christmas. Nothing te do and all day te do it! I washed up me plates and glass and dried them, putting them back in their place on the long table, and wandered out, moseying up the passage and heading out the back door.

  I looked over at the white frost still sitting on the playing fields and not a movement te be seen. It looked pretty desolate, and I wandered back in te the bit of heat. What heat? Compared te outside that is! The wind whipping up these passages would blow ye off yer feet sometimes. It’s pretty chilly now. Think I’ll look for somewhere warm and cosy te roast me arse. ‘Get off them heaters! You’ll give yourself chilblains!’ the big ones scream at ye when we sit on them. Then when ye move off, they jump on. Well, there’s not one going te complain now! I have the whole place te meself, by the looks of it, I thought, staring inta the middle group’s refectory. Gawd! It’s so empty. The room looks like it’s waiting; there’s a feeling of stillness, then it seems te collapse in on itself and go te sleep. The place is so different with all the kids gone. There’s nothing te look at and nowhere te go. Just empty rooms and silent passages, and yet I can still hear the voices of the children echoing in me head.

  I wandered on, feeling a buzzing running through me, expecting something lovely te all happen. It’s Christmas Eve! And tomorrow will be Christmas Day! It’s still new te me, having a Christmas and a birthday. People wishing ye a happy birthday and knowing this is the day ye were born on! And knowing exactly what age ye are, instead of hearing outa the blue from the ma, when she’d say, ‘Eh, yeah . . . she’s goin on ten’, or, ‘She’s eleven now.’ An ye’d be left wondering when that happened! It wouldn’t occur te ye te say, ‘When’s me birthday, Ma?’ because dates didn’t come inta it. No, for the first time I was able te wake up and roar at everyone, ‘It’s me birthday today! I’m fourteen!’ And smile and listen te people wish me a happy birthday. I made sure te do the same thing this year. And stand in the refectory at teatime while everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday’ te ye, and end with: ‘You live in the zoo! You act like a monkey . . . And you look like one, too!’ And Sister Eleanor lowered her head, half laughing and half disgusted, saying, ‘Ahh, stop, girls! That’s not very nice.’ And listen te everyone laughing, including meself, because everyone gets a dose of that.

  Yeah! And now it’s Christmas. And everyone is being very nice, and making huge preparations, and getting all excited, and wearing good clothes, and going off with people, and no work, and I’m wondering if I’ll get te go out te someone! That’s what I’m afraid te ask. Sister Eleanor hasn’t said anything yet. She said she’ll try, but I wonder if she doesn’t manage te get me someone, what will happen then? All the others kids are sorted, because they’ve been going te the same people for years. They call them their ‘ladies’, or their ‘godparents’. The problem is I’m just a blowin, and I have me family . . . they think! So they don’t really feel bothered about me, and I don’t push it . . . in case! I have the terrible feeling in the bottom of me heart that Sister Eleanor will send me back te them for Christmas! Especially after me little brothers and sisters have just gone home. That Reverend Mother wouldn’t think twice of sending me back te that aul bastard and the ma if she could get away with it! I think that’s what Sister Eleanor could be banking on. I could feel a rage starting up in me chest. They can go and fuck themself! I would rather walk the streets and be happy about it than even give a second thought te having anything te do with them two bastards! So whatever happens, they have two hopes of getting me te go with them: Bob Hope and no fucking hope at all! Yeah! Fuck that! I snorted te meself, walking on, me blood boiling with the thought of it. Because there’s no such thing as Christmas in that fucking kip with Jackser! I know it only too well. The sights, sounds and, above all, the smell of fear in everyone as we wait for it te end.

  It’s just wakin up te the sound of footsteps passin the window, an the sound of new leather soles slappin along the pavement, or the clickin of new high heels, the woman takin little steps cos she’s afraid of breakin her neck as she minces her way along the footpath, disturbin the quiet of the empty Christmas streets, wit no traffic an everythin closed up. Everyone gettin up, wakin te the new day, ready te dive inta the result of their big preparations – their shoppin an their savin the money, an moanin about all the hard work it is, an . . . here they are! On the move te Mass in their new clothes, the first few early birds, wantin te make an early start. Then doors open an kids’ voices are heard, an they come flyin outa the house te try out their new little three-wheeler bikes with the flags hangin outa the handlebars, an ringin their new shiny bells. An young ones come staggerin down the path of their house, their legs goin in different directions, splittin themself in half on their new roller skates, tryin te balance themselves, the mammies and daddies shoutin at them te, ‘Come in an have yer breakfast! It’s gettin cold. And shut tha front door! Ye’re lettin out all the heat,’ an laughin, cos it’s great, an everyone is excited, an no one is gettin annoyed, cos there’s too much te look forward te.

  Maybe the fightin will start later on tonight, when the dinner’s over an the relations arrive, bringin the dri
nk with them te add te their own drink, an the arguments will start when they sit sprawled, lookin cross-eyed at each other with the too much drink taken, an start goin down memory lane. Then someone will remember who threw the last dig in a previous row one Christmas, when the argument got outa control. ‘And tha was the Christmas before last, I distinctly member tha! An you were the one tha started tha! An me poor brudder had te get six stitches at the back a his head! An we never forgot abou tha!’ Then the row will start all over again. The front door will fly open, an men will spill outa the house an onta the street in their stockin feet, staggerin aroun the road, shoutin, ‘Come on! Come on! Show ye’re a man! Put yer fists up,’ an the other fella roarin, ‘Hold me back! Let me at him! Mind me fuckin coat!’ An throwin his coat te the ground after whippin it off, cos he was goin te go in the first place, cos he wouldn’t stay where he wasn’t welcome!

  And meanwhile Jackser spent the day from the early mornin walkin up an down wit his fists clenched, an runnin back te the winda, lookin out, an throwin the head back te us sittin on the manky floorboards feelin very afraid, cos he wouldn’t stay easy. ‘Fuck them! Fuck them! We don’t need any a tha stuff! Fuck them an their showin off,’ then puttin his fist te his chest sayin, ‘Ah! It’s only one day! It’ll soon be over.’ An we stare at the winda, watchin the light fade an the night creep in, an the lights go on in the houses across the road. We watch as they draw the curtains te just meet wit the Christmas tree in the middle, showin the Christmas lights blinkin on an off. An we begin te feel we can move now, soon. Outa this room an up the stairs, an inta the safety of our beds, cos the night has taken away the terrible time of Christmas.

  Dear God! I don’t have te go through that again. No! Never again will I have te face that. I’m on me own now, and I can look after meself. I’m fifteen years old. I can get a job. I’m working here anyway. So I’m not going te even bother meself worrying about that! They can always tell me te go te them. But they can’t bleeding make me go!