Mother’s Only Child

‘Yes, I hope so,’ the man said. ‘My name is Robert Dawlish and I work for the Government in London. Word has it that you are the best around here at repairing boats.’

‘I do all right.’

The man stood gazing at the very few boats bobbing in the small harbour. He knew the navy commandeering Lough Foyle had sounded the death knell for the fishermen that had operated from here and, because of that, this man’s business too. But winning the war held precedent and everyone had to be expected to make sacrifices. He asked the question he already knew the answer to. ‘Is the boatyard profitable?’

‘Is that any of your business?’ Sam snapped.

‘It could be and I have a reason for asking.’

‘I have no reason to reply.’

‘Don’t be so pig-headed, man.’ Dawlish snapped. ‘You haven’t even heard what I have to say yet. I may be able to offer you something more lucrative.’

Then Sam knew he probably couldn’t afford to be too rude. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘State your business.’

‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Dawlish said. ‘With Ireland determined to be neutral in this war, Derry is Britain’s most westerly point. It will be needed as an escort base, to try and protect the merchant ships. We intend to establish a large repair workshop on Strand Road, alongside the present graving dock, and use Derry as a refuelling depot too.’

Sam nodded. He could see the sense of it. ‘How do I come in?’

‘I’d like you to be part of the repair team,’ the man said.

‘Working for the British Government?’ Sam said, bristling.

‘Indirectly, but if that offends you, think of it as working for a freer Europe,’ the man said, adding more harshly, ‘Do you think for one moment your neutrality will matter a jot to the Germans if they invade Britain? Norway tried that, to no avail. If Britain is invaded, Ireland will fall too. Mark my words.’

Sam was no fool and he knew the few men the Irish Government had stationed at Buncrana would be no match for the highly disciplined German Army if they were intent on invasion and so he said to the man, ‘All right then, say I agree to this, how is it to be arranged?’

The man sighed inwardly in relief. He hadn’t been sure he’d get this Sam Foley to agree. The word was he could be stiff-necked, and he was no lover of the English. Dawlish went on, choosing his words with care, ‘You would work for the Admiralty, but in a civilian capacity, and as the foreman you could choose your own team, men you know and can trust.’

Sam knew he was being given a chance, certainly while the war lasted, to lift the standard of living for all the men involved. Pride was a fine thing to have, when you had enough to eat, warm clothes to wear and a good fire to sit beside. ‘When would you want us to start?’ he asked.

‘Time is of an essence,’ Dawlish said. ‘We have a war to win. Shall we say Monday week? Is that time enough to get people together?’

‘Plenty of time, but how are we to get to the docks? The first bus from Moville doesn’t get to Derry till eight twenty. Presumably you’d want us to start work before then.’

‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll send a military truck to pick you up at half-past seven. How many men can you round up?’

Sam did a swift calculation. ‘Sixteen, maybe seventeen at the outside. Would that be all right?’

‘Splendid.’

‘And wages. They’ll need to know. I’ll need to know.’

‘This will have to be agreed upon officially,’ the civil servant said, ‘but it will be in the region of twelve pounds ten shillings for yourself as foreman, and ten pounds for the men you bring with you.’

Twelve pounds ten shillings—the figure floated in Sam’s mind. It was riches. It would be riches for them all. He extended his hand to Dawlish and they shook warmly.

‘It’s a deal.’

Sam went out visiting the neighbours he wanted in his new team that night, even routing a few from Rafferty’s pub. Eventually he had his chosen men around him. His special mate, Conrad Milligan, was to be his second in command.

The men all went back to Rafferty’s to seal their future in pints of Guinness. There they met Barney McPhearson, who listened to the talk of the men and then approached Sam and asked if he could be part of the team.

Sam had little time for Barney. The McPhearsons had always been known as a bad lot and Barney’s brother was the worst of all. He had never had a real job of work, though he didn’t seem short of money. Sam didn’t want the responsibility of taking Barney on. Every man was hand-picked and he could vouch for their diligence and honesty. He could not do that with Barney McPhearson.

‘I have all the men I need,’ he said shortly.

Barney’s face fell. ‘I’m real sorry about that, Mr Foley,’ he said respectfully enough. ‘There’s sod all doing in Moville just now.’

Sam suddenly felt sorry for the lad. Maybe Barney could be turned around yet, he thought. After all, he was just twenty. Maybe all he needed was a helping hand.

‘I think you’re right,’ Sarah said that evening, when Sam discussed it with her. ‘If you don’t want the man on your team, why not give him a job at the boatyard? He can do the work you’ve picked up in Buncrana from the Lough Swilly fishing boats. Willie is too old to make the journey to Buncrana more that a time of two, but he’ll be there to keep him in line.’

Sam offered this position to Barney, though he knew Willie, who’d been in the boatyard since he’d been a lad, working for his late father, wouldn’t be able to keep anyone in line. He’d never been that sort and now the old man’s mind had begun to slip. Sam kept him on only out of kindness. He didn’t even pick up a wage any more, for he said he was fine with his pension and he just loved being around and dealing with boats.

Sam said none of this to Sarah, but what he did say was, ‘Tell that teacher our Maria can go to that Academy place now. I’ll be earning enough soon to pay for her accommodation.’

‘The girl knows nothing about any academy, sure,’ Sarah said to Sam.

‘Surely she should have this chance?’

‘Not at all,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s not that type of child.’

‘I wonder what Sean would think about it,’ Sam mused.

Sean was the only sibling Sarah had left. She loved him dearly and thought a lot of his opinion. He’d been delighted when Maria was born and took great joy in her, seeing in his niece the child he might never have. Despite the confines of the farm, he saw the family as often as he could. Maria in turn adored her uncle.

Sean had often regretted that his beloved niece would be brought up on her own, but accepted it as the will of God, like he’d accepted the idea that she wouldn’t be able to go to Grafton Academy, despite her gift, when Sarah had told him of the teacher’s visit. Now, the opportunity was there again as Sarah explained when Sean next visited her. He fastened his wise brown eyes upon Sarah and said, ‘It would be wrong to deny her the chance at least of trying for the scholarship.’

‘Ah, Sean, how can you say that? You know I only have Maria.’

‘You cannot chain her to your side,’ Sean said. ‘God knows, I’m well aware what that feels like.’

‘You don’t like the farm, do you?’

Sean sighed. ‘It isn’t me we’re talking of. If Maria ever found out that you denied her this chance, she might hold it against you.’

Sarah couldn’t bear the thought of that. Later, reluctantly, she said to Sam, ‘I’ll contact Philomena and see what Maria has to do.’

Maria, who hadn’t any idea of the things being planned for her, was ecstatic when she was told. The light of excitement danced in her eyes at the thought of being given the chance of such a glittering and wonderful future, doing something she enjoyed above all else. She had no problem with the work Philomena set for her, either. The teacher explained that the academic standard was high too, and Maria would have to work hard if she wanted to secure a scholarship.

Maria told Greg all about the plans for her future as soon as she could, and though he was sincerely pleased for her and said so, other worries had been pressing on his mind after Dunkirk. One of these was the thought that it was wrong to sit out the war in Ireland, when Britain was in such dire straits. While he was milking the cows, hoeing the ground for planting and feeding the pigs, many like him were away fighting the enemy.

He turned this over and over in his mind. Phil, the brother nearest to him in age, was fifteen now and had left school, Billy was thirteen, and both of them were now well able to help their father. The girls, still at school, already helped their mother.

That same night Maria told Greg about the Academy, he told his father he wanted to enlist. Greg’s father wasn’t surprised, for he knew how the lad felt about farming. He respected him for the fact he had never shown any resentment and worked alongside him as hard as the next man. He knew too that Greg was worried about the war, the more so since Dunkirk.

‘You’ve never taken to this life, have you, Greg?’ he asked.

‘No, Dad,’ Greg said. ‘I know why you took the place on and that if we were to make a go of it we had to work hard. Phil and Billy were too young to be of any use, but now…‘

‘Now they are,’ his father finished the sentence for him. ‘You must do as you feel fit. What outfit were you thinking of joining—the Fusiliers, the Inniskillings?’

‘No, Dad,’ Greg said. ‘There is only one regiment for me. I want to go back to Birmingham and join the Royal Warwickshires.’

His father clapped him on the back. ‘Good on you, son.’

‘There’s just Mom,’ Greg said. ‘She’s bound to be upset.’

‘Leave your mother to me.’

However, Greg’s mother wailed and cried, and held her son tight as if she’d never let him go. When all this failed she said, ‘And what of Maria in all this? I know you are sweet on her.’

‘She is set for two years yet in the Academy in Dublin next year if she passes the scholarship,’ Greg said. ‘There is no understanding between us, although I will ask her to write. She will understand I must follow my heart, as she is doing.’

Greg’s mother said no more. She knew she had lost.

Maria was sad to see Greg leave, but soon she was too busy to miss anyone. She had little time for a social life—for going around the village arm in arm with giggling girlfriends, or having a day in Derry. She wrote to Greg, though they were letters only of one friend to another. Now, in her next letter, she could tell him all the extra work and worry was over and her future was set.

When Maria reached the boatyard to tell Willie Brannigan her news, the first people she saw were Barney McPhearson taking his ease outside, talking to his brother, Seamus. She knew her father wouldn’t like Seamus hanging about the boatyard, for he always said he was a bad influence on his younger brother, but what could he do, away in Derry everyday, even if she were to tell him? And what could she tell him? Only that Barney was talking to his brother. She had no idea if Seamus was a regular visitor to the boatyard. Maybe he’d just popped in today with a message. Surely Willie would mention it if he were worried?

Barney’s eyes lit up when he caught sight of Maria approaching, for he had a great fancy for the girl. ‘Now isn’t this a sight for sore eyes, or any eyes at all, for that matter,’ he addressed Seamus. The older man looked her all over, his leering eyes raking her body in a way that made Maria feel uncomfortable.

She had no time for it, and none at all for Seamus, so she gave neither a greeting and asked instead, ‘Where’s Willie?’

‘In the boathouse,’ Barney said. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ Maria said. ‘It’s not that important. Well, I mean it is to me. I got this today,’ and she handed Barney the letter.

Barney had known about Maria taking the exam for the Academy and hadn’t been pleased. He was a handsome, well-set-up young man, and most girls and young women were falling over themselves to be noticed by him. But Maria, the one he wanted, seemed not a bit impressed by him. He had no desire for her to be spirited away to Dublin and snapped up by another, but he sensed that to say so wasn’t the way to play this and so he congratulated her warmly.

‘Why, that’s tremendous, so it is, Maria,’ he said, taking the paper from her hand. ‘D’you see this?’ he said to Seamus, pointing at it. ‘Our Maria here has won a scholarship to a fancy academy, in Dublin no less.’

Seamus murmured his congratulations. Barney knew his brother thought him mad to hanker after the unattainable. Their parents had died when Barney was ten, but his father hadn’t worked for years before that. The family had lived on charity. Barney was left in the doubtful care of his elder brother, who’d then been twenty-one. He had often gone hungry and Seamus was not averse to giving him the odd clout, or even a thrashing a time or two. The priest had been called out once by worried neighbours and yet Barney perversely loved his brother.

‘Plenty more fish in the sea,’ Seamus had said, when he first saw the lustful glances Barney was giving Maria Foley. ‘She’s not for the likes of you and guarded well. Anyway, you know what you are like. If you got her you’d likely not want her, because it’s how you are with everything.’

‘This,’ maintained Barney, ‘is different.’

And now here she was before him. Greatly daring, Barney put his two arms around Maria’s waist, and drew her close.

Maria submitted to the embrace willingly, though usually would not have allowed such familiarity. She put it down to the man being so pleased for her. Certainly she found the kiss he planted on her full lips very pleasant indeed.

Seamus shook his head over his young brother. Willie, watching from the doorway, felt prickles of alarm down his spine. He could have told many a tale about the young man, like the fact Barney was too fond of drinking the afternoon away while he played a hand or two of cards with his brother and like-minded fellows and took little notice of Willie if he tried to take him to task about it.

Willie had said nothing to Sam because he could do little, away in Derry all the day. He’d never worry Sarah about such things. It wasn’t as if they were overburdened with work now that the fishing fleet had had to be disbanded.

Maria broke away from Barney’s embrace, and ran over to tell Willie the news. He was as delighted for her as Maria had known he would be. His lined face beamed and his blue eyes became moist with the emotion of it all.

As he put his arms around her, his words of congratulations held a note of relief, though Maria wasn’t aware of it. A new life beckoned Maria, Willie thought, and quite right too, well away from the clutches of people like Barney McPhearson. Really, he thought, it couldn’t come soon enough.

CHAPTER TWO

All who came in the shop that day were told of Maria’s success. Though they all congratulated her, Maria knew by their faces that many thought it a disgraceful thing for her to leave her mother. Some actually said this.

‘I mean,’ said one woman. ‘It’s hard right enough when you have just the one. Have you thought this through, Maria? Your mother will undoubtedly miss you.’ and then added, ‘Especially the way she is.’

‘The way she is?’ Maria asked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she’s not very strong, is she?’ the woman went on. ‘And nervy, like. Not been right since she lost the baby and that was years ago.’

‘She’s fine,’ Maria protested. ‘She’s grand now.’

The woman’s face was grave. ‘Funny things, nerves. Never really recover, if you have a tendency to nerves.’

Maria, who had been brought up to have respect for her elders and betters, could hardly be rude to customers, but by the time she was ready to leave for the day she was worn down by the disapproval many had shown her.

Maria wanted to let her Uncle Sean know the result of the exam, but he was no longer able to visit them so often because in January, Maria’s Granddad Tierney had been diagnosed with a tumour in his stomach. Since April he’d been needing round-the-clock nursing. Sean took it in turn with Agatha, while he also did the work on the farm and Agatha the work in the house.

Maria was so insistent that her uncle should be told her news that Sam went with her to visit him by bus and train on Saturday, 26 July. Bella gladly gave her the day off, knowing how much she loved her uncle. Sean’s praise and congratulations were genuine, and the welcome they both got was warm. Only Sam read the weariness in Sean’s eyes.

As Sean hugged the girl’s slight frame and told her how proud he was, he realised how like her mother she was, though her hair was the colour of deep mahogany, and her eyes vivid green, with long black eyelashes. But Maria had Sarah’s slight frame and elfin face. Sean saw that his niece was shedding her childhood and becoming a stunningly beautiful young lady. He wondered if she’d make the two years at the academy before some young Dublin swain claimed her.

But, he reminded himself, the girl was focused on a new life for herself and so far had never let her head be turned. He was saddened that now he’d see even less of her. He knew he’d done the right thing encouraging Sarah to let her daughter try for the scholarship, although all their lives would be poorer when Maria moved out of the village.

Sarah, who’d prayed earnestly for Maria to fail the exam, now redoubled her efforts to stop Maria leaving home. To this end she had a Mass said, lit numerous candles, began a novena and attended every service at the chapel. Always she pleaded the same thing; ‘Please God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost and Mary who has tasted sorrow herself, stop this. Let something happen to prevent my girl from leaving home.’ The same beseeching plea was made as she knelt before her bed at night, and in the morning as soon as she woke.

Maria was unaware of this, but she was fully aware of her mother’s sighs and reproachful looks. Though she was a model daughter, as the summer wore on, it began to wear her down and she wished the days could speed by.

She was due to go up on 9 September, although the term didn’t start until a few days after that. It was to give the girls time to get to know each other and familiarise themselves with a city that would be their home for two years. Even to think about it sent a thrill running all through Maria.

Sarah and Sam threw a party on the night of 7 September to mark Maria’s departure. As people hugged her, patted her on the back and wished her Godspeed, she realised how she’d miss them. She’d known most of them all her life and she felt tears stinging her eyes.

‘Don’t start being homesick before you’ve even left the place,’ Sam said suddenly at her elbow.

Maria flashed him a watery smile. ‘I’ll try not to,’ she said.

Sam patted her on the arm. ‘That’s my girl.’

All the evening, Sam watched his daughter, already aching with the loss of her. He could easily have resented Philomena Clarke for putting such odd notions in a young girl’s head, but he knew she’d had only Maria’s best interests at heart when she’d had made the suggestion. What sort of a father would he be if he didn’t allow his daughter the chance of a better future?

Sam had loved Sarah since the moment he’d seen her, and loved her still, though her once blonde hair now had streaks of grey in it. His was the same, of course, though it had once been as dark as Maria’s. His eyes, though, were a indeterminate grey, not vibrant green like his daughter’s. Maria had been the icing on the cake for the pair of them. He knew when she left, a lot of the joy would go out of his life.

Sam recognised that Sean felt the same, for his deep brown eyes were full of sadness. His father was too ill for him to be away from the farm for long and it was still light when he left. Sam watched the stooped, dejected stance of him as he strode towards The Square and the bus into Derry. He remembered how straight and upright Sean had once been.

Now he was tied to a farm he had no love for, tended by the dour, sour-faced Agatha, and watching his father sink daily. He’d had no chance of a life of his own, no loving wife to greet him and warm his bed at night, no child to climb onto his knee and gladden his heart. Sam knew Sean would feel the loss of Maria almost as keenly as her parents would.

Eventually, the party drew to a close. There would be more than one thick head in the village the following morning. Sam felt a little that way himself, if he was honest. He’d drank far more than was customary for him and he had work in the morning.

He followed his wife and daughter to bed, but once there, despite the tiredness stinging his eyes and the beer consumed, he lay wide-eyed and restless for hours before utter weariness claimed him.

The following evening the truck stood ready and waiting to take the men home. Yet Sam was loath to leave the docks, despite it being Maria’s last evening in Moville for some time.

‘How important is the frigate? he asked the lieutenant. ‘There’s still a fault in the engine room and it can’t go out tomorrow the way it is.’

‘It’s part of the convoy scheduled to leave at dawn.’

‘Well, I’ll stay to finish it,’ Sam said. ‘Con will give me a hand. There’s no need to keep the others. More than two will not fit in that small space anyway. But how will we get back home when we’ve finished? I don’t fancy walking.’

‘I’ll see if I can rustle up a couple of bicycles,’ the lieutenant said. ‘You can pile them in the truck in the morning. Will that do?’

‘Aye,’ Sam said with a chuckle, ‘though it’s years since I was astride a bike. I’ll more than likely have a sore backside in the morning.’

The lieutenant smiled. He liked both Sam and Con, and knew them to be first-rate workers, the sort who’d get on with the job in hand and not need the whip cracked over them.

‘I’m grateful, Sam,’ he said. He hesitated a moment and then went on, ‘There’s something else. Keep your eyes peeled, will you? There’s a rumour circulating the IRA are planning something.’

‘They’ll never get in here,’ Sam said. ‘Haven’t you the place as tight as a drum?’

‘They might, if they had help from inside.’

‘Who’d do that?’ Sam said and then as the man said nothing, burst out, ‘It’ll not be one of my men. I hope you’re not suggesting—’

‘No, no, I’m not. They came on your surety and that’s good enough for me, but I’m convinced if the IRA break in here, they’ll do it because someone from the inside will have helped them.’

‘They could cause havoc,’ Sam said. ‘Buggering up the boats could leave the merchant ships unprotected. Don’t they think of that?’

‘Obviously not.’

‘Well, I’ll keep my eyes and ears to the ground, never fear. Mind you, you’d have to have eyes like a cat to see anything in this blackness. Nights are certainly drawing in.’

The lieutenant agreed and watched as Sam walked over to the truck. Sam knew Con wouldn’t bat an eyelid at working over, but he told a couple in the truck to tell Sarah and Con’s wife, Brenda, where they were. ‘Don’t give them a time that we’ll be home,’ he cautioned. ‘I don’t know how long it will take us and I don’t want Sarah fretting.’

It was Andy Carmody, Bella’s nephew, who called at the Foley door later and told Sarah and Maria about Sam. Sarah knew her man and she recognised that, as the gaffer, the responsibility would lie on his shoulders. She was glad, though, when Andy told her Con was there too.

‘Pity,’ she said to Maria. ‘And on your last night too.’

‘It’s Daddy I feel sorry for,’ Maria said. ‘He’s already been at it for hours. The job must be urgent for him to stay. But I’m no wean any more; I understand these things.

In the engine room of the frigate, Sam and Con toiled away. The job was not difficult but the parts were tricky to reach and it was taking much longer than Sam had anticipated.

More than two hours after the others had left, Sam and Con tightened up the last bolt, wiped their oily hands on rags and climbed off the ship onto the dockside, where the lieutenant had left the bikes standing against a wall.