At the End of the Day

Prologue 

My memories stretch back to 1947, I was four years old. There were three of us kids then, my brother Joe, myself, and my brother Patrick the youngest. Patrick was born at the end of world war two, when poverty plagued our beautiful Ireland and rations were the order of the day. Looking back on my life as a child we had very little, but I truly believe, what you’ve never had you’ll never miss, we were a happy family however short lived it may have been, those wonderful memories remain permanently etched in my mind. My name is Mary, this is my story containing true episodes of life with my Mother who is without a shadow of doubt, the most unselfish woman God has ever breathed life into. My pedestal for her grew steadily over the years, with every remarkable deed performed by her, with every painful event she endured on our behalf.

Life with my father was a different kettle of fish. He was a lovely man be-fore the need for alcohol robbed him of his soul and turned him into a monster. Thankfully my memories stretch beyond that point a very long time ago, when happiness dwelled in our tiny home. One thing I learned at an early age was coming from a dysfunctional family such as mine, left what-ever notion I may have had of finding something better for myself, take a nose dive faster than a meteorite crashing to the earth at the speed of light. I found myself travelling down the same path as my Mother to a life almost identical to hers. Like my Mother I met a nice young man whose heart was filled with love, a man with the same hopes and dreams that my Father once had, unfortunately his kind heart along with his dreams were crushed by his inability to conker the demons inside his head gnawing away at his mind. The two men in my life I loved and trusted with every inch of my being, were unable to prevent what I can only describe as an alcohol related form of amnesia completely erasing their finer qualities.

We lived in a tiny flat on the second floor of a three story house, it contained one bedroom we all shared a tiny kitchen with a wobbly old table and four scuffed chairs. We didn’t have the luxury of a bathroom we bathed each day in a large enamel sink in the kitchen, with the exception of Friday evenings when the old tin bath was placed in front of the fire. A warm comforting feeling comes over me when I recall those precious memories with Mam kneeling before us smiling, bathing us gently with hands lathered in carbolic soap and the glow of the fire reflecting in her reddish brown hair giving her the appearance of an angel. Our only toilet was a steel bucket kept on the landing with a square of plywood covering the offending eye sore to drown out embarrassing odours. It was awkward as hell to acquire the privacy we craved for in our delicate situation with constant visitors tramping upstairs to the flat above us. I managed to train myself to hold on until the flat above us was empty before making the effort. Our only bedroom was crammed tight with two double beds a large mahogany wardrobe and a matching dressing table. A ragged old armchair stood along side the huge fireplace, where an old black kettle dangled from a hook above the flames, it was there Mam spent her evenings making clothes for us kids from old rags purchased at Dublin’s Ivy market for pittance. Candles placed safely about the room and the flicker of the fire gave our flat a warm comforting glow. Much to our relief the Ryan’s from the flat above us moved out and Mam’s younger sister Ann moved in with her husband Paddy. It was nice having family living close by even though Aunt Ann was a bit of a fruit cake, she scared the living daylights out of myself and Joe with her creepy tales of ghosts and banshees. However with Mam’s constant assurance that her sisters behaviour was harmless we grew to love her eventually, but not before years of sleepless nights and jumping out of our skin at the sight of our own shadows. Ann was a smaller version of Mam she had the same beautiful strong features and the same pearl white teeth but that was as far as the similarity went. Ann was petite with small breasts inherited from her Mother’s side of the family, where Mam was tall and slim with voluptuous breasts inherited from her grandmother on her late fathers side of the family. She caught the attention of most males as she strolled through the town with her proud confident walk.

Mam’s brother Jimmy was a funny guy, not funny strange, funny Ha Ha, he also loved to spin a yarn, he was a totally different character to his sister Ann, where Ann was scary Jimmy was comical, he never failed to have us in stitches reciting his silly old rhymes which he would conjured up at the drop of a hat. Mam informed me years later that Jimmy turned down several opportunities to appear on stage but the very thought of appearing before an audience turned his body to jelly. He was a hansom man of medium height, with a slender but muscular build, we positively adored him. We also adored our Grandmother Mary on Mam’s side of the family. She was a real beauty, she wore her long black hair in a thick plait wrapped round her head like a halo. We looked forward to her visits every Friday and if the truth be known the small amount of chocolate she purchased along with her rations were every bit as welcome as she was. Her visits brought tales from her past so vivid it was like taking a journey with her down memory lane, myself and Joe hung on to her every word in complete silence. One story in particular I cherish to this day is the one she told of how our parents first met.

Chapter 1 

Bridget affectionately known as B was a tomboy in her day, even as a child she preferred to be out in the fields with her parents digging spuds, rather than taking part in children’s games like piggy beds or skipping with her sisters Maria, Ann, and Marge. Mary watched from her window with pride, as her beautiful eighteen year old daughter B ran barefoot through the fields like a magnificent foal. Her long auburn hair cascaded her shoulders while the sun brought it to life like a glowing sunset. She was on her way to her local grocery store to deliver fresh eggs, a chore she had carried out since she was eight years old. She was taking her usual route along the old dirt road and heading toward the whitewashed cottage which was normally buzzing with activity with children playing wildly in the grounds. On that particular day it was quiet there wasn’t a child in sight. She had often wondered in passing what lay behind the high railings encased in rambling blackberry bushes. Since the opportunity conveniently presented itself that fine summers morning she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity.

She made her way with caution toward the driveway and peeked through the gate. The left hand side of a very large garden contained neat rows of potato drills and vegetable patches, the opposite side displayed masses of fabulous coloured from a scatter of geraniums and roses to a flurry of hydrangeas down to the simple wallflower all surrounding a beautifully kept lawn. She was pleasantly surprised when she caught sight of the young man stretched out on the lawn sunbathing. Anxious to get a better view of the hansom stranger she moved along the railings in search of an opening closer to where he lay sleeping. She discovered a fair sized gap in the bushes directly above his head and studied him with interest. She found herself breathing in rhythm to the gentle rise and fall of his well endowed body. Then before she could slip out of sight he jumped to his feet and gave her a friendly wave. As Embarrassment took hold of her mind and body, she fled from the scene flushed and disorientated. Her long legs taking on a will of their own raced back in the direction in which she came, oblivious to the fact that her basket of eggs lay perched against the gate outside the young mans home. She dashed through fields vaulting ditches in her path until her Mothers tiny cottage came into sight.

She burst through the door like a criminal on the run and pulled it quickly behind her, she stood with her back resting against it to compose herself and allow her heartbeat to return to normal. As she approached the kitchen the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. Mary who was busy kneading dough with her long slender fingers remarked on her daughters flushed appearance. B had just about finished telling her mother of her embarrassing experience when there was a knock on the door. Waving her arms franticly in her Mothers direction she mouthed silently at her not to answer it Don’t be silly child I can’t leave whoever it is standing outside when they know full well we’re home. The young man looked out of character standing tall and burly with B’s basket of eggs on his arm. Mary retrieved it and walked back into the kitchen where B was chewing on her nails. There’s someone here to see you B, she said with a nod of her head to bring Bs attention to the basket she had retrieved from their caller. Who is it? she enquired, scratching her head furiously as if she didn’t already know. I’m sure you’re guess is as good as mine young lady, replied Mary loud enough for the young man to hear. Its funny how stripped nerves have a way of making us behave like idiots. Don’t keep the young man waiting, she coaxed, biting down on her finger to conceal a nervous giggle.

B went to the door reluctantly, she couldn’t bring herself to look the hansom stranger with his Charles Atlas body in the face. My name is Patrick, with whom do I have the pleasure? Bridget, B for short she said stealing a quick glance at Patrick’s face before diverting her attention once more towards her bare feet. She found herself thinking he was even more hansom close up though far too posh for her liking. He placed his index finger beneath her chin raising her face to meet his. You’re beautiful he said slightly taken back by her perfect features and well endowed body. He smiled broadly displaying perfect white teeth that flashed like the midday sun reflecting on white marble. Thank you she replied coyly, mesmerized by his generous green eyes, thinking to herself, if they were emeralds I would be looking at a fortune. He asked her if she would accompany him to the dance in the old school hall that coming Saturday. With absolutely no hesitation she erased her notion earlier about Patrick being too posh for her and accepted his invitation. I’ll pick you up at eight thirty, he said a little surprised by her acceptance. She smiled sweetly displaying her own perfect teeth which shone like precious pearls strung to perfection. She closed the door slowly behind him giving herself the opportunity to admire his macho departure. He smiled his infectious smile and left vaulting the gate before disappearing behind the wild blackberry bushes that spun the full length of the old dirt road.

After the dance that Saturday night the young couple became inseparable. B, who up to then had never been in a serious relationship couldn’t believe the extent of her own happiness, she was sure she was in love with Patrick a hurricane couldn’t keep them apart when Patrick was on leave from the army. They seemed the perfect couple heads turned when the young lovers strolled through the town together. They were leaving the cinema one night when B sensed there was something terribly wrong, Patrick had barely spoken to her since he picked her up at her home earlier that evening. As he walked her home the silence between them was almost deafening, she was convinced he was going to end their relationship. By the time they reached her home his serious expression sent shivers down her spine. He removed his jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders. She couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of his rippling muscles bulging beneath his white cotton shirt, momentarily allowing herself to believe he was too good a catch for a simple country girl such as herself. She couldn’t hold her patience a moment longer and snapped impatiently. What in Gods name is the matter Patrick? His eyes met hers and lingered as though he was trying to choose the right words before replying.

We’ve been together coming up to a year now B he said finally. Her heart beat hard against her chest while she waited for the worst. She felt a sudden urge to run and spare herself the humiliation of been jilted but she decided to stay and get it over with. He cupped her face in both hands tenderly and with all the love he felt for her dancing in his eyes he proposed. Well, now it was her turn to be silent she was very much aware that every woman in the town was in love with him, she couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of admiration in the eyes of every female who happened to cross their path. The fact that she was the one he chose to spent the rest of his life with, left no doubt in her mind that she too shared his feelings. She accepted his proposal relieved and snuggled her slender body into the comfort of his strong arms.

The date was set for June 21st 1941.’ The following month the bans were read in a quaint little church a short distance from the Hill of Down in County Meath. A simple wedding was planned with immediate family and friends. Times were hard with England at war with Germany, family’s were already feeling the sting of poverty. Rationing had been introduced, covering important items such as food and clothing. In county Meath where my parents were raised housewife’s were renowned for their homemade country butter, a luxury long forgotten since the war began and poverty in Ireland took hold. Family’s had to use margarine which was nothing like today’s healthy spread. To an Irish family left with no choice but to purchase the foul tasting spread being distributed was like asking them to devour rat droppings. Family’s chose to use dripping which was quite tasty, especially in later years when made from the juices of a delicious Sunday roast.

Chapter 2 

B stood before the long mirror on the door of her wardrobe with her mother fussing behind her. Do I look fat in this? she asked viewing her white figure hugging suit from side to side. Not a bit of it you’re a fine figure of a women, you get that from your father’s side of the family. And here I was thinking I got it from you teased B, looking down on her beautiful petite mother who stood barely five feet tall in high heel shoes, B herself stood five foot nine in her bare feet. As she fumbled awkwardly with her white pillbox hat which refused to settle on her silky auburn crown, Mary came to her rescue with her old reliable hat pin and secured the hat firmly on her daughter’s head. I’m nervous mother, she whispered exhaling deeply. Mary assured her it was normal for a bride to feel nervous on her special day and with a mischievous grin went on to say. Why, on my wedding day I pricked myself several times with this very hatpin puncturing every finger on my left hand, including the important one needed for the ceremony. She wriggled the finger displaying her wedding band. My fingers swelled up like fat little sausages, your poor father God rest his soul chuckled as he placed the wedding band just beyond the tip of my finger nail. Tears danced in Mary’s eyes as their nervous laughter echoed through the tiny cottage.

Please don’t cry Mother you’ll have me at it in a minute. Ah pay no attention to your silly old Mother, I was just thinking if only your father could have been here for your special day, he would be so proud. Mary lost her husband Bill a six foot four red head several years previous through pneumonia, leaving her with seven young children to raise alone. The two women embraced, trying to hold back the tears that were dancing in their eyes. A cold chill ran down Bs spine like she had been pierced by a giant icicle. She had been having the strangest feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She had no doubt about her love for Patrick but that niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach continued to haunt her. She dismissed it yet again convincing herself it was wedding nerves.

She glanced towards the clock on the wall and reminded her Mother that Jack, her younger brother, will be arriving shortly to take them to the church. Will you look at the state of the pair of us she laughed, glancing in the mirror, we look like a couple of clowns. They fixed their faces with a little powder and rouge and waited nervously for Jack to arrive to take them to the church. Mary walked up the Aisle linking Jack by the arm feeling like all brides should feel on their wedding day. Radiantly Beautiful. Jack’s handsome face beamed with pride as he walked along side his beautiful sister. When they reached the alter he took her hand in his and placed it lovingly in Patrick’s, before taking his place beside his Mother and siblings in the front row. B’s doubts disappeared when she noticed Patrick’s long dark eyelashes were moist with tears. Before the ceremony began Father Alan informed Patrick that the alter boy hadn’t arrived, he whispered the news to B who thought for one terrible moment that the wedding ceremony would have to be postponed. What are we going to do? she asked perturbed. Father Alan has asked if I will stand in for him. Will that be all right? She wondered how in God’s name could they be married with Patrick serving mass at the same time. Sure it will. He had been an alter boy for the best part of his teenage years, he knew it could be done. As it turned out it worked beautifully. Patrick looked handsome in a long flowing robe belonging to Father Alan, it had to be a rare occasion for the groom to serve mass at his own wedding ceremony. B convinced herself a beautiful ceremony such as they had experienced had to be a blessing from heaven.

As they posed for the wedding photographs outside the church Patrick gripped B’s hand tightly in his, as she turned to face him his green eyes bore into hers like icy daggers. You’re mine now he said possessively. Her doubts returned like a slap in the face. This was what had been gnawing away at her insides for so long, she just couldn’t put her finger on it, his jealousy. When it first accrued she felt flattered by his annoyance when ever a hansom stranger smiled at her in passing. As time passed she began to feel uncomfortable in the company of his male friends including his brothers, he even showed signs of jealousy toward them. She never felt threatened at the time but looking back on it years later she realised she should have been, his mood swings were a threat in themselves.

The newly weds spent their honeymoon in Dublin city. They stayed in a quaint little B&B, in Moore Street, which was close to Henry Street and the well known O Connell Street where Nelson’s statue stood high on his Pillar. Patrick tried to encourage B to climb to the top of the pillar with him but she had a phobia with heights and refused. He went up alone and waved down at her when he reached the top. They were amazed by the enormity of the city with its endless rows of shops, where dealers occupied both sides of the street chanting their wares in their own unique lingo. A hape-urt each the apples an penn-urh each the oranges, lovely bananas love only trupence a pound. They felt a sadness leaving the hustle and bustle of Dublin city, they seemed drawn to it somehow. They promised themselves they would return to the great city someday in search of a little place of their own.

They stepped from the bus on their return to find the whole family waiting for them at the bus stop. B ran into her Mother’s open arms and embraced her lovingly. B’s Father in law Pat, a fine country gentleman shook her by the hand and welcomed her into the family. She thanked him and kissed his cheek shyly. Everyone was chatting a mile a minute asking all sorts of questions about Dublin, anyone would think they had just returned from America. Patrick scooped up the suitcases and headed towards his mother-in-laws small cottage at the bottom of the hill where they would reside until they found a place of their own, preferably a house in Dublin.

B grew to love her father-in-law Pat whose handsome looks Patrick clearly inherited. She couldn’t fail to notice his obvious adoration for his wife Mary, they had twelve children together and Pat never failed to remind her he was the luckiest man alive. B never really knew how to take her mother in-law who answered to the same name as her own mother, she got the impression there wasn’t a woman alive good enough for her sons. She was up at the crack of dawn each morning collecting the eggs for their breakfast before waking them from their slumber. The rest of her day was spent cooking cleaning and baking bread for her large family. Pat would have given her the moon if she had requested it. B couldn’t help feeling her mother in-law was a hard act to follow.

May 9th 1942. B gave birth to her first child Joseph, he weighed eleven pound four ounces an agonising breach delivery without the aid of pain killers. When his tiny foot appeared into the world first it was baptised immediately by Doctor Baker, who stated his fears that the chances of the little mite’s survival were very slim. Joseph defied the odds and came into this world screaming his head off with chubby cheeks the colour of rose petals. He was nine months old when my parents moved to Dublin, they found a small flat in a three story house in Desmond Street a stone’s throw from the Meath Hospital. Dad left the army and found employment in Dublin Corporation’s Waterworks department, Mam was pregnant with me by then.

September 1st 1943. I was born in the old Coomb Hospital in Dublin. It was a normal delivery, I weighed eight and a half pounds. I was given the name Mary after both my grandmothers. Mam was discharged after a week feeling stronger than she did after Joe’s birth. Baba said Joe gazing through the bars of my cot when he saw me for the first time. Mam sat him on her lap and explained to him I was his baby sister Mary, and I was too little to talk. Mashie, he whispered with a huge smile on his face. Joe continued to call me Mashie over the years while we were growing up, he shortened it to Mash when we reached our teens. He was my only friend when we were little, we played together we walked to school together, I can safely say during the first five years of our lives myself and Joe never left the house without one another, we were like twins who couldn’t bear to be separated for long periods of time, we lived in our own little world.

May 2nd 1945, my brother Patrick was born. I was a year and eight months old. With the exception of myself and Joe one year and eight months was to become a pattern amongst all our siblings. Mam breastfed all of her children for eleven months and fell pregnant again immediately after stopping. The reason myself and Joe were closer in age was because of his size, the only thing that would satisfy his hunger was solid food and because food was scarce during the war and rations were sparse, his diet was mostly bread and milk. (Goody) When Mam stopped breast feeding Joe I was the result nine months later. Goody became my diet also, I loved it. Mam would purchase her limited amount of flour from her rations so there was always homemade bread in the house, there was never much of anything else. Our milk came in cans sweetened and added to water and warmed over the stove it could be added to cocoa for a delicious bedtime drink, or over small squares of bread to make the goody. Most families lived on goody like ourselves.

September 1st 1947,my fourth birthday and my first day at school, myself and Joe shared the same classroom for the first couple of days. I loved school, the music class in particular. I recall how Mrs Murphy beckoned with one hand for us to stand. Her attempts to teach a bunch of four and five year olds how to sing in harmony was hilarious, we didn’t have a clue music was new to us, we didn’t have the luxury of a radio back then, in fact very few family’s enjoyed such luxury. If we had been in possession of a radio it would have been pawned to make ends meet. After rehearsing with us for some time she struck a chord by tapping a small thong shaped instrument on her desk, sending a soft humming note to the ear, she requested we sing without any help from her, I recall closing my eyes and losing myself in the wonder of it all. When we finished she praised our efforts. She got us to try it one more time only with more feeling. Like Mary she said, looking in my direction. I was a shy child and didn’t respond too well to being in the lime light. My face light up like a fire had erupted beneath my skin. I knew what she meant about feeling the music, I felt it passionately.

Mam collected us after school she couldn’t wait to hear about our first day, and I couldn’t wait to tell her about our singing lessons. Joe got there first as usual for some reason he felt compelled to do my talking for me. The teacher liked Mashie’s singing Mammy he announced proudly. Do you like singing mammy? I asked before Joe could jump in again. I sure do she said with a gentle squeeze of the hand. If you teach me Mammy, I will be the best singer in the whole class, I announced innocently. She said she would teach me as soon as her chores were done and Patrick was settled down for the night. When she finally got him settled and cleared up after dinner, she sat in the old armchair with myself and Joe sitting snugly by her feet. She told us how she loved to sing when she was a young girl and how no one could shush her back then. She added she hadn’t felt much like singing of late. However she announced with a sudden mood change, the song I’m going to teach you is one, my mother taught to me when I was about your age, it’s called. At the end of the day." Mam’s beautiful voice echoed through our tiny flat, like a choir of angels hovering above our heads with each note reflecting her gentle personality.

At the end of the day just kneel and say

Thank you lord for my work and play

I try to be good for I know that I should

that’s my prayer at the end of the day

When the new dawn begins to break

lift up your eyes, let your heart awake

Be ready to meet what the day may send

and be ready to greet every man as a friend

Nobody knows what a power they have found

just do what you can for the others around

Carry them high when they seem to be low

as on your way you go.

That was the last time I heard my mother sing. Many an evening she would sit by the fire and get me to sing while she busied herself with her sewing, she never joined in, I didn’t understand why. Looking back on it now I understand only too well. It isn’t easy to break into song when you have noting to sing about. I can still recall her beautiful sweet voice to this day. Me and Joe looked forward to Dad returning from work, he would sneak in the door with that smile of his, give Mam’s shoulder a gently squeeze, they would wait for our response as he emptied the contents of the dirty old bag he carried with him onto the floor. We would squeal with delight as pennies and halfpennies tumbled onto the bare floor boards. You know the routine he’d say with that infectious smile of his. Myself and Joe would go down on our knees to gather the filthy old coins which had been salvaged from Dublin City’s dirty drains and drop them into the sink for cleaning. After washing each one until it sparkled we were rewarded a halfpenny each.

Chapter 3 

October 31st 1947. With the crispness of frost in the air, we arrived home from school and had lunch, then to our surprise Mam proceeded to dress us in silly clothes. She dressed Joe in a long red dress and painted his face with lipstick and rouge. I howled with laughter as she turned to face me, tapping her finger on her chin mischievously. Then, out came the old suitcase from under the bed, where she stored the old rags purchased from the Ivy market. This will do nicely she said, dragging a pair of baggy trousers from the bottom of the ragged old suitcase. As I slipped my legs into them excitedly, she rolled up the ends to the correct length and fixed a pair of Dads braces around my shoulders to keep them from slipping to the floor. She gathered soot from the chimney with a rag and applied it to my face, then finished off my fancy dress with one of Dads old waistcoats. There you go" she said, standing back to view her two little horrors.

Is this a new game Mammy? asked Joe. Its Halloween, children dress up on Halloween, they sometimes go from door to door reciting. Help the Halloween party, they may even receive the odd apple or orange along the way. Can we go? we squealed excitedly. I’ll let you go on one condition, that you stay together and come home in an hour. That’s two condizzyons said Joe cheekily. Go, you cheeky monkey before I change my mind, she said giving him a gentle slap on the bottom. We had a wonderful time, we made our way home with a small amount of chocolate and fresh fruit from our better off neighbours. Our excitement was short lived we returned from our grand adventure to find Dad standing over Mam’s chair yelling abuse in her face. He was using words us kids had never heard in all of our young life‘s. Tears were streaming down her face and she was pleading with him to stop. When he spotted us from the corner of his eye he stepped back, his hansom face was distorted with rage. For the first time in our lives myself and Joe experience fear. Joe took my hand in his and led me into our bed-room, we dropped our goodies on the floor, climbed into bed and curled up together in tears.

In the years that followed that terrifying evening we heard the same ugly accusations on a regular basis, it wasn’t long before we learned exactly what they were all about. From then on the rows became a regular occurrence in our home with each evening ending like the one previous. Our days began like any other with Mam waking us for breakfast and taking us to school, by evening our tiny flat was like a war zone. It was as though Dad no longer worried about upsetting us kids seeing that we were now aware of what he was capable of. From then on our lives changed drastically. We didn’t get much of a look in from Dad except when we were being told off, that was the limit of his attention towards us for many years to come. Dad had begun drinking and staying out until the early hours. In the beginning he appeared sorry for his anger and abuse towards Mam. I only recall him apologising for his behaviour once in my life. He had stormed out of the flat after a fierce row leaving her in tears. Her distress tore at my heart, I tried to comfort her by stroking her on the shoulder. I sobbed at the sight of her body shaking convulsively. She took me in her arms and settled me into her bed beside her, I snuggled my tiny body into hers and drifted off to sleep in her arms. Some time during the night I woke to find Dad leaning over us, I froze too frightened to move. I watched with bated breath as his lips swept over her face and eyelids, tears escaped his eyes as he whispered repeatedly how sorry he was for hurting her. When she began to respond to his embrace he carried me back to my bed. A warm calmness swept over me as I drifted off to sleep.

December 2nd 1947 my sister Ruth was born, her birth I remember clearly. Aunt Ann from the flat above us was fussing about in the bedroom, Mam looked flushed. When the doctor arrived Ann sent us into the kitchen and told us to be quiet. The doctor was no sooner in the flat when he was gone again. Ann assured us there was nothing to worry about, she explained the doctor would be returning shortly with medicine to make Mam better. She allowed us into the bedroom to see her if we promised to be quiet. Joe took my hand as always and escorted me into the bedroom. Mam was laying out-side the covers taking deep breaths. Seeing the frightened look on our faces she assured us the doctor will make her better on his return. She slipped from her bed and made her way towards the kitchen rubbing the small of her back. Watch out for the doctor like good children! she yelled back, let me know the minute he gets here. Yes Mammy we replied, feeling really grownup at being trusted with such an important mission. We kept our eyes peeled towards the gate for over an hour before he finally arrived in the vicinity. Here he is Mammy! we yelled, somehow sensing she shouldn’t be in the kitchen drinking tea.

She rushed back to bed and we were ushered back to the kitchen where we waited for what seemed like an eternity. When we heard the doctor leave we waited for Ann’s permission to enter the bedroom and see Mam. We snuck into the room hand in hand to find her sitting up in bed looking a lot better than she did earlier on. She beckoned to us to come closer. Meet your little sister, she said lifting the tiny bundle from beneath the covers. I couldn’t believe my eyes Ruth was wide awake punching the air like a prize fighter. Her jet black curls sat on her head like tiny tassels and her eyes resembled dark clouds on a rainy day. My own baby sister I gasped in amazement. I’ll still mind yeh Mashie, Joe assured me with a gentle squeeze of the hand. I smiled at his cheeky face and squeezed his hand in return.

Six months after Ruth’s birth Mam received a letter from her Sister Maria informing her that Granny was crippled with Arthritis and could no longer manage the long bus journey from County Meath to County Dublin. It amazes me today when I think about the short journey from where we lived in Dublin to where Granny lived in County Meath, its only a forty mile journey, back in 1948 it was like the other side of the world. Mam explained the situation to us as best she could. We can travel announced Joe, upset by the news. Maybe some day, she whispered, biting down on her lip to fight back the tears. In the mean time she said, lifting us onto her lap. "Why don’t we say a little prayer that Granny gets well soon. She could hardly explain to a four and a five year old, that Dads possessive jellousy made a visit to Granny’s out of the question. He wouldn’t allow her to go anywhere except to the corner shop to collect her rations and even then she had to bring us along, for fear she might be tempted to run off with the first man to give her a second glance. He had become like a stranger to us, we didn’t see much of him and when we did he was causing ructions. In my innocence I believed that someone had taken my nice Daddy and replaced him with this horrible person who looked like him. I prayed every night that God would find my real Daddy and bring him back to us.

We enjoyed our shopping trips with Mam for her rations it meant getting cocoa, to us that was the highlight of our week. Although Dad no longer crept through the door with that wonderful smile of his to encourage us to