Letters from a Patchwork Quilt

1: Escape-2

Jack scuffed his shoe against the edge of his chair, noticing there was a hole in the sole. He’d need to find some cardboard to line it before his mother found out. She didn’t need that to worry over on top of everything else.

‘My parents say I can’t sit it. They want me to go to the seminary as soon as they can get me in. They’re going to talk to our Dom. They won’t let me be a teacher.’

‘When you’ve got your scholarship the school board will increase your wages. That should help. If you go to college and qualify, you could be on as much as twenty-five pounds a year.’

Jack turned away from his mentor and looked out of the window onto the small yard where a robin was pecking about in the smoke-blackened snow. ‘It’s not just that, sir. There’s the cost of the books. And my keep in the meantime. And my Da’s not in the best of health. They can’t afford the doctor’s bills. They need me off their hands. They’ll like as not send me and our Tommy together. He’s ten next month so he’ll be leaving school anyway.’

‘And does Tommy want to be a priest?’

‘I don’t think he’s really ever thought there was anything else. With our Dom a priest and Bernie due to be ordained this summer, it’s expected.’

Mr Quinn took a pipe out of his pocket and lit it, drawing in little sucks of air till it caught. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘And why are you so set against it, Jack? After all you’d have bed and board and plenty of free time. No wife to worry about so you can read and write your poetry to your heart’s content. And if you want to teach, you could always become a Jesuit or a Christian Brother.’

Jack pulled a face. ‘They want me to be a parish priest. The Jesuits are far too grand for the likes of us. And besides…’ His heels scuffed at the floor again and he looked away. ‘Not having a wife to worry about. That’s the problem. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a priest.’ He could feel the blood rushing to his face and turned his eyes towards the window again.

The teacher smiled and said ‘There’s nothing wrong with that. Jack. You’re a hot-blooded lad. I could never be celibate myself. Mrs Quinn may not be perfect but I’d not be without her, nor she me, I hope. It takes a special man to choose to devote his life to God and forgo the pleasures of married life.’

‘I’m not special.’

‘Maybe you are, lad, but in a different way. You’re a talented pupil with a gift for words, but I reckon you’re right, you’re not prime priesthood material. Perhaps I should have a word with your parents. With three sons in the church, maybe they can let one of you follow a different path.’

‘Would you really talk to them, sir?’

‘I’ll have a go, Jack. I’ll give it my best.’

Jack smiled his gratitude, but while he dared to hope, his head told him it was a lost cause.

~~~

A few days later the row erupted. Bill Brennan, as was his custom on a Saturday night, had stopped for a few pints at the Catholic Men’s Club with his eldest son. Bill was slightly the worse for drink when he came home, alone. The girls and their mother were sewing and Jack and Tommy were at the kitchen table, working their way through a pile of the family’s shoes, trying to coax a shine out of them. There was no polish left, so they were reliant on elbow grease and spit and were making little impression.

The front door slammed and they all looked up, nervously.

Bill Brennan didn’t bother with a greeting, but lurched over to the table, grabbed Jack and dragged him to his feet. Before Jack knew what was happening, his father had landed a heavy blow to his head that sent him reeling across the room. Annie Brennan jumped up and tried to remonstrate with her husband, but Bill had already lunged at Jack again, dragging him across the room by his shirt collar.

‘Don’t you go telling this family’s business to other people, you little snurge.’ He shook his son, still holding onto his collar with his left hand and raising his right to strike again.

Annie stepped between them and pushed Jack behind her, squaring up to her husband. ‘Leave the lad alone, Bill. There’s no call to hit him.’

‘Mind your business, woman.’ He shoved his wife out of the way, sending her crashing against the wall. ‘Get me the belt’ he shouted at Cecily.

‘What’s he done?’ asked Annie.

‘Tittle-tattled to the teacher about not wanting to be a priest. Bringing shame on the family. He’s a holy show.’

In a surge of defiance Jack blurted, ‘I’ll say what I like. I’m eighteen in a few weeks. I can make my own mind up. It’s my life!’

‘Not while you’re under my roof it isn’t. Not while you’re eating the food your brother and I work to put on this table, you lazy little sod. I’ve told you already. You’re going to be a priest and that’s the end of it. And you can start off by examining your conscience and apologising to your mother. Then you can get yourself to confession before Mass tomorrow.’

‘I’m not going to Mass.’

Bill’s face distorted with rage. He grabbed the belt from Cecily’s hands and turned to his other children. ‘You lot get upstairs. Bed!’

Tommy looked as though he was about to protest, but Cecily pushed him ahead of her out of the room, clamping her hand over his mouth.

Annie Brennan caught hold of Cecily’s arm as the children were leaving the room and hissed at her to run round to the Club and fetch Kenneth home.

Bill Brennan flexed the leather belt between his hands. ‘Come here. Take your punishment like a man.’ He swung the belt and brought it down hard across his son’s back.

Jack cried out as the edge of the buckle hit him with force. It was like being branded with fire. Before the next blow, he tried to dodge sideways but his father caught his arm. Years of heavy work as a plasterer had given Bill Brennan a muscle mass like granite and he pinned Jack against the wall and lashed another blow down on his back. Jack bit his tongue as the pain seared through him. Don’t cry out. Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction. Eyes blind with tears, vision distorted. There would be more to come. Blood in the mouth tasting of metal. Sting of leather on buttocks. Buckle smashed against bone. Whole body on fire. Burning, burning, cutting. Make him stop! God, make him stop.

In a sudden rush of adrenalin, he screamed at his father. ‘You’re nowt but a big bully, a miserable coward and I hate you. You want my life to be as empty as yours but it’s not going to be. There’d be plenty of money to pay for the books if you didn’t drink it all down the Club.'

The words filled him with new found courage and he turned to parry the next blow.

His father, unused to defiance, had a face as red as a beetroot and launched himself at Jack, but a fit of coughing overwhelmed him. He sank to his knees, desperately trying to take in air but was so overcome by coughing that he turned away and was sick on the floor. Annie grabbed her son, pushing him in front of her through the doorway.

‘Get over to our Maisie’s. Sleep there the night. He’ll have forgotten by morning.’

Jack didn’t go to his aunt’s house. Instead he staggered along the familiar route to the school and hammered on his teacher’s door. Mrs Quinn, the teacher’s plump and unsmiling wife, answered and looked at Jack with ill-concealed hostility.

‘It’s Saturday night. He deserves a break from school matters. You’ll have to wait till Monday.’

Jack was about to answer, then, seeing the glow from the lights inside the small house and feeling the warmth from within, he slumped to his knees and passed out in front of the astonished woman.

Richard Quinn emerged and he and his wife helped Jack to his feet and brought him inside. A cup of tea was produced, a blanket draped over his shoulders and he was led to a chair by the fire.

‘What happened, Jack? You look done in.’

‘My father was angry that I told you about not wanting to enter the priesthood. He beat me. Only stopped when a coughing fit came on.'

It was such a relief to be here in this quiet house, close to the warmth of the fire. Jack felt safe at last, but overwhelmed with tiredness.

‘I’m sorry. I’d no idea he’d react that way. He listened when I spoke to him and I thought he was going along with your wishes. That’s how it was when I left him. He was on his way to the club. Maybe he thought better of it later.’

‘Maybe the drink did.’

The teacher said nothing, but exchanged a look with his wife. The woman left the room then returned with a bowl of hot water and a towel. She told Jack to take off his shirt and quietly treated Jack’s bleeding back, while her husband talked to the boy.

‘What are you going to do, Jack?’ Mr Quinn asked.

‘I’ll not go back. That’s it. He’s gone too far this time. If the coughing hadn’t started I reckon he’d have killed me. And I can’t take back what I said to him either.’

‘It’s never too late to take back words said in haste. It’s never too late to ask Our Blessed Lord for forgiveness.’

‘It is if you meant every word you said and don’t believe in God.'

‘You’re not serious about that? About not believing?’

Jack looked away, suddenly ashamed. ‘No. But I’m sick of being browbeaten about the church.’ He winced in pain as Mrs Quinn continued to swab his wounded back. ‘I’m a Catholic but not a good enough one to want to be shut up in a presbytery with a couple of other priests and a crusty, old housekeeper, like our Dominic. Church is for Sundays and Holy Days, not for seven days a week and every day of the year for the rest of my life. Please help me, Mr Quinn. I’ve decided to run away.’ He looked up at the teacher, unable to disguise the desperation in his voice.

The older man sighed and shook his head. ‘Run away?’

‘As far from here as possible.’ As he said it, the idea grew more appealing.

‘It’s no good knowing what you’re running from. You need to know what you’re running to’ said Mr Quinn.

‘I don’t know where.’ Jack started to doubt himself. Where indeed would he go? He’d never set foot outside Derby before.

‘I didn’t say where. I said what you’re running to. It’s not the same thing, Jack.’

Jack looked up, his face suddenly animated and his voice excited. ‘You know what I want, sir. I want to be a teacher like you. I want to keep on learning. I want more to my life than working, sleeping and going to Mass.’ He hesitated then added, ‘It’s not only the teaching. It’s writing. I want to be a poet.’

‘A poet, eh? Well, Jack, you’ve not picked an easy road to walk. I hope you don’t expect to make a living from it?’

‘Not at first…’ Jack looked down, embarrassed and fearful that his teacher would deride him as his family had done.

‘You do have a talent, lad. I’ll give you that. And it’s good to have a goal in life. Something to work towards.’

Mr Quinn jumped up and moved across the room to the table and shuffled through some papers. ‘As it happens, I received a letter recently from an old friend who was hoping I’d be interested in moving down south again.’

‘Bart. Don’t get involved.’ Mrs Quinn’s voice was anxious.

‘I am involved, Viola. If I hadn’t spoken to the lad’s father none of this would have happened. I feel responsible.

‘There’s a vacant teaching post in a new school on the outskirts of Bristol. The head mistress is a nun. She’s my cousin. We grew up together in Ireland. She’s a good woman. They’re looking for a male teacher for the boys. They’d prefer a qualified teacher, but I got the impression they’re short of candidates - and they must have a Catholic, so you’ll need to keep that lip buttoned and make sure you don’t miss Mass.’

Jack’s face broke into a grin. ‘Really, Mr Quinn? You think they’d have me?’

‘I don’t know, Jack, but it’s worth a try. I’ll write you a letter of recommendation. You’ll have to convince the head, Sister Callista, you’re up to the job – and I can’t promise it won’t have already gone.’

‘Thanks, sir. I’ll take my chances.’ Jack was overjoyed.

Quinn reached into a drawer of the sideboard and handed Jack a bag of coins. ‘That should cover your train ticket and pay for some digs until you get settled.’

‘Bart!’ Mrs Quinn put her hand over her mouth. ‘What are you doing?’ She threw Jack a resentful look.

‘I can’t take that, sir. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Consider it a little bonus for covering for me last month when I had the influenza. It’s only right you should have it rather than me when you did the work.’

‘Bart, that’s our rainy day money. What are you thinking of?’ The woman looked close to tears and Jack felt uncomfortable.

‘The lad deserves a chance, Viola. It’s a rainy day for him right now.’

‘I’ll pay you back, sir. I promise. Every penny.’

‘Aye, lad, I know you will. Only when you can afford it though. Get on your feet first. Now try and get some sleep. I’m sorry we haven’t a bed to offer you but that chair’s comfortable enough.’

‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Quinn.’

‘Mind you tell your folks before you leave.’

‘That’s the only thing, sir. I daren’t. Da will stop me. And I don’t want to tell Ma as she’d get in trouble if he found out she knew and hadn’t told him. Please don’t say anything. Leave it between us, sir Once I’m settled I’ll send news to Ma. Give it a few days then let her know I’m all right.’

Mr Quinn nodded, wished Jack goodnight and shepherded his wife from the room.

Jack sat with his feet tucked up under him in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, the wounds on his back forgotten. He stared into the glowing coals and felt a mixture of trepidation and excitement at what lay ahead. He was going to be a teacher. He was going to be free of the looming threat of the priesthood. In a few hours he would be far away, experiencing his first locomotive trip, his first journey outside Derby. It would be sad to leave his mother and brother and sisters, but he would not miss his father. He never wanted to see him again as long as he lived.

He felt as though he was not just beginning a new chapter in his life, but opening a whole new book.