Gallowgate

Chapter 2

Finola hung on the rail, watching until it was the turn of the steerage passengers to disembark on Scottish soil. The horde of grey, skeletal figures drifted ashore like a procession of ghosts. A few weak cheers came from the dockside as people spotted their relatives, but for the most part the atmosphere was sombre.

Behind Finola, her sisters scanned the Broomielaw for a glimpse of their brother. Brendan, 22 years of age and now unexpected head of this family. He had made the trip to Ireland to see his father laid in the ground beyond the sacred precincts of the chapel. A last punishment for taking his own life in what, in any case, was become a God-forsaken land. Eviction from the church was no more than the final step of the eviction that Lord Longkenny had begun on the day their father hanged himself. A poisoned harvest was as good a reason as any to condemn the tenant for non-payment of rent and turn the land into grazing for his livestock. Then the O’Donnell’s daughters had presented the noble lord with the perfect opportunity to rid himself of these Catholic peasants once and for all.

Ten shillings from Brendan added to the few coppers their possessions had fetched were just enough for their passage to Glasgow, and to an unknown future.

At last, they saw him, and Finola waved. ‘Brendan, Brendan, we’re here!’

His tall figure and reddish hair stood out in the crowd: hair that was not as burnished as Kate’s, but fairer. Joseph O’Donnell had been crowned with the same hair, which spoke of the Viking presence in old Ireland. Maeve and Finola had inherited the very dark colouring of their mother. Gypsy hair, some said.

Now, Maeve saw, this crowd looked no better fed than the ragged beings straggling ashore from the ship. And, when at last the O’Donnell girls rattled down the gangway to set foot on the greasy cobbles of Broomielaw, she inhaled the soiled air of Glasgow, together with the depressing realisation that here lay their uncertain future.

Their brief glimpse of busy, noisy Belfast before they sailed had been shock enough to one used to the soft air and the blue haze of the mountains of Wicklow, but now Maeve thought they had disembarked into an inferno. Carts, horses clattering on the cobbles, men shouting, begging children scurrying amongst the landed passengers - and smoke. Heavy black clouds lay overhead, seeming to blend with the smoke from huge chimneys which were surely belching fumes from hell. And beyond the river, no misty hills, but buildings upon buildings, barely seen through the polluted air.

Brendan smiled as one by one his sisters coughed and spluttered. ‘Ye’ll soon be used to it, my darlins. He waved at the city. ‘It’s what is making Glasgow the place - the place to earn money - even to become rich, if you"re lucky.’

As he talked, he steered them alongside the river. ‘This is the Clyde. Soon you"ll see how all the treasures of the Orient land up here.’

The icy January wind cut into Maeve, and she drew her shawl closer around her shoulders. ‘The Orient, Brendan?’

She found herself smiling at last. Her brother had been like a ray of sunshine in their miserable cottage, blithe no matter how grim it all was, filled with optimism even in the worst of times. He had been only 13 when their mother Rose had died, giving birth to Finola, and he’d coped when their da had crumbled away like the turf they threw on the fire. She’d only been 11 years old herself and Kate, seven. The neighbour women had done what they could for them and the baby Finola, but they had families of their own and little time or energy to spare. It had brought an end to Maeve’s chance of a little education at the hedge school in Aughrim.

She could just make out the names on the many ships moored in the swirling brown water of the river and knew that was almost the extent of her learning. She was to have two years at school, then Kate, because Rose had wanted her children to be literate. But they had the baby to look after, and Kate never got any of her schooling. Maeve turned away from her attempts to exercise her reading skills and felt a warmth as she watched her brother give Finola all his attention. She had missed him.

Finola caught him by the hand. ‘Are you married yet, Brendan? Brian Doherty is. And he’s younger than you.’

‘Ah, but Brian has only his oul’ mother to look after. Look at me - with this bunch of women, to be sure. How could I add a wife to this?’ He lifted Finola and swung her around as they walked. She was far from heavy.

Kate, who was a little behind them, stopped to stare at a building on the other side of the road.

Finola said, ‘Come on. Kate, don"t be lagging - I’m hungry and Brendan has promised us porridge. Isn"t that so?’

‘Sure, and it is, my love.’

‘Would you look at this, Maeve?’ Kate pointed. ‘Is it a church, Brendan?’

‘Aye, that it is. That is the Roman Catholic Church of St Andrew.’

They halted and stared, awed by the grandeur of building; its clean stone, soaring spires and windows which would be glowing stained glass seen from the inside. To any Irish Catholic, more used to the small grey chapels of their homeland, it was a stunning sight.

At last Kate spoke. ‘Sure, there must be a lot of Catholics in Glasgow.’

‘Aye, too many for the liking of some.’

Kate muttered under her breath, ‘Well, they won’t see this one in there.’

Maeve heard her. ‘We’ll see about that.’

She had expected little, but Maeve almost drowned in despair when they reached what was to be their new home in Glasgow. Brendan told them they were in backlands, a description that meant nothing until they found themselves picking their way round the end of a row of filthy buildings to come upon another even filthier building a few feet behind. A short wooden stairway led to a landing with two doors, one of which Brendan had to unlock.

‘A key, Brendan?’ Kate laughed, ‘Sure, I’ve never seen such a thing. Have you got precious riches here?’

He waggled the key. ‘Listen. Never leave this door unlocked if you"re out. No, I don"t have anything precious, Kate, but the little I have would be gone in a flash if the door was open. There are a lot of poor people in Glasgow.’

A locked door was a strange concept to those brought up in rural Ireland, and Maeve suspected it would be the first of many disturbing features of their new lives.

The open door revealed the next. A single room, so dark that Brendan had to light a paraffin lamp in the corner to display two straw mattresses on the floor of a recess, a single chair, and a table which might have been fished out of the Clyde, the wood looked so rotten. A black pot sat in the midst of a smouldering fire in an iron grate. The three O’Donnell girls stood, silent, in the small space. The room smelled stale, with an overlay of paraffin fumes, and there was a faint odour of singeing.

Maeve’s heart, low as it was, sank even further.

Brendan said, ‘Ta da! I know it’s not much, ladies, but…’

He was interrupted by Kate grabbing a handful of her skirt to pull the pot off the fire. ‘This is burning!’

‘It’s the porridge! I thought it would be slow enough.’

Maeve put down the small bundle of everything she owned in the world and said, ‘Brendan, let us deal with it. D’ye have plates.’

Even in the dim light she could see him flush.

‘Eh, there"s two…I haven"t had time…I’ve been working you see.’ He opened a press in the corner of the room.

Taking the pot from Kate, Maeve scraped out the least burnt portions of porridge into the two bowls. ‘Is there milk, Brendan?’

‘Aye, on the windowsill.’ He pushed up a window so grimy that it was almost invisible and brought in an enamel jug covered with a scrap of muslin and half full of doubtful-looking milk.

Maeve took it from him, sniffed it, then poured some into each of the bowls. "Here, Finola, Kate, sit and eat your porridge.’ The two bowls had at least two thin metal spoons to accompany them.

Finola lifted a spoonful of the brownish mess, then dropped it back in the bowl. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t…’

Maeve said, ‘You will, for there’s nothing else, is there Brendan?’

He shook his head. ‘I only got proper work last week, so I haven"t been able…’ He fished in his trouser pocket. ‘Have this, it’ll buy something for the morrow.’

She took the money but didn"t count it. ‘We’ll manage, will we not, girls, and tomorrow we’ll explore and find all kinds of things.’

Kate said, gulping down her spoonful of porridge. ‘Will I be able to get work?’

‘Oh, to be sure, there’s lots of work for women - mills, factories galore - even Finola will be able to earn’

Maeve said, ‘She won’t. She’s not going out to work at nine years old, Brendan.’

‘No, there’s work in the mills for wee ones…and the tobacco factory…’

‘I said, she’s too young.’ Maeve scraped more of the porridge into Kate’s empty bowl and handed the pot to Brendan. ‘You can manage with that.’

Holding down an overwhelming desire to retch, Maeve forced herself to eat the brown sludge salvaged from the bottom of the pot into Finola’s unwashed bowl.