Gallowgate

Chapter 3

The morning light did little to improve their surroundings. A black iron sink with a dull brass tap and a coal bunker shared the floor space with the beds, and a pulley contraption dangled overhead. A single grimy towel hung on its wooden slats. Brendan had elected to sleep downstairs in company with a numberless group of his fellow workers from Dixon’s coal mine, where he had found work as a surface labourer. When he announced cheerfully that he got his share of the beds in the night when some of the others were working, and they had it in the day, Maeve shuddered at the grim reality of their new lives. He’d stuck his head round the door at some ungodly hour of the morning and called that he was off to work.

Maeve gazed out at the unprepossessing back view of the large tenement, and the huddle of privies and middens, and was almost overcome by sadness at what they’d come to. Then she pulled her shoulders back. An empty stomach in idyllic surroundings was no less painful there than here. She turned to her sisters, both still huddled under the rags which passed for bedclothes. She observed that even these miserable surroundings did little to dim Kate’s beauty, but her stomach twisted at the sight of Finola’s little face, pinched and white from months of hunger. Both she and Kate, in fact, had a minimum of nourishment from the plenty of Lord Longkenny’s larder - just enough to stave off the pangs, until the fateful day of the bread, which she’d been taking home for Finola.

‘Are we for out, girls, eh?’ She forced cheer into her voice. ‘And we’ll see what this Saltmarket is all about. There’s still some of Brendan’s oatmeal in the press but there’s no milk, so we’ll have to wait.’

Kate yawned, ‘Well, that’s nothing new, isn’t that so, Finola.’

Saltmarket was all about a long street of slums mixed with some new smarter buildings, and Kate and Finola gazed at them with interest. Kate wondered aloud what it would be like to live in a place like these, with proper beds and maybe even a WC. She’d seen the like in Lord Longkenny’s house, but to her disappointment their new hovel condemned them once again to a disgusting dry privy.

Maeve’s attention was devoted to looking for a grocery shop. Once found, she bought bread, milk, and potatoes. She also managed a few carrots, fat bacon for dripping, an onion, and a pennyworth of bones for stock. Her spirits lifted marginally at the prospect of soup, if she could cope with the dearth of utensils that Brendan lived with.

Her final purchase was a ribbed glass bottle of vinegar, and the shopkeeper was in the middle of telling her that once empty it could be returned for a farthing, when someone tapped her shoulder and spoke in an accent which Maeve couldn’t grasp. She turned, and said, slowly, ‘I beg your pardon?’

The woman smiled. ‘I hear you speak about pot. Paddy’s Market, good cheap pot.’ Her brown hair was just visible under a scarf wrapped around her head, and she had a sallow complexion and sharp-looking dark eyes. She touched Maeve’s arm and patted Finola on the head. ‘I am Anna Levy. I live next door in 129. I see you come with Brendan last night.’

‘Oh!’ Relief swept through Maeve at the prospect of a neighbour, even if her speech seemed almost beyond the human ear. ‘I am pleased to meet you.’

A loud cough came from the customer behind Anna Levy, and she said, ‘I must buy now.’ She pointed. ‘Paddy’s Market. It is there.’

Paddy’s Market was nothing like the markets of Wicklow before the famine. Fruit and vegetables, stalls selling meat and pies, farm equipment - even horses - in an atmosphere of celebration and an abundance of alcohol. Here, in a wet cobbled lane under a railway bridge, were stalls piled with so much stuff in untidy heaps that it defied description. Coats, boots, walking sticks, blankets, umbrellas, chairs - even a brightly coloured bird in a cage, which captivated Finola. The girls walked slowly amongst them, ignoring the entreaties of the stallholders. Maeve despaired of finding a suitable pot with the meagre sum she had left from Brendan’s money but find one she did. A black enamel pot, some forks, spoons, and even a few plates. The whole came to more than they had left of the money, but the vendor, a huge man with an Ulster accent, took one look at Kate and laughing, said, ‘Have it all, my beauties.’

On the way back to the house, Finola, who was carrying it, said, ‘Maeve, what is the vinegar for?’

Maeve stopped walking and confronted her two sisters. ‘We are going to clean. If we are forced to live in that…place, it is going to be…’ she slapped her hand on the pot. ‘…fresh…at least.’

Kate giggled. ‘That’s impossible!’

‘It will be as clean as we can make it, Kate, and you will help. If not, God knows what kind of diseases we will be cursed with here.’

A watery sunshine was struggling to get in front of the clouds when they got back, and Maeve heaved the straw beds out on to the landing railings to shake them. She averted her eyes at the thought of what might drop out of them and prayed that the stuff drifting around her face was straw.

Delighted to find a dried-up sliver of carbolic soap under the sink, Maeve, Kate, and even Finola scrubbed their small dwelling to exhaustion. By leaving the door open to the cold midday they hoped to defeat the stale air with the sharp tang of carbolic and vinegar.

Surveying the effects of their work the three of them stood in the open doorway as Anna Levy struggled up the stairs with two babies clutched inside her shawl.

‘I leave them with my friend,’ she gasped, ‘I cannot shop for food, like this.’

She gave the shawl a heave and a plaintive cry emerged from the bundle.

Finola peeked inside. ‘Oh, the lovely babbies.’

Anna laughed. ‘Lovely when they no cry. When their Papa comes home.’

Maeve said, ‘Is he at work?’

‘Yes, my friend. At work.’ She sniffed. ‘Good girls. You have been cleaning!’

Maeve smiled. ‘Today cleaning, tomorrow work, I hope.’

Anna Levy raised her eyebrows. ‘You have work, so soon?’

‘Oh, no. I mean we will start to look tomorrow.’

‘You must go to Templeton’s.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, it is not far. And not hard to find.’

Kate was chewing her thumbnail. ‘But what…what work can we do?’

Anna smiled. ‘They are tasks in the mills for women’s hands.’ She pushed her own hand out from under the shawl. ‘I was cleaner there - for a short time.’ She puffed out the words as she hauled the twins like a bundle of rags. Kissing the top of one little head, she read Kate’s expression. ‘Don"t be afraid. You will have friends there - many Irish girls.’

‘What do they make? This Temple…?’

‘Templeton’s. Carpets is what they make. Beautiful, for rich men’s houses.’ Her mouth turned down as a cry came from the bundle. ‘I must go - feeding, feeding…they are like little birds.’

Maeve recalled the enormous carpets in Lord Longkenny’s many rooms, and marvelled that she had never been curious about their origin. In fact, she had never wondered about the origin of any of the riches - the furniture, the drapes, the china…but had accepted all of it as treasure beyond the scope of ordinary mortals. Now she suspected that it had been bred into them to accept that people like the O’Donnells didn’t deserve such luxury, and as she observed the poor hovel of their new home, for a fleeting moment she asked herself why. And she was overcome, once again, by the memory of her father, swinging to and fro…to and fro…and the poor boot lying there…

Next morning Maeve lay in bed, almost comfortable from sheer exhaustion, and considered her next move. Should it be work for her and Kate, or school for Finola? Work might mean shifts, and she would be loath to leave Finola alone in these dismal surroundings. If they could get differing shifts, one could be with their youngest sister, but from what she’d seen already she didn"t think it would be wise to expose even Kate to the risks of this city. Her stomach clenched as she thought again of the difference between the almost cosy poverty of their Irish home amid its beautiful scenery and this…cesspit they found themselves in. Then she remembered the hunger, and that they had all gone to bed last night with nearly full stomachs, thanks to the pot of soup she had managed to produce. She shook herself awake. Work will have to come first, because even if she finds a school for Finola, her sisters’ wages will need to pay for it. It would be too much to ask of Brendan, who has little cash to spare. His work at the pit didn’t pay well, it seemed.