LITMIR.BIZ

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drink, but it was a place to meet and chat and dance to the records played on the old gramophone belonging to the priest.

      It hardly headed the list of exciting places to be but, as Rosalyn said, it was better than nothing and might brighten up those bleak winter months. Nearly everyone in the place was known to them anyway – most of the girls they’d been at school with, while the boys were usually their brothers or cousins, or friends they’d known for years.

      Bridie could have been in great demand and yet as the winter came to an end, she’d given none of the boys the slightest encouragement to take an interest in her. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Rosalyn asked, as they walked home together one night. ‘It isn’t as if you don’t know the boys. You even know most of their families.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Don’t you like any of them?’

      ‘Not particularly. Not the way you mean.’

      ‘Don’t you want to be kissed and held and … well, you know?’

      Oh how well Bridie knew and she also knew she’d had enough of that sort of carry-on with her uncle to last her a lifetime. There was anyway no point in it.

      ‘You’ll never get married the way you go on,’ Rosalyn told her.

      ‘I might not want to get married.’

      ‘Oh God, Bridie, you can’t want to be an old maid?’

      ‘Look, Rosalyn,’ Bridie said. ‘Say I really liked one of those farmers’ sons at the social tonight and we began walking out together. If we should decide in time to get married, where would I live? If I moved out of the farmhouse what would happen to Mammy and Daddy?’

      ‘They’d get someone in to help them. Lots have to do that,’ Rosalyn said. ‘You can’t stay with your parents all the days of your life, Bridie. It’s not healthy.’

      But Bridie knew her father would hate to get a stranger in to help him on the farm. He’d rather break his neck trying to do it all himself than that.

      ‘Daddy said you’re wasting yourself,’ Rosalyn said.

      ‘Oh, did he?’ Bridie retorted. ‘What does he know?’

      ‘He was only concerned about you,’ Rosalyn said. ‘You know how fond he is of you.’

      Fond, Bridie thought grimly, is that what they call it these days? ‘Your father should mind his own business,’ she cried angrily. ‘He should look to his own life and keep his nose out of my affairs.’

      ‘Look here, Bridie.’

      ‘Leave it be, Rosalyn,’ Bridie said. ‘I’m away home.’

      Rosalyn looked after her cousin’s retreating figure and couldn’t for the life of her think what she’d done or said to upset her so much.

      Bridie was ashamed of her outburst and glad that Rosalyn was not one to bear a grudge, for she couldn’t wait to show her the latest letter from Mary telling her of the birth of another boy whom they’d called Mickey after Eddie’s father. There was also one from Ellen saying her and Sam would be over for a wee holiday later than usual, maybe September time.

      When they arrived, the hay was all safely gathered in as the summer had been glorious and Ellen came with tales of the hungry baby Mary could barely satisfy. ‘She’s feeding him every minute and he’s so big, you’d never believe it,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve told Mary that child doesn’t need milk, he needs good roast meat and potatoes, that one. And as for Jamie, I tell you that child is one body’s work. Dear Lord, Mary often doubts he’ll ever grow up, he’s in so many scrapes.’

      ‘We’re all longing to see them,’ Sarah said.

      ‘Maybe next year I’ll come with her to give her a hand – Jamie will surely fall overboard the minute her back was turned.’

      ‘He sounds a handful right enough.’

      ‘He’s full of life and fun, that’s all,’ Ellen said. ‘They have only the streets to play in too, remember. You can’t always be at the park.’

      ‘There’s more space here.’

      ‘Aye, that’s true,’ Ellen said. ‘But there’s dangers too. Jamie might easily sink into the midden, or drown in the river, or fall down the hillside.’

      Bridie laughed. She longed to see Jamie and the new baby and wondered as the work slowed down for the winter whether she’d be able to go over to see them. Even a week, or failing that a few days, would be better than nothing.

      But the trip wasn’t to be. Ellen and Sam had only been gone home a week when Sarah tipped a kettle of boiling water over her legs and feet as she attempted to fill the teapot on the hob. The scalds were bad enough and needed the services of a doctor, but a more longer-lasting concern was why it had happened in the first place. It appeared that Sarah’s left arm had given way on her.

      As the scalds healed, the arm got steadily weaker and the doctor was able to offer no reason for it, or treatment, or possibility of a cure. Gradually, Sarah was able to do less and less and Bridie had taken on more, until she knew even to take a day off now would be out of the question. Her mother’s disability had tied her even more firmly to the farmhouse and yet Sarah could hardly be blamed. It was just the way of things.

      Bridie lifted the burden of the house onto her narrow shoulders and found as time passed she had scarcely a minute to call her own. Even those winter months that usually weren’t so frantically busy on the farm were not easy for her. There was still the washing to be done, the cooking and breadmaking and the dairy work, which her mother had always taken the brunt of previously.

      Christmas and the New Year passed in a flurry of activity and even more cooking than usual and Bridie looked forward to 1932 with little enthusiasm, although she would be eighteen in February. This year she’d be able to go to the Harvest Dance. It was the highlight of the year – Rosalyn, being a year older, had already been there the once and had hardly stopped going on about it for weeks afterwards.

      Some parents had allowed their daughters to go at sixteen, but Jimmy, Francis and Delia had been adamant that the girls were not to go till they were eighteen, for drink was served there, and that Frank should take them there and fetch them home again.

      Bridie was more excited than she would normally be; since her mother had scalded herself, she’d not even been to any of the socials, though Rosalyn had urged her to. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s the only chance we’ll have to do things like this. My aunt Maria said if she knew what she knows now, she’d have stayed single longer.’

      ‘I don’t blame her,’ Bridie said. Delia’s brother Aiden had married his Maria and now had two boys of three and two and a baby girl of six months old. He’d gone to America and got work with a gang of navvies in Central America, but so far had found nowhere suitable for his family to live so that they could join him. Rosalyn was fond of her young aunt and, feeling sorry for her, often went round to give her a hand.

      ‘I told you I don’t want to get married,’ Bridie said. ‘Didn’t you tell me Maria has barely time to blow her nose?’

      ‘God, Bridie, you’re little better,’ Rosalyn reminded her and Bridie knew she had a point. ‘Ah, but it would be worse if I had weans to see to as well,’ Bridie said. ‘Weans are lovely when they’re someone else’s. I mean I love Mary’s, but want none of my own yet a while.’

      ‘Well, it wouldn’t be sensible without a husband,’ Rosalyn said with a giggle and Bridie gave her a push.

      ‘You know what I mean.’

      ‘Oh I know all right,’ Rosalyn said with a nod and a wink, and the girls laughed together.

      But for all that, Bridie was looking forward to seeing Mary and her two sons, who were coming over for the last three weeks in August with Ellen and Sam. She knew that there would be little extra work involved

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