Danny Boy (28 page)

‘I wish I was here to take care of you.’

‘I’ll be taken care of, don’t you worry. It may help Rita, give her something else to think about, or it may make things harder for her. I don’t know, but either way I can do nothing about it and I want a son for you, Danny.’

‘Now, you know I said…’

‘Aye, and I saw your face when the last child died.’

‘I would have felt the same if the child had been a girl.’

‘No,’ Rosie said, ‘there was more than grief, there was disappointment. Promise me, though, that if I am carrying a child and it turns out to be a boy, you’ll still love Bernadette as you do now.’

‘How could I not? I adore her, you know that.’

But Rosie had seen it time and again and not in her own home alone that a man could seem quite satisfied with a wee daughter until a son should be born, and then the daughter would often be considered of no account. She didn’t want that treatment being handed out to Bernadette. She gave a sigh, for she knew she had to be satisfied with what God sent, and anyway, she trusted her good, kind husband.

‘Mammy will be delighted at the news, all of them will,’ Danny said.

Rosie knew they would be. They’d all sent lovely messages
of sympathy and condolence last time, when the child was stillborn. And yet, she cautioned Danny, ‘Don’t let’s say anything yet. It would only disappoint them if I’m wrong.’

‘All right,’ Danny said. ‘I see that that’s sensible and I’ll say nothing until you give me word.’

‘I only told you this early because…well, with your going away and everything…’

‘You thought it might encourage me to take greater care?’

Was that the real reason that I told him? Rosie thought. Maybe subconsciously she had, but could anyone take any more care in a war of such magnitude?

‘Don’t worry,’ Danny told her. ‘Bullets bounce off me. I’ll come back hale and hearty and in one piece.’

‘Don’t, Danny,’ Rosie said with a shudder. ‘It’s like tempting fate.’

‘Fate be damned,’ Danny said. ‘That’s what I intend, but if I don’t go now and sharpish I’ll be up on a charge before I get to the Front.’

Rosie’s smile was watery, but it was a smile, for she’d promised herself no tears. ‘Take care of yourself if you can at all,’ she said.

‘And you take care,’ Danny said, holding Rosie in his arms. ‘I’ll worry about you every minute that I am away.’

‘I’ll be grand,’ Rosie said. ‘And I’ll be here waiting for you.’

Danny kissed Rosie and knew in quiet moments, after an assault, or as they were waiting to go over the top, the image of his brave wife standing there with a tremulous smile just touching her lips would sustain him. And yet his stomach turned over at the thought that he could be killed in an instant. Every evening he marvelled he was still alive. Well, long may it continue, he thought, and swung his kitbag up on his shoulder.

He stopped before he went up the entry and looked back at the two women in his life, framed in the doorway. ‘Bye Daddy,’ Bernadette said with a wave of her little hand.

‘Bye pet,’ Danny said, and though he spoke to his daughter his eyes sought Rosie’s and at the look in them he felt the prickling behind his own. But he was careful to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief before he stepped into the street. It would never do for people to think him a sissy.

After Danny left, Rosie contacted the nursery. It had been playing on her mind for some time that Bernadette was taking up a nursery place under false pretences, for the nursery was set up primarily to release mothers for important war work. Now that she had no intention of working, Bernadette really had no right to a place, and Rosie had written to the Sisters at the convent explaining this and went on to thank them all sincerely for the help and support they had given them since they’d arrived in Birmingham.

She also wanted to see something of her daughter, knowing she would be at school before she knew it, and she hadn’t just the streets to play in. They were but yards from the park and Rosie intended to make full use of it.

Then there was the flu, which was still sweeping, seemingly unchecked, throughout the whole of Europe. She knew she couldn’t protect Bernadette totally from every disease that there was, but she felt the risk would be enhanced if she was to mix with so many children and their mothers. ‘What about Rita?’ Ida said when Rosie told her Bernadette wouldn’t be returning to nursery.

‘She must make up her own mind.’ Rosie said. ‘But she’s not sent Georgie since his father died, so I don’t think she’ll mind.’

Rita still grieved for Harry and maybe always would, and while her swollen eyes still often had blue smudges beneath them she’d begun at last to make an effort for Georgie’s sake, and was beginning to take control of her life again.

‘Lifesavers, kids is,’ Ida said. ‘Christ, I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had my kids when Herbie copped
it. Topped myself too, most likely. But when you has kids you can’t go about weeping and wailing and thinking of yourself all the bleeding time. You see to the nippers and any crying you do, you do at night in bed.’

Rosie found she was enjoying Bernadette’s company at home, and with the schools closed for the holidays, Rosie, Rita, Ida and the children, including Ida’s three, Jack, Billy and Gillian, spent many happy days in Aston Park. Jack was a lovely boy, who took his duties as man of the house and elder brother seriously. He was used to minding his own little brother and sister and had no problem with keeping an eye on Georgie and Bernadette too, and didn’t even seem to mind pushing them on the swing or on the roundabout. Rosie always felt she could relax more when Jack was there.

By the time the schools opened again after the holidays in September, Rosie was fairly certain of her pregnancy. ‘My period was due just three days after Danny came home on the thirteenth of July, but there’s been nothing.’

There were other signs too. Rosie’s breasts were tender and when she stood before the mirror she could see her veins standing out on them. She felt exhilaration flow through her at the thought of another baby in her arms, tugging at her breasts, a part of her and Danny.

She was hesitant telling Rita, but whatever Rita might have felt inside she seemed delighted for Rosie, though there was a wistful tone in her voice as she said, ‘You must make sure of this one. You mustn’t do anything to jeopardise this child.’

Rosie had no intention of doing anything that might harm this baby, this child she longed for so much. She wrote joyful letters to Danny, the two families in Ireland and the two convents in Dublin and Handsworth. She basked in their congratulations and took heart at the prayers to be said and novenas begun, and thought few children had been as longed
for as this one. With the power of the Roman Catholic Church behind it, how could anything go wrong?

October was a cold and blustery month and Rosie was often glad she could lie in bed in the morning and listen to the wind hurling itself around the court, rattling the ill-fitting windows and seeping under doors to chill the very legs off a body. The news from the Front was cheering for a change, because it was said the Germans were in retreat. Austria had offered a peace settlement in August but it had been rejected. ‘Going for the kill,’ Betty had remarked ‘and why not?’

‘Too right,’ another said. ‘The bloody Hun started it and I don’t see why we should stop now till we have them by the balls.’

‘Serve them right,’ said a woman who’d lost two sons. ‘I hope they gets them by the short and curlies and shakes the bleeding life out of them.’ There was a murmur of agreement, but for all that there was a more optimistic air around than there had been for four long years.

When Austria signed a revised peace plan on 3rd November, everyone knew it was the beginning of the end, and only eight days later, on a grey and dismal Monday morning, when Rosie heard the church bells pealing and the factory hooters blowing she hardly dared to hope that it meant something. She shot to the door and realised that most of the neighbours were doing the same and looking at each other in stupefaction.

Then Ida, who’d run up the entry to see if anyone knew anything, came back, her face aglow. ‘It’s over,’ she said. ‘The war’s bloody well over!’ There was a whoop of joy from the women and Rosie laughed as she was caught around the waist and hugged and kissed and swung around like a wean by one person after another. ‘There’s a bloody great party going on at Aston Cross,’ Ida said. ‘Get Rita and we’ll go and see.’

‘Oh I don’t know.’

‘Come on,’ Ida urged. ‘It’s bloody history, ain’t it? War to end all wars this is, and there won’t never be a carnival like this again.’ Then, as Rosie still hesitated, she added, ‘Ain’t I got more reason to be bloody miserable than you have? Peace come too late for me and my old man, d’ain’t it?’

What answer could Rosie make to that, and maybe to let her hair down was just what Rita needed and Ida too. Not far down Upper Thomas Street the noise of the crowds could be plainly heard. ‘Keep a weather eye on them kids,’ Ida warned. ‘I heard it’s a madhouse down there.’

And it was a madhouse, and Rosie and Rita tightened their hold on their children’s hands as they plunged into the melee. Wonderful, tremendous excitement and relief had gripped the people and they laughed and shouted and hugged and sang, and over it all the bells pealed a chorus from all the churches around and the beat was given by the factory hooters and the lids of the miskins some were banging together. People thronged the streets, some still in their work overalls, and children, seemingly released early from school, weaved in and out between the rapturous crowds.

People shook hands or clapped each other’s backs, or kissed and hugged perfect strangers, and no-one seemed to take offence. Someone would start the line of a song – ‘Rule Britannia’ was popular, or ‘There’ll always be an England’. But these stirring tunes gave way to, ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ or ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ and the tumultuous noise rose higher and higher.

‘God, look,’ Rita suddenly cried, pointing. ‘They’ve stopped the trams now.’

It was true. The crowds were so great, nothing could move. Carts and the odd car were already gridlocked, but now trams couldn’t get through either. The passengers didn’t seem to care and in a mass they abandoned the tram and joined in the party, and the driver and conductor scratched their heads for a moment or two before obviously thinking
their passengers had the right idea, for they then left the tram too.

They’d reached the big green clock at Aston Cross when Rosie’s hand was grasped suddenly by a neighbour. ‘You’re Irish, ain’t you?’ he demanded. ‘Can you dance?’ And before Rosie could form a reply she was pushed into a circle, ringed by onlookers, where one man with a fiddle and another with an accordion had begun an impromptu concert.

Rosie felt a stirring of excitement for she’d not danced since the Christmas before she left Ireland and what better excuse to dance than today? Danny had survived the war and he’d be coming home when thousands wouldn’t and she gave Bernadette into Rita’s care, lifted her skirts and danced a jig.

Bernadette gazed at her mother, speechless, but from the first the crowd had clapped and cheered. Then Rosie began another jig and some people linked arms with those near them and leaped around merrily until the pavement and streets were one seething mass of dancing people.

‘God, but you’re a dark horse,’ Ida said, when ages later they’d let Rosie stop dancing and the women had eventually broken through the crowd.

It was so marvellous to be part of it, Rosie thought, and she had great respect for the numbers celebrating along with the rest wearing the widow’s bonnet like Ida and Rita, or sporting the black armband. Everyone was applauding the fact that this terrifying war was over. And her Danny was one of the lucky ones and soon he would be home again. She didn’t know what the future held, no-one did, but at least Danny now had a future and she thanked God from the bottom of her heart.

The carousing was going on in their own courtyard and it continued until the early hours of the next morning, and as it was no good going to bed, however tired you were, because you wouldn’t be able to sleep, Ida, Rita, Rosie and Betty joined in the merrymaking with the rest.

Women made up sandwiches and other savouries, clearing out their cupboards. Pubs not only stayed open well after they should, with the police turning a blind eye on this very special day, but many also donated drinks to the parties to help them go with a swing.

No one attempted to put children to bed and they continued to run the streets. Rosie felt light-headed both with relief and unaccustomed alcohol and she saw Ida was in a worse state and so was Rita. ‘Good luck to them,’ she said to Betty. ‘They have little reason to celebrate, but every reason in the world to drown their sorrows.’

‘Yeah, and it might do them a power of good,’ Betty said in agreement and she linked hands with the two women, and with Rosie hanging on to Ida the four women swayed together while they sang all the old favourites with everyone else. Then Betty led a column of people up the entry and into Upper Thomas Street where people joined them from the various parties going on, until one long snake wound down the street and back up again.

As the sound of revelry eventually died down a little, Rosie tried to coax Bernadette to bed, though it wasn’t easy. Bernadette was well into her second wind and looked set to stay up all night, but Rosie ached everywhere with weariness and she also knew that Bernadette would be the very devil in the morning. ‘But I’m not tired,’ she protested. ‘Not a bit, Mammy.’

‘Well I am,’ Rosie said. ‘And it’s late, very late. Later than you’ve ever stayed up. Anyway, the party’s over now. Everyone is going home.’

There was no denying that, although there was the occasional shout heard, or the snatch of a song begun by a group of intrepid revellers, but most had returned to their homes and the streets were almost quiet again.

‘I’m still not tired,’ Bernadette said.

‘Then you must lie on your bed and stay awake,’ Rosie said. ‘While I will stay in mine and sleep the sleep of the just.’

‘But Mammy…’