Even on Days when it Rains (4 page)

There was one occasion when we decided to do a really elaborate production with lots of costumes, so we headed off on a round of the houses to gather the various items of clothing we thought might suit the scenes and characters we had devised. One sketch required an old-fashioned pair of drawers which went down as far as the knees and had elastic just above them and at the waist. We enquired in all the houses to see if any still existed, but our search was in vain. There was an old lady
who
lived way up on the mountain, so we headed off to see if by chance she had a pair. We went up to the house and explained our strange request, how we were looking for bloomers that had elastic at the knees. The wee, round lady, with grey hair peeking out from underneath her black headscarf and a face etched with lines, stood in her doorway looking deep in thought.

‘Och,' she eventually said, ‘I have a pair surely.'

‘Could we take a loan of them?' I asked.

‘Och,' she replied, ‘I couldn't do that. I keep them for the day of the priest.'

Twice a year the priest would come over to the island to do the Stations of the Cross, hear confessions and give out Holy Communion. The old lady only had the one good pair of knickers, so she kept them for those special occasions. Despite our disappointment, we saw the funny side of that situation.

We had good laughs, but there were sad times too. I recall the fear and terrible mourning that swept the island one time when a boat that was fishing herring went up on the rocks and all the fishermen were missing. It had such an impact on the island that I never forgot it. One of the men was from the island, and there were two fishermen from the mainland. My brother James was part of the search party, and it was he who found the body of
the
Owey man in the sea. He put his boathook into the water in the area where the tragic accident happened, and it caught the poor man's oiled clothing. When they pulled him into the boat, he was dead. The death cast a terrible dark cloud over the entire island for a long time. The sea can be so cruel by times. People spent many more days searching the shore around the island for the other bodies, but they were never found. Fortunately, they were the only fishermen who ever lost their lives on the island in my time.

I went to school on the island up to the age of 14, and that's when my formal education ended. There was no second-level schooling, so from then on you became one of the family earners.

For me, that began even before I left school, when I went into service to a family on the island. I was only 13 at the time, but I was expected to do the work of an adult during my holidays and after school. It was hard labour, and you wouldn't dare complain to anyone about it. I was getting paid for my service, and you got nothing for nothing. And I only got the job because the family knew I was a hard worker.

My service started on St Patrick's Day and didn't come to an end until Hallowe'en. One of the major
tasks
they set me was to sow the potatoes. I had to dig out the drills with a spade, and that was no easy job. It was like cutting through concrete at times. I had blisters on my hands and my back was aching, but I never gave up. I kept on working my way through the ground from morning until the sun was going down. Eventually I had dug out rows and rows of neat drills. A big, strong farmer would have been hard-pressed to do this job. But even at that age it was a normal job to me. I had always done this kind of yearly work at home. When I prepared the ground, I then planted each of the seed potatoes by hand – rows and rows of them. My whole body ached at the end of each day. When I went to bed at night I went out like a light. The only thing to look forward to at the end of a hard day's work like that was bed.

Next I had to strap two creels over a donkey to manure the potatoes. Digging out the mound of manure was hard work – and stinking – and forking it into the creels nearly crippled me with pain. But I did enjoy working with the donkey because he was a lovely old animal. And, despite what they say about donkeys being thick, he worked well. After filling the creels, I'd take the donkey across to the area where the tatties had been sown. I had to be careful that the donkey didn't trample on the drills,
but
he seemed to know where to step and where not to. I'd pull the strings of the creels and release all the manure. Then I had to spread the manure across the drills to feed the potatoes and encourage their growth. Finally I'd take the donkey back to the stack of manure and refill the creels. I did that over and over until the job was completed. And I did it all in my bare feet, which meant, of course, that they really stank. I had lots of cuts and scrapes on my feet and legs as well, but, in all honesty, that never bothered me because I was used to it on the island. Reflecting on it today, I don't know how I endured such back-breaking work. The aches in my poor limbs are a constant reminder of those hard times.

It wasn't all bad, though. One of the jobs I really loved was looking after the cattle in the evening up at the mountain. I'd go to check and make sure they were safe and hadn't fallen over a cliff. It was a really peaceful and relaxing time, and I enjoyed the peace and tranquillity up around there.

The turf-cutting, wasn't so easy, however. I'd be sweating in the heat with flies swarming all over me. Some members of the family I was working for would cut the turf and throw it out of the ground, and I would catch it and stack it. This would go on for hours, and it was very, very hard work, especially for a child, never mind the fact that I was a girl.

Later in the year, when the potatoes had grown and were ready to be harvested, it was my job to gather them after they were dug out. I had to do this on my hands and knees, collecting them up into a basket that I pulled along behind me. A pit was dug out of the ground and the tatties were stored there. They were covered with hay to protect them from the winter frost.

I worked right through the summer, and it was a long, hard time. And then in the autumn, I would go to the farm and do the chores immediately after I'd finished school and all over the weekends. At the end of my service, I was handed £2 10s by the family, which was a lot of money in those times. I handed that money over to my mother, and it went towards supporting our family. You'd never dream of keeping any of the money to spend on yourself.

The biggest trauma in my life at that stage occurred when I went into service as a housekeeper after leaving school. The job was with a family in Derry, and it was to be the first time that I would be parted from my mother and father. I was only going on 15, and I was sick at the thought of leaving home.

Although my mother and father had no idea how bad I was feeling, I would cry myself to sleep in the weeks before I left. It was the worst time of my
young
life. The people I was going to work for were strangers to me, and I had no idea what shocking fate lay in store.

I didn't want to leave home. I didn't want to go and live with strange people. I realized, of course, that there was nothing I could do about it. That's the way it was in those times. You had to go out, make your own way in the world, and support your mother and father, even at that tender age. But knowing that what you were doing was necessary to help your parents make ends meet didn't ease the pain of being separated from them.

I was heartbroken when the time came to leave. I loved Mammy and Daddy and my little island home. I had no idea how long I'd be away or when I'd see my mother and father again. I tried to be strong in front of them, but it was no use. Nothing could stop the flood. I just broke down and sobbed my heart out as I walked away from the house carrying my little case. Glancing back at my mother and father, I could see that they were very upset too. It was heartbreaking for them to see their offspring leaving the nest, heading off into the big world and out of their care and protection.

I sobbed all the way to Derry. I'd never felt so alone. But by the time I reached my destination, I had calmed down a good bit. The man meeting me
off
the train was called Mr Foley. I was easy to spot on the platform, as I must have looked like a little lost soul standing forlornly with all my worldly possessions in one little case.

‘You must be Julia,' said a tall gentleman in a smart suit.

‘Yes,' I replied meekly.

‘Well, now, let's get you home for a nice up of tea,' he said.

I would soon discover that the Foleys were two of the loveliest people imaginable. The wife was a sister of the bishop of Derry, Dr Farren, and she was partly paralysed from a slight stroke. Her husband was a former policeman. He was so nice that I couldn't imagine him ever arresting anybody. I sensed straight away that Mr and Mrs Foley were a kind and considerate couple, and I wasn't wrong. Within a couple of weeks the pain of separation from my parents went away as I settled into my new regime. And I realized that I had found a home away from home. It was a grand, big house with lots of beautifully carved furniture. Expensive-looking ornaments decorated the rooms. I had been given a lovely, wee room with a very comfortable bed. This was no hardship.

Poor Mrs Foley had lost all of her independence as a result of the stroke, so one of my main responsibilities was to help her with her personal needs. It
was
very demanding work, but the fact that she was such a nice lady made it easier. I'd assist her to wash and dress every morning before breakfast. Mr Foley would then team up with me, and the two of us would carefully carry her down two flights of stairs. You could see the sadness in Mrs Foley's eyes at the loss of her independence. Yet in all the time I worked for her, I never heard her complain.

The Foleys were a well-to-do family, and all of their children were adults with good jobs. Tommy, Margaret and Molly were teachers, while Jack worked in a chemist's. Everyone in the family had a great sense of humour. The first day I met them, Jack asked, ‘Are you able to paint?'

I thought he was being serious, but he was just pulling my leg.

As well as taking care of Mrs Foley, I had to do all the household chores on my own. There were floors to be scrubbed; clothes to be washed by hand and then ironed; sweeping, dusting and, of course, cooking the family meals. But because I felt so loved and appreciated, I did all of my chores with a light heart.

At that time, the local Derry
Journal
was published three times a week – on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Mrs Foley loved the newspaper and always looked forward to it coming into
the
house. As she was unable to get out and about, the paper gave her all the news on what was happening out in her locality and the greater county. It provided her with many hours of reading enjoyment. We'd be taking her down the stairs on the morning a new
Journal
was out and Mr Foley would say, ‘The Derry rag is here today again.' She'd smile. You could see that they were such a united couple.

Mr Foley was always good-humoured. He was sitting at the breakfast table one morning tucking into the sausages and bacon I had served up. A chunk of a sausage fell off his fork and on to the floor as he was about to eat it. He peered over his glasses and glanced down at the floor. Looking up, he said, ‘Do ye know, Julia, you can never be sure of the bite you're puttin' into your mouth.' We all laughed.

There was a big apple tree out in the garden, and when the apples were ripe and ready to be harvested, Mr Foley would climb up on a ladder and shake them down for me to collect. It was idyllic in many ways. They had such a comfortable life compared to the one I'd known back on the island. And they were very rich by our standards. But the Foleys never made me feel inferior.

I went to Mass at 9 a.m. every Sunday with Mr Foley. As Mrs Foley wasn't able to attend church, her
brother
, the Bishop, would occasionally say a Mass in the house. He came one time while I was out shopping for groceries, and the Mass was over by the time I returned. Just so I wouldn't be upset, Bishop Farren gave me a special blessing. They all treated me like a lady.

Owey and my family were always in my thoughts, though. Every single week I wrote a letter to my mother and father back home, telling them all about my work and the daily happenings in the Foley household. In that way, I felt that I still had my parents in my life. There were no telephones, so I couldn't make contact with them that way. But I knew my letters would be welcomed. I gave them lots of news because this was a new world for me and I had plenty to tell. I'm sure everyone on the island heard all about the goings-on in Derry.

I had other distractions as well. My cousin Bridget Sharkey from home had come to work in Derry, along with a girl called Maggie Gillespie, who was from Kincasslagh. Some evenings for a break I would go down and meet up with them to have a chat. They were great company, and, even though I had settled into the Foley household, I was delighted to have someone to visit while I was in Derry.

After six months with the Foleys, it was time for me to go back to Owey as I was needed to help out with all the spring work around the farm. It took me a long time to pluck up the courage to break the news to Mr and Mrs Foley because I knew they would be upset to see me go. I was performing an important role in their family, and they had also become attached to me on a personal level. However, I didn't realize just how badly they would take the news.

‘Ah, Julia, we can't lose you. I'll give you more wages if that will change your mind,' Mr Foley pleaded.

‘It's not the money at all, Mr Foley. I really am needed back home to help with the spring work,' I insisted.

‘Ah, Julia, you'll not leave us,' Mr Foley begged, and I felt so sorry for him as I could see the look of desperation in his face.

‘Mr Foley, sure you'll get some other girl,' I said, trying to reassure him.

Mr Foley began to cry. ‘We'll never get another Julia,' he sobbed, cupping his face in his hands. I could see that he was terribly upset.