Rose of Tralee (12 page)

He had reached the dock from which the Irish ferries sailed and immediately caught up with half the population of Dublin, or so it seemed, for wasn’t everyone going home for the holiday now, and hadn’t they all got their tickets for this particular
ferry, so that they would have a day at home to visit the pubs and their old pals before the obligatory family gatherings of Christmas Eve and the day itself?

But the ferry from Ireland had been late arriving and consequently would be late departing, and in the meantime the weather had got worse and worse. The passengers were actually boarding when the storm hit. Hail, snow, a raging wind, you name it, they had suffered from it. And been ignominiously bundled off the small craft so that it might ride out the storm in the shelter of the dock, whilst the passengers did the best they could to find somewhere for the night.

Sean went back to his lodgings, as miserable as he had ever been, and told Mrs Caldicott what had happened. She was very sorry, but made him a scrap meal of bread, jam and cocoa, and told him to go to bed and pray for a change in the weather. ‘Though they’ll sail tomorrer, chuck – sure to,’ she said comfortably, handing him a dog-end of candle. ‘My, the wind sounds as if all the devils from ’ell was out there, a-screamin’ an’ a-screechin’ round the chimbley pots. I’m glad I’ve no call to be out in it . . . nor poor Maisy, neither. I’m off to me daughter’s in Crosby on Christmas Eve, but today we’ll jest snug down an’ ’ope for a decent day tomorrer.’

And next day, sure enough, the weather was better. It was still windy and very cold, and the gutters of Lavrock Street were choked with hail and snow, but the sky was clear and by the time Sean had said his goodbyes all over again it was plain that the ferry should sail.

So Sean, wrapped up well, walked down to the dock and was met by total confusion. The ferry which he and his friends had boarded the previous day, he
was told, had been treated like a feather by the storm and had been crashed against the quayside, cracking the bows beneath the plimsoll line like an eggshell.

‘She won’t be sailin’ for many a day,’ another Irishman told him dourly. ‘They’re puttin’ another ship on, but it won’t holt the lot av us. It’ll be divil tek the hindmost – an’ she’s more than half full already. I reckon they’ll be chargin’ twice over for tickets to try to sort the mess out somehow. They’ve already got every dock policeman an’ a good few ordinary scuffers protectin’ the gangplank.’

‘Well, I’ll be gettin’ aboard if I have to murder every scuffer in Liverpool,’ Sean growled. He was an even-tempered man, but the thought of being separated from his wife and family at Christmas was enough to turn a saint to violence. ‘They’d better not try to stop
me
, I’m tellin’ ye.’

The trouble was, every man present felt the same and it soon became obvious that no matter how hard they tried, the authorities could not let any more men aboard the ship, which rocked and swayed at its moorings, ready to depart.

‘She’ll come back for yiz,’ the seamen shouted encouragingly to the disappointed crowds thronging the decks. ‘Come down agin tonight an’ we’ll be back an’ embarkin’ passengers for Dublin agin.’

So Sean went back into the city to the telegraph office and sent his Eileen a telegram. ‘
Yesterday’s ferry holed stop All unhurt
,’ his message read. ‘
Next one sailed without me stop Look for me late this evening stop
’

Having done his best to put Eileen’s mind at rest, Sean went back to his lodgings to explain the present state of play to Mrs Caldicott. ‘So I should be in me own home for Christmas mornin’,’ he ended. ‘But mebbe I’ll be a day or so later comin’ back than I t’ought.’

‘Well, we’ll be havin’ a party in for Christmas, at me daughter’s place in Crosby,’ his landlady said cheerfully. ‘So if somethin’ else goes wrong, chuck, you just come back ’ere an’ we’ll tek you with us this evenin’. Only you’ll be sharin’ a bed wi’ our Jack an’ probably with our Fred an’ all, ’cos me daughter’s crammin’ me ’ole fambly in like sardines so’s we can all be together over the holiday.’

Mrs Evans, standing at the stove stirring something in a pan, turned and gave him a spiteful look, muttering something under her breath as she did so; Sean had no idea whether she was to share in her sister’s party plans but he hoped not, for kind Mrs Caldicott’s sake. However, he ignored the younger woman and spoke directly to his landlady. ‘Thanks, Mrs Caldicott, but I’m gettin’ back to Dublin even if I have to swim,’ he said. ‘I’m goin’ down to the dock now an’ I’m goin’ to fight me way aboard if I have to flatten half the Irish nation to do it.’

‘Good on you,’ Mrs Caldicott said. ‘I’m the same where fambly’s concerned. They come first. Well, I’ll say cheerio for the third time of askin’.’

So Sean went off again . . . and this time he caught the ferry. The men were packed in like sardines, but they didn’t care. They sang, they drank beer, they laughed and joked – they were going home, what did it matter if they wouldn’t arrive until the early hours of Christmas morning, so long as they got back to Dublin in time to share their families’ day?

The telegram arrived at two in the afternoon, when Colm had cycled home for a few minutes to find out what was going on, and his mammy had shed tears of joy. ‘Your daddy will be home for Christmas, though very late,’ she told her children and, to his surprise,
Colm felt a rush of pleasure and relief. Well, the man’s me daddy, he told himself; we may not get on too well, but we don’t hate one another. Naturally I’m relieved he’s not drownded and pleased he’s coming home. He’s not so bad, after all. And now I’m working, things will be different.

‘That’s great, Mammy,’ he said, therefore. ‘Can I meet him at the Quay for ye? You’ll want Caitlin to be in bed an’ the quay at the dead of night’s no place for a woman.’

‘There’s no point, Colm. You could be waitin’ there, cold an’ lonely, for hours an’ hours,’ Eileen said sensibly. ‘Be sure your daddy won’t expect to be met, he’ll be home just as soon as he can, that’ll be enough for him.’

But Colm, cycling back to Savage’s, thought that he probably would try to meet the ferry. Now that he was a working man it might be good to have a better relationship with his daddy. And I’ve only got to be nice to him for a few days, so I have, he reminded himself rather guiltily. Then he’ll be back across the water an’ life here will be back to normal, wit’ just the three of us, an’ the mammy writing letters twice a week ... but relyin’ on
me
for a man’s support.

‘Well?’ Mr Savage said as soon as his delivery boy put his nose round the door of the shop. ‘Heard from the daddy, have ye?’

‘He’ll be comin’ home tonight, late, on the last ferry,’ Colm said. ‘I’ve a mind to meet it . . . but Mammy says not, ’cos wit’ the sailings all over the place, no one can say when she’ll dock.’

‘Your mammy’s right, but I dare say you’ll go your own way,’ Mr Savage said shrewdly. ‘You’re all after havin’ your own way, whether you go to the divil or no. You’ve only another two deliveries, then you can
get off home. And your goose is a turkey, young feller.’

Colm had been putting away a small sum each week towards the purchase of a goose, so he stared, round-eyed, at his employer. A turkey was far too expensive for him and mammy had never cooked one. ‘A turkey? But ’tis a goose I was puttin’ me money away for,’ he stammered. ‘Whyfor d’you say a turkey?’

‘Because I’ve a big bugger of a turkey left unsold an’ you might as well have the benefit of it,’ Mr Savage said. ‘I’ll holt on to your goose-money, then you can spend it on somethin’ else after Christmas. A nice leg o’mutton or a saddle o’beef for the New Year ... or for Little Christmas.’

‘And you’ve sold me goose,’ Colm said, grinning. ‘Go on, Mr Savage, you’ve sold it, so you have!’

‘I have so,’ agreed Mr Savage cheerfully. ‘The woman who ordered the turkey needed it for a big party, an’ now they aren’t all comin’, so she’s changed her mind. But aren’t you the lucky one now? The turkey’s the size of an ostrich. Your fambly will be eatin’ that turkey come midsummer day I tell ye!’

He produced the turkey, which was indeed enormous, and Colm had to agree that he was in luck, though there was a snag. ‘It’ll not go in me mammy’s oven,’ he pointed out. ‘An’ the baker will charge us more’n we can afford to roast it. If it’ll go in their oven, that is.’

‘Ah. Hmm. Tell you what, I’ll cut it in two with me meat saw, an’ your mammy can cook one half tomorrer an’ the other half later. How’s that for a solution?’

‘What about the stuffin’?’ Colm asked. ‘I do like a nice helpin’ o’ stuffin’.’

Mr Savage sighed. ‘Whyfor does a turkey have to
have sage an’ onion shoved up it’s bum to mek it Christmas?’ he asked rather plaintively. ‘Your mammy will find a way . . . she can stuff the half-cavity an’ sew bacon slices over it. I’ll put in half a pound o’ streaky as well, an’ never say I’m a mean man.’

‘I never would,’ Colm said, grinning at his large, red-faced employer. ‘A turkey! Wait till I tell Caitlin she’s goin’ to taste turkey this Christmas.’

Sean sat on the ferry deck, wedged in, listening to the singing going on all around and smiling contentedly to himself. The sea was still rough after the storm of the previous day and the ferry pitched and tossed, but nothing could spoil the contentment of men making their way home. On other trips, Sean recalled, there had been fights, arguments, quarrelsome voices raised. Not on this trip. The overall feeling of thankfulness that they would be getting their Christmas after all was too strong.

The ship docked at two in the morning.

‘It’s Christmas Day,’ someone said as they began to pour ashore. ‘Would ye ever have dreamed of startin’ your Christmas Day on board a stinkin’ ould ferry ship, now?’

‘She’s not a stinkin’ ould ship, she’s a quane, so she is,’ someone else called out. ‘She’s a quane because she’s brung me back to me ould wan an’ me kids in time for Christmas. An’ ... an’ the crew is saints, ’cos they come back for us though it were late an’ dark, an’ the sea were rough.’

‘Let’s give ’em t’ree cheers,’ someone else shouted and the cheers – by no means the first of that voyage – were loudly given. Then Sean felt the gangplank beneath his feet and knew he would be on Irish soil in
less than a minute, and felt unaccustomed tears in his eyes. He had so nearly not made it. He had seen the look on the faces of the few men who had been unable to get aboard and thanked God that he had not been one of them. To spend Christmas over the water, after a whole year of scrapin’ an’ savin’ to come home. To be squeezed into a bed wit’ Jack an’ Fred, whoever they might be, instead of wit’ his own lovely Eileen. To try to pretend jollity and Christmas cheer in a strange house amongst strange people, with the hated Maisy Evans grinning to herself to think him unhappy. It didn’t bear thinking of, but it hadn’t happened and here he was – one foot fumbled for the ground and the other joined it – ashore in Ireland once more.

The whole crowd of them flooded across the quay and into the streets beyond, gaslit still, but unpeopled, quiet. Voices which had been raised were suddenly hushed as they got amongst the buildings. Folk were asleep here, kids as well as adults, all waiting for the morning; best not to wake them betimes.

Sean strode out and heard, from behind him, a voice: ‘Daddy! Oh, Daddy, will ye wait on a minute? It’s Colm, wit’ Caitlin, too . . . Daddy, wait on!’

He turned – and there was his son, with Caitlin by his side. Both children wore broad beams and even as he turned they were on him, Caitlin leaping to hang round his back, her legs locked round his waist, Colm grabbing his hand and squeezing hard.

‘Daddy! Oh Daddy, we’ve been waitin’ hours, so we have, but isn’t it worth it now, to know you did catch the ferry an’ are home for Christmas?’

That was Colm, and the boy looked pleased to see him, for a wonder! Of course, meeting a ship is
always an emotional moment, but ... Colm, pleased? Perhaps the boy wasn’t so bad, perhaps he’d wronged him. After all, he’d brought his little sister out at an ungodly hour in the pitch dark to meet the ship. That must mean the boy had some spunk – the girl had, he’d always known it. He squeezed Colm’s hand back, then kissed his daughter’s cheek and stood her down. ‘What a great girl you are to be sure! Too heavy for me to carry now, I’m tellin’ ye! Where’s the mammy?’

‘In the kitchen, asleep in a chair, tired out,’ Caitlin said importantly. ‘She meant to stay awake to see you in, Daddy, but she just falled asleep. So we left her, me an’ Colm, because she’s had a busy day, so she has.’

‘And a worryin’ one,’ Colm added, walking along beside his father. He’s nearly as tall as me, Sean realised. ‘She was desprit afeared you’d miss the ship, Daddy, an’ that would have ruined our Christmas. She wouldn’t let us come an’ meet you, only she couldn’t stay awake to stop us.’

‘Hey, she’ll wake up an’ find you gone . . .’ Sean began, worried.

But Colm shook his head. ‘It’s all right, Daddy, we left a note on the mantel, propped up behind the teapot. We told her we’d come down to the quay to meet the ship, but meself, I don’t reckon she’ll wake for a few hours yet. Worn out, she is, wit’ work, an’ worry, an’ excitement.’

‘Well, we’ll mek this a Christmas to remember,’ Sean said with deep contentment as they walked on through the darkness, drawing ever nearer to the only place to be at Christmas – home.

They had had a marvellous Christmas and a great
New Year, Caitlin thought contentedly a week later, as she rejoined the Murphys in Marrowbone Lane, for school did not begin for another two days. Everything had been just grand, though at the start, when their daddy had missed the ferry, it had seemed doomed. But Daddy had got home in time for the big day, he had congratulated Colm on the enormous turkey and eaten his share of it, and his presents had been better, she was sure, than anyone else’s.

Caitlin had got her sledge, though Daddy had sent the money over to mammy a while back, and mammy had bought it for him and hidden it at a neighbour’s house. Colm had been right about Daddy not carting it all the way across the Irish sea, but that was the only thing he had been right about, for there had been other presents, all good. Naturally, she and Colm had longed for snow from the first moment they set eyes on the sledge, though Colm, of course, was too grown-up to admit it, but apart from the storm before Christmas there hadn’t been enough snow to use it on yet.