The Magdalen (13 page)

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Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna

BOOK: The Magdalen
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“That's awful!” Esther sighed.
“‘Twas my own fault, Esther. Funny, but when I came here I felt safe. Sister Margaretta had just joined the order and she was always kind to me. I didn't mind the work and I liked being with the other women. I'd be no good on my own. Where would I have gone if I went back outside? My father, Lord rest him, never changed his mind and I'd no place to go. Things were harder for women in those days, so I decided to stay here. My sister Eileen always brought me news from outside. I was a sinner but the good Lord forgave me, and I know I have done my penance.”
Appalled, Esther couldn't believe how anyone would stay so long in this prison-like home of shame and sorrow, hidden away from the world. It didn't bear thinking about—and yet Detta seemed contented and at peace with herself. Listening to the old woman eventually falling asleep and snoring lightly, Esther vowed that nothing like that was ever going to happen to her. She was not prepared to give up on life and stay locked away.
“T
he Maggies” worked long and hard, toiling like slaves of old, washing load after load of soiled laundry. “We're washing away our sins!” jeered Rita, twirling a sudsy pair of men's underpants in the air.
Esther's ears grew used to the sound of gushing, rushing water, pumped up from the river that ran close to the convent grounds, filling the huge heavy machines and stone sinks. Her eyes became accustomed to soap, bleach, and steam, her hands to scalding water and itching and peeling, her body to perspiration. Her heart became used to the disparaging remarks and stares of the customers who sometimes called to deliver their own laundry baskets.
“They're all little sluts, locked away for their own good!” she'd heard a beautiful girl of about her own age sneer. The others had long since stopped complaining, and she knew that she must harden her heart and follow their example and accept working in the laundry.
The nuns called them “the penitents.” Esther could see how the nuns considered those that had babies out of wedlock to be fallen women, but what about the two or three retarded girls who never did harm to anyone, or the women who were slightly simple or troublesome and had been abandoned by their families, or the orphaned girls raised in the convent's orphanage next door, what did they all do to deserve being called “Magdalens”?
“If you read the Bible, I tell you, girls, Jesus loved Mary “the Magdalen.” He forgave her all her past sins and she was the only woman in the Bible other than his beloved mother that was close to him,” insisted Detta, who read the thick brown leather-covered Bible every morning and night. They all took comfort in that.
Esther was glad of Tina. The younger girl, with her huge eyes and mouthful of rabbit teeth, made her laugh, and had a constant stream of jokes, some of them filthy. She never stopped talking in her broad Dublin accent, the words tumbling out in a rush, Esther straining to understand her.
“My Mammy did this … My Mammy said that …” Tina had confided in her that her mother had died a few years earlier, and that much like Esther she'd been helping to raise her small sisters and brother. It was funny, but when Esther asked her about her baby's father, she would only say, “That's my secret, Esther!”
Esther knew that Tina was nervous about the impending birth of the baby. “I just want it over with, Esther. The nuns can take this poor little beggar and look after him. The poor sod deserves better than me!”
Two of the other girls, with their hair shorn close to their scalps, had been transferred to the laundry from the orphanage which lay at the far end of the Holy Saints Sisters' grounds. Saranne and Helen reminded Esther of two scared mice who hadn't a clue what to do. “Don't trust them!” warned Tina. “They're bleeding spies for the nuns.”
Sometimes Tina and herself and the rest of the Maggies sang, their voices in harmony: well-loved tunes, old ballads and even hymns. Before her time the women had begged Sister Gabriel for a wireless, so that music could fill their heads. “Let me remind you, ladies, that you are not here to listen to the wireless!” she'd stated sternly. “That is not your purpose here!”
“Old cow!” complained Rita.
“Not for one bloody minute will she ever let us forget why we are here,” murmured Sheila.
“She wants us to be treated like we are in hell for our sins,” added Bernice angrily, “well, purgatory anyways!”
Sister Josepha was more accommodating, and turned a deaf ear when Rita or Bernice or any of the women started singing and the rest joined in. “The Lord gave humans a voice, so singing must be good for the spirit.” She'd smile.
The soul and spirit were well looked after, Esther could vouch for that. Her knees were worn with kneeling in a cramped pew in the chapel for the early-morning mass, her stomach rumbling with hunger and almost weak with the
want of a cup of tea; then there were prayers at the angelus, more prayers after tea and some nights the evening vigil. She didn't know how the nuns managed to say so many prayers. Esther often sat silent, watching them, wondering how they could believe. Some days she felt God had deserted her, abandoned her, used her the way that Con had, and now cast her aside.
Sister Jo-Jo said that God loved each and every one of them; to be honest Esther could see little sign of it. Mary Magdalen herself would have had a hard time in a place like this. At night, lying in her strange bed, dropping with exhaustion, her muscles aching, she still found it hard to sleep. The child was growing inside her, kicking against the shell of her stomach, stretching it, pushing on her bladder, making her want to wee. The baby was leeching energy from her, hungrily using her blood and bone to grow. At night when the others slept and the sound of snores and farting filled the room, she talked to her baby, whispering to it, trying not to think of what lay ahead for both of them.
 
 
“Wake up! Tina's having her baby!”
Esther stirred in her bed, lost in the dim world of a dream where Nonie still lived and laughed.
“Someone put on the light, for heaven's sake!”
Within minutes it seemed that the whole dormitory was awake, involved in the young girl's labour.
“Are you all right, lovey?” fussed Maura Morrissey, going over to her.
“It hurts, Maura! Jesus, it hurts! Me bed is all wet too!”
“That's just your waters, lovey, just a sign that the baby's coming.”
“I'm scared, Maura!”
Tina grabbed at Maura's hand as if she was never going to let it go. Maura was the kind of woman all the others instinctively turned to for help and assurance. She was always sensible and even-tempered, and calmed the young girl down, reminding her to save her energy for when she needed it to birth her baby. Esther lowered herself out of bed and felt around for the fifteen-year-old's slippers, pushing them under her narrow feet. Tina's eyes were jumping out of her head, and through her thin winceyette nightdress they could see her belly tighten with each contraction.
“I'll go and get Sister Gabriel,” offered Rita, throwing back her blankets.
“Come on, Tina lovey! Out of bed and try to walk a bit, it'll help your labour along,” urged Maura. They all watched as the teenage girl walked painfully up and down the room. Every few minutes she had to stop and lean against one of the beds as a fresh contraction grabbed her.
“I'm scared, Maura,” she wailed. “The baby's not due for another few days.”
“Babies come when they're ready, lovey. Your baby has decided now's the time, that's all!”
Tina was finding the pain almost unbearable, and they all took it in turns to encourage and praise her.
“Good girl!”
“You're doing great, Tina, honest!”
“The baby'll be born soon!”
Detta had produced a small bottle of holy water from
inside her locker and sprinkled it liberally over the young mother-to-be. “God bless and protect you and your child.”
Rita, hair flying and face gleaming from the cold cream she smothered it in, returned with Sister Gabriel in tow. The nun must have pulled her habit on over her nightdress in her rush to come up to them. Annoyance filled her face as soon as she saw Tina and the state she had got herself into. “You strip that bed of hers, Maura. I'll take charge of Tina now.”
They could all tell that Tina would far prefer to stay with them than go with the nun.
“Come along, Tina! I'm moving you to the mothers' room on the next floor. Rita, you help me walk her down.”
They all chorused, “Good luck,” wishing her well, Sister Gabriel switching off the light. “You ladies had best get back to sleep. You've to work in the morning!”
Esther fell asleep listening to the others talk, telling all kinds of horror stories about childbirth. She had yet to tell that she had already helped to deliver a baby. That was something else she intended to keep secret.
 
 
Never did a day pass so slowly. Even kind Sister Jo-Jo had lost patience with them and their constant questions about Tina. “There's work to be done!” she kept repeating.
“She's not even sixteen yet.” Detta sighed. “The poor creature, and her childhood gone already!”
Esther scrubbed at the collars of shirts belonging to a gentleman named D. V. Pimm. Bernice and Joan were just up from her at one of the huge sinks, bleaching bundles of hospital sheets and towels. The fumes of the peroxide tore
at her throat and eyes, making them water. “Is this what you use on your hair, Bernice?” jeered Joan, an overweight, pudding-faced girl from the midlands.
Bernice stopped, running her fingers through her dyed blonde hair, the roots now showing black. “What did you say?”
“You heard me!” Joan smirked. “This is the stuff all the scrubbers use!”
Grabbing a cup, Bernice took a measure of bleach-soaked water from the sink and flung it, soaking the other girl's mouse-coloured hair.
“You bloody madwoman!” screamed Joan, grabbing hold of the towels and sheets, trying to stop the stinging water from dripping down on to her eyes and face.
Esther ran to help and see what she could do.
Bernice and Joan tried to continue their fight, skirmishing across the floor, Joan pushing the pregnant Bernice against the sink. “I'll kill you!” she threatened, sticking her elbow into Bernice's side.
“Joan O'Connor, I'm fed up with this carry-on,” roared the small nun, pulling the girls apart. “Sister Vincent and Sister Gabriel will hear of this. If you can't be civil and behave with your workmates then you'll have to work on your own at the mending and repairs with Sister Vincent. Hopefully it will quieten that temper of yours!” Nobody wanted to work with the weasel-like Sister Vincent. “Bernice! You're to work on pressing for the rest of the week and will lose all privileges.”
“That's not fair!” argued Bernice. She would not be allowed to use the recreation room and would miss her turn for having a bath and washing her hair.
 
 
Watching through the narrow barred windows that overlooked the courtyard, Esther saw two pretty girls drive up almost to the back door in a polished grey Austin, their laughter sounding right across the yard. How she envied them their smart clothes, stylish hairstyle and pointy shoes! Giggling, they pulled a heavy laundry basket from the boot of the car.
“Run out and give them a hand, Esther!” called the nun. “It's the O'Reilly sisters.”
“This thing weighs a ton!” One of the girls grinned, pulling the basket in her direction. They all pulled and shoved at the handles, trying to slide and drag the heavy load across the cobbles and through the doorway.
“There you are!” called the taller girl. “We missed the laundry van so Daddy told us to deliver it ourselves.”
“That's fine, miss,” replied Esther, suddenly ashamed of how she looked, the damp patches on the front of her dress and her bare feet. “I'll manage it now.”
The younger one insisted on helping her pull it the rest of the way on to the tiled floor. “It's the laundry for O'Reilly's. We have the hotel out in Bray, on the seafront.”
Esther nodded. “I'll put it in the book, miss. It'll be done as quick as possible.”
“That's fine! Thank you.” The older one smirked, pulling her sister back outside.
Esther pushed the basket along the floor. She'd sort it out in a few minutes.
“Did you see that one?”
“Who?”
“The poor Maggie!”
“She's about the same age as you, Eileen. Imagine getting yourself into trouble like that! Mother and Father would kill us if it happened.”
“They're all just sluts and prostitutes, God help them!”
Gripping the edge of the basket, Esther had to resist the impulse to fly out and grab the older girl by her pale pink cardigan and kick and punch her. She watched enviously as they climbed into their car and drove away. She knew she must look a sight in her overall and her hair now cut to above her shoulders and side-parted like everyone else's; to them she was just another Maggie. But what did they know about anything?
She checked off the list and was kept busy sorting bundles of filthy clothes for the afternoon: semen-stained sheets, soiled baby clothes and the used sanitary napkins from a girls' boarding school on the outskirts of Dublin. In the early afternoon a white ambulance drew up outside the convent. They all tried to peer out: perhaps one of the elderly nuns was ill.
“‘Tis Tina!”
“Stop gawping!” snapped Sister Josepha. “Sister Gabriel is transferring her to the National Maternity Hospital. She is in some difficulty with the baby.”
“She's far too young to be having a baby!” declared Kathleen. “How could some fellah go and get her in the family way!”

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