Chapter 2

I awoke with a splitting headache and realized I was lying on my bed in Agnes’s flat although I had no recollection of how I got there. The pale dawn light was coming through the window, and I suddenly realised that I was not alone. The man lying beside me, seemed to stir at the same time because he took one look at the dawn light, started and exclaimed:

“Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, what time is it?”

Not waiting for an answer, he scrambled out of bed, stark naked and began to rummage around on the floor for his clothes, all the while muttering to himself what sounded suspiciously like “What am I going to tell the missus?”

I was equally concerned. At first I was relieved to see that although my dress was missing, I was still wearing my underwear, but then a thought occurred to me and reaching down I discovered that my knickers were missing. Further exploration revealed a slight soreness. My heart sank. What had I done, or more to the point, what had he done to me?

I had only fragmentary recollections of the end of the previous night. I recalled being helped into a car or maybe a taxicab, and a man, this man, kissing me, but nothing else.

At this point the young man being now fully clothed, turned to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no idea you was a virgin.”

The word ‘was’ struck home to me. Once you stop being a virgin, you can never be one again. I was so shocked that I couldn’t utter a word.

The young man reached in his pocket and put something down on the bedside table.

“Where’s Tom? He should have woken me,” he blurted out.

At this I found my voice. “What’s your name?” I asked as though it was important.

“I’m … Seamus,” he said, and then, “I’ve got to go.” And with that he left the bedroom. I heard him open Agnes’s door and her outraged scream for him to ‘get out!’. Then the front door of the flat slammed and he was gone.

A few minutes later, Agnes knocked softly on the door and came in.

“I’m so sorry, Marie. After all that warning I gave you. I think they must have spiked our drinks because I didn’t have that much. Did he use a rubber?”

“A rubber?” I said, puzzled.

“You know, a Frenchie, a condom. Something on his member?”

“I don’t know!” I wailed. “I don’t know what happened, except I’m sore down there.”

“Oh Jaysus,” murmured Agnes. “If it’s any consolation, not many women become pregnant the first time.”

“Pregnant?” I started to cry. “What will Mammy say? What will my Daddy say?”

“Well, it’s no good crying over spilt milk,” said Agnes. “You’d better just pray that nothing happens.” That sounded a bit heartless, but I suppose she was just being practical.

That event rather spoilt the rest of my holiday. We never did find a condom, although Agnes found one in her bedroom, so we had to assume ‘Seamus’ didn’t use one. I found a small pile of loose change amounting to about five shillings on my bedside table, but that was small compensation for what had been done to me.

It was now Sunday and I thought I should go to Mass, but I wouldn’t dare have Communion because what I had done was almost certainly a mortal sin even though it was without my permission. Agnes said that she didn’t go to Mass anymore, but she’d go along to keep me company. We both had a quick bath, dressed and went to St Patrick’s cathedral. At least as a big church there were plenty of people there and nobody was likely to spot us as visitors. This was the time when the priest had his back to the congregation and it was all said in Latin. I prayed and prayed that I would be forgiven for my stupidity and that nothing bad would come of it. There was nothing else I could do.

Anyone reading this might wonder why I didn’t report it to the Garda*. There were several reasons against it. For a start I only knew the man’s name, if it fact it was his real name which seemed doubtful. The more important reason was that I was afraid that as a young unmarried woman, the Garda might inform my parents, and that was the last thing I wanted. I knew not to expect any sympathy from Daddy, in fact most likely he would say I was entirely to blame, just by going to the public house. No, my best option was to pray and hope for the best.

The rest of the day we spent quietly. I was taking the return omnibus back to Kilcarnie on Monday. I washed and dried my new underwear apart from the silk stockings I’d worn on Saturday night and which were irreparably laddered, and packed both sets away in the little suitcase that Agnes loaned me. I left my beautiful dresses hanging in her wardrobe and wondered when I might get a chance to wear any of my new clothes again. Then I put on my nightdress and laid out my old clothes which I would be wearing to return home on Monday.

During the return trip, my mind was whirling with all that had happened during my week in Dublin. Most of it had been wonderful, apart from Saturday night. I had made sure I was taking back two shillings which would make it look as if I had been very careful with the money that Daddy had given me. I couldn’t disguise my new haircut of course but apart from that I looked exactly as I had done when I left Kilcarnie a week earlier.

When I arrived home, Daddy was out in the fields working and Mammy greeted me by telling me I was looking well, asked if I had a good time, and what had I done with my hair?

“I got it cut, Mammy. It’s the latest fashion. I looked so out of place with long hair and anyway it will be easier to manage.”

When Daddy came home from work, he asked the same question about my hair and when I explained that it would be easier to manage, all he did was grunt. I felt very relieved.

“What did you do with the rest of the money I gave you?” he asked.

“I had to give some to Agnes for the cost of me staying with her, and there was some for the collection plate. I did come back with two shillings. Would you like it back?”

“No. you keep it. I’m glad you didn’t fritter away the rest,” he said. If only he knew, but I was very glad he didn’t.

Life returned to dull, boring normal, at least I thought it did. My first inclination that something was wrong was when I missed my ‘monthlies’. Normally I was regular as clockwork. I prayed that it was just a hiccup as had happened once before, but when I missed the second time, I realized that the worst must have happened and that sooner or later I would have to face Mammy and worse still, Daddy and confess. I couldn’t possibly hope for Daddy to be understanding.

As it turned out, my body made the decision for me. One morning when I was helping Mammy in the kitchen, I started to bleed, and it wasn’t like a monthly bleed, blood seemed to be gushing out of me.

“Oh Mammy!” I gasped and started to cry. She of course immediately knew what was happening. She got me to lay down on the stone flags of the kitchen and to hold a towel between my legs in an effort to staunch the flow. Then she scribbled a note to the village doctor, and sent one of the children to run down and deliver it. while all the other children were sent outside to play after being told that I had had an accident and hurt myself. Fortunately, the doctor was at home conducting his surgery, but he immediately realised that it was an emergency, and drove up to the farm in his car, the only one in the village, with young Padraic sitting in the front seat beside him, enjoying the thrill of a car ride and having no idea of what was happening back at the farm.

The doctor examined me and what had left my body. Thank goodness, the bleeding was now easing. I heard him tell Mammy that I had lost the baby. It did not seem to occur to him that I wasn’t married, or maybe he preferred not to get involved. Many of the poorer villagers couldn’t afford the price of a gold ring, so the absence of one on my finger did not indicate my status. Now that I would not soak the mattress with blood, he helped Mammy take me up to my bedroom, and put me to bed on a waterproof sheet. I was very pale with all the blood I had lost and Dr Rose told Mammy that I must stay in bed for some days, and to give me some broth when I was up to sipping it.

I lay in the bed for four days, gradually improving. I was in a constant state of anxiety that Daddy would come to see me. I knew that Mammy could not keep what had happened as a secret from him. Whatever his reaction would be I knew it would not be a pleasant experience for me.

On the fifth day, there was a peremptory knock on the door. I knew who it was and I began to tremble. Daddy entered the room and stood there looking at me for several minutes. Finally, he said “Well?”

I began to cry. “Oh Daddy, I am so sorry; it wasn’t my fault, well not totally, he got me drunk and drugged and I didn’t know what happened.”

I don’t think he even heard me. “Well it seems you are a whore and have brought disgrace to the family. You are no longer my daughter. The omnibus goes to Dublin on Monday. Buy a one-way ticket and don’t ever come back. I will give you five shillings and after that you will have to fend for yourself. As a whore I’m sure you will manage.”

I begged and pleaded but it seemed that he had shut his ears to me because he turned on his heel and left the bedroom without another word. I cautiously eased my way out of bed, but when I stood, my legs were like jelly and I had to sit down again. Lying back on the bed I had time to think. Agnes was my only hope. I decided to write a letter to her and ask Mammy to get one of the children to take it to the post office. I wrote as follows:

Dear Agnes,

Your cousin, Marie.

On Friday, I walked to the Post Office since it contained the only telephone in the village apart from Dr Rose’s. Usually the walk took me around half an hour, but I was still very weak and it took over an hour with several pauses to regain my strength. I paid for the phone call and spoke to the exchange giving them Agnes’s work number. Thank goodness the response from Agnes was positive. Perhaps she felt partly responsible for what had happened?

“I’m so glad you can visit with me again,” she said. “I will be at work but Mr Bates will give me an hour off to meet the bus when you arrive. I hope you can stay longer this time.”

Mrs O’Flaherty wouldn’t make anything of that if she was listening. Walking back, which is largely uphill took me nearly two hours, and I was totally exhausted by the time I reached the farm. I told Mammy what I was going to do. I felt so sorry for her; I helped her so much with the house and younger children and now she would have to manage on her own, but she did not speak unkindly to me. It was I who felt so guilty. I explained to her what had happened and at least she knew that it was not entirely my fault. I’m sure she had tried to get Daddy to change his mind, but rural Ireland was, and to an extent is a patriarchal society and his word was law. In his eyes, public houses were dens of iniquity and the fault was mine by entering one. We agreed that the children would be told that I was going to visit Aunty Agnes again, but not that I would not be coming back. In due course they would realise that for themselves.

I did not dare go to church on Sunday for fear of what Daddy might say. As far as he was concerned I was a ‘fallen woman’ and ‘damaged goods’ and had no right to enter God’s house. On Monday morning, Daddy having already gone out to the fields without saying goodbye, Mammy gave me the five shillings Daddy had promised, plus another three shillings she had saved. That meant I had about ten shillings, or more like nine after paying the onmnibus fare. We had a final hug and both shed many tears, I promised to send her money back as soon as I was able, although I had no idea what I would do for a job.

“I don’t care about the money, Marie,” she said. “Despite what Daddy says, you are still my daughter and a good girl, and I will always love you. Please write to me and tell me how you are faring.”

“I will Mammy, every week, I promise,” I replied. We hugged again and more tears were shed on both sides. Then I took the little battered suitcase containing all my worldly goods, left the farmhouse for what I expected was the last time, and walked down to the village. As the omnibus lurched into gear and started to roll down the main street, I gazed out at the village where I was born for what I thought must be the last time ever, and more tears filled my eyes. What was I to do? I had no training for a career like Agnes; my only means of employment would be as a cleaner or some other menial work, not much different to what I had been doing at home for eighteen years.

As the bus travelled through the hedge-lined fields and the small villages, I dozed, since I was still rather weak, and then a thought came to me, and surprisingly it was Daddy’s remarks that make me think of it. He had called me a whore. Well, I was said to be pretty and I knew I had a good figure. No man would be interested in marrying ‘damaged goods’, and I no longer had anything to lose, so why not become a whore? Not a street walker of course. I had seen them on street corners in Dublin and asked Agnes what they were doing and she told me.

“Isn’t that dangerous work, Agnes?” I asked and she agreed that it was but said they saved money by not working in a ‘bawdy house’ as they were called. Agnes mentioned that she had heard somewhere that there was a superior form of woman who provided company for rich men who wanted it while they were in a strange town and away from their wives. Why could I not do that? But first, I needed to know exactly what these men expected for their money, and I suddenly realized that I knew exactly where to find out. As for it being a mortal sin, well the Church and religion had turned their backs on an innocent girl’s prayers and supplications, so I would turn my back on them. I smiled to myself – the omnibus was taking me away from my old life and into a new life and a better life.

To be continued.

*Garda is the Irish police force.