Chapter 61
CHAPTER 61
22 May 1971
Bernie
There is no specific reason we choose 22 May to board the train. It’s not an anniversary date or someone’s birthday. It’s not a bank holiday or a day of remembrance. It’s a plain, ordinary Saturday in early Dublin summer. Ordinary like all of us.
It rains in the morning. I wake to the pitter-patter of it against my bedroom window. Not that I’ve slept much—I haven’t. My legs are restless and twitching. I kick Dan in his sleep by accident. He wakes and I apologize. Then he rolls over and holds me.
“Don’t fret, love,” he says. “Maura knows what she’s doing.”
I get up. I shiver a little as I pull on my dressing gown and slide my feet into my slippers. Their rubber soles squeak as I make my way across the bedroom, past my sleeping daughters, and into the kitchen to make some tea and fry up some rashers.
I wish I had Dan’s confidence, but I’m worried about Maura. It’s been three weeks since a man in an ugly suit showed up at her front door and pulled the last remaining pieces of her life apart. In one week, Maura will be out on her ear, and no matter how hard I try, she is refusing to talk about it. I ran the notion of Maura moving in with us past Dan. He was shocked at first, I’ll give him that. But he quickly came around. He said we’d make space somehow. I made love with him that night and I told him with my lips and my words that I loved him.
When the girls wake, I dress them in their best dresses, and Elizabeth complains that her tights are itchy.
“Take ’em off,” Marie tells her.
“Don’t you dare,” I say. “It might be summertime but it’s fair cold outside.”
Elizabeth tugs the thick cream cotton away from her legs and eyes me up, deciding if she’s brave enough to defy me or not.
“Jack Frost will bite your bum,” I tell her, and she lets her tights go.
Dan drinks his tea standing up and kisses each of our girls on the top of their heads before he kisses me. His lips linger on mine for longer than usual and I realize he’s not as confident as I thought he was. The worry I feel for Maura sits in the pit of my stomach like lead and I can’t touch my breakfast.
“Bye, love,” Dan says, grabbing a rasher sandwich to eat on the go as he makes his way downstairs to the shop. “Give my love to Maura, won’t you?”
“I will,” I say, watching him leave.
I fetch the girls’ coats and they put them on. I help Alice with hers. Elizabeth complains that hers is even scratchier than her tights, and I close my eyes and count backward from five in an effort to hold on to my temper.
“I can’t wait,” Elizabeth says.
I open my eyes to find my middle daughter with her coat buttoned up and a bright smile on her face.
“Jack Maloney in my class goes on the train all the time,” Marie says boastfully. “His goes to Cork to visit his gran every weekend.”
“Isn’t that nice,” I say, wondering how the Maloneys afford train fare for eight children up and back to Cork each week.
“I’ve never been on a train before,” Elizabeth says, catching my eye and nodding as if I wasn’t aware of her travel limitations.
“Choo-choo. Choo-choo,” Alice says.
“I can’t wait,” Elizabeth repeats. “I think it’s going to be a big blue train.”
“Orange and black,” Marie says. “Jack said the train is orange and black.”
“That’s the train to Cork,” I say, and I realize I have no idea what a train out of Ireland might look like. Would it be the same color or a special, different color for entering the North?
We leave the flat and begin walking toward Connolly Station. Alice’s small hand is curled in mine.
“Choo-choo, choo-choo,” she sings on a loop.
The station is little more than a stroll away, and although I pass by it often, I’ve never been inside. I’ve not had a need before today. I doubt I’ll have a need ever again either.
“I’m going to sit in the front aside the driver,” Elizabeth says, skipping alongside me as I walk. I reach for her hand and she comes to a stop.
“We’re not getting on the train,” I say. “We’re there to wave them off. Show our support.”
Elizabeth’s bottom lip curls.
“If you’re very good maybe Maura will bring you something nice back from Belfast.”
The idea of a treat seems to settle Elizabeth and she begins skipping again.
When we reach the station, it’s busier than I expect. It’s bigger, too, and noisy. I feel Alice’s grip tighten around my hand. I hoist her onto my hip and take Marie’s and Elizabeth’s hand so they don’t get lost.
“What that smell?” Elizabeth asks.
“Engine oil, I think,” I say.
“Trains smell yucky.”
“They do.”
I search the station for Maura and my breath catches when I find her on platform two with a camera pointed straight at her. I hurry toward her, pushing my way through a large crowd.
“Bernie,” Maura squeals, seeing me.
“What’s going on?” I say, not quite able to take in what I’m seeing. “I thought Sharon’s friend was coming to tape you getting on the train. But this… my God, Maura, it looks as if every journalist in Ireland is here.”
Maura’s face is brimming with delight. “Isn’t it amazing? Word must have spread. It’s going to be on the news. And all over the papers. Everyone is going to know by tomorrow.”
“Oh Jesus,” I say.
Elizabeth lets go of my hand to cover her ears. I’m tempted to do the same to drown out some of the bustling noise.
There are cameras everywhere. Five or six, at least. Male journalists shove microphones in front of Nuala and Teresa as they hold the banner made from Maura’s tablecloth and Christy’s shirts.
“Do you really think you will be able to return with contraception?” a man in a brown tweed suit asks.
“Yes, we do,” Nuala says.
“And are you worried what people will say?”
“They can say what they like.”
Geraldine appears next to me. “Well, well,” she says. “This is a turnout for the books, isn’t it?” Geraldine is wearing a beautiful floral dress and a checked coat, all in matching vibrant pink. “I wish telly wasn’t black and white,” she says. “No one can see my bloody outfit.”
I laugh. The priorities of a twenty-one-year-old entertain me to no end.
She leans closer to me and whispers in my ear. “I’m getting on the train.”
“What? No. You can’t. You’re not married. What will people say?”
“Ah, Bernie, you’re not still worried about that, are ya?”
“Of course I’m worried about that. Your reputation will be ruined.”
“I’m getting on. We need single women on the train. We need single women to stand up and say this is not about men. I don’t need a husband to fight for my rights. I am a woman. I am strong.”
“You’ll have your work cut out for you convincing Nuala,” I say.
“It was Nuala’s idea.”
“Never. No way.”
“A few more of the women chickened out once they saw the cameras. Something about their mas losing their tempers if they saw their faces on telly. I volunteered to step in and Nuala was only delighted. I have a womb. I have a say.”
A reporter overhears Ger. He shoves a camera under her nose.
“Can you say that again, young lady? Can you look into this camera here and repeat exactly what you just said?”
His colleague with a camera on his shoulder points the lens toward Geraldine and I step aside, careful to remain out of view. The reporter raises three fingers in the air and lowers them one at a time. When his hand is closed, Geraldine speaks. A wave of pride washes over me.
“Da,” Elizabeth shouts, pulling my attention away from Geraldine and the reporter. “Da, Da, we’re over here.”
Dan comes into view. He’s red-faced and I can tell he’s been running.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when he gets closer.
“Get on the train, Bernie.”
“What? No. I can’t.”
“Do it. Get onboard.”
I shake my head. “What about the shop? It could destroy us.”
“Look around,” he says. “Look how amazing this is. You are a part of this, Bernie. Our daughters’ lives will be better because of you and Maura and the rest of these women. So please, my love, get on the train.”
Bubbles of excitement pop up inside me. I try hard to squash them. I try hard not to let the hype and thrill of it all carry me away. “But Mrs. Dunne and so many others have already stopped coming to the shop. What if people see me on the telly?”
“Let them see,” Dan says. “For every woman who leaves us, there will be more who want to buy their meat from the husband of a hero.”
“Ah, stop that now.” I giggle. “I’m no hero.”
“Get on the train, Bernie, and I guarantee you will be.”
“Go on the train, Ma,” Marie says, although she’s not entirely sure what she’s signing me up for.
“Can I go?” Elizabeth asks.
“Choo-choo, choo-choo,” Alice sings.
“Excuse me.” Someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to find the reporter in the brown tweed suit behind me. “Are you one of the women getting on the train?”
I take a deep breath and look over my shoulder at my husband. Dan nods and smiles. I let my breath out and say, “Yes. I am. I’m Bernie McCarthy and I’m going to Belfast today.”
“Good for you, Mrs. McCarthy. Can I get your photograph for the Times ? Front page, hopefully.”
My confidence wavers but I catch Maura out of the corner of my eye. She spots me too and waves.
“Yes,” I say. “But could you take my friend’s photo too?”
“Is she getting on board?”
“Yes.”
He smiles and I race toward Maura and grab her hand. My words are tumbling out like gibberish.
“I’m going. On the train, I mean. With you and the others. And there’s a man. A journalist. A reporter. And he has a friend with a camera. And Ger is going to be on the telly. She’s going on the train too. Nuala said so. And the man. The reporter. He wants to take our picture for the paper.”
“Oh, Bernie,” Maura says, and I can tell I’ve set her head spinning. “You’re really coming? Are you sure? What about the shop?”
I shrug. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it all out. Come quick. The reporter is waiting.”
Maura and I stand side by side on platform two with the train to Belfast waiting behind us. Maura drapes her arm around me and I slip mine behind her. She stands tall and proud. Her hair is piled on her head like a small apple tart and she’s wearing corduroy slacks that flare over her shoes like the women in magazines. I wish I’d worn my good skirt instead of a black box-pleated skirt and old shoes, but it matters not a diddle now.
The reporter raises his camera and snaps our photo. “Beautiful,” he says.
The Polaroid camera spits a couple of photos out. He takes one for himself and passes the other to me. I ask to borrow the pen I see peeking out of his pocket, and when he passes it to me I turn the photograph over, lean it against my thigh, and write on the back. 22 May 1971 . I have a feeling it’s a date I’ll never forget. I tuck the photo between my hip and the elastic of my skirt. I cannot wait to add it to my scrapbook later.
A whistle blows, and a man’s voice shouts, “All aboard for Belfast.”
There’s a collective shriek of excitement as the women on platform two raise their placards and banners and march down the black-and-white-checked tiles and start to climb onto the train.
I turn toward Dan and he kisses me.
“I’m very proud of you, my love,” he says, with teary eyes.
“Bye-bye, Ma,” Marie says.
Elizabeth is sulking; she folds her arms across her chest and doesn’t utter a word. Alice has fallen asleep on Dan’s shoulder despite the noise.
“I love you too,” I say. “I love all of you.”
“Come on,” Maura says, giddy as she grabs my arm. “It’s not much good if the train pulls off without us.”
“Best of luck, Maura,” Dan says.
“Thank you,” she says, taking a moment to smile sincerely at my husband despite our rush. Then she begins to run and I have to try hard to keep up. I turn back just as we board and wave at my family. Every one of them waves back.