Authors: Freda Lightfoot
When this didn’t work fresh food was brought, and it was true that the more appetising aroma almost weakened her resolve, but then she thought of Billy’s sad little face, his frightened eyes at being made to sleep on a straw pallet and threatened with the horror of being dumped in a cold bath by way of a ‘cure’. Ruby found it hard to imagine a more dreadful punishment for a very human failing. Wasn’t it enough that his mother was sick, possibly dying? She thought of his misery and sense of isolation at being kept from his sisters; the fear he must feel at being bullied by the older boys, and held on to her resolve. She would not eat until she could see him, and know that he was well.'
Chapter Four
It was kindly Sister George who finally broke the deadlock. One afternoon during the hour when the children were allowed to play games she brought Billy to see his sisters. He flew straight into Ruby’s arms and the three McBrides hugged and sobbed and clung on to each other as if they might never let go.
‘I am not in any way condoning your bad behaviour,’ Sister George sternly informed Ruby, ‘but we cannot have you fading away before our eyes. And I do understand your concern for Billy. I have recently discovered that you were right, he was being put upon by the older boys, which is not at all pleasant, though I doubt he has come to any real harm.’ She wagged a finger in his face. ‘It was very naughty of you not to tell us, Billy. If we had known, we could have done something.’
Ruby put a protective arm about the little boy’s shoulders. ‘How would he find the courage to tell when he gets punished for the silliest of mistakes, like wetting his bed when he’s upset?’ she challenged before starting to examine his arms and legs, much as Mam might have done. She found several scratches and any number of bruises, which she showed to Sister George with a flush of triumph.
‘Little boys are always falling down and hurting themselves. As I said, I’m sure nobody meant him any real harm and I’ve spoken to the boys concerned. As for the bed wetting, all children must learn one way or another. It may sound cruel but this method generally works in the end.’
But Ruby wasn’t satisfied. ‘If he’d been allowed to see us, his family, regular like, he might well have told us that he was being badly treated. Then we could’ve made sure he was happy and content, so that he wouldn’t wet his bed.’
Sister George fingered the silver cross that hung about her neck, looking uncomfortable. ‘I think I’ve heard enough on this subject 451. I will speak to Sister Joseph and make sure you are allowed to see Billy once a day during recreation, so long as you strive to curb this tendency of yours to defiance. I can in no way condone such behaviour. For your part, you must apologise to Sister Joseph for your obstinacy and carry out whatever punishment she deems appropriate. Is that clear?’
Pearl kicked on her ankle, and Ruby bit her tongue. ‘Yes, Sister.’
The punishment was to scrub out the girls’ lavatories every day for a week. Ruby had to carry out this task on her hands and knees on the stone floors, as well as scrubbing the wooden seats of the earth closets which smelled strongly of urine and vomit. She did it gladly.
Sister George kept her word and Billy was allowed to see them every day after that. Little by little the pinched look eased from his small, anxious face; the tired bruises caused by countless sleepless nights faded, though he never quite returned to the lively, boisterous little boy he had once been. Something had changed in him, and Ruby didn’t know how to get it back.
From that day on it became perfectly clear to Ruby that she had made an enemy. Sister Joseph was infuriated by Sister George’s intervention, but it was on Ruby that she took her revenge.
Never, for one moment, was she permitted to perform a simple task if a worse one could be found. Every question she was asked in class seemed to be a thousand times more difficult than the ones required of the other girls; every sum more complicated. Ruby’s spelling had to be correct in every detail, her lettering perfect, or she would be made to copy her work out again. If she were one minute late for morning mass, she would be forced to polish the dormitory floor, another task largely conducted on her hands and knees, which Sister Joseph considered to be highly appropriate.
Religious studies took up an increasingly large portion of Ruby’s life, as if Sister Joseph had decided that she was more in need of it than the other girls: chanting prayers, singing hymns, listening to readings, or endlessly reciting dozens of Hail Marys as penance for her failings. There were lessons on the meaning and interpretation of the catechism, and she would be regularly examined and interrogated on every aspect of the scriptures to prove that she fully comprehended their spiritual message. And woe betide her if she got any of it wrong! Punishment would follow, swift and sure. This strict regime demanded unquestioning obedience, a state of mind Ruby struggled hard to achieve.
Morning showers at Ignatius House were always cold and, because of the large number of girls, necessarily short. Each was allowed four minutes and Sister Joseph would time them to the second on a fob watch which dangled, together with a large bunch of keys, from her belt. If a girl overran her allotted time, she would march over and turn off the tap. Ruby considered herself fortunate if she was allowed three minutes and generally managed to wash herself in half of that time, just to make sure she was gone before the nun reached her. Otherwise, she might very well find the soft skin of her backside rapped by the bundle of watch and keys for being dilatory and slow, and poor Ruby would feel the stinging blows for hours afterwards. But then, the slightest misdemeanour seemed to bring down the wrath of Sister Joseph upon her head.
Even for something as relatively minor as not being able to find her handkerchief when it was time to hand it in for a clean one. She would be given a thorough scolding in front of everyone and made to manage without a clean one for a whole week. And always she had to keep smiling or Billy started to worry.
‘Are you sick, our Ruby?’ he would ask if her spirits faltered.
‘No, Billy. Just tired.’
‘You won’t be going to the sanitary, will you?’
‘No, Billy. I shan’t be going to the sanatorium. I’d never leave you.’
‘Mam said she’d never let me out of her sight, but she did, didn’t she?’
Ruby’s throat tightened on a shaft of pain. ‘Mam couldn’t help it. I can. I’m not going to be ill, so stop worrying.’
She could tolerate anything in order to see Billy every day, and keep a careful eye on him and Pearl. So long as they could all stay together, Ruby felt certain she could cope.
But the worst part about living at Ignatius House was not the amount of work they had to do, the stark routine, or even the severity of the punishments. It was the lack of love and absence of emotion of any kind. The children were adequately, if plainly, fed on three meals a day. They were certainly kept clean and healthy with much outward scrubbing from the seemingly endless ablutions in the bowl-room, and the inner purging with castor oil of what the nuns called ‘impurities’.
They could benefit from the fresh country air that Mam had set such store by since they were taken on regular Sunday walks as well as being given work to do each day in the gardens. There were lessons in reading, writing and reckoning, a library of books at their disposal, games and toys to amuse them, and a play room for the babies.
But nothing was provided beyond these practical considerations. Rarely was there even a kind word of approval, let alone a warm, loving hug.
It was true that not all the nuns were as stern and sour-faced as Sister Joseph, or as ineffectual as the more reasonable Sister George, but Ruby thought that even the gentlest and kindest could not compensate in any way for the loss of a mother’s love.
On the rare occasions when Sister Joseph did appear to soften slightly towards Pearl, who was her favourite, Ruby’s trust in the nun was so low that she never felt comfortable about it and would watch her like a hawk.
What the McBride children missed most, and grieved for day after day, was their mother. Gone were the nightly story times, the teasing and tickling, the fun and laughter, the kisses and cuddles. Some of the children had visitors from home, whom they entertained in the parlour on a Sunday afternoon. But there were never any for Ruby, Pearl and Billy.
Then one day they got a letter. They knew Mam hadn’t written it because she couldn’t even read, but one of the nurses in the sanatorium had found the time to send them a short note, telling the children how much Molly loved and missed them, how she thought of them every day and how she would do her utmost to get better and come to collect them.
‘Read us Mam’s letter again, Ruby,’ Pearl would say, clutching her doll tight to her chest.
Billy’s eyes would shine. ‘She’ll be coming for us soon, won’t she?’
Ruby too treasured the letter. She kept it safe under her pillow and read it so many times that it was soon falling apart at the folds. Whenever the three children met up at recreation time, they would talk about their mother, huddle together in a corner and watch with keen attention while Ruby wrote down their carefully chosen words in her best handwriting. They liked to tell Mam what they were up to, what they’d had to eat for dinner, which book Pearl was reading and how many marks clever Ruby had got for her composition. Most of all, they needed to give her their love. When they were quite satisfied, they would each of them sign the letter, Pearl and Ruby with their cursive, carefully learned script while Billy, tongue stuck out in fierce concentration, might manage a large B and several sticks, so long as Ruby was guiding his hand.
Then Ruby would hand the letter over to Sister Joseph for posting, as instructed. They did this every week with hope in their hearts, and never received a single reply to any of them.
As the months of waiting turned into years, a sort of acceptance crept over them. Ruby decided that her mother didn’t want to worry them over the length of time it was taking for her to get better, and that was the reason there were no letters. She acquired the art of avoiding Sister Joseph, even managing to curb her natural urge to break the rules and stand up for herself.
Ruby’s body too began to change. She became aware of budding breasts, of hair growing where it never had before, of strange emotions pulsing through her. Yet not once was she able to view her own nakedness. The girls were instructed to undress each night with all due modesty. Not a scrap of flesh must be glimpsed as layers of clothing were removed, most of it wriggled out of under cover of a voluminous night-dress. Having grown used to sleeping fully clothed in the cellar, at first Pearl and Ruby had left most of their undergarments in place, in order to keep warm in the large, draughty dormitory. But when Sister Joseph had found no neatly folded pile in place on their chair, they’d been taken to task for disobedience and unseemly behaviour.
Since then they’d grown used to the nightly ritual but the odd glimpse of herself, which was all Ruby was privy too, left her with the strange misapprehension of being ugly; of lumps and bumps, aches and pains, which didn’t seem quite normal. Did all girls feel this same disillusionment in themselves? Did they too get belly ache, and have this mysterious bleeding which never seemed to be stemmed by the pads of rough cotton Sister George gave her? When it had first happened, she’d felt certain that she was bleeding to death, but Sister had assured her she would live. After a brief initial instruction on how to wash the cloths, no explanation or further mention had been made. The subject was never referred to again. If only someone would speak of it, then she wouldn’t worry so much.
Pearl and Billy too were different. Billy had certainly grown taller under the nuns’ care. His eczema had cleared up and his hair grown back strong and healthy. But ever since the bullying episode he hadn’t been the same, lively little boy he’d once been. He’d become oddly quiet, almost withdrawn, rarely seeming to pay any attention to the activities going on around him. And there were still occasions when there were mysterious marks on his legs and arms. She would ask him if everything was all right, if he felt sick perhaps, or if the big boys had started on him again. But he would simply shrug his shoulders, or lay his head on his arms and say nothing. He hated to be questioned about anything, and Ruby worried about this a great deal. In her heart, she suspected the bullying continued, though felt at a loss to know how to stop it since she couldn’t prove anything.
Once, she’d asked him what had happened to his little wooden boat, the one Mam had made for him, and he’d swung round in a fury and shouted at her.
‘Wooden boats are for
babies,
our Ruby, and I’m a
big
boy now!’
She was stunned by this outburst, so unlike the cheerful little boy he’d once been.
‘’Course you are, and getting bigger every day. By heck, you’ll be growing out of them boots in no time.’