‘I need time to think. You can’t just spring this on me and expect me to decide there and then.’
‘OK.’ He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Take as much time as you need. I’m not leaving for several days.’
Taking her in his arms he kissed her and held her tightly. There was a rumble of thunder and rain started to fall on them as they clung together, neither wanting to be the first to let go.
As Cathleen lay in bed that night she couldn’t sleep. Bill’s words kept going round and round in her head. She wanted so much to find the courage to just throw up everything and board the boat to England with him, but her mother’s sad face kept haunting her. Would her mother ever forgive her if she did such a thing? The idea of embarking on an adventure into the unknown had seemed exciting when Bill first suggested it, but in the chilly small hours of the morning it felt different. Not knowing where they would live, how she would find a job and whether Bill would be able to support her all seemed like insurmountable potential problems.
After several days with virtually no sleep the time had come to make the final decision. Bill came to see her.
‘I’ve thought about it a lot,’ she said. ‘It isn’t a decision I would ever take lightly because there are too many people involved, my family as well as you and me.’
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘So, what have you decided?’
‘I think you should travel to England first. It will be easier for you to get settled if you are on your own, not having to worry about me and whether I am happy.’ He opened his mouth to protest but she placed her finger on his lips to stop him. ‘Then, when you are settled and established I can follow.’
He looked stunned. She could see that he had been expecting her to say yes and his disappointment was obvious.
‘We can write to one another every day,’ she said.
‘I think you’re making a mistake,’ he said once she had eventually fallen silent. ‘I’ve got a job to go to. I will be perfectly able to support you. We can stay with my brother, Eddie, and his wife until we find a place of our own …’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just can’t leave without my mother’s approval. I know the guilt would eat away at me and I would start to resent you for it. And I am not as brave as you; I need the security of a job and knowing where I am going to be sleeping at night.’
Bill opened his mouth to protest again.
‘I’ve decided, Bill. I’ll not be changing my mind.’
On the day that the boat departed Cathleen went down to the port to see him off. Bill looked as smart as he always did in his suit and tie, carrying two suitcases, one containing the tools of his trade and the other all his clothes and possessions. She clung on to him, unable to speak for the sobs that wracked her whole body. ‘I’ll write every day,’ he promised. ‘I love you.’
Finally she was forced to let him go. As he joined the back of the crowd walking up the ramp he turned to wave. ‘See you in London,’ he called back before disappearing into the boat.
Chapter Five
I stood outside the Regina Coeli Hostel with Patrick’s map clutched in my hand for at least twenty minutes, maybe more, trying to work out what I wanted to do next. What was I hoping to achieve here? Was I going to be able to deal with the emotions which I could already feel welling up inside me?
Half of me wanted to run into the building like I used to when I was a small boy, and half of me could hear my mother’s voice inside my head, telling me that we were never going to ‘go back’ and that I must put all such thoughts out of my mind. Had I betrayed her by even coming to look for the place?
The more I stared at the shabby buildings and the overgrown gardens, the more I remembered and the more torn I felt. Part of me was excited at the thought of going back to explore my distant childhood, but the other part was worried that I would be disappointed, disillusioned, or that my memories might prove to be false. Perhaps the past wasn’t quite the paradise that I had believed it to be. There must have been a reason why Mammy forbade me to even think of coming back.
It was fifty years since I had stood on this spot, but it was beginning to feel like it was only yesterday. The difference was that now, looking through adult eyes, I could imagine just how frightening it must have been for my mother when she knocked on the door for the first time with her ‘terrible secret’ growing inside her.
I noticed that the front door was standing ajar but no one seemed to be coming in or out. A kind of silence hung over the place. It was certainly no longer the buzzing hive of activity that I remembered. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my doubts aside, walked up the path and pressed the bell. I couldn’t hear any ringing but I waited a few more minutes, with my heart thumping in my ears, before sticking my head in and calling out, ‘Hello? Anyone there?’
A woman who I guessed must be in her sixties appeared through an internal door which I remembered led to a small office. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said politely. ‘Can I help you at all?’
‘Hello,’ I replied, as nervous as a naughty small boy who had missed a curfew. ‘Good afternoon. I’m looking for Regina Coeli … Is this it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she smiled at me kindly as if realising that I needed encouragement and gentle handling. ‘My name is Mary, would you like to come in?’
I accepted the invitation and followed her into the office. Everything in the room looked so familiar; everywhere I looked another memory was triggered.
‘This was my childhood home,’ I blurted. ‘I’ve been searching for it for a long time, with no success at all. I feel a bit like I have just struck gold.’
She smiled at me, nodding her understanding and looking entirely unsurprised, as if she had heard this story a thousand times before.
‘It’s God’s will that you are here now,’ she said quietly, gesturing for me to sit down.
‘I want to find out more about Regina Coeli and the mothers and children who lived here at the same time that I did,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to find details about the people here at that time.’
‘When would we be talking about?’ Mary asked.
‘The 1950s. I left in 1962.’
‘Ah, well then, I was here in the sixties, but I was very young, no more than a teenager myself.’
I did a quick mental calculation and realised that meant she must be in her seventies.
‘But we kept no records of the women who came here,’ she continued. ‘That was the policy, to allow them to have a private life. They could go under whatever name they chose and we never asked any questions. It was a refuge for the poor girls who wanted to keep their babies, who didn’t want to get taken into the Magdalene Laundries and have their babies taken away from them.’
This was the second time the subject of the Magdalene Laundries had come up that day. It seemed they still weighed heavily on the consciences of Dubliners.
‘Tell me your name,’ she said.
‘Gordon Lewis.’
‘Lewis,’ she mused. ‘Now, let me think …’
‘My mammy’s name was Kay McCrea, but she was originally Cathleen Crea …’
‘McCrea.’ She looked at me intently. ‘Now that does sound familiar, but it was a very long time ago. I’ve just brewed a pot of tea, would you join me in a cup?’
‘That would be very welcome, thank you.’
As she poured the tea she