I took a deep breath. ‘My Mammy was thirty-five when she had me in 1953. It was very old to be having a first baby in those days and the doctors were very worried for her.’
Mary nodded. ‘Most of the women here were very young. I do remember an older woman. Was she sometimes known by the others as “the Lady”?’
‘Yes!’ I could hardly contain my excitement. ‘Yes, that’s what they called her.’
‘I didn’t meet her personally,’ Mary said, ‘but I remember people talking about her. She was famous for being one of the very few who left to get married. As you say, most of the mothers had more than one name, and more often than not they were false names to help protect their anonymity. The common fear was that somebody would come looking for them. Because the hostel did not require them to reveal their true identities, neither did we have any records as to who these women really were.’
The excitement of hearing that my mother was remembered in this way after so many years added to the emotions which were threatening to overwhelm me.
‘Would you like to have a look around the old place?’ Mary asked.
‘I would love that,’ I said, although I had no idea what I was hoping to see.
Taking my tea from me she led me upstairs, where there were two dormitories. To my amazement they had barely changed in fifty years apart from the installation of some new washbasins. Mary then opened the door to the chapel. It was exactly as I remembered, only much, much smaller. She got down on her knees and blessed herself while I stood behind her a little awkwardly. In years gone by I would have done the same as her, but I didn’t believe in religion any more. I had become a cynic. Mary didn’t appear to notice, content in her own, quiet faith.
She then led me out into the grounds, the playing area where I remembered being so happy.
‘There was an old tenement building over there,’ I said, pointing towards some new-looking prefab buildings, ‘three floors high, containing all the dormitories where we lived.’
‘They were demolished, so they were,’ Mary said.
There were single-storey prefabs crowded into virtually every inch of the grounds, making them look small and congested, a far cry from the wide open spaces I remembered. I stood still and stared around, remembering hordes of children screaming and running wild, chasing each other or pushing broken prams around, playing hopscotch or swinging on ropes. It seemed a sad, silent place now. The high stone walls that had marked the boundaries of my world for so long were still there, and I could even see the mental institution next door, still as menacing as ever with its broken windows and weeds sprouting through cracks and holes in the walls.
‘The mothers told us so many scary stories about patients escaping over the walls at night,’ I said. ‘I guess they wanted to discourage us from climbing over the walls in the other direction.’
Mary laughed. ‘You and your mother must have done well after you left for London?’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘it wasn’t a bed of roses. But Mammy was happy and I did well with the opportunities that came my way.’
I couldn’t believe I was opening up in this way to a woman I had only just met. I didn’t elaborate any further about all the ups and downs Mammy and I had been through together. If I had, I would have been there all day, and I had already given away too many of my mammy’s secrets for comfort. I thanked Mary for her kindness and for the tea and took my leave. As I walked down the hill, after waving goodbye to the small figure at the door, my mind was buzzing. It was as if I had opened a Pandora’s box of memories, a box that my mother had firmly instructed me to keep closed for ever.
Chapter Six
By the time I was six I had spent five months in three different hospitals. I’m told that I nearly died due to a series of serious illnesses, but the thing I remember most was that it was very exciting just to be outside the walls of Regina Coeli for the first time. Mammy was my only visitor in hospital, as Bridie never left the hostel, having the other children to look after, and Mammy could only come when she could get time off work. I missed my friends but at the same time I was enthralled by the different kinds of people I saw coming and going on the wards where I was incarcerated, and all the different things they did and talked about.
There were doctors and nurses, and other patients and their visitors. Lying there, month after month, I was soaking up everything that went on around me. One of the things I noticed was that the men who wore white, the doctors and medical staff, were all much nicer to me than the men who wore black, the priests who haunted the hostel. The men in black never bothered to hide their low opinion of the women and children in Regina Coeli. As far as they were concerned the women were sinners and we were the products of that sin. The men in white, however, didn’t seem to look down on me at all and seemed to want to help me in any way they could.
Mammy was obviously very worried about me, because I had never seen so much of her before. I was basking in her attention, and she kept promising that once I was out of the hospital things would be better and that she would spend more time with me. She must have felt so guilty and at the same time must have been so worried about the work she was missing and the money she was losing. It must have been tough not to have a partner to share the worries with, although I’m sure she poured it all out to Bridie once she got back to the dormitory.
I have no idea what was wrong with me during those months, or how close to death I actually came, but I do know that I thought it was all worthwhile for the interesting new experiences I was having.
‘We have a surprise for you,’ Mammy said when she was finally able to take me home from hospital.
‘What is it?’
‘You wait and see,’ she said, refusing to respond to any of my excited questioning, just smiling mysteriously.
When we got back to Regina Coeli she took me upstairs, but not into the open dormitory where we lived. Instead, she opened a door into a smaller room. Inside, Bridie and Joseph were both waiting, unable to suppress their broad grins.
‘Surprise!’ they all shouted as I looked around the bedroom. It was no bigger than three metres by four and had four beds in it, two adult-sized ones and two child-sized ones.
‘What is this?’ I asked, unable to work out what was happening.
‘We have our own bedroom,’ Joseph said, jumping around the room with excitement, ‘just the four of us. It’s the only bedroom in the whole building.’
It was the best room I had ever been in, even though it was a bit cramped with so many beds and had no washing or toilet facilities in it. It was much better than the dormitories or even the hospital wards that I had experienced. Mammy, I discovered, was paying extra for us to have this room in the hope that I would catch fewer illnesses from the other children.
‘Your mammy has got you a present too,’ Joseph said, unable to contain himself.
‘What?’ I wanted to know, ‘what have you got me, Mammy?’
She smiled and reached under her bed, bringing out a cowboy hat and a pair of toy guns in a holster. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the start of a period during which I think it would be fair to say Mammy spoiled me. I guess nearly losing me had given her a terrible fright and she was just glad that she still had me.
Having our own room made Joseph and me feel really special, but I noticed that several people started to treat us differently, as if they thought we were putting on airs and graces – as if we thought we were better than the others. One or two of the women already resented Mammy because she was a bit older and took more care