Part 6 (1/2)

”No, thanks, I'm having me pipe, hinny. ... Ah well, all right, I will. There, I'll have that one.” He picked a small chocolate from the corner of the box. ”Our name's Wilson. How old are you?”

”Eight, nearly nine.”

”Eight. My G.o.d!”

For no reason Mary Ann could see her age seemed to annoy the old man, for he stuffed the chocolate into his pocket, shook his head sharply, then glared at his wife. But Mrs. Wilson was occupied in extracting some knitting from her bag in the corner of the seat; so once again Mr. Wilson lay back. And as he filled his pipe he began to mutter to himself.

Mary Ann looked from one to the other questioningly, but neither of them looked at her, and she was puzzled. She liked them, they represented, through their voices and kindly manner, all the people she was leaving behind. If she hadn't felt so utterly miserable she would have talked to them and told them all about the farm and her da. They liked her da.

”Will you have another chocolate?”

”No, thanks, hinny,” Mrs. Wilson smiled down on her. ”You eat them, or save them for school; it's always nice to have some taffy or something as a stand-by at school.”

Mary Ann sat staring down at the box on her lap. She had never seen such lovely chocolates, but she didn't want to eat them. Da. Oh! Da. Oh! Ma. Oh! Ma, I'm frightened. Panic was rising in her again, when her attention was brought from herself by Mr. Wilson's mutterings becoming louder.

”Them places ! ... Traps ... no schooling ... I know what I know.”

”George! That's enough.” This was not said as a command but as a plea, and the gentle words seemed to have a strange power over Mr. Wilson, for they changed his att.i.tude. After taking only one deep breath, he said brightly, ”Would you like to go and sit in the corner, hinny, and look out of the window?”

”Yes, please.”

”Go on then.”

Heavily Mary Ann went across to the other seat and knelt up into the corner; then tucking her legs under her, she turned almost completely around so that in this position she could pretend she was looking out of the window and cry and they wouldn't know it.

The old people looked at each other; then Mrs. Wilson concentrated her attention on her knitting, while he gave himself up to his pipe and his mutterings, but kept the latter well below his breath.

The eternity of the journey was nearly over and Mary Ann was feeling tired-and different. The farm and all she loved seemed far away in time like last Christmas, and when she tried to think about them a funny thing happened-everything became blurred and ran into one; even her da's face wouldn't stay put, and she couldn't see what he looked like. But Mr. and Mrs. Wilson seemed to have been in her life for ever and she felt that she knew all about them, about Mary Elizabeth and Ann Elizabeth, and even about their other grand-daughter. But when Mr. Wilson started to talk of her, Mrs. Wilson had shut him up by saying, ”George ! ” Yet at intervals during the endless joujjjey he had kept coming back to her. Her name was Teresa. Teresa was in a convent, too, but they hadn't seen her for years, nor her father. Without being told, Mary Ann knew why this was ... he had ”turned”. When people turned it did something, caused rows and things. She wished her da would turn. She prayed that he would, every night she prayed, because as everybody knew all Protestants were destined for h.e.l.l. . . .

At times during the journey Father Owen's words came into her mind, and she had wondered if Mr. Wilson was the Devil dressed up again. But then she had discarded that idea, for there was Mrs. Wilson, and she couldn't see the Devil being married.

But now she was having grave doubts as to Mr. Wilson's true ident.i.ty, for after b.u.t.toning up his coat and adjusting his cap he sat down again on the edge of his seat and, leaning towards her, he said, solemnly, ”Now, me bairn, listen to what I'm saying; you've a sensible head on your litde shoulders.” He paused before going on. ”Now, if they do anything to frighten you at that place you write straight away to your da. They'll likely watch you like a prisoner, but you ”

”George!” Mrs. Wilson, gathering her belongings together, spoke urgently and sharply under her breath. ”It's you who's doing the frightening. You'll have her scared to death.”

”I'm only doing me duty.” Mr. Wilson was on his feet again. ”And if I'd done it years ago and been firm with our Jimmy things wouldn't have been as they are today . . . family divided and ”

”Be quiet!”

Mary Ann looked quickly at Mrs. Wilson. She sounded just like her ma when her patience was being tried by her grannie.

”You're as much to blame as anybody. Talk about them being bigoted, they've got some way to go to catch up to you.”

”Well!” Mr. Wilson's tone, besides being surprised, held all the hurt and misunderstanding in the world. He stared at his wife, then, stretching his scraggy neck out of his collar, he turned and looked out of the window, and Mary Ann yet once again divided her gaze between them. They were fighting, and about the convent. But why should they? Convents, although she had never been in one, held no terrors for her, rather the reverse. She had always wanted to go to one. The only terror lay in the distance that this one was from Newcastle-if it had been ”round about”, this first day would have been one of joy, for then she could have gone home for the night and told her da all about it.

”Are you all ready, my dear?” Mrs. Wilson was smiling now as if nothing had happened. ”You've got all your things together? That's right, put your coat on. Can you feel the train slowing? Aye, it's been a long run, even it's tired.”

After Mary Ann had put on her coat, her hands automatically went to her pockets, and coming in contact with the envelope for the first time, she drew it out and gasped her surprise. ”Look!” she cried. ”Look what I've found in me pocket!”

”Didn't you know it was there? We saw him put it in-the old man-didn't we, George?”

George, apparently forgiven, turned from the window, and said, ”Aye. Yes, we saw him. Go on, open it.”

Mary Ann, opening the envelope, drew out two sheets of paper. Between them was a folded pound note. Her eyes flicked up at the old people. Then slowly she read out the few words written on the paper : ”My dear child, If you want to please me pay great attention to your lessons and learn-learn everything you can. I know you won't disappoint me. You are a brave little girl, and when you think of me, think of me by the name you once called me-Your Granda.”

There was a lump in her throat again. Oh! he was nice. Oh, he was. And to write her a letter. If her da, too, had thought of writing her a letter it would have been wonderful, better even than this. But he had bought her comics, hadn't he, and chocolates.

”By! some more money. By, you're lucky.” Mrs. Wilson was enthusiastic, but the sight of the pound note returned Mr. Wilson to his natural aversion which centred around anything Catholic. ”If you want to keep it,” he said, ”you hide it. Have you any place to put it?”

i&Ae purse.”

”Oh, they'll look through that.”

”I've got me locket.” From beneath her dress she pulled out a narrow chain, from which hung a locket, with a holy picture painted on each side, and when she sprung it open to reveal a small rosary Mr. Wilson made a sound in his throat which was too deep for interpretation. Then, with an evident effort towards calmness, he said, ”Put them things in your bag, and put your note in there, and the other one an' all from your purse.”

Not only did Mr. Wilson -give her advice on the expedience of storage, but to his seeming satisfaction he also carried out the operation, and when the locket was once more reposing under cover on Mary Ann's chest, he said, ”Well, that's that.” Doubtless he felt he had gained a victory over all convents and their iron rules, and the Catholic Church in particular.

As the train came to a jolting stop, which nearly knocked Mary Ann off her seat, Mr. Wilson exclaimed, ”Well, now, it's goodbye, me bairn, but we'll likely come across each other again; it's a small world when all's said and done. And when we go back at the end of the month I'll call and see your da, I will that.”

”Oh, will you? Oh! ta.”

”I will. Goodbye now, hinny, and be a good la.s.s.”

”Goodbye, me bairn.”

”Goodbye, Mrs. Wilson.” Mary Ann looked up at the old woman; then slowly turned her eyes to the old man. These were the very last links with home, and she was loath to let them go. Her voice shook slightly as she said, ”I wish I was coming with you.”

Mrs. Wilson tapped her cheek, then stooped and kissed her hastily, saying, ”Well, you are in a way. We'll likely be on the same train all the way down, and when we get to St. Leonards, we'll look out for you getting off. There now. Now, now, you mustn't cry. Be a brave la.s.s. Come on, let's get these things out, the guard'll be along in a minute.”

Almost before Mrs. Wilson had finished speaking there appeared beyond the corridor window the guard, accompanied by two black-robed nuns.

”Go on, hinny, there they are. Go on. Goodbye. The porter will come and get your things.”

Mrs. Wilson seemed suddenly anxious that Mary Ann should be gone, and so, manoeuvring herself to block her husband's exit into the corridor, she pushed her away, and Mary Ann, coming to the door, looked straight into the face of the nun and knew her first disappointment.

Nuns were merely angels walking the earth, they were young and beautiful and holy and always smiling. The face before her was youngish, but it was bespectacled and unsmiling and possessed the largest set of buck teeth that Mary Ann had ever seen.

I.

On the journey from London to St. Leonards Mary Ann discovered only one pleasing thing about her escorts : the one that spoke to her spoke nice-sw.a.n.ky, but nice-but she never smiled.

67 The other nun smiled but didn't speak, and Mary Ann sat looking out of the window lost and alone. Really alone now.

From time to time she fervently wished that Mr. Wilson was sitting opposite. She wouldn't even mind if he went on about the convent. She wasn't interested in the pa.s.sing scenery-she had seen too much scenery today. Her only impression of it was that it was greener, and the hills went up and down, and on and on. Her mind became a confused maze, whirling round her da, Mr. Lord, Mr. Wilson, her watch, her ma, their Michael, and, for some reason or other, the nice young man who had come to work on the farm. Then the rhythm of the wheels churned them altogether until only one filled her weary mind and tear-filled heart, and it went, ”Diddle-de-da, diddle-de-da, diddle-de-da, diddle-de-da,” then filed itself down into, ”Me da, me da ... me da, me da ... me da, me da ... me da, me da . . .” and to this chant her head drooped sideways on to the nun's arm, and she went fast asleep.

When she awoke exactly an hour later she didn't know where she was. She looked up at the nun, who was bending over her.

”Come along, we're there.”

Drunkenly she got to her feet, and the nun, with deft fingers, straightened her hair and adjusted her hat, and then the train stuped, and she was on the platform. She had forgotten about Mr. and Mrs. Wilson until their bright faces and waving hands drew her attention, and she had only time to give one wave in return before the train ran into the tunnel.