Chapter Ten
ON THE MORNING
their great adventure was due to start Ernie went round to Temperance Court at what seemed like the crack of dawn to find Polly packed, ready and alight with a mixture of excitement and fear, which latter immediately dissipated when she saw his smiling face. He had not had to knock on the door since she must have been hovering at the front window, possibly for hours, watching for his approach. At any rate, before he could so much as climb the three steps to the front door it shot silently open and Polly, her bedroll beneath her arm, erupted into the court. To Ernie’s surprise she dropped the bedroll, flung her arms round his neck and gave him a kiss which set every nerve end he possessed tingling. ‘I thought you wasn’t coming,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Oh, I know you said six o’clock and it’s not yet ten to but I was so afraid you might change your mind, or Mr Reynold might change his …’
‘Well, as you can see, nobody changed their minds so here I am,’ Ernie said bracingly as they set off, his cheek warm and it must be admitted slightly damp from her kiss. ‘Are you all set?’ He tapped the haversack across her shoulders. ‘No point in taking a load of clothes, but any food we can carry with us will save us buying.’ He
turned towards her as they went under the arch and out into the main road. ‘I got a load of oatcakes, a big chunk of cheese and two ounces of strong peppermints. Water’s free and bread’s cheap so I reckon we won’t starve.’
Polly tucked a small confiding hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘I got a whole half pound of Everton Mints,’ she said proudly. ‘I reckon we can suck ’em if we can’t afford a proper meal. And Dana gave me a big chunk of stuff – she called it Gur-cake – which she says keeps fresh for ever and is very sustaining. I’ve brought an old jumper in case the weather changes, but that’s about all.’
Ernie nodded his approval. ‘Good girl. Got your money tucked away safely somewhere? That’s the ticket! Ah, here’s the tram to the Pier Head. Wave him down, queen; there’s always crowds queuing up to get over to Lairds at this hour of the day, which is why the trams are crammed. Hang on to me and push and shove, ’cos I want to get aboard the ferry in time to bag a nice sheltered spot for the voyage over.’
They stood in the prow of the Irish ferry gazing at the low line of hills which Polly had at first taken to be clouds. As they neared them, however, it became clear that these were hills, and hills of Ireland what was more. They were joined at the rail by several Irishmen, one or two of whom had tears in their eyes, and Polly heard murmurs about ‘de ole country’ which rather amused her, though when she began to giggle Ernie dug her firmly in the ribs. ‘Some of ’em’s been workin’ in England without goin’ home to Ireland for years, and they’s the ones what’ll join our forces if war comes, even though they don’t have to,’ he reprimanded her. ‘The Irish aren’t
like the English; they show their emotions freely. And if we’re honest we feel the same about our country as they do about theirs, only we’ve been brought up to believe in keepin’ a stiff upper lip.’
‘And isn’t it …’ Polly was beginning when she realised that they were near enough now to see details of the land they were approaching. Hastily, she picked up her bedroll, adjusted her haversack and turned a glowing face to her companion. ‘We’re nearly there!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Ernie, I don’t know whether I’m more excited or more frightened. If Dana could see us now she’d have a fit!’
‘Yes, well …’ Ernie began, but the ship was making her way carefully through a crowd of smaller craft and he stopped speaking to watch. Indeed, there was so much to see that neither he nor Polly spoke again until the ship had tied up alongside the quays and the gangway was lowered. As their feet touched the cobbles Polly broke the silence.
‘We’ve done it! We’re actually in Ireland. And now you could say our adventure has really begun.’
‘You could,’ Ernie admitted as they stood on Irish soil at last, staring around them. ‘But what you just said has made me think. You say Dana would have a fit if she knew where we were, but has it occurred to you that we’re going to have to tell her, otherwise what’s the point of this adventure? Do you imagine she
won’t
have a fit when she finds out we’ve been to Castletara, after lying to her by pretending we were going to spend a week in Wales?’
For a moment Polly looked both anxious and puzzled, but then her brow cleared. ‘We don’t have to tell her
anything of the sort,’ she assured him. ‘I think we should say we went on a day trip and when we got to Dublin we got on that train which takes you all along the coast … or – or perhaps we caught a bus, and we just happened to see Castletara on the signpost …’
‘More lies. Lies always lead to trouble, but I dare say we’ll discover a way round it,’ Ernie said resignedly. ‘And now let’s find ourselves a friendly scuffer – only they call them gardai over here – so that we can ask the way to Dana’s village.’ He turned to his companion as they headed up the nearest street. ‘Well, Polly, what do you think of Dublin?’
Polly turned and stared at him. ‘Dublin? Is this really Dublin? Oh, Ernie, you must be mistaken! Dublin’s got to be even bigger than Liverpool because it’s the capital city, like London’s the capital city of England. This is quite a small town; there aren’t any huge warehouses or big offices like the Liver Buildings, or great wide streets with masses of traffic hurtling along. I know I haven’t travelled much but I see lots of places on the Pathé news – Shrewsbury, Chester, Plymouth, Norwich – oh, lots. And they’re all bigger than this ’un.’ She waved an explanatory hand at the quiet streets and low buildings.
Ernie laughed. ‘I know what you mean; it don’t have an imposin’ waterfront, does it? But there’s a university, and lots of churches, and I’ve read about a huge park, Phoenix Park it’s called, so don’t be too quick to judge.’ He looked down at Polly’s small face and read disappointment there. ‘Cheer up, chuck! We aren’t bound for Dublin but for a village in the real deep countryside. The Irish countryside is something you and I know nothin’
about, and this is our chance to learn. Come on, Polly, best foot forward! And keep your eyes open for fellers in uniform what can direct us better’n ordinary citizens could.’
Polly, who liked people, was soon amending her first feeling that Dublin was too small to be a capital city, and a strange place where she could never feel at home. Dana had told her more than once how badly the English government and even the landed gentry of Ireland had treated the ordinary people. She had made Polly’s flesh creep with stories of the potato famine the previous century and of how, in the newspaper reports, they had not said that twenty people died of the famine but had merely written that twenty people were
destroyed
, as though the poor were mad dogs and deserved no better epitaph. Worse things had happened, of course; British ex-soldiers, recruited by the Royal Irish Constabulary had rampaged across the country when the Irish had been fighting for independence. These ‘black and tans’, as they were known because of the colour of their uniforms, neither knew nor cared whom they shot down. They were like hounds in full cry, and hounds in full cry will kill anything that crosses their path. Foxes, cats, wild pigs, all are torn apart indiscriminately as the pack surges on with the bloodlust upon them. So it had been with the black and tans, Dana had told Polly. Men, women and children had been killed and no reparation, no placing of blame, had followed these terrible acts. So Polly, keenly aware that every word Dana had told her had been the truth, expected dislike to be writ large on every Irish face as soon as they heard her English accent.
But this did not prove to be the case, for both she and Ernie were greeted everywhere with the utmost friendliness. The garda they approached for help took them to a bookshop and told them which of the large-scale maps they should buy in order to find Castletara, which as they had expected was so tiny that it only merited a little dot – unnamed – on the biggest map. They explained to passers-by that they needed to find a cheap market where they might buy provisions for their journey and everyone, from ragged paperboys to comfortable farmer’s wives up from the country, directed them to the various large markets specialising in vegetables, meat or dairy produce.
When Polly, in an excess of goodwill, admitted that they meant to sleep rough, they met not with disapproval but with helpfulness. ‘Ah yes, sure and ’tis grand to be sleepin’ under the sky so long as you’re tucked away ’neath good thick undergrowth if the rain comes, which it does awful often in Ireland,’ one farmer’s wife told them. ‘But dere’s always barns or a nice little niche in a haystack where youse can wriggle in to keep out of de wet. Most farm folk, when you tell ’em youse is on holiday, will sell you their produce cheap, maybe cook up a batch of soda bread if you give ’em a bag of flour and a knob or two of fat and asks nicely if they’ll do a bake for you.’
In due course the two young adventurers took the garda’s advice and caught a bus which carried them a good way out of the city. The day was fine and the sun had not yet sunk below the horizon, so they walked until they found a convenient little copse just off the narrow winding road they had been following. Ernie decreed that they should stop here for their first night and they
settled down to a feast of bread and cheese, eked out with a handful of carrots which they had filched from a field. Polly had thought this rather a mean thing to do, especially after everyone had shown them such kindness, but Ernie, who assured Polly he had meant to ask if he might pay for them, said he saw no reason to consider it stealing. After all, they had walked up to the very gate of the farm, which was surrounded by a positive sea of grand food, and had been discouraged from entering – and therefore from buying – by three unkempt and ragged dogs which had charged at the gate, eyes bright with malevolence and jaws snapping.
‘If that perishin’ mean old farmer hadn’t set his bleedin’ dawgs on us we’d have paid for the carrots all right and tight,’ Ernie had explained. He had been the one the smallest dog had managed to bite by pushing its sharp little nose through the bars of the gate and seizing his leg in its tiny but surprisingly powerful teeth. Polly, seeing her outraged pal under attack, had swung her haversack viciously at the biter and had had the satisfaction of seeing it returning, howling, to the farmhouse.
So now the two of them crossed a small bridge and washed the carrots in the stream, filled the water bottles the garda had advised them to obtain and then settled down and ate their feast beneath a canopy of oak and beech.
‘We’re like the babes in the wood,’ Ernie said dreamily. He chuckled. ‘Remind me to blaze a trail by chippin’ a bit off each tree tomorrow so we don’t turn in the wrong direction when we wake up in the morning.’
Polly giggled. ‘Some chance,’ she said dreamily. ‘G’night, Ernie. Sweet dreams.’
Ernie struggled for a moment with a desperate urge to lean over and give her a goodnight kiss, which would lead to a cuddle, which might lead to …
But this would not do. Polly was in his care; she was younger than him and very innocent, and what was more she trusted him.
‘Good night, Poll; sweet dreams to you too,’ he said firmly, and lay imagining the wonderful moments he might have enjoyed had he been less honourable until he fell asleep.
‘Poll, will you stop mooning over the beauties of the countryside and start remembering that we’re here for a reason.’ Ernie gave Polly’s arm an admonitory shake. ‘I know it’s beautiful, but what we’re supposed to be looking for is a bus which will take us on the next leg of our journey. We’ve still got a fair bit of money between us, but the sooner we get to Castletara the sooner we can turn for home.’
Polly sighed. The two travellers were leaning against the trunk of a large tree, eating the only food they had managed to acquire that morning, which was some not very fresh curd cheese, a large slice of bread apiece, and some small apples they had picked from the hedgerow which had proved to be so sour that they had cast them aside after one bite. It was raining gently and the grass was a little damp, but so far as Polly was concerned, at least, the view that stretched before them made up for any amount of discomfort. Below them was a lake and surrounding it woodland and gentle hills, with an occasional whitewashed cottage beside the winding lanes which led ever onward towards their goal. They had
been journeying now for over two days and knew they must be nearing their destination, but Polly, who had spent her entire life in the city, was overcome by the beauty of the countryside and kept pausing to admire a particular view, or to draw Ernie’s attention to a meadow thick with wild flowers, a stream tinkling over its rocky bed, or the wild beauty of a sunset which turned the sky to flame and rose. Now, however, she gave Ernie’s fingers a squeeze.
‘I’m real sorry, Ern, honest to God I am. Only it’s all strange to me and I can’t stop me mouth from saying over and over that Ireland’s beautiful. In fact I guess if we were in Liverpool I’d be grumbling like anything, saying I was cold and hungry too and demanding to be taken home.’ She grinned at her companion. ‘So you see, a beautiful view does have its uses.’
Ernie grunted. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I don’t mind the rain all that much, but I’m tellin’ you, queen, I don’t mean to sleep out for another night. We’ll find some small farmhouse and get them to let us spend the night under a proper roof, even if it does cost a bob or two.’
‘But we was in a barn with a roof last night,’ Polly reminded him. ‘I know it leaked and we got a bit wet, but we got even wetter when we had to leave because the farmer unchained his dogs, and we reckoned they’d come after us if they found us couched down in the straw.’
‘But the thing is, queen,’ Ernie said, scratching his chest, ‘I’m covered in spots this morning, horrible little red itchy things. I’ve been bit by bedbugs before, but it weren’t them; I reckon it was something what lived in
the straw and took a liking to me lilywhite body. Were you bitten?’
‘No, I’ve not got a single bite. They must’ve liked your taste so much that they didn’t bother to try eating me,’ Polly said complacently. She looked at the arm which Ernie flourished and her eyes widened. ‘Goodness gracious me! There’s scarce room to put a pin between the spots. Are you sure you’ve been bitten, Ern? It looks like measles to me.’