Lis Porter

Chapter 1

Mary’s Mother, Belfast

Childlike delight oozed through Mary’s slender, youthful body. It was a special day for her, as she had her mother all to herself in the cozy kitchen, chatting happily and disregarding the gloomy weather outside.

Mary’s hand plunged into the mixing bowl as she rubbed pieces of butter into the flour. ‘Tis a light touch we need,’ her mother reminded her.

‘I’m doing my best. I want to make the best scones you’ve ever tasted.’

Bridget’s warm laugh reverberated off the walls and bounced back to make Mary’s face glow. ‘Ah, you’ve a long way to go, my dear. There are many women in our neighbourhood who would love to claim that title.’

‘Imagine that Ma. What if the judges declared my scones as the best at the regional show?’ Mary giggled.

Bridget’s face crinkled in sadness. ‘The show won’t happen while this war continues.’ Then she put her cheerful face back on and hugged her girl. ‘Come on pet, let’s get an egg in and some milk. We have just a few drops to spare.’

‘I wish Colleen were here to sample our baking.’

‘We all wish your sister would come home more often. Remember, she loves working in Belfast.’

‘Last time she was home, she told me she hates pigs.’

‘Colleen says funny things.’ Bridget’s face revealed much that her youngest daughter could not read.

Mary’s method included a speedy knead, a delicate roll using a worn wooden rolling pin, and the most enjoyable part for her was pressing a small glass cup into the dough before transferring it to the greased tray. ‘Can we wipe milk on the top? I love the crust it makes.’

‘No sweetie, I can’t spare any more. Smear the spoon from the bowl you beat the egg in.’

If it hadn't rained, Mary would have quickly gone outside to blow off steam. Her impatience waiting for the afternoon tea bubbled inside, ready to explode. While her mother brought down her favourite teapot, she wiped the table clean and set out a small portion of homemade blackberry jam.

Bridget’s face showed signs of anxiety as her eyebrows furrowed. It was only after they had savored their first cup of tea and indulged in a second warm scone that she began to speak. ‘Mary, I’m off to Belfast for a while to see your sister. Also, I want to get something special for yer birthday.’ She would not tell her daughter the main reason she was going. Her oldest daughter’s note filled her with a worried and irrational fear.

‘Please Mammy, I’d love a coat, a red coat, one that’s snuggly warm with a fur collar.’

‘I’ll have to see, pet, you’re growing fast. Hopefully, I’ll find a generous storekeeper willing to reduce the eleven coupons required for a child’s coat. It’s a lot from our annual bundle of sixty-six coupons.’ Bridget was proud of her bargaining skills. Mary shrugged. She witnessed her mother cleverly trading ration coupons with a diverse range of people. Mary trusted her expertise to be persuasive.

‘Ask Colleen to visit us. I miss her.’ Looking at her mother’s pinched face, Mary had a hunch that buying her a birthday gift was only part of the reason her Ma was making the big trip to Belfast.

The following day during breakfast, Mary’s brothers ate hastily with their heads down, devouring their porridge. In a low voice, their father, Dermot, murmured, ‘There’s a storm brewing, massive thunderclouds are on the horizon.’ In her eleven years, she had seen countless mists and fogs. Many times, she questioned whether her life would always be filled with grey dampness. Contemplative and perceptive, the girl considered if her father’s statement was about her sister.

Ronan, the oldest brother, looked up. ‘Ma, you seem anxious about this trip to Belfast. Is our Colleen well?’

‘I’m off to see, son. You know me, I’m a country lass. I enjoy the sounds and smells of farm life and being familiar with everyone in our neighbourhood. I don’t enjoy leaving.’ She had hardly slept last night, rereading Colleen’s note repeatedly until she memorised it. ‘I have to see how Colleen is.’

While Mary was giving her mother a tight hug, she heard her father advise, ‘Be cautious, Bridget. The Belfast ship-building yards pose a lethal threat. I don’t like ya staying so close.’

Mary wondered what that meant. At the warning, her mother appeared nervous and gave her a final smile before hugging her. Her father stormed off to attend to the pigs.

***

On the night before meeting her mother, Colleen was startled awake by a terrifying blast, as if from a bomb. Terrifying blasts reverberated through the atmosphere. It was 1941. The rumours about a Luftwaffe attack belted her brain.

As she put on a quilted dressing gown, Colleen yelled to her housemates, workers from the linen mill. ‘Girls, get up, now.’ Bleary-eyed, they stumbled out of bed. ‘Listen to the alarms. What shall we do?’

Colleen stood with three women near the front door, bundling up and putting on warmer clothes. Two of them quickly covered their hair rollers with warm scarves. Niamh, the sensible one, opened the hutch to the staircase and shoved the women under. ‘Quickly, there’s no time to go to the air raid shelter. I’m hearing explosions nearby. We can’t risk going outside.’

With folded knees and intertwined bare feet, the women huddled together in the cramped space, grasping onto each other’s hands. ‘It’s going to be okay Sheila, don’t cry Laura,’ comforted Colleen to the younger ones. ‘I’ve found the torch.’ Low light was a mild pacifier.

‘But I’m scared,’ cried Sheila. ‘We might die.’ Niamh stroked her hand.

The air was filled with an eerie stillness as they cautiously emerged from their small hiding place. ‘Lady Luck shines on us again,’ pronounced Colleen, jollying the women along.

Niamh guided the two younger women into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around them. ‘We’ll never sleep. I’ll prepare watery cocoa for you. I think there’s bread for toast.’

As tiredness engulfed her, Laura dozed off, her head resting on the table. Subdued, the rest of them ate and drank, resting their heads on each other’s shoulders.

As a fresh morning emerged, Colleen’s expression conveyed her worry as she stated, ‘I’m heading out to meet my mother. I hope I can find her. I’m uncertain about what I’ll uncover after last night.’

Niamh was the only one who knew Colleen’s story, after Colleen broke down and confided in her. Niamh touched Colleen’s cheeks with her hands. ‘I know where you said yer Mammy was staying. The explosions gave the impression of coming from that direction. Brace yourself, my dear friend.’

Colleen’s bravado seldom faltered. ‘Everything is going to be fine. Take care girls. Cheerio.’

The moment Colleen stepped out, chaos unfolded before her. As she approached the neighborhood where her mother stayed, her heart raced faster. She glanced up and noticed the rooftops were missing. Her eyes fixed downwards as she quivered as she saw them strewn haphazardly. Chimney pots were scattered, bricks tumbled and holes exposed yawning clefts in private lives. Inside a house, she glimpsed family pictures propped on a mantelpiece, sharing stories of a previous life. Cups of tea, left half-drunk, sat on the kitchen table without anyone completing them. She imagined children upstairs, in beds, their bodies curled up, holding teddy bears in their cold arms. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

The house next door was completely flattened. Colleen blinked twice, puzzled by the intact building that stood protected. The pattern of hits and misses seemed random, causing her spine to tremble in confusion.

Upon reaching the docks, Colleen observed that the streets were packed with bewildered individuals. Standing in shock, people had glazed eyes and absorbed nothing but disbelief. Under the wreckage, people searched with a desperate frenzy for missing friends and family. She observed soldiers tossing wood and bricks into piles, trying to bring some order out of chaos. While bedlam persisted, she experienced a surge of admiration as she observed a pretense of normality. Colleen trembled, perceiving the undeniable human catastrophe all around her - the incredulous looks, the vacant eyes, the distant cries of dumbstruck children who had become orphaned.

Battling to move, her balance unsure, she stumbled over debris, lifeless bodies in clear view. The sight of the first dead man caused her intense distress, making her reel backwards.

She muttered to herself, ‘Who were you? What’s yer life story?’ Bracing herself, she steeled her resolve as she saw the second, third and fourth corpses. She ceased counting. Then the act of adding resumed mechanically, enabling her to stay in control of her fear. Overwhelmed by the sheer horror surrounding her, she found it impossible to keep track any longer. Until she found her Ma, she couldn’t afford to lose her nerve. Everyone else, equally frightened and filled with grief, looked just like her - thoroughly stunned.

Fixating on the narrowed eyes of a slender boy, whose expression of horror was beyond description, Colleen shivered. Never had she witnessed such consternation in a child’s eyes. If you can touch fear, she stroked it.

All he said was, ‘Look.’

‘Look at what?’ When she caught sight of the person he was pointing at, his finger shaking, she was startled and experienced a dizzy spell. ‘No!’ Her cry carried the weight of all the compassion she had ever possessed, as if it had suddenly been stirred from a deep sleep and cried out its anguish to the heavens.

In front of her, her mother’s lifeless body was buried under the debris, her eyes wide open, seemingly absorbing the tragedy. Colleen waited for the customary laughter to erupt from her Ma's mouth as a greeting. She waited in vain. Ma was whisked away to safety in heaven, dancing among the angels.

‘Is it yer Ma?’ the boy asked, watching from a close distance, an inescapable void.

Colleen nodded. Choking on dread, she wrapped her shivering arms around Ma’s familiar chest. Regardless of the peculiar setting, her stories gushed forth, all the tales she should have recounted to Ma a long time ago, all the wretched anecdotes she had meant to reveal today. She didn’t hold back and disclosed all the secrets, including the messy ones.

***

Colleen’s heart fluttered with shell shock as she made her way home to deliver the terrible news to her family. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. She tightly clutched them, soothing her jitters. Ma was the heart and soul of the family, the solid foundation. Colleen decided she needed to mightily fudge the story. While at the train station, Colleen’s downcast appearance caught the attention of a neighbor, who gestured and kindly took her into his pony trap.

It was Mary who first noticed her getting off by their front gate. She screamed, ‘Da, Colleen is home. What’s she doing without Ma?’

‘Don’t be silly girlie, yer Ma won’t be home yet.’

‘Da, look,’ as she dragged him across to the window. Trudging up the path, Colleen dragged her boots and wore a somber expression, without the usual sparkle in her eyes or lively greeting for her sister.

Her orders came out as if she had rehearsed her plan. ‘Mary, get our brothers to come and sit around the kitchen table.’

‘Why?’

‘Get them right now.’ She had never spoken to Mary like this. Their Da saw.

Colleen had the undivided attention of five pairs of eyes. Despite rehearsing the scene on the train, she found it difficult to hold back her tears. She directed her eyes upwards, towards the ticking clock. It beats the only sound. In a whisper she said, ‘A German bomb hit Ma.’ No-one spoke. The clock’s ticking noise mimicked the sound of an explosion. ‘Da, yer Bridget is dead.’

‘No girlie, that can’t be true.’ His head shook vehemently from left to right in quick succession.

Nodding, she replied, ‘it is true.’

‘What happened, Colleen?’ Ronan, the oldest, asked.

‘Last night, we were startled by the sound of bombs exploding. We sought refuge beneath our staircase. Luckily, our area remained untouched. The noise of explosions, causing terror, seemed like the end of the world. From the start of my journey in the morning to meet Ma, I encountered tragedy upon tragedy. Belfast is chaotic, resembling a war-torn area. Ma found herself amid the worst affected area.’

Yet not a single person uttered a word. Colleen faced a crowd of white faces, frozen in fear as if trapped in a nightmare. With a bewildered expression, Dermot lifted his head to observe his daughter as if she were a stranger. ‘I warned her, so I did. What do ya mean by tragedy upon tragedy?’

‘Da, the bombs killed so many people. Bodies were scattered everywhere - men, women, children and babies.’

‘How did you find Ma?’ Ronan asked, trying to stay strong.

‘Where is Ma?’ whimpered Pádraig, the youngest brother.

‘Gone, she’s gone.’

With a vacant expression, Niall, the middle brother, struggled to grasp the horror as he asked, ‘Gone? What do you mean?’

‘Bejayzus daughter, tell us what happened.’ Dermot’s face reddened with angry unbelief.

‘I am Da, this ain’t easy.’ Colleen took a colossal breath, turning to glance at her sister for courage and then at the four men around the table.

Mary squeezed her hand. ‘We need to know, Colleen. Tell us more.’ Already, Mary was visualising her mother’s body, dead, lying amidst rubble and debris, people stepping over her, tripping on a brick, trying not to fall and touch someone whose life was expunged.

‘I knew where Ma was staying. That area was the most heavily affected, as I mentioned. I searched everywhere, and then a wee boy pointed at the body. To my disbelief, it was our Ma.’

Ronan was unable to hold back his tears any longer, crying out, ‘Oh God.’

‘Go on,’ Mary urged. She appeared to be the calmest person sitting around the table until the shock overtook, and the painful reality struck home. To visualise the scene, she required facts.

‘I placed my head on her chest and quietly confided secrets, the things I had planned to tell her today. It rained. My tears fell like raindrops.’ She paused, remembering how the boy had touched her shoulder and pointed. It was at that moment she noticed the brick boulders had sliced her mother’s legs off. Her tales of misery had been recounted to the upper portion of Ma’s body, the familiar chest that had provided her with security in her youth, the refuge where she had sought protection. She was unable to reveal this truth to her family.

‘Then what?’ Dermot squeaked.

Colleen paused, remembering her surprise when the Latin words returned. ‘I closed Ma’s eyelids and crossed myself, saying, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen”.’ Standing in a Protestant stronghold, her words struck her as strange. The family made the sign of the cross instinctively.

‘Where’s my Bridget’s body?’

This was Colleen’s most dreaded question. She’d known she would have to fabricate the account. Mary would never manage the details. Da was incapable of dealing with the truth that soldiers had unveiled to her. They said that without cranes, the boulder on Ma’s legs couldn’t be lifted, and they were gathering the dead to bury them in a mass grave. Colleen, in a hushed tone, directed her gaze towards a random scratch on the table and quietly admitted, ‘She’s gone.’

Her father cried out in anguish, ‘Mary, Mother of God, why Colleen, why? How can she be gone? Where is my Bridget lying? Tell me, daughter, where?’

Colleen watched the family strain to hear her reply. ‘I don’t know Da. I just dunno.’ It was a horrible truth.

Dermot’s rage exploded. It was impossible to comprehend this state of uncertainty. Grievance gave way to anger. A scream of fury escaped him. ‘That can’t be true. Daughter, tell me it ain’t true. Who took her body away? Who cleaned her and released her spirit?’

‘Da, understand Belfast is like a war zone. Soldiers are rambling everywhere. They look weary and distressed, but they are kind. There wasn’t a chance to cleanse our Ma, but I ensured her spirit was freed. It was. You’ve gotta believe me. I prayed over her body; God rest her soul. I felt her spirit leave in the air surrounding us, so I did.’ She truly had.

Dermot gasped for air, yearning for a shared breath, as he painfully repeated his question. ‘Colleen, where is my wife’s body?’

‘I’ve told you Da, British soldiers took her away. They were considerate when they did that. It is what it is.’ Colleen’s brave front wavered.

‘Did you give her a kiss from me?’

‘Sure, I did, pet.’ Colleen trembled, recalling the soldiers taking away the parts of her body that once held her Ma’s head, brain and heart, as well as the sensual organs that gave life to her and her siblings, stripping away everything that made her mother fully human. She would never disclose the truth that they left with only her top half. That was too much agony to share. For the rest of her life, she would be burdened with that fact and haunted by the disturbing sight of legs protruding from beneath a colossal concrete boulder.

‘Where is her body?’

Colleen’s head drooped in confession. ‘Da, I dunno where they took her body.’

Upon restating the news, it finally sunk in. Rock-bottom. A horrifying, hair-raising, never-before-heard sound escaped Dermot’s lips. Everyone’s heads shook in nervous shock. The daughters trembled as they held hands, while the sons’ faces grew even paler.

‘Christ Almighty, no, no, no,’ and their father stomped outside in the lashing rain, forgetting to console or hug his children. He had lost his beloved wife. They had lost their treasured mother. The loss was an unbearable bereavement.

Norms of manliness disappeared as Padraig cried, ‘Oh Mammy, no, I want my Mammy.’ There was no mother to comfort him.

Ronan tried to restrain his tears, before muttering, ‘How will we manage? How will Da cope? How will any of us endure without our beloved Ma?’ His eyes overflowed with tears, unable to be contained. It was the first time his younger brothers had ever seen him weep.

Niall, looking up at Ronan, answered, ‘we’ll struggle every day,’ and his whimpers were indistinct sounds of pathos. He had never lost a mother.

Colleen remained motionless, resembling a frigid sculpture. Beneath the hard surface lies a tender interior. She had allowed herself time to come to terms with small doses of grief.

Mary asked, ‘what happened to the wee boy who showed you, our Ma?’

This question elicited a sharp pang of guilt in Colleen. He had been a strange companion in pain, and she hadn’t even bothered to inquire about his name. ‘I dunno love. Overnight, he was probably left an orphan.’

Mary responded to her brothers’ cries by preparing a pot of tea, remembering how Ma always ensured they had enough tea leaves. No matter what catastrophe occurred, tea leaves were always in supply. There was a calming effect in the process of brewing a pot. She considered it fitting to use Ma's most prized teapot. Mary poured the brew into five mugs.

She whispered to her siblings, ‘I wish our Ma hadn’t gone to Belfast. I’m curious about what she bought me for my birthday. I’ll hate my birthday forever. I’m never gonna celebrate it.’ The smack of this statement stung hard. Mary loved festivities.

Nobody bothered to glance in her direction. Everyone was entangled in a web of personal grief. Eleven-year-old Mary’s face stayed tear-free. Demonstrating poise, she examined her surroundings, absorbing the intense pain evident on troubled faces, and sharing in the immeasurable grief.

The pain piled up and suddenly leaped inside. That moment marked the beginning of a pit in Mary's heart. A mysterious, horrifying creature holding a small, sharp, metal hammer started tapping, and then, in fury, it began digging with an iron shovel. Within a brief and terrifying timeframe, an unsightly and jagged cavity developed inside of her. Despite sensing its presence, she couldn’t remove the annoying little creature. It fiercely clung, persistently performing its terrible and filthy duties. Mission accomplished.

The five siblings, lost in their distressed thoughts, sat silently around the table, with the women sipping and the men slurping tea. Adrift without a mother, anchor or rudder.

Mary raised her head to observe. ‘I think my heart has just broken.’ Her brothers nodded and cried noisy, masculine sobs. With deep breaths, Colleen walked outside, allowing her grief to flutter over the paddocks.