If You Were the Only Girl. Anne Bennett
and knickers next to her skin, and the delicious warmth of the flannel petticoats, followed by the plaid dress and cardigan. Then she donned the stockings and boots, brushed her hair with the old ragged brush with very few bristles and took the candle up to look at her reflection in the mirror.
‘You look lovely,’ Grainne suddenly said from the bed, and Lucy saw that she had woken and was staring at her with her large dark brown eyes. She sighed. ‘Those clothes Mrs O’Leary bought you are so beautiful. I wish I had something half as good.’
Lucy did feel guilty about being dressed so well, but to say so would not help. Instead, she said, ‘I know, but don’t fret. By the time it’s your turn, I will have been working some time and I will get your clothes together and I will make sure they are just as lovely as these.’
‘Will you, really, Lucy?’
‘I promise.’
Grainne sighed again. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go away, though. I’m going to miss you ever so much.’
Lucy crossed the room and gave her sister a hug. ‘I’m going to miss all of you, but, however we feel, all the moaning and whining in the world will make no difference. Now,’ she said briskly, ‘as you’re awake you may as well get up and I will go and help Mammy with the breakfast.’
‘I was going to anyway,’ Grainne said. ‘This is your last breakfast at home probably for ages and ages so I wanted to share it.’
The others felt the same, Lucy realised as she went into the kitchen to find the boys already there, Danny doing up the buttons on Sam’s shirt, which had defeated his small hands. When he saw Lucy he tore away from Danny, buried his face in Lucy’s dress and burst into tears. Lucy hugged the child tight, urging him not to get upset, though her own stomach had given a lurch when she had seen her case packed ready, and knew when she next opened it she would be far from home.
Minnie, coming into the kitchen at that moment, gently pulled Sam from Lucy as she said, ‘Now, now, you will mess up all Lucy’s good clothes with your carry-on. And dry your eyes, too, because she doesn’t want to remember a row of mournful faces when she thinks of her home.’
Lucy swallowed the lump in her own throat while Sam scrubbed at his face with his knuckles and made a valiant effort to stem his tears, but it was a dismal group that sat down at the table a little later. They were too miserable to keep any sort of conversation going, although as a treat for Lucy’s last morning, Minnie had made soda bread for the children to eat after their porridge, and they fell upon the extra food eagerly.
‘Have a slice,’ Minnie urged her eldest daughter. ‘I don’t want you arriving starving at the place.’
But Lucy shook her head. She had seen the faces of her siblings and she couldn’t take any of the bread, knowing they would have less, so she answered, ‘I have butterflies in my stomach, from nerves, I suppose, and couldn’t eat anything else.’ She didn’t know whether her mother believed her or not, but she didn’t press her again and Lucy knew she wouldn’t because she had allowed herself only a meagre amount of porridge and had no bread either.
There were many tears at the parting, and even Danny’s voice was choked as he submitted to a hug from his sister.
‘Look after yourself and don’t worry about us back here. I will see to Mammy and all,’ he said.
‘I know,’ Lucy replied. ‘Goodbye, Dan.’
Despite the cold they all stood at the cottage door, and the sorry sight of them brought tears to Lucy’s own eyes, but with great resolve she refused to let them fall. She shivered despite her good clothes because the thin porridge had done little to warm her.
She hadn’t long to wait for the rail bus. She was the only passenger to get on at Mountcharles and she was so glad of the trip to Donegal with Clara because she was able to board the rail bus confidently as if she had been doing it for years.
By the time Lucy reached the level crossing just before Donegal Town she was able to see the gates tightly shut because the gatekeeper, swinging his lantern, came out to wave as the rail bus passed. Clara had told her that just the other side of Donegal Town the track ran along the side of Lough Esk, but she could see nothing outside and the rail bus was approaching Barnes Gap before Lucy noticed the sky had lightened just a little. As the rail bus chugged its way through the Gap, the austere and craggy hills loomed upwards on each side like threatening, grey monstrosities. Lucy remembered the tales she had been told as a child, of the highwaymen who used to hide in the hills and swoop down on the coaches in bygone years.
The darkness receded further so the journey became less tedious as she was able to see more. When the track ran alongside Lough Mourne, Lucy could see the gleam of water. She knew that Letterkenny was still some distance away, and Clara had warned her that before that she would have to leave the rail bus at Lifford because it was a border post, and that sometimes they opened people’s cases.
‘Why?’ Lucy asked. ‘What are they looking for?’
‘In case you are carrying something you shouldn’t, I suppose,’ Clara said. ‘But you won’t be doing that, so there will be no problem.’
Although it was full daylight when they eventually pulled to a stop at Lifford station, heavy grey clouds made the day a gloomy one. There were not that many passengers, Lucy noted, and she followed the others to the customs shed, which was down the platform, next to the stationmaster’s house. The unsmiling customs officer asked Lucy where she was coming from and where she was going to and then whether she had anything to declare.
‘Like what?’ Lucy might have said. However, she thought it more sensible to say nothing and so she just shook her head, was signed through and was glad to get back to the relative warmth of the rail bus.
Clara had told her that Letterkenny wasn’t all that far from Lifford, and Lucy was glad because nerves had driven sleep away the previous night and she suddenly felt very weary. She leant back against the seat and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again the train was stopping. She sat up straighter and read the name: Letterkenny. She climbed out onto the platform.
It was a very busy station with many people milling around, but Lucy was intent only on following Clara’s instructions, which were to go up the hill she would see on leaving the station and then cross over Main Street and on down the road leading out of the town. She remembered Clara saying that Windthorpe Lodge was only about one and a half miles out. ‘Not far,’ she’d reassured Lucy, ‘and you won’t be able to miss it.’
As Lucy trudged along she reflected that places not far away seemed much further when a person was carrying a case, and she really hoped Clara was right about not being able to miss it.
Windthorpe Lodge was set back from the road, but the name was written on a plaque in huge golden letters attached to black-and-silver steel gates with spikes on top. These were supported by two massive honey-coloured stone pillars with a lion atop each one. Lucy knew she never would have the courage to walk through those gates, but luckily she didn’t have to because Clare had said that set into the wall on the right-hand side, but well away from the main entrance, was a door to the path the servants used.
She located it and stood for a moment in front of it. It was Monday, 4 November 1935 and she knew she was beginning a new phase in her life, that once through that door nothing would ever be quite the same again. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and she resolutely turned the handle. She was so glad to see Clara O’Leary there, waiting for her, wearing a thick woollen shawl over a shiny black dress, and she gave her a hug.
‘You got here all right then?’ she said unnecessarily. ‘And you made good time because I have just got here myself. Let’s away in, for they are all looking forward to meeting you.’
Clara led the way along the track to the house and Lucy, behind her, did her best to avoid the puddles caused by the recent rain, not wishing to arrive with excessively muddy boots. She thought she might catch sight of the house, but it was partially hidden from view behind a high hedge.
‘How