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Authors: Ruth Hamilton
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other soft sod as I’ve called this soft sod a soft sod.’
This was terrible. Now I had two immortal souls to worry about – mine and Josie’s! ‘You can’t call a priest a soft s . . . a name like that, Josie. It’s a sin. You’ll go to hell!’
‘Oh shut up, Annie. You’re beginning to sound like a bloody soft sod yourself . . .’
Although I was worried by all this, I felt elated somehow. I suddenly knew that it wasn’t just me, that I wasn’t the only one who entertained bad thoughts about people, important people too, like priests. But I would never have dared to voice my contempt as Josie just had. Whenever I got bad thoughts, whenever my temper rose, I became overwhelmed by guilt, weighed down by the knowledge that I was heading for certain damnation. But if Josie felt any guilt, she never showed it.
She chewed now on the end of her pencil. ‘What’s eight eights?’ she asked.
‘Sixty-four.’
‘How do you do that, Annie?’
‘Do what?’
‘Sixty-four just like that, without having to go back to one eight is eight.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must know.’
‘Well I don’t.’
‘See? I told you you were a soft sod.’ Furtively, she passed a sticky square of chocolate across the desk and I pushed it into my mouth before Miss O’Gara could spot it.
‘Want another?’
‘No. Save it for playtime. Where did you get it, anyway?’
‘Paper shop.’ She copied down another sum. ‘I nicked it. It’s dead easy at Warburton’s. Anyroad, there’s never any toffee coupons at our ’ouse.’
I almost choked. I was eating stolen chocolate. Thou shalt not steal, that was number seven on the list of Commandments. Josie’s soul must be as black as hell itself. Mine too, since I was sharing her spoils. Or would the stains be brown? Chocolate was brown . . .
‘Annie Byrne. Have you finished those sums?’
‘No, Miss.’
‘Then get on with your work and stop daydreaming.’
I got on with my work.
Eddie Higson blamed me for a lot of things. Firstly there was the atmosphere in the house, which was not good as I spoke to him seldom, going for days on end without even looking in his direction. Then there was the fact that I would not, even when I did deign to speak to him, call him Dad. When I spoke of him, he always got his full title and this angered him greatly whenever it happened within his hearing. He blamed me for shouting too much, singing too much, being too quiet. He blamed me for the cost of living and most of all for being alive, for being another man’s child.
As time went by and it began to appear that my mother would have no more babies, he apportioned this problem to me also, saying loudly and often that I had ‘ruined’ my mother by being born such a huge great lump. Of this I took little notice, because I was impressed by none of Higson’s opinions and was determined to minimize his influence on my life.
But I was afraid of his quick, blind rages, tense in his presence and I took to absenting myself from the house for hours at a stretch, taking refuge in Josie Cullen’s chaotic but happy household.
The Cullens lived in a corporation house in Ince Avenue at the back of the library. There were so many Cullens that they were forced to eat in relays, the littlest ones often being sent to sit on the stairs with a bowl on their knees and one spoon between two or three.
Mrs Cullen put me in mind of Mrs Hyatt from Ensign Street, being of similar build and nature. Although her house was already filled to bursting, she always found space, time and a wedge of bread and dripping for me. ‘There y’ are, lass. Get outside o’ that, it’ll stick to yer ribs. Now, our Josie, get that wash in to soak. And where’s our Allan? ALLAN!’ she would scream through the ever-open door, ‘Get thisen in ’ere while I mend yer pants.’
Mrs Cullen would then turn to survey her rumbustious troop. ‘Right now, Ellen, get down that corner shop and ask fer five o’ spuds
This was terrible. Now I had two immortal souls to worry about – mine and Josie’s! ‘You can’t call a priest a soft s . . . a name like that, Josie. It’s a sin. You’ll go to hell!’
‘Oh shut up, Annie. You’re beginning to sound like a bloody soft sod yourself . . .’
Although I was worried by all this, I felt elated somehow. I suddenly knew that it wasn’t just me, that I wasn’t the only one who entertained bad thoughts about people, important people too, like priests. But I would never have dared to voice my contempt as Josie just had. Whenever I got bad thoughts, whenever my temper rose, I became overwhelmed by guilt, weighed down by the knowledge that I was heading for certain damnation. But if Josie felt any guilt, she never showed it.
She chewed now on the end of her pencil. ‘What’s eight eights?’ she asked.
‘Sixty-four.’
‘How do you do that, Annie?’
‘Do what?’
‘Sixty-four just like that, without having to go back to one eight is eight.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must know.’
‘Well I don’t.’
‘See? I told you you were a soft sod.’ Furtively, she passed a sticky square of chocolate across the desk and I pushed it into my mouth before Miss O’Gara could spot it.
‘Want another?’
‘No. Save it for playtime. Where did you get it, anyway?’
‘Paper shop.’ She copied down another sum. ‘I nicked it. It’s dead easy at Warburton’s. Anyroad, there’s never any toffee coupons at our ’ouse.’
I almost choked. I was eating stolen chocolate. Thou shalt not steal, that was number seven on the list of Commandments. Josie’s soul must be as black as hell itself. Mine too, since I was sharing her spoils. Or would the stains be brown? Chocolate was brown . . .
‘Annie Byrne. Have you finished those sums?’
‘No, Miss.’
‘Then get on with your work and stop daydreaming.’
I got on with my work.
Eddie Higson blamed me for a lot of things. Firstly there was the atmosphere in the house, which was not good as I spoke to him seldom, going for days on end without even looking in his direction. Then there was the fact that I would not, even when I did deign to speak to him, call him Dad. When I spoke of him, he always got his full title and this angered him greatly whenever it happened within his hearing. He blamed me for shouting too much, singing too much, being too quiet. He blamed me for the cost of living and most of all for being alive, for being another man’s child.
As time went by and it began to appear that my mother would have no more babies, he apportioned this problem to me also, saying loudly and often that I had ‘ruined’ my mother by being born such a huge great lump. Of this I took little notice, because I was impressed by none of Higson’s opinions and was determined to minimize his influence on my life.
But I was afraid of his quick, blind rages, tense in his presence and I took to absenting myself from the house for hours at a stretch, taking refuge in Josie Cullen’s chaotic but happy household.
The Cullens lived in a corporation house in Ince Avenue at the back of the library. There were so many Cullens that they were forced to eat in relays, the littlest ones often being sent to sit on the stairs with a bowl on their knees and one spoon between two or three.
Mrs Cullen put me in mind of Mrs Hyatt from Ensign Street, being of similar build and nature. Although her house was already filled to bursting, she always found space, time and a wedge of bread and dripping for me. ‘There y’ are, lass. Get outside o’ that, it’ll stick to yer ribs. Now, our Josie, get that wash in to soak. And where’s our Allan? ALLAN!’ she would scream through the ever-open door, ‘Get thisen in ’ere while I mend yer pants.’
Mrs Cullen would then turn to survey her rumbustious troop. ‘Right now, Ellen, get down that corner shop and ask fer five o’ spuds
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