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Authors: Maeve Binchy
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be going to a church of some kind? Aisling was at a loss. But only for a while.
‘We have no way of knowing whether she was baptised properly,’ she said firmly, if not, then it doesn’t count.’
‘We could do it ourselves,’ said Joannie Murray. ‘You know, pour the water and say the words at the same time.’
Elizabeth looked around like a rabbit caught in a trap. Her eyes pleaded with Aisling. Mutely she begged to be rescued. She was disappointed.
‘Not now,’ Aisling said authoritatively, ‘she has to have instruction first. When she’s been instructed in the faith then we’ll do it. We’ll do it at break in the cloakroom.’
‘How long will it take to instruct her?’ They were eager now, anxious for the adventure of baptising someone. Elizabeth was the first possibly unbaptised person they had met.
‘She’s full of original sin of course,’ said one of the girls. ‘If she died the way she is she’d have to go to limbo.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better for her to go to limbo than risk hell? I mean if we baptised her now and she didn’t know what she should do she might go to hell. She’s better off as she is until she knows the rules,’ Aisling insisted.
‘But how long will instructing her take?’ Elizabeth too looked trustingly at Aisling. Instruction might only take ten minutes. It was hard to know with matters of faith.
‘About six months I think,’ Aisling said. They were disappointed and prepared to query her. ‘Sure she doesn’t even know a word of catechism. Not a word. There’d be no point in her being baptised until she knows it as well as the rest of us. It was just her bad luck that they didn’t do a proper job on her when she was a baby.’
‘Of course, they might have done it properly,’ Elizabeth piped up without very much hope.
‘Not a chance,’ said Aisling.
‘Probably didn’t get the water pouring and the words being said at the same time,’ Joannie said sagely. ‘That’s the important thing.’
Her first Christmas in Kilgarret approached and Elizabeth was a much stronger and healthier child than the one who had crept across the square. Her skirt was even a little too tight around the waist and the pale face looked stronger and seemed less like Dresden china. Her voice was louder too. You now knew whether or not she was in the house.
Each week she wrote a letter home; Eileen added a note and then gave the child the envelope to post. None of them knew whether the sparse replies were due to the terrible chaos of London during the blitz or to the normal inertia of Violet. The newspapers had been filled with stories of the blitz. The Emergency, as the trouble continued to be called, had reached very serious proportions. An average of 200 tons of bombs fell on London an hour. One night in October the bombing had been so intense that it was almost impossible to imagine that any kind of normal life could go on.
Eileen said repeatedly that Violet was welcome to come to Kilgarret herself, and each time she wrote it she said a small prayer that she would not come. Not now, with everything so unsettled between Young Sean and his father. Not until they had time to do up the house in the spring. Not until she had a chance to put some manners on her own pack. She hadn’t realised how uncouth they must all be until she watched the dainty manners and considerate behaviour of Elizabeth. The child stood up politely when an adult came into the room, she offered her chair, she held doors open. Eileen sighed. It would take a large bomb to get any of hers out of their chairs unless they felt like getting up. She didn’t question Elizabeth’s decision to come to mass on Sunday, regarding it as a further part of belonging. It meant that she had to join the Saturday night inspection of clean shoes, clean socks. Berets, hats, gloves and missals laid out. Hair washed, clean necks, clean nails. It was the one day in the week when Sean and Eileen O’Connor could see some sense in
‘We have no way of knowing whether she was baptised properly,’ she said firmly, if not, then it doesn’t count.’
‘We could do it ourselves,’ said Joannie Murray. ‘You know, pour the water and say the words at the same time.’
Elizabeth looked around like a rabbit caught in a trap. Her eyes pleaded with Aisling. Mutely she begged to be rescued. She was disappointed.
‘Not now,’ Aisling said authoritatively, ‘she has to have instruction first. When she’s been instructed in the faith then we’ll do it. We’ll do it at break in the cloakroom.’
‘How long will it take to instruct her?’ They were eager now, anxious for the adventure of baptising someone. Elizabeth was the first possibly unbaptised person they had met.
‘She’s full of original sin of course,’ said one of the girls. ‘If she died the way she is she’d have to go to limbo.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better for her to go to limbo than risk hell? I mean if we baptised her now and she didn’t know what she should do she might go to hell. She’s better off as she is until she knows the rules,’ Aisling insisted.
‘But how long will instructing her take?’ Elizabeth too looked trustingly at Aisling. Instruction might only take ten minutes. It was hard to know with matters of faith.
‘About six months I think,’ Aisling said. They were disappointed and prepared to query her. ‘Sure she doesn’t even know a word of catechism. Not a word. There’d be no point in her being baptised until she knows it as well as the rest of us. It was just her bad luck that they didn’t do a proper job on her when she was a baby.’
‘Of course, they might have done it properly,’ Elizabeth piped up without very much hope.
‘Not a chance,’ said Aisling.
‘Probably didn’t get the water pouring and the words being said at the same time,’ Joannie said sagely. ‘That’s the important thing.’
Her first Christmas in Kilgarret approached and Elizabeth was a much stronger and healthier child than the one who had crept across the square. Her skirt was even a little too tight around the waist and the pale face looked stronger and seemed less like Dresden china. Her voice was louder too. You now knew whether or not she was in the house.
Each week she wrote a letter home; Eileen added a note and then gave the child the envelope to post. None of them knew whether the sparse replies were due to the terrible chaos of London during the blitz or to the normal inertia of Violet. The newspapers had been filled with stories of the blitz. The Emergency, as the trouble continued to be called, had reached very serious proportions. An average of 200 tons of bombs fell on London an hour. One night in October the bombing had been so intense that it was almost impossible to imagine that any kind of normal life could go on.
Eileen said repeatedly that Violet was welcome to come to Kilgarret herself, and each time she wrote it she said a small prayer that she would not come. Not now, with everything so unsettled between Young Sean and his father. Not until they had time to do up the house in the spring. Not until she had a chance to put some manners on her own pack. She hadn’t realised how uncouth they must all be until she watched the dainty manners and considerate behaviour of Elizabeth. The child stood up politely when an adult came into the room, she offered her chair, she held doors open. Eileen sighed. It would take a large bomb to get any of hers out of their chairs unless they felt like getting up. She didn’t question Elizabeth’s decision to come to mass on Sunday, regarding it as a further part of belonging. It meant that she had to join the Saturday night inspection of clean shoes, clean socks. Berets, hats, gloves and missals laid out. Hair washed, clean necks, clean nails. It was the one day in the week when Sean and Eileen O’Connor could see some sense in
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