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Authors: Kate Kerrigan
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done! You –’ she pointed at Jimmy ‘– get me in a barrow of coal from the other house, and, girl, you can help me set the stove.’
‘I thought I was to set the stove, Biddy,’ Carmel said, emerging from the darkness behind the woman, her face as hard and cruel as it had been on the boat. ‘That one hasn’t the brains to light a match, and her scrawny shadow won’t be much good to you either.’
‘I’ll decide who I’ll have working for me,’ said the woman, ‘and when you’re here, you’ll call me Mrs O’Callaghan, Carmel Kelly – and I don’t care whose daughter you are. Your daddy may be the boss out on the fields, girl, but I’m the fore graipe of this house, so you’ll do as you’re told. You can make a start by washing that bucket of spuds at the door. We’ll go to our beds with full stomachs tonight.’
Aileen did not afford herself a moment of satisfaction in light of Carmel’s dressing-down – indeed, this boss-woman might be harder to please than any of them. Instead, she busied herself about the stove. Aileen had a way of building fast, effective fires. She started at the bottom with the paper balls and a handful ofcrisp straw, placing the few dry clinkers of coal left from the last fire around them, then carefully setting the fresh coals on top before putting a match to it. It went up as smooth and fast as butter melting on toasted bread.
The fore graipe heard the discreet whoosh , then looked back and raised her eyebrows, impressed.
‘Load that up good and high, girl – thanks be to God we’ve somebody good for something around here.’ Then she turned on the others: ‘Are you finished making those mattresses yet, Noreen? And we’ll hand out the blankets. For love of the merciful Mother of Jesus, there’s no need to put so much straw in a single bed – we are not the Savoy of London, girl.’ Then she turned back to Aileen and said, ‘Well? What are you still doing in here? Didn’t I tell you to go outside and build us a fire for the cooking?’
Aileen did not argue and went straight outside, where the dark, empty yard had no signs of a fireplace. Jimmy took up helping her with gusto. He fetched some large stones that were piled up near the gate and in a flash built them into a three-sided wall on the cobbles between the two buildings. Aileen went about building her fire, and while it was settling, Jimmy magicked up a rusting cattle grid and balanced it over the top. On this he placed a bucket of cold water to heat for the spuds. In moments the whole courtyard was glowing orange as Jimmy and Aileen gathered various buckets and planks of wood and old farm machinery to use as stools and tables and placed them in a wide semicircle round the new fireplace.
When Biddy came out to roar at them to hurry themselves up, she stopped short with surprise.
‘My God,’ she said, when she saw the water already boiling ready for the potatoes. ‘What kind of magic is this at all?’ For a moment Aileen thought her senior was going to tear the head off her for being a witch (red-haired women got a raw deal inthat respect in some quarters, she knew), but Biddy shook her head and, wiping her forehead with the heat of the roaring fire, exclaimed, ‘Well, I’ll say this only once, Aileen Doherty –’ she knew her name all along ‘– but your mother should be proud of you.’ Then she turned and roared, ‘Noreen? Carmel? Are you growing them fecking spuds or peeling them, would you mind telling me?’
The six women and twelve men of the tattie crew sat round the fire and ate heartily. There was no talk as they mashed the floury potatoes into the bowls they had brought with them from Ireland, every now and again one of them leaning across the other to reach for a ladleful of buttermilk from the bucket the host farmer had set aside for them.
‘This is rotten sour,’ Carmel said, then looking across at Biddy, added cheekily, ‘Is there any salt, Fore Graipe?’
Aileen saw Biddy
‘I thought I was to set the stove, Biddy,’ Carmel said, emerging from the darkness behind the woman, her face as hard and cruel as it had been on the boat. ‘That one hasn’t the brains to light a match, and her scrawny shadow won’t be much good to you either.’
‘I’ll decide who I’ll have working for me,’ said the woman, ‘and when you’re here, you’ll call me Mrs O’Callaghan, Carmel Kelly – and I don’t care whose daughter you are. Your daddy may be the boss out on the fields, girl, but I’m the fore graipe of this house, so you’ll do as you’re told. You can make a start by washing that bucket of spuds at the door. We’ll go to our beds with full stomachs tonight.’
Aileen did not afford herself a moment of satisfaction in light of Carmel’s dressing-down – indeed, this boss-woman might be harder to please than any of them. Instead, she busied herself about the stove. Aileen had a way of building fast, effective fires. She started at the bottom with the paper balls and a handful ofcrisp straw, placing the few dry clinkers of coal left from the last fire around them, then carefully setting the fresh coals on top before putting a match to it. It went up as smooth and fast as butter melting on toasted bread.
The fore graipe heard the discreet whoosh , then looked back and raised her eyebrows, impressed.
‘Load that up good and high, girl – thanks be to God we’ve somebody good for something around here.’ Then she turned on the others: ‘Are you finished making those mattresses yet, Noreen? And we’ll hand out the blankets. For love of the merciful Mother of Jesus, there’s no need to put so much straw in a single bed – we are not the Savoy of London, girl.’ Then she turned back to Aileen and said, ‘Well? What are you still doing in here? Didn’t I tell you to go outside and build us a fire for the cooking?’
Aileen did not argue and went straight outside, where the dark, empty yard had no signs of a fireplace. Jimmy took up helping her with gusto. He fetched some large stones that were piled up near the gate and in a flash built them into a three-sided wall on the cobbles between the two buildings. Aileen went about building her fire, and while it was settling, Jimmy magicked up a rusting cattle grid and balanced it over the top. On this he placed a bucket of cold water to heat for the spuds. In moments the whole courtyard was glowing orange as Jimmy and Aileen gathered various buckets and planks of wood and old farm machinery to use as stools and tables and placed them in a wide semicircle round the new fireplace.
When Biddy came out to roar at them to hurry themselves up, she stopped short with surprise.
‘My God,’ she said, when she saw the water already boiling ready for the potatoes. ‘What kind of magic is this at all?’ For a moment Aileen thought her senior was going to tear the head off her for being a witch (red-haired women got a raw deal inthat respect in some quarters, she knew), but Biddy shook her head and, wiping her forehead with the heat of the roaring fire, exclaimed, ‘Well, I’ll say this only once, Aileen Doherty –’ she knew her name all along ‘– but your mother should be proud of you.’ Then she turned and roared, ‘Noreen? Carmel? Are you growing them fecking spuds or peeling them, would you mind telling me?’
The six women and twelve men of the tattie crew sat round the fire and ate heartily. There was no talk as they mashed the floury potatoes into the bowls they had brought with them from Ireland, every now and again one of them leaning across the other to reach for a ladleful of buttermilk from the bucket the host farmer had set aside for them.
‘This is rotten sour,’ Carmel said, then looking across at Biddy, added cheekily, ‘Is there any salt, Fore Graipe?’
Aileen saw Biddy
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