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Authors: Lyn Andrews
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into two categories. Those who are honest, hardworking, devout and make
excellent servants, and those who are lazy, sluttish, with a fondness for liquor that usually leads them to theft, and who
don’t make good workers of any kind! Which are you?’
‘I’ve never taken a drink in my life! I work hard and I’ve never touched anything that doesn’t belong to me and I go to Mass
every Sunday and sometimes in the week as well!’ It all came out in one long sentence which left her short of breath and wondering
if her predecessor had been guilty of any of the crimes mentioned.
‘What’s your name, girl?’
‘Cat. Cat Cleary.’
The sharp, birdlike eyes flitted over her then were raised to the ceiling in impatience. ‘I mean your real name! No one is
ever christened with a name like that!’
‘Catherine.’
‘Well, Catherine Cleary, I will give you the chance to prove that you are all you say you are. I’ll give you a month, starting
tomorrow. You will live in, there are plenty of rooms in this house, most of them shut off since my husband, God rest him,
was taken by the sea. You’ll clean, wash and iron, cook and do the shopping. You will have Sundays off and Wednesday afternoons
and I’ll pay you five shillings a week and I’ll feed you. I can’t say fairer than that!’
From that day on Cat’s world changed radically. She quickly found that Mrs Travis had a sharp tongue but a kind heart and
generous nature. She also suspected that the old lady was lonely for there did not appear to be any relatives or friends and
the only callers to the house were tradesman. She worked hard but she found it far less like drudgery because, for one thing,
there was no hoard of children and adults to be constantly undoing everything she had just done. She polished and dusted the
curiosities with loving care, trying to imagine where they had come from, trying to picture in her mind the exotic, foreign
places where they had been made. It was with real pleasure that she ironed the crisp, white linen, most of it embroidered
or edged with lace.
She had her own room at the top of the house with a single, narrow bed with a brass bedstead, clean sheets and warm blankets,
these in themselves luxuries never before experienced. There was a small wardrobe for her few clothes, a washstand with a
marble top and a jug and bowl of real china, decorated with huge pink roses. She took her meals in the kitchen with Joe most
of the time, but on Saturdays – pay day – both she and Joe sat with their employer at the table in the parlour when any outstanding
jobs were discussed and the menus and shopping for the next week were all worked out.
She frequently found excuses not to go home on Wednesday afternoons, although on Sundays she returned to Eldon Street to give
her mother three of her five shillings wages. But she was always glad when it was time to leave the cramped, cluttered house
which now appeared so small and dirty. She would sit up in her bed on these nights, her knees drawn up under her chin and
indulge herself in daydreams. When she got that job on ‘her’ White Empress, she would find a small house in a nice area, just
for herself and her Ma. It would have a scullery with shelves covered in clean, chequered oilcloth. A food press and a meat
safe. A white earthenware sink and a proper wooden draining board, scrubbed white. A small, cheerful kitchen with a range
for cooking. Rag rugs on the floor, a comfortable rocker with a patchwork cushion for her Ma. A big table and a dresser with
fancy dishes. There would be a parlour where Ma could entertain Maisey and her other friends from the Union of Catholic Mothers.
A bedroom each and good fires in all the rooms in winter. And she’d bring all kindsof treasures like Captain Travis had, for the house – when she was a stewardess.
She had no definite plans, for life had taught her to take one day at a time, and that the hold on
excellent servants, and those who are lazy, sluttish, with a fondness for liquor that usually leads them to theft, and who
don’t make good workers of any kind! Which are you?’
‘I’ve never taken a drink in my life! I work hard and I’ve never touched anything that doesn’t belong to me and I go to Mass
every Sunday and sometimes in the week as well!’ It all came out in one long sentence which left her short of breath and wondering
if her predecessor had been guilty of any of the crimes mentioned.
‘What’s your name, girl?’
‘Cat. Cat Cleary.’
The sharp, birdlike eyes flitted over her then were raised to the ceiling in impatience. ‘I mean your real name! No one is
ever christened with a name like that!’
‘Catherine.’
‘Well, Catherine Cleary, I will give you the chance to prove that you are all you say you are. I’ll give you a month, starting
tomorrow. You will live in, there are plenty of rooms in this house, most of them shut off since my husband, God rest him,
was taken by the sea. You’ll clean, wash and iron, cook and do the shopping. You will have Sundays off and Wednesday afternoons
and I’ll pay you five shillings a week and I’ll feed you. I can’t say fairer than that!’
From that day on Cat’s world changed radically. She quickly found that Mrs Travis had a sharp tongue but a kind heart and
generous nature. She also suspected that the old lady was lonely for there did not appear to be any relatives or friends and
the only callers to the house were tradesman. She worked hard but she found it far less like drudgery because, for one thing,
there was no hoard of children and adults to be constantly undoing everything she had just done. She polished and dusted the
curiosities with loving care, trying to imagine where they had come from, trying to picture in her mind the exotic, foreign
places where they had been made. It was with real pleasure that she ironed the crisp, white linen, most of it embroidered
or edged with lace.
She had her own room at the top of the house with a single, narrow bed with a brass bedstead, clean sheets and warm blankets,
these in themselves luxuries never before experienced. There was a small wardrobe for her few clothes, a washstand with a
marble top and a jug and bowl of real china, decorated with huge pink roses. She took her meals in the kitchen with Joe most
of the time, but on Saturdays – pay day – both she and Joe sat with their employer at the table in the parlour when any outstanding
jobs were discussed and the menus and shopping for the next week were all worked out.
She frequently found excuses not to go home on Wednesday afternoons, although on Sundays she returned to Eldon Street to give
her mother three of her five shillings wages. But she was always glad when it was time to leave the cramped, cluttered house
which now appeared so small and dirty. She would sit up in her bed on these nights, her knees drawn up under her chin and
indulge herself in daydreams. When she got that job on ‘her’ White Empress, she would find a small house in a nice area, just
for herself and her Ma. It would have a scullery with shelves covered in clean, chequered oilcloth. A food press and a meat
safe. A white earthenware sink and a proper wooden draining board, scrubbed white. A small, cheerful kitchen with a range
for cooking. Rag rugs on the floor, a comfortable rocker with a patchwork cushion for her Ma. A big table and a dresser with
fancy dishes. There would be a parlour where Ma could entertain Maisey and her other friends from the Union of Catholic Mothers.
A bedroom each and good fires in all the rooms in winter. And she’d bring all kindsof treasures like Captain Travis had, for the house – when she was a stewardess.
She had no definite plans, for life had taught her to take one day at a time, and that the hold on
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