Even on Days when it Rains (10 page)

I looked at the children, the poor souls, and wondered what was going to become of us all without Francie. It was going to be a heavy cross for us all to bear.

There was no consoling the children in the days that followed. I tried to tell them that Daddy was still
with
us and looking after us; it was just that he wasn't physically there, and we couldn't see or touch him. I would look at the five of them and say, ‘There's a part of your daddy in every one of you.'

Daniel didn't want to go back to school. ‘I can't go, Mammy,' he'd say. ‘You will be lonely without Dad.'

It was a long, hard, painful road trying to overcome our grief. There were moments when it became too unbearable. Kathleen stood with her back to the wall one night at bedtime roaring, ‘I want Daddy.'

My heart went out to her, but what could I do? ‘Kathleen, we all want Daddy,' I said, trying to calm her. ‘Daddy is away to heaven. He's in a lovely place. Try to be happy for him.' But I was engulfed with loneliness myself. At that moment I could never foresee any joy in my life, ever again. Even though Francie had spent every year of our married life working abroad, I had the comfort of knowing that he was always there in times of trouble. He was just a boat and train trip away from me. I knew that if there was a problem with one of the children, no matter how big or small, I had Francie to consult and share the responsibility.

On the few occasions in my adult life when I'd seen a young man dying and leaving a family behind him, I'd said to Francie, ‘If that ever happened to you, I wouldn't want to live another day. I would want to go
into
another coffin and go out after you into the grave. I couldn't bear to see anything happen to you.' But when it happens, of course, you get the strength from somewhere to deal with it. I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself and my own loss because I was distracted by the children and their mourning for their daddy. I was also sick with the worry of how we were going to get by without him. Francie had always been the main breadwinner. Now I was on my own with a family of five. I cried myself to sleep worrying about our future. What was going to become of us? There was very little money in the family's coffers because we had spent a lot on new things for the house, little knowing what terrible fate lay in waiting around the corner for us. Then I had the funeral expenses and the cost of a headstone for the grave. When everything was paid, I was virtually penniless. What was I going to do? I prayed to God and to Francie to help me.

The widow's pension from the government wasn't a lot, but at least it would cushion the blow. To qualify for the pension I had to produce a death certificate, so I sent Margaret away on the bus to get it from a doctor. Some time later Margaret arrived home in floods of tears. The doctor had told her it would be four months before we'd get the
certificate
. Margaret said she had pleaded with the doctor to give it to her there and then as the family was in a desperate state with no money. He had glared at her over the wee, round glasses sitting on the tip of his nose and said sharply, ‘You'll have to wait like all the rest. Your father was no more important than anyone else.'

Margaret was horrified by those words. ‘My daddy was very important,' she shouted in a fit of rage and hurt as she stormed out of the doctor's.

By the time she reached home, the poor girl was in a terrible state and dreading having to break the bad news to me. I was very angry when I heard about the attitude of the doctor and the way he spoke to Margaret, so I went down to the local priest, Father MacAteer, and told him what had happened. I asked for his advice as to what I should do. I told him about the desperate financial state that we were in.

‘Don't you worry, Mrs O'Donnell. We'll get it all sorted out for you,' Father MacAteer said as he tried to calm me down.

He gave me a letter stating that Francie and myself had been married in Kincasslagh and that he had been the priest who had buried Francie. This was sufficient for me to be granted the pension, and it came through a few weeks later.

I sat down one night and tried to work out the sums, hoping that we could make ends meet. The widow's pension didn't stretch very far. Without more money coming into the house, we were going to be in dire straits. Day in and day out I prayed that something would turn up to change our fortunes. Then one day a letter arrived from America with some welcome news. It was from a man called Matt Cavanagh, who was married to one of my cousins. Matt had heard that life had become a struggle for us. I knew him by reputation to be a very kind and caring man. Our tale of woe had reached him through family members; they say that bad news travels fast and to far-off corners. It had troubled Matt's mind to think of a family in need back home in Ireland, especially after enduring the pain of losing a loved one.

Matt had a proposition for me. He said that if I was willing to hand-knit sweaters, he would find a market for them in America. As I read the words over and over, the dark cloud lifted. Knitting, of course, was second nature to me, and to be able to earn a living from it for my family was a great opportunity. It had been such a long time since I'd smiled, but Matt's good-natured gesture lit up my face with joy when I read his words. I wrote back to him that very same day accepting his kind offer.

In a strange way the struggle to provide for my family and my concentration on that effort helped me to cope with my grief over Francie's sudden passing. It kept me busy, and my mind was constantly occupied by the work and the effort to produce as many sweaters as was humanly possible for me to knit every day. Once I started my new little industry, there was no stopping me. All day, every day, you'd find me in a corner with two needles dancing between my fingers. In periods when I needed extra cash, I'd stay up knitting through the night when every other body was sleeping. I'd finish off a new batch of sweaters and then make up packages for the mail the next day. Sometimes it would be 4 a.m. when I'd finally fall into my bed from exhaustion. I didn't care about the tiredness. The work meant that I was self-sufficient, and as long as the market for the sweaters lasted I knew that we would be okay. We were going to get through this terrible time. Matt has since passed on, and I'm sure he's in heaven with Francie. God rest his soul.

Although I was now earning money, I had to account for every penny to make sure that there was always something in the kitty to pay the bills. I had to be thrifty, and I had no spare cash to pay people for jobs like turf-cutting. When I needed to stock up on winter fuel I would get local children to help me in the bog,
which
was 6 miles away from the house. The turf had to be cut and dried and then carried home. Then it was stacked up outside the house and covered to protect it from the rain. And that pile of turf kept us in fuel for the whole of the winter.

When the cheque arrived from Matt in America, I'd cash it in the local shop and then stash the money under my mattress. There was always some money stored to pay a bill. One day I lifted the mattress to get some cash and to my horror there was nothing underneath it. I was always very careful with the money, and I felt sure that I had some savings. Matt's cheque was due any day, but I needed cash at that moment to stock up on food. I knelt down and prayed to St Anthony, the patron saint of lost things and missing persons. Then I lifted up the mattress again, and this time there was a ten-shilling note tucked away at the head of the bed. Now, whether that was there the first time and I just didn't spot it, I cannot say. Maybe I didn't raise the mattress high enough. I prefer to think that it was St Anthony performing his little miracle for me. From then on I never looked back. I always made ends meet.

Today I always remember Matt in my prayers, and I will be eternally grateful for his kindness. Four members of his family travelled over to Ireland on holidays in 2005 for the first time. They were
staying
just across the road from me, and we got to spend some time together. I spoke with them about Matt and told them of the difference he had made to my life and that of my family shortly after I lost Francie. I had a letter that Matt had written to me around that time, and I gave it to them as a keepsake. They were glad to get their father's letter, and really loved their time in Donegal, a place that had been so close to their father's heart.

There was never any question that I would look for another man to love and support me in life after Francie died. I never for one moment considered getting married again. I would never put another man's ring on my finger. I thought the world of Francie and he thought the world of me. And I would never have another man enter the lives of my children. NEVER.

GOD NEVER BLESSED
me with a singing voice, but I've always loved music. Growing up I memorized the words to all the old ballads I heard from our elders on Owey. It's just that I could never sing them.

As a youngster I'd listen almost in a trance when some of the old men – and one or two of the grandmothers – on the island would sing in the corner of someone's house at night, surrounded by neighbours. Those wonderful ballads had been passed down from generation to generation. Even though I couldn't chirp like a bird myself, I always appreciated a good singer when I heard one.

I knew from the moment my cute little daughter Margaret began singing that she possessed something special. Today, they call it the ‘X Factor', although nobody has been able to describe what that is. Whatever it may be, I was convinced that Margaret had it, and I encouraged her to sing at
every
opportunity, whether in the house or at concerts down in the local parish hall. I had retained a fine store of ballads in my head from long ago, and I taught Margaret the words to all of them. She was quick to learn and I could see that she had a real passion for it.

‘Give us a song there, Margaret,' local people would say when she called to their house on a visit. Annie McGarvey, the blacksmith's daughter, lived across the road and she had struck up a very close bond with Margaret. She loved to hear the wee girl sing. It was the same in every house Margaret called to. ‘Ah, you'll give us an auld song,' they'd say.

At that time there was a very popular local band called the Keynotes. The band members were Enda Breslin, Johnny Gallagher, Condy Boyle, Tony Boyle, Eddie Quinn, Charlie McCole, Paddy Joe O'Donnell and Hughie Ward. They were a nice, clean-cut band, dressed in sharp suits and they had become a household name in Donegal.

The Keynotes were also aware of Margaret's talent as a singer. There was no dancing during Lent in those days, so the band used to get involved in a little drama group, staging shows in the local hall for charity. During the interval the local priest, Father Deegan, would get Margaret up to sing. So the Keynotes recognized then that she was very talented.

In September 1964 two members of the Keynotes, Tony Boyle and Condy Boyle, came to me and asked if I would allow Margaret to join the band as their lead singer, Enda Breslin, was leaving to join the Garda.

‘I'll have to talk to her father, but I don't see why not,' I agreed.

I thought maybe she could sing an odd night with them for a small fee. The money would certainly be welcome and it would be no great ordeal for Margaret. I'm sure that she didn't have an ambition to be in show business at the time, as she was far too young and innocent to be thinking about what road she was going to go down in life. It was more a case that she really enjoyed singing and the applause of the crowd.

I began to think that if Margaret could become a singer in a band when she left school it would give her a job at a time when work was hard to come by. It would mean that she wouldn't have to emigrate to make a life for herself, and I wouldn't lose her.

I wrote to Francie and told him that the Keynotes wanted her to become a regular singer with the band. Being a great singer and a musician himself, he was delighted to hear the news. His response was that as long as I was sure that no harm would come to Margaret then he was happy
to
let her go with the band. It would be good for her, he felt. His other concern was for her education. He didn't want it to affect her schooling. She could sing at weekends and during her school holidays. Margaret danced a jig around the kitchen when she heard the news. She was so happy when she got Francie's blessing.

When I took Margaret to perform with them in a place called Ardara, the reaction she got was incredible. The hall was heaving with young couples out for a night of dancing. But when Margaret began singing the whole atmosphere suddenly changed. Instead of dancing, the crowd stopped in their tracks and stood enthralled as they listened to the rich tones coming from this slip of a schoolgirl. When she finished the first number, the crowd went wild; they were clapping, cheering, whistling and calling, ‘More! More!'

Little Margaret just couldn't stop smiling as she stood among the band that night and soaked up the adulation. I think it was at that moment that her fate was sealed. She was destined to become an entertainer. Margaret went on to sing three more songs before she left the stage. And not for one second did she show any nerves. It looked like she was born to be there. Afterwards, I chatted with the Keynotes and the boys were all talking about the
reaction
of the crowd that night. They had never experienced anything like it. I think they realized that they were on to something big.

The twists and turns of life are strange. I never dreamt that in my 40s I'd be on the road with a show band. But that's exactly where I ended up as I accompanied Margaret and the Keynotes to dances at venues around Donegal. I would travel with someone from the band and sit in the dance hall for the whole night when they were playing. I was watching Margaret grow into a professional singer. Now, however, she was no longer known as Margaret to the public. My little girl, the popular singer, had become known to fans of the Keynotes as Margo. This was the stage name she had taken with the band. Within a few months the Keynotes had become the biggest attraction in Donegal and the surrounding counties. Everyone was talking about this amazing wee girl who was singing with them. The Keynotes had even altered their stage style to complement their little lead singer. They were now wearing specially designed matching cardigans – just like Margaret's.

Little did I realize as I travelled with her during her early days as a singing schoolgirl, the truly incredible impact that my daughter would have throughout Ireland and among the Irish in Britain.
Any
money Margaret made at that time she handed over to me, and I kept an account of it. My intention was to give it all back to her some day. But things didn't work out that way.

Shortly before his final trip home from Scotland, Francie sent Margaret the lyrics to a great song called ‘Bonny Irish Boy'. He told her in a letter to learn the words and that when he arrived home he would give her the air of it. Coming from her daddy, this song was extra special. Margaret learned it and Francie gave her the tune to it upon his return. When she later sang it for the Keynotes, they recognized that it had real potential to become a hit. Everyone loved it so much they decided that ‘Bonny Irish Boy' and another song called ‘Dear God' would be their first record to go on release. Margaret nearly jumped through the roof of our kitchen when she heard the news.

The day that ‘Bonny Irish Boy' was due to be played on Irish radio for the first time should have been a moment of great joy and celebration. Instead, our whole family had been plunged into a big, dark pit of sorrow. That was the same day Margaret's darling daddy suddenly died. It was such an incredibly cruel coincidence. When tragedy struck, ‘Bonny Irish Boy' was immediately withdrawn from the Radio Eireann show as a mark of respect.

I'll never forget Margaret's reaction when it was played on the programme just three weeks later. We listened to the news and then ‘Bonny Irish Boy' came on. Margaret had been sitting stiffly on a bench in front of the fire. The moment she heard the music starting, she leapt up, jumped over the seat and made a dash to her bedroom in floods of tears. She was inconsolable. ‘That was Daddy's song and he never got to hear the record. If only I'd known that he was going to die I would have got a tape and played it to him,' she sobbed.

Later, we took a recording of the song over to Francie's grave and we played it. As the sound of ‘Bonny Irish Boy' reverberated around the graveyard, our heartache spilled out.

The success of the song was bittersweet. It went on to become a Top 20 hit.

Although he was no longer physically with us, I know that Francie had an influence on the fortunes of his family from beyond the grave. Just a couple of years after he died, Margaret had blossomed into one of Ireland's biggest female singers. Everywhere she performed there were crowds queuing to see her. She was a superstar in Ireland at that time. There really was no one else like her. The excitement Margaret created wherever she went was something you'd normally associate with Hollywood stars. ‘Mother, I
can't
believe what I'm seeing. All those people coming to see me. It's just incredible,' she would tell me.

Margaret had blossomed into a very attractive young woman. On stage she was larger than life, even though she was just 5 feet 4 inches tall. She looked like a young Cilla Black. By then her stage image had changed. She was wearing the fashion of the time – a mini skirt! And along with the joy of seeing Margaret become a success as a singer was the fear that she was moving away from me.

By the early 1970s, Margaret had formed her own band, Country Folk. We had grown accustomed to hearing her records on the radio. But when she released a song called ‘I'll Forgive and I'll Try to Forget', it was the first time that she had a number-one hit. She was just 17 years old and there was great excitement, not just in the O'Donnell home but all over Donegal. Everyone was so thrilled and proud that one of their own had got to the top of the charts. With the celebrations that followed you'd think that the county had won the Sam Maguire, the coveted trophy that goes to the All Ireland football champions every year.

Margaret shared her good fortune with the family and was a great source of financial support to me from the moment she started performing with bands.
I
was still knitting the sweaters and watching the pennies, but the dire circumstances in which I'd found myself after Francie's sudden death had now eased. However, I had lost my influence over Margaret and that was now my biggest concern. That is the natural course of life as children grow into young adults, but Margaret was in a business where there were so many temptations and I felt the need to question her frequently about her lifestyle even though I had no reason to suspect that she was doing anything wrong.

Margaret and myself are very alike in the sense that we both have strong personalities. She had become very independent in her early teenage years and wanted to live her life as she deemed fit. She was no longer willing to accept me as a figure of authority. Even though I had hoped that by finding work as a singer Margaret wouldn't be forced to emigrate, she did leave me. And, as she was old enough and able to support herself with a good wage, there was very little I could do about it. Margaret moved away, first to Dublin and then to Galway. I was very upset over this conflict in our lives, and I fretted over her when she was away from home.

Margaret will tell you herself that she rebelled against me. She had always been a lot closer to her
father
. She was Daddy's girl. If there was something she needed to talk about, she would go to Francie to discuss it. And when Francie died, she remained Daddy's girl. She still didn't feel that she could confide in me. It's not that Margaret and I didn't have love for each other, but she had a mind of her own and she wasn't shy about telling you what was on it. She paid no heed to any advice I had to offer. It was something I had to accept. But of course it didn't stop me offering advice where I saw the need. It would have broken my heart if anything bad had happened to her.

Despite our disagreements, I was proud of Margaret, proud of her achievements and delighted to see so many people in Ireland falling under her spell as a singer. Everywhere I went, people would introduce me as ‘Margo's mother'. One of the early highlights of Margaret's career was the night she appeared on the
Late Late Show
, which was hosted by Gay Byrne, one of Ireland's greatest and best-loved broadcasters. It was the most popular TV chat show in Ireland. If you got the chance to appear on the
Late Late Show
then you had truly made it. Everyone in Ireland would see you because everything stopped on a Saturday night when the
Late Late Show
was on the telly.

There was incredible excitement in the family and in the entire county of Donegal when the news came through that Margo was going to sing on the show.

Around that time, Hughie Green was a big star on British TV as the host of a talent contest called
Opportunity Knocks
. My own mother loved that show and watched it religiously. She thought Hughie Green was the bee's knees. Whenever he gave a wave on the telly, she truly believed that he was waving at her, and she would wave back at him. The whole family thought this was hilarious, God bless her innocence. And no one had the heart to tell her the truth.

When my mother heard that Margaret was going to be on the
Late Late Show
, she said, ‘Be sure to give me a wave, Margaret.'

‘I will, and wear your best clothes when you're watching,' Margaret told her.

I didn't go to the
Late Late Show
with Margaret as I was looking after my mother. But I sat in front of the television filled with joy and pride as my daughter was introduced by Gay Byrne before singing one of her big hits. Her granny, dressed in her Sunday best, didn't take her eyes off the small screen. As the studio audience burst into wild applause at the end, Margaret gave a little wave. Her granny smiled and waved back.

Margaret was given a hero's welcome upon her return to Donegal. The entire county turned out to greet her. If she had won the Eurovision Song Contest there wouldn't have been as big a reaction as there was to that first appearance on the
Late Late Show
. Before she finally made it home, we told Margaret what my mother had been wearing as she watched the show. When Margaret walked in, her granny was delighted to see her. I could see her face light up with a mixture of admiration and joy.

‘That was a lovely outfit you had on,' Margaret said, and she went on to describe it.