Even on Days when it Rains (6 page)

We moved from farm to farm during the potato-picking season. Even though you'd think there was no end to a field, you'd always get there. Then you'd move on to the next job.

They were the harshest of times, but somehow we always brought some fun into our lives. When you're young you crave music and dancing, and at weekends that was what we sought out. You'd walk for miles to a local dance, and sometimes you'd be barely home when you'd have to get up again and go to work in the fields. We were all young, and you're full of energy and game for any kind of adventure at that time of your life. We didn't have much money for our own entertainment as whatever we earned
was
sent home to the island. We kept just enough for essential needs and a little bit for entertainment. It cost thruppence to get into the dances in those times. I only had a couple of shillings to spend in a week. I might spend some of it on a paper, but mostly I bought wee biscuits or sweets: I loved sweets at that time.

God forgive me, but I remember how one time when the weekend came round I discovered that I hadn't kept back enough money to go dancing. I couldn't go to James and ask him for more money because I knew that he'd give me a telling off for spending my weekly ration. Instead, I sifted through his clothes and found sixpence in one of his pockets. So, God forgive me again, I stole the sixpence from him. James knew that his sixpence had gone missing, but he didn't know who took it and I never told him. You'd get a lot for sixpence at that time. A loaf of bread would hardly cost you sixpence then. A box of matches was only a ha'penny.

Throughout my late teens and into my 20s, that was the pattern of my life: leaving Owey for months at a time to work at the fish gutting or tattie howkin'. In his house on Owey a distant cousin of mine called Jim McGinty would often recite a poem he'd written about fish gutting in Lerwick:

Jim is 90 years old as I write, and he can still recite this wonderful poem from our time in Lerwick. And, like myself, Jim's fondest memories of Lerwick are the great dances we enjoyed there.

During one of my terms in Scotland there was a big gang of potato-pickers from Donegal and Mayo on the same job. The main sleeping area that had been arranged for the workers couldn't accommodate the exceptionally large crew, so they put six of us girls into a different shed on the farm. It was clean inside and we found nothing to complain about; not that you would anyway, as no one would listen to you. There were shelves along the walls containing lots of empty jam pots that were in storage. We made up our makeshift beds and settled down. In the middle of the night our sleep was disturbed by the clinking sound of the jam jars striking off each other.

‘Do you hear that? What's that?' Kathleen, one of the girls, shouted out in the dark.

‘Lord save us, is this place haunted?' someone whispered as jam jars came crashing onto the floor.

Maura, another of the girls, struck a match, and someone let out a piercing scream.

In the dimly lit room I could see the cause of her terror; the place was crawling with rats. Well, we were out of there like lightning, roaring our heads off as we ran for dear life across the farmyard to the shed where the rest of the female crew were bedded down for the night.

Despite the work being hard, the people we worked for weren't demons. Our accommodation certainly left a lot to be desired and wouldn't be tolerated in modern times, but there was no one shouting at you while you worked. We were all supplied with free milk and potatoes, fuel and light as part of our deal. And I encountered some very nice people.

One evening I was down getting milk at the home of the ploughman on the Scottish farm where we were working at the time. The ploughman's wife was a plump lady with a big smile and an easy laugh. She kept her house lovely. It was like a doll's house with lots of pretty ornaments, including two dogs that stood on guard each side of the fireplace.

‘God, aren't they lovely,' I said to her one day.

‘Do you like them?' she responded.

‘I do,' I said.

The fields on this farm were enormous. Three weeks later I was still there picking the potatoes when there came a message for me that I was wanted down in the ploughman's house. I was very worried then, thinking that I must have done something wrong. When I went down, it was the ploughman's wife who came to greet me at the door of the cottage. She invited me in.

‘You like them dogs, don't you?' she said.

‘Well, I just think they are lovely,' I replied.

‘They were a wedding present when we got married and I'd like you to have them now,' the ploughman's wife said.

‘Och, I couldn't take them,' I said, even though my heart was racing at the thought of getting them as a present.

‘No, Julia, I'd love you to have them for your own home when you marry,' the kind woman insisted.

I was beaming from ear to ear as I left her house that evening with those ornamental dogs. The woman had carefully wrapped them in newspaper and put them into a small sack. I was so excited as I made my way back to our humble lodgings that you'd swear I was carrying a bag of gold. Those porcelain dogs were a wonderful gift, particularly as
they
were of such sentimental value to the lady of that house. Why she gave them to me I'll never know, but I have always treasured them. To this day they are proudly displayed on my own mantlepiece.

As time went on I was able to save money from my allowance during working trips away in Scotland to buy presents for my mother and father. I'd sift through the second-hand shops for bargains, and I was very skilled at finding bits and pieces that I knew my parents would appreciate. I'd never buy anything that they would consider to be extravagant or a waste of money because that would have been frowned upon during those hard times.

I recall one day going into a second-hand shop and spending a lot of time rummaging through the hangers and shelves without any success.

‘There's more stuff out the back if you have the time to take a look,' the shop owner told me.

‘I've all the time in the world today,' I told him.

It was dark out the back, but I could see lots of clothes at the end of the room. As I walked across the floor, I suddenly fell through a trap-door. I thought I was going to be killed as I hit the ground with a loud thud. Fortunately, the only damage was to my dignity. When he heard the commotion, the man came running to see what had happened.

‘I'm all right,' I said, as I picked myself up and dusted myself down. It was the blessing of God that saved me from being killed.

‘Dammit, I didn't know that was left open,' the owner said. ‘I'll tell you what, young woman, pick out something for yourself and I'll give you a good deal.'

It was then I spotted a cardigan that I knew my mother would love.

‘How much is that cardigan?' I asked the shop owner.

‘A shilling to you,' he said with a smile.

It was a bargain, and I bought it on the spot. I was delighted with my purchase, but I needed something to give my father as well. I explained this to the man, who said that he had some good-quality jackets that had come in a few days earlier. They weren't out on view, but if I cared to sift through the boxes I was welcome.

I came out smiling with a jacket that cost me only 1s 6d. Never mind my pride, I thought. Sometimes good things can come out of a fall.

When I returned to the island at the end of the working season, my mother and father were delighted with their gifts. From then on, the cardigan and the jacket became ‘good wear', only put on for show when the priest came to the island to do
the
Stations of the Cross. My mother had that cardigan until the day she died, and then I wore it after her!

Don't ask me how she did it, but my sister, Margaret, escaped the hard labour that I went through. Margaret had to leave the island, of course, to find work, so she didn't avoid that heartbreak. Coming up to the age of 16, she migrated to Glasgow where she immediately got a job as a waitress in the George Hotel. Like the rest of us, whatever money Margaret had left out of her earnings, after covering her living expenses, she sent home to our mother and father on the island every month. Although the work was easier than mine, it was still a hard life for her. Margaret was on her own in Glasgow. The digs where she was staying with some of the other hotel workers were very grim, and terribly cold in the wintertime. However, moving to Glasgow would eventually change the course of her life.

It was in Glasgow during the war that she met and fell in love with a small, stocky but good-looking young American man called Bill Chancellor, who was in the navy and was stationed in Scotland at the time. After a whirlwind romance, Margaret and Bill married in June 1945. None of the family made it over for the wedding, as we couldn't afford the
expense
of the trip. But Margaret had the blessing of our mother and father.

Margaret and Bill were parted the following year when he returned to the States with his ship. Later, she was among the excited young women on a liner carrying what were known as the ‘GI brides' to America. When she eventually landed in New York, Bill was there to meet her. Margaret was one of the lucky ones. Some unfortunate brides found themselves all alone in a foreign land after their ships docked. Their husbands seemed to have forgotten while they were overseas that they already had wives back in America. Later, Bill went to work in the oil business, and he and Maggie had three children. Bill did well, and the family were able to afford to travel back to Ireland to holiday on Owey. That was always an occasion of great excitement, not just for our family but for the entire island. Whenever ‘the Yankees' were coming, everyone on Owey would join in the party.

Bill was a lovely man. Everyone in the family was very fond of him. Sadly, he too has passed to the next life.

THERE COMES A
time in every young woman's life when she yearns for love and romance. In the circle of life, she has her dreams of becoming a wife and a mother, and of making a home of her own. I was no exception. When I reached my 20s, I wanted that fairy tale too. Little did I know, as I took my first steps along the path, that as well as the joy that love brings, it can also cause terrible pain. The sweet and sour of love were things I would soon discover.

Here I have to state that I feel it would be unfair of me to reveal the identify of a young man who caused me heartache and grief during that early period in my life. It was all so long ago, he is no longer with us on this earth, and I have no intention of hurting any soul, living or dead, in this book. But it would also be unfair to the reader to withhold such a personal trauma. It's one of the blows in life that shaped me as a person. It's through setbacks that you learn how to deal with the hard knocks.
They
make you wiser and stronger, and they make you appreciate the good things and the great people who wander through your life. So I'll tell my story while protecting the name of my boyfriend.

It had started out as an ordinary day on Owey. I woke up in the morning full of joy. I was home again on the island after another term of tattie howkin' in Scotland. It was always such a great feeling to be back with my mother and father and my siblings in familiar surroundings. I slipped easily into the routine that involved attending to the various jobs that came my way. Now in my 20s, I was also enjoying the social activities on the island with people my own age. In particular I was looking forward to the local dance.

There was a ruggedly handsome young man on the island who had taken my fancy. He was tall with lovely green eyes and a mop of brown, curly hair. He had a great smile, and he made me laugh whenever we met when we were out and about around Owey. There was no one else at the time that I was interested in. This was the young man I now dearly wanted. We had grown up together so there was nothing, I felt, that I didn't know about him. Funnily, I hadn't thought of him as a prospective suitor in my early teens. Then one day I suddenly became aware that I was attracted to him. It was
like
being struck by Cupid's arrow, and I became smitten. Every day he was in my thoughts, and I wondered if he felt the same way.

One day I met him by chance as he cycled along an island path. We made small talk, chatting about the weather and other tittle-tattle of little consequence. And then he asked me if I was going to the dance in the hall. My heart began to flutter as I told him that I'd be there.

‘See you there, then, and I'll dance with you,' he replied with a wink. Then he threw his leg over the bicycle and pedalled off into the distance.

I couldn't wait for the dance to come round. I just sensed that something was going to happen between us. And I wasn't disappointed.

We danced together all that night.

‘Do you want to go out with me, Julia?' he asked afterwards.

‘Well, I'd like nothing better,' I replied.

We both smiled, and there was an easy silence between us. I think we were both relieved that we had finally got together. Obviously he had been interested in me for some time too. I now had a boyfriend, and he had a girlfriend. And in the blink of an eye it seemed the whole island knew about it. There were no secrets on Owey, at least not for long.

From that moment we became a courting couple.
I
was so happy. Every morning, in the months that followed, when I'd wake up he was the first person I thought of. Soon, in my mind, I was making plans for our future together. I thought I'd found the man of my dreams. I thought this man was going to make a fine husband. We even talked about marriage, and he was keen. I had a skip in my step I was so happy. He was a good catch, or so I thought. Little did I know the heartache that lay around the corner.

One day as I herded the cows along the path to the mountain, I truly didn't have a care in the world. My life was going in a direction that I was very happy with. I began to daydream about the future with my man. It was still early days in the relationship, but I was looking forward to becoming a wife sooner rather than later. I loved children and was living for the day when I would become a mother myself. Like all my friends, I was excited about raising my own little ones, and happily it seemed I wouldn't have to wait many more years. I was in love for the first time in my life.

Suddenly I was jolted out of my thoughts by a familiar figure on a bicycle. It was a young man who was a cousin of my boyfriend. From his facial expression I could see that he was none too happy about something. I had always been quite friendly
with
this fellow and wondered if I had done something to offend him. His forehead was creased by a troubled frown, and he appeared to be slightly nervous as he approached me.

He beckoned me over. Whatever had I done?

‘What's up?' I asked.

There was an uneasy silence that seemed to last for an eternity. Now I was beginning to be overcome by a feeling of nervousness.

‘I have something to tell you,' he finally said, removing his cap.

My heart started to pound. Had something terrible happened to my boyfriend? I looked into his eyes for some sign of what was troubling him.

Then he said the words no girlfriend or wife ever wants to hear. He told me that my boyfriend was seeing another girl behind my back.

At first the words rolled round in my brain and it was a few seconds before they struck home to my heart. I must have gone into shock for an instant, and I had to ask him to repeat what he had just told me.

‘I'm sorry, Julia,' he added, when he told me what he had come to say to me. ‘I thought you should know.' With that, he got on his bike and cycled off across the island. I was frozen to the spot as the humiliation of what he'd revealed to me sunk in. Then I broke down and sobbed my heart out, barely
able
to catch my breath amid fits of crying. I couldn't believe that the young man I adored could treat me so cruelly. I had loved that fellow with all my heart, and I'd never looked at another young man from the time that we started going out together.

The rest of that day went by in a blur. The floodgates had opened, and I just cried and cried. I had endured physical pain all my working life, but it was nothing compared to the emotional trauma I was experiencing. ‘How could he do it to me?' I asked myself over and over again.

Up on the mountain I sat on a rock and cried my eyes out till the evening, when it was time to return to my home. I was in a terrible emotional state, and then I began to worry about having to face my family. There was no disguising my upset. Upon my return, I slipped into the house and quickly washed my face. If anyone had noticed that something was amiss with me, they said nothing.

Later in the evening I saw my boyfriend going off on his bicycle. He had land over by the strand on the opposite side to where I lived with my family. I spotted him from the window of our barn and decided to follow him secretly. He went off in his currach, no doubt to see the other girl on the mainland. I broke down and cried again, my stomach churning at the thought of him with someone else.
Later
, I watched him return. Little did he know the pain he was inflicting on me. I was in floods of tears, but I didn't go to confront him on the spot. I wasn't in any fit state to face him.

When we did meet, after he called round to see me the following day, I was more composed, though still very upset. By the look on his face, I knew he didn't know what was the cause of my troubled state. I wasn't long about telling him. I told him that I knew he'd been cheating on me with another girl and that I didn't want anything more to do with him. He didn't protest. The guilt on his face said it all as he turned on his heel and walked away. Again, my emotions came spilling out in the form of tears.

They say that time heals all wounds, including heartbreak. I did come to terms with the betrayal and the loss; eventually, after a few months, the pain eased a good bit. The pain goes, but you never forget the hurt. It's not something I would wish on any person.

There's an expression: ‘What goes around, comes around.' Several months later I heard that my ex-boyfriend had split up with his girlfriend on the mainland. Apparently he went over to meet her one evening and caught her with another man. As hard as it is to believe, he then had the gall to come to my door and ask me to go out with him again.

After the suffering he had put me through, he got an ice-cold reception from me. This time I wasn't upset, just red in the face with rage. He had an awful cheek thinking that I would welcome him back. ‘I'm no better today than the day you left me for the other one,' I told him as I closed the door and shut him out of my life.

Judging by the look on his face, I knew he was feeling like a fool. Sending him off with his tail between his legs didn't make me feel any better about what had been done to me. There was no winner in that situation. The only good thing that came out of it for me was the relief that I hadn't married this person. And the dream of marriage and children was still there for another day. Somewhere out there was another man I could share my life with. I was sure of that. After all, I was still a young woman.

When I joined the fish-gutting crew in Lerwick at the start of the following summer, I had no inkling of what fate had in store for me, other than steady employment for a few months. I certainly never suspected that my life would change for ever.

At work one day, as I slit open a herring, one of the other girls started chatting about a Saturday-night dance. It was going to be held down in one of
the
big huts, known as ‘the Rest'. That kind of news was always guaranteed to lift my spirits: I lived for the joy of dancing at the time. It was the excitement of dancing itself, more than the men, that attracted me. As I washed and changed my clothes that night before making my way to the hut with a gang of the girls, the thought of romance wasn't at the forefront of my mind. I was just looking forward to having a good time. On those occasions we'd dance into the early hours, putting all our cares behind us for the evening.

That night the hut was packed with all of the men and women who were working at the fishing, and there was a great atmosphere. The musicians were in full flow when I arrived, not that they were a big band. Two men with a tin whistle and a mouth organ were providing the music to dance to.

Among the crowd I noticed a tall and very handsome young man who had lovely brown hair with a wave through it. He was looking at me from across the room. It struck me that he had a strong physique and a great smile. I had seen this young man before, but something about him that night caught my interest. As I was thinking what a fine man he was, he came over and asked me to dance. He's very good-looking, I thought to myself as we kicked up our heels on the floor among all the other
dancers
. He told me his name was Francie O'Donnell. We danced a couple of times throughout the night, and I realized that this young man was paying me a lot of attention. Now I was really interested. We'd part after the different sets, and sometimes we'd dance with other people. Late into the evening, instead of taking me up again, Francie asked another girl to dance and I wasn't too happy about that. I suppose, if the truth was known, I became jealous that he was showing attention to another young woman. I left the dance and headed off up the road to my hut, which wasn't very far from the Rest.

When I was halfway there, I happened to turn around and look back. Francie was running up the road behind me. I pretended that I didn't want to be caught and took off at a gallop myself. As I reached the top of the hill, there was a roll of barbed wire in my path, and I fell as I tried to avoid it. Francie came up, caught me … and it was there and then that we shared our first kiss. I knew from that moment that Francie O'Donnell was the man for me. I'm not sure how we know these things. There's an instinct that tells you. The butterflies in my stomach were also a good indication. Francie left me at the door of my hut that night, and as we parted he said, ‘I'll come up and see you tomorrow
night
.' From that moment on, Francie O'Donnell was my man.

When I reflect on it, we were obviously destined to be together. Francie came from Acres near Burtonport, which was on the mainland and in the vicinity of Owey Island. Yet I'd never laid eyes on him until we were both on the fishing crew at Lerwick in the Shetlands. I suppose it doesn't matter what path you take to the one you love as long as you meet up at a crossroads somewhere along the way.

After the dance in the hut, Francie and I became a couple, and I lived for the evenings when he'd come up to meet me. He'd be going out to farms to buy eggs, and he'd ask me to go with him. It may seem strange to people today, but we actually only spent a month together when we first met because it was coming towards the end of our work in Lerwick. But we both knew very soon that we wanted to be together for the rest of our lives. People didn't hang about in those times. We got to know each other very quickly. It helped, I suppose, that we were from similar backgrounds. I was familiar with the area in County Donegal where he'd grown up. During the remainder of our time in Lerwick, we'd go for long walks in the evening and sit and chat for a couple of hours. I told him all about my life
growing
up on the island. He told me about his background and the places he'd worked. Francie was a fine man and a good man. After my first experience of men, I had been cautious about a new relationship, but somehow with Francie I just knew he'd never let me down.

By then, Hollywood had arrived in Lerwick, and we would occasionally go to the pictures. One night as we were going in, we met another couple from back home by the name of Paddy Bonnar and Mary Gallagher, who were from Belcruit. They had let it be known that it wouldn't be long before they'd be getting married.