Eimear Flanagan 1st Year
It was half six on a mild, Friday evening in June 1983 and I was just after finishing up my shift at Mrs Doyle’s bakery. I always loved baking and it was my dream to open a bakery in London some day and there was no better woman in Ireland to show me the ropes more than Mrs Doyle. Mrs Doyle is a stout, old woman who’s hands had the power to make anything. The bakery is always filled to the brim with sweet and savoury delicacies and Mrs Doyle is always in her element serving the residents of her beloved Wexford.
I didn’t always work full time at the bakery, all I ever did was a few jobs here and there. There used to be another person working here. His name was Charlie and it was Mrs Doyle’s grandson. He was a year older than me and we used to have the best fun working at the bakery in the summer. Then Charlie decided to leave Wexford to help up in the North of Ireland because of the Troubles. Mrs Doyle was heartbroken and I was a little too. She started to do silly things such as leave the bread in the oven for too long and causing it to burn or getting short tempered with her customers. That is when I decided to be full time and I have been for two years now.
‘’I’ll be off then Mrs Doyle’’, I shouted upstairs. ‘’See you later pet, and don’t forget your few bob on the shelf ‘’, said Mrs Doyle while tucking into a fresh scone. I collected my wages from the shelf and stuffed the brown envelope into my shabby coat pocket. I said goodbye one last time to Mrs Doyle and locked the door of the bakery and clambered onto my bike to cycle home. I was exhausted.
The sun was splitting the trees making it very hard to keep my weary eyes from drooping shut. As I came up the entrance of my house I saw my three younger brothers up to the eyes with muck playing hurling in the field. ‘’Yee better not let Ma see you all like that!”. I warned jokingly. “We won’t”, my brothers sang in harmony. I parked my bike up against the old fence and I peered into the back garden. There was my mother feeding her sick baby in one hand and washing clothes with the other. My father was slouched into the kitchen chair, sulking into a bottle of whiskey per usual, drinking our hard earned money away. I hated him for it. Could he not see his wife fading away with tiredness? His baby daughter so weak and thin that she could die any minute? I wondered how could a man be so blind.
I looked at my mother once again and I thought to myself that this is no way to be living. In that moment I felt suffocated. I had to get out. I had to go anywhere but here. This has to do with the way I was brought up, the way my parents were brought up. We are taught that a man’s job is to work and provide for his family and a woman’s job is to look after her husband and her children. If this is what we are teaching our children, then they are bound to make the same mistakes we have made for generations. This also has to do with the church. There is an attitude in Ireland about the more you suffer the more saintly you become. People say to me about how my mother and father are saints. They’re good people but trust me, they are no saints.
The following morning I was woken up by the loud buzzing sound of the telephone in the hall. I stumbled out of bed and down the stairs to answer the phone. ‘’Hello?’’, I said. ‘’Hello. Is this Katie?’’. I recognised the voice on the other side of the line immediately. It was my cousin Caoimhe who had moved to London about a year ago. I was over the moon to hear her voice as Caoimhe and I had grown up together. We talked for what seemed like forever about London, what it’s like, her job and everything else that goes with it. “Katie, the actual reason I rang today is to tell you that one of the girls from the hostel is travelling back to Ireland so there is an empty bed here if you want it?” , questioned Caoimhe. In that split second my mind was made up. I was going to London!
I called my mother downstairs to talk to Caoimhe on the phone. At first, she was very shocked but slowly but surely she came around to the idea. “I will send the money that I will earn back home to you and the boys to make sure you are back on your feet. You mustn’t tell Da that I am doing this because he will only drink it.”, I explained to mother. “You are a good girl Katie, I have raised you well” my mother said with a tear in her eye.
For the following weeks I worked until I could work no more, saving every penny I got my hands on. Finally I had saved enough money to buy myself a ticket for the boat and I had enough money left over to keep me on the straight and narrow for the first few weeks in London.
It was the day before I had to leave for London. I finished up my shift in Mrs Doyle’s bakery for the last time and collected my wages like I have always done and hugged Mrs Doyle goodbye. It only hit me now that I am leaving the place that I have called home for so long. I cycled straight home and packed the old leather suitcase to the very top with all of my precious belongings. I climbed into bed that night with a heavy heart knowing that I won’t be doing it again for a long time.
The next morning went by like a blur. When I came out of my house it was like the whole of Wexford was there to send me off. I gave my mother a kiss and my brothers a big hug and I got into the car with my father. Da’s eyes were red and heavy and I could tell that he had been drinking. His driving was all over the place as he nearly crashed into a ditch or lorry on countless occasions. We didn’t say a word to each other the whole way to Rosslare harbour.
Once we had finally reached the harbour I was delighted to get out of that wretched car. “Goodbye Da”, I sighed. I slammed the door shut and walked away without looking back. This was the start of my new life.
I boarded the boat and climbed the stairs to get on deck. The scent of the sea breeze filling my lungs instantly calmed me down. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder and the murmur of a voice saying, “Katie is that you?” I turned around to see a tall young man whose face I recognised instantly. “Long time no see!” This young man was Charlie Doyle. Before he could say another word I wrapped my arms around him. It felt so good to see him again. “Well someone’s happy to see me!”, he proclaimed proudly. “Don’t flatter yourself too much”, I laughed.
Within a few minutes the boat left the dock and we made our way inside. Charlie and I talked about everything under the sun and we didn’t stop talking until we reached Holyhead in England. We got a train from Holyhead to Victoria Station. Once we got off of the train I was amazed by the amount of people. Everything was so different from Ireland, London has shops instead of sheep ! “Imagine, just a few days ago I was in Wexford living my boring life and now here I am with you in one of the greatest cities in the world!”, I babbled with excitement as I spoke. “Come on you, it’s getting dark. I’d say Caoimhe is worried sick about you!” “Since when did you become a worrier? We’ll be grand Charlie.”
We walked down Cricklewood and passed the famous Galtymore dancehall. We glanced through the double doors and it was just like home. “Don’t even think about it Katie.” “Ah please Charlie, just one song.” , I pleaded. “Alright then, just one song”. As we walked in I already recognised about 20 faces. You’d swear you never left home. We ended up staying a lot longer than “just one song”. We danced like we were never going to dance again. At the end of the night Charlie and I stumbled out of the dancehall barely able to catch our breath. It was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
We walked up a side street off of Cricklewood and found the hostel that Caoimhe was staying in. “Thanks Charlie for today. Lord only knows where I would be if it weren’t for you”, I laughed. “I’m sure you would’ve been fine”. I leaned against the crumbling wall of the hostel studying Charlie’s face. He noticed me staring and I went as red as a tomato. He walked slowly towards me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Goodbye Katie”, he whispered into my ear and he strolled away leaving me in a state of shock. “Goodbye Charlie”, I sighed.
I pushed open the heavy hostel door and climbed up a flight of stairs. I remember Caoimhe telling me that her room was the second door on the right. I opened that door and the first person I saw was Caoimhe. I tip-toed my way over to her and gently shook her shoulders to wake her. Once she was finally awake, we stayed up all night talking about everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours.
The following weeks in London were tough. I was finding it extremely difficult to find a job and I started to feel a bit homesick after a while. Charlie found a job on a building site but he says the work is hard and the income is irregular and unsteady. Every Friday night Charlie and I go down to the Galtymore in Cricklewood. As Charlie and I were walking along the street down to the Galtymore I noticed a poster in the window of a bakery. It read; WE ARE RECRUITING: BAKER NEEDED! “Look Charlie! They want a baker, this could be my job!”, I gushed. “Well what are you waiting for? Go in there and tell them that you’re available!”
I practically ran into the old bakery nearly taking the doors off of its hinges. I peered over the counter to find a plump lady sitting behind a newspaper. “Excuse me madam, I am just wanted to know if the baker job offer is still available?” The lady placed her newspaper down on the counter and stared at me for a while before saying a word. The woman questioned me about my experience baking and I told her all about Mrs Doyle’s bakery. She spoke in a thick Dublin accent and it was refreshing to hear. “You start at nine o’clock tomorrow morning sharp”, the lady exclaimed .I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Thank you so much, I will not let you down.”
I ran out of the bakery and jumped straight into Charlie’s arms. Tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp was going to be the first day of the rest of my life.
It was half six on a mild, Friday evening in June 1983 and I was just after finishing up my shift at Mrs Doyle’s bakery. I always loved baking and it was my dream to open a bakery in London some day and there was no better woman in Ireland to show me the ropes more than Mrs Doyle. Mrs Doyle is a stout, old woman who’s hands had the power to make anything. The bakery is always filled to the brim with sweet and savoury delicacies and Mrs Doyle is always in her element serving the residents of her beloved Wexford.
I didn’t always work full time at the bakery, all I ever did was a few jobs here and there. There used to be another person working here. His name was Charlie and it was Mrs Doyle’s grandson. He was a year older than me and we used to have the best fun working at the bakery in the summer. Then Charlie decided to leave Wexford to help up in the North of Ireland because of the Troubles. Mrs Doyle was heartbroken and I was a little too. She started to do silly things such as leave the bread in the oven for too long and causing it to burn or getting short tempered with her customers. That is when I decided to be full time and I have been for two years now.
‘’I’ll be off then Mrs Doyle’’, I shouted upstairs. ‘’See you later pet, and don’t forget your few bob on the shelf ‘’, said Mrs Doyle while tucking into a fresh scone. I collected my wages from the shelf and stuffed the brown envelope into my shabby coat pocket. I said goodbye one last time to Mrs Doyle and locked the door of the bakery and clambered onto my bike to cycle home. I was exhausted.
The sun was splitting the trees making it very hard to keep my weary eyes from drooping shut. As I came up the entrance of my house I saw my three younger brothers up to the eyes with muck playing hurling in the field. ‘’Yee better not let Ma see you all like that!”. I warned jokingly. “We won’t”, my brothers sang in harmony. I parked my bike up against the old fence and I peered into the back garden. There was my mother feeding her sick baby in one hand and washing clothes with the other. My father was slouched into the kitchen chair, sulking into a bottle of whiskey per usual, drinking our hard earned money away. I hated him for it. Could he not see his wife fading away with tiredness? His baby daughter so weak and thin that she could die any minute? I wondered how could a man be so blind.
I looked at my mother once again and I thought to myself that this is no way to be living. In that moment I felt suffocated. I had to get out. I had to go anywhere but here. This has to do with the way I was brought up, the way my parents were brought up. We are taught that a man’s job is to work and provide for his family and a woman’s job is to look after her husband and her children. If this is what we are teaching our children, then they are bound to make the same mistakes we have made for generations. This also has to do with the church. There is an attitude in Ireland about the more you suffer the more saintly you become. People say to me about how my mother and father are saints. They’re good people but trust me, they are no saints.
The following morning I was woken up by the loud buzzing sound of the telephone in the hall. I stumbled out of bed and down the stairs to answer the phone. ‘’Hello?’’, I said. ‘’Hello. Is this Katie?’’. I recognised the voice on the other side of the line immediately. It was my cousin Caoimhe who had moved to London about a year ago. I was over the moon to hear her voice as Caoimhe and I had grown up together. We talked for what seemed like forever about London, what it’s like, her job and everything else that goes with it. “Katie, the actual reason I rang today is to tell you that one of the girls from the hostel is travelling back to Ireland so there is an empty bed here if you want it?” , questioned Caoimhe. In that split second my mind was made up. I was going to London!
I called my mother downstairs to talk to Caoimhe on the phone. At first, she was very shocked but slowly but surely she came around to the idea. “I will send the money that I will earn back home to you and the boys to make sure you are back on your feet. You mustn’t tell Da that I am doing this because he will only drink it.”, I explained to mother. “You are a good girl Katie, I have raised you well” my mother said with a tear in her eye.
For the following weeks I worked until I could work no more, saving every penny I got my hands on. Finally I had saved enough money to buy myself a ticket for the boat and I had enough money left over to keep me on the straight and narrow for the first few weeks in London.
It was the day before I had to leave for London. I finished up my shift in Mrs Doyle’s bakery for the last time and collected my wages like I have always done and hugged Mrs Doyle goodbye. It only hit me now that I am leaving the place that I have called home for so long. I cycled straight home and packed the old leather suitcase to the very top with all of my precious belongings. I climbed into bed that night with a heavy heart knowing that I won’t be doing it again for a long time.
The next morning went by like a blur. When I came out of my house it was like the whole of Wexford was there to send me off. I gave my mother a kiss and my brothers a big hug and I got into the car with my father. Da’s eyes were red and heavy and I could tell that he had been drinking. His driving was all over the place as he nearly crashed into a ditch or lorry on countless occasions. We didn’t say a word to each other the whole way to Rosslare harbour.
Once we had finally reached the harbour I was delighted to get out of that wretched car. “Goodbye Da”, I sighed. I slammed the door shut and walked away without looking back. This was the start of my new life.
I boarded the boat and climbed the stairs to get on deck. The scent of the sea breeze filling my lungs instantly calmed me down. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder and the murmur of a voice saying, “Katie is that you?” I turned around to see a tall young man whose face I recognised instantly. “Long time no see!” This young man was Charlie Doyle. Before he could say another word I wrapped my arms around him. It felt so good to see him again. “Well someone’s happy to see me!”, he proclaimed proudly. “Don’t flatter yourself too much”, I laughed.
Within a few minutes the boat left the dock and we made our way inside. Charlie and I talked about everything under the sun and we didn’t stop talking until we reached Holyhead in England. We got a train from Holyhead to Victoria Station. Once we got off of the train I was amazed by the amount of people. Everything was so different from Ireland, London has shops instead of sheep ! “Imagine, just a few days ago I was in Wexford living my boring life and now here I am with you in one of the greatest cities in the world!”, I babbled with excitement as I spoke. “Come on you, it’s getting dark. I’d say Caoimhe is worried sick about you!” “Since when did you become a worrier? We’ll be grand Charlie.”
We walked down Cricklewood and passed the famous Galtymore dancehall. We glanced through the double doors and it was just like home. “Don’t even think about it Katie.” “Ah please Charlie, just one song.” , I pleaded. “Alright then, just one song”. As we walked in I already recognised about 20 faces. You’d swear you never left home. We ended up staying a lot longer than “just one song”. We danced like we were never going to dance again. At the end of the night Charlie and I stumbled out of the dancehall barely able to catch our breath. It was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
We walked up a side street off of Cricklewood and found the hostel that Caoimhe was staying in. “Thanks Charlie for today. Lord only knows where I would be if it weren’t for you”, I laughed. “I’m sure you would’ve been fine”. I leaned against the crumbling wall of the hostel studying Charlie’s face. He noticed me staring and I went as red as a tomato. He walked slowly towards me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Goodbye Katie”, he whispered into my ear and he strolled away leaving me in a state of shock. “Goodbye Charlie”, I sighed.
I pushed open the heavy hostel door and climbed up a flight of stairs. I remember Caoimhe telling me that her room was the second door on the right. I opened that door and the first person I saw was Caoimhe. I tip-toed my way over to her and gently shook her shoulders to wake her. Once she was finally awake, we stayed up all night talking about everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours.
The following weeks in London were tough. I was finding it extremely difficult to find a job and I started to feel a bit homesick after a while. Charlie found a job on a building site but he says the work is hard and the income is irregular and unsteady. Every Friday night Charlie and I go down to the Galtymore in Cricklewood. As Charlie and I were walking along the street down to the Galtymore I noticed a poster in the window of a bakery. It read; WE ARE RECRUITING: BAKER NEEDED! “Look Charlie! They want a baker, this could be my job!”, I gushed. “Well what are you waiting for? Go in there and tell them that you’re available!”
I practically ran into the old bakery nearly taking the doors off of its hinges. I peered over the counter to find a plump lady sitting behind a newspaper. “Excuse me madam, I am just wanted to know if the baker job offer is still available?” The lady placed her newspaper down on the counter and stared at me for a while before saying a word. The woman questioned me about my experience baking and I told her all about Mrs Doyle’s bakery. She spoke in a thick Dublin accent and it was refreshing to hear. “You start at nine o’clock tomorrow morning sharp”, the lady exclaimed .I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Thank you so much, I will not let you down.”
I ran out of the bakery and jumped straight into Charlie’s arms. Tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp was going to be the first day of the rest of my life.
