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Danny Boy
Anne Bennett


A deeply moving saga of a young couple with high hopes for a bright future in rural Ireland, only to find themselves embroiled in the uprising of 1916 and having to make a new life for themselves in Birmingham.Rosie’s family doesn’t have much money, but she’s rich in other ways: she loves her life on the farm, her sisters, her friends, and even her spoilt baby brother. When Danny Walsh asks her to walk out with him one Sunday, it’s a dream come true.Everyone agrees that they are made for each other and soon they are married. But Danny’s young brother runs away to join in the uprising of Easter 1916. Danny is a man of peace but has no choice; he must find his brother and bring him home. Before he can be released, Danny must swear to take his place.Danny will never be free of his pledge. He takes Rosie and their small daughter to what they hope is safety in Birmingham – but the fight to survive has just begun, as nobody will employ an Irishman when there’s a war on. With no money coming in, Rosie does the unthinkable and leaves Danny to look after the child while she finds a job in munitions. Little does she realise the danger she is in and what consequences it will have for her and her family. Danny and Rosie will find their resources, spirit and love for each other are tested to the utmost limit before the future is bright again.









Danny Boy

Anne Bennett












To my only son Simon, with all my love.




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u21882a1f-fca1-5458-b724-aba8db020562)

Title Page (#u96d651e2-d9e4-5ead-999a-379cd0fd304a)

Dedication (#u8f3fc7da-d9db-545a-9891-c8bf8536f6de)

ONE (#u78310fd8-b13f-5967-aa02-30a0fbcb005c)

TWO (#u8d00211c-5e8f-5d70-aad4-bf863626f01f)

THREE (#ufb896a15-4be3-5548-ad7f-1fd8279b5a42)

FOUR (#ud5d7ed0d-6f81-5eab-a50c-4547fa9cb014)

FIVE (#ucf499079-9984-5e01-a793-3c09b1814d75)

SIX (#u1c9da8af-56fc-5fe2-ab6a-8784b09ec538)

SEVEN (#ue2f93a84-d9e5-517b-9234-933b5b36cc1a)

EIGHT (#u919b49d5-ab15-54b4-aca5-db31eea35c38)

NINE (#u61228e82-16fc-5b58-8ab5-59b59ca1fd2b)

TEN (#u5b978762-2ab5-50f6-aed7-aa3e4d8cc0db)

ELEVEN (#u96941af0-bdd3-50fe-915e-8f3af32f47aa)

TWELVE (#u474586f1-1f79-5606-88d6-66cb35b6fd64)

THIRTEEN (#u5c7c9251-2e43-5a1d-b94b-b74a7ccb68ac)

FOURTEEN (#u744491c3-0360-563d-9088-238c89727eba)

FIFTEEN (#ub3fded7d-f001-5b92-9fad-b3d5f5a01320)

SIXTEEN (#ua82a7128-e44f-5602-a619-64504ced7060)

SEVENTEEN (#ue0d68d15-f24d-5ca6-b769-41896519814f)

EIGHTEEN (#u8b6aea8e-8d9f-51b4-ad05-96708327ebad)

NINETEEN (#ufb5145f0-1462-5ae0-a55d-6e433e9588af)

TWENTY (#u578829ab-fc46-5c4a-a2b2-0ab0b763e6ce)

TWENTY-ONE (#ub29f5cc4-668e-525e-be46-e78cf4b7eb3e)

TWENTY-TWO (#u91a90afc-8a11-51b9-9a06-f81be471f711)

TWENTY-THREE (#u3a83dd79-c355-5c5d-96d6-77189279b10f)

TWENTY-FOUR (#u4eb34edc-3446-5fb2-ae58-cebeebfcc77d)

TWENTY-FIVE (#u5fba5c31-6534-5375-a3f5-d102d60708ad)

TWENTY-SIX (#u1155fff8-cac1-568d-becc-bda3189acb77)

TWENTY-SEVEN (#ubbb257ad-c2b0-52c9-9c8a-49c9ecba3158)

TWENTY-EIGHT (#u29d1a21a-366a-55f8-a66b-7fa13ff52450)

TWENTY-NINE (#u03da94aa-039c-51fe-9a64-5dc6eb3a5249)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#u5dd25ed3-a0bc-5943-932e-770b8d0b3518)

By the same author (#uc99a22a7-1831-5d9f-956f-6b43c7cee5bb)

Copyright (#u859366ef-d9d1-5e8f-a051-bc0898e09859)

About the Publisher (#u6b9e5e96-75f4-5737-99fb-5e73832499f0)




ONE (#ulink_d3e57aef-65ee-57ed-93bb-bc8ce63df0dd)


Rosie McMullen never thought much of the beauty of the countryside she lived in, like the verdant green hills to each side of the farm. These were speckled with sheep and dotted here and there with cottages very like her own and had rivers that shone like silver ribbons in the sun trickling down them that fed into the large lake beside Blessington village.

She lived with her parents Minnie and Seamus and her two younger sisters, Chrissie and Geraldine, on a small, but prosperous farm just over two miles from the village in County Wicklow, a county that was often dubbed ‘the garden of Ireland’.

She took it all for granted like she did her home, that squat, whitewashed, thatched cottage, with the cobbled yard in front of it, full of strutting hens pecking at the corn and grit. There was a barn to one side of the cottage, a byre to the other, a midden at the back and a spring well in the first field. The cottage itself had a large kitchen with a curtained-off bed, in the corner where Rosie’s parents slept. There were also two other bedrooms, the first and largest one, which opened directly off the kitchen was used by Rosie and her sisters and at the end of that room another door led into a smaller room, which remained unoccupied until Rosie took it over for her first ten years.

From the cottage window, Rosie could see the winding lane leading up to the road with cultivated fields to one side of it and the pasture land to the other side, where the cows stood placidly chewing the cud.

However, Rosie’s childhood was a harsh one, even in this idyllic place and came to an end entirely by the time she was just ten, when in October 1907 her mother gave birth to a baby boy she named Dermot. Rosie’s sisters were eight and six, and from the moment Dermot let out his first newborn wail, it was as if they’d all ceased to exist.

Neither Minnie or her husband had ever been particularly demonstrative with their affections towards the girls, and Minnie especially, was always quick to find fault. She would fly into a temper for little or no reason and smacks, or strokes from the strap was a regular feature of their childhood. They never questioned this, it was just how things were. But, Dermot, they were soon aware, had a totally different kind of upbringing.

At only twenty inches long, Dermot ruled the house and all in it. Neighbours trailed to the house to offer their congratulations and catch a glimpse of this marvellous child, as if Dermot McMullen was the first child born to the family. Seamus’s hand was shook over and over. He was stood drinks at the pub by the men, while the women brought gifts for the baby and cakes and other fancies for the family. The three girls were mostly ignored, but if they were noticed at all, it was only to be asked if they weren’t delighted altogether by their wee brother?

Strangely enough, Rosie was. She had no argument with the small baby and she often stole away to gaze at him. He looked so vulnerable. He had a dusting of light silky hair and his skin was a creamy colour, his eyes the milky blue of the newborn. She was enchanted by his tiny flexing fingers with minute nails and his podgy little feet, which would kick out in freedom when he was released from his bindings. No, Rosie couldn’t blame the wee baby for the changes in the house, but as time passed, she blamed her parents and particularly her mother more and more.

Minnie was unaware of how her eldest daughter felt. In fact she seldom thought of her at all, now that she had her son. She would have said, if asked that her daughters were not neglected, they were fed, warm and kept clean. Rosie, if ever she’d given voice to her feelings, would have said that, though their basic needs were attended to, they were never given a kind word or shown a warm smile. Rosie would have liked her mother’s eyes to soften when she looked at her daughters sometimes, the way they did when they lighted on Dermot and to be spoken to in the soothing, gentle way she reserved for the baby.

She never discussed these things with her little sisters, but resentment began to burn inside her and she promised herself that she’d never make a daughter of hers feel so unwanted, however many sons she might have.

Dermot’s eyes eventually turned bluey/grey, but his skin stayed fair and he developed dark blond curls. The three McMullen sisters all looked totally different to their brother. They all had large, dark brown eyes with a dusting of freckles beneath them and across their pink tinged cheeks and the bridge of their snub noses. Their hair was as dark as their eyes and fell in natural waves down their backs.

Each Saturday night, Seamus went into one of the pubs in Blessington village and the girls would have their weekly bath. Minnie would help bring the bath in before the fire and help fill it and then they’d be left to their own devices. It was Rosie who lathered her little sisters and washed their hair, remembering to use the water from the rain barrel outside the door for the last rinse, so as to give their hair extra shine.

It was Rosie who helped her sisters from the bath and dried them and towelled their hair to stop it dripping before attending to herself. And later, when they were all bathed, the water emptied pan by pan into the gutter in the yard, and the girls dressed for bed, Rosie would plait all their hair, so that it would be wavy for Mass in the morning.

And the next morning, while her mother attended to Dermot, Rosie would see to her sisters, brushing their hair and checking that they were tidy and that their boots were fastened correctly and they had a clean hanky up the leg of their bloomers and the collection farthings secure.

Chrissie and Geraldine accepted Rosie as their substitute mother without complaint and so possibly felt the lack of a mother’s love and attention less than Rosie did. And Rosie felt a sort of fierce protective love for her two little sisters and took a pride in their appearance.

When they stepped out for Mass dressed in their best clothes with bonnets tied beneath their little pointed chins, and their boots shining with polish, they looked lovely. All three girls were dressed the same for Mass, but though many of the neighbours smiled at the girls, their attention was all for Dermot.

Wasn’t he the little dote? Hadn’t he grown so? Wasn’t he the best baby in the world, so good, so contented? Surely Minnie didn’t know she was born with such a child and with three daughters to help her rear him.

In truth, the girls seldom got a look in where Dermot was concerned. Minnie seemed to either be nursing him, or cuddling him most of the day. She’d instruct Rosie from the chair before the fire in frying rashers and eggs for Sunday breakfast after Mass and later Rosie would cook the meal.

Rosie learned fast. Nothing enraged her mother more than vegetables burned onto the pan, lumpy gravy or inadequately drained cabbage and she had no wish to inflame her mother’s temper. So, without complaint, she learned also how to make soda bread, barnbrack and apple pie.

She’d always been used to helping. It had been her lot for long enough anyway, particularly as she was the eldest. She knew it was what most girls did and that it would stand her in good stead when she married. But, just sometimes, she would have liked to hold the baby, to feel his warm little body against her and see his eyes looking into her own.

Minnie however, guarded him jealously, only letting Seamus hold him grudgingly. Babyhood though, doesn’t last forever and as Dermot began to crawl, and then pull himself up to stand and walk, he wasn’t content to be cuddled all the day. He loved all his sisters, who were always willing to stop what they were at to do his bidding, but Dermot’s favourite in the house was Rosie and he was devoted to her.

Dermot began at the County School in Blessington the September before his fifth birthday. Rosie and Chrissie had both left school by then and Geraldine, who had been eleven in June had just one year left, so it was her job to take Dermot up to the school while Rosie and Chrissie helped wherever they were needed, on the farm, the house, or the dairy.

Rosie had settled well in to the mundane life, although she often missed the company of the girls at school and as she neared fifteen she noticed changes to her body she could have done with advice over, things that she could hardly discuss with a younger sister. There was no-one she could think to ask and she often wondered if thinking about it too much could be construed as a sin.

Then, one dreadful day, she’d gone to the privy outside, driven there by severe stomach cramps and found she was bleeding from her bottom. She came in, her eyes swollen, her body weak from crying for hours, for she was convinced she was dying.

Even then, she could hardly bear to tell her mother, but fear eventually overcame her embarrassment. ‘You’re not dying,’ he mother told her brusquely. ‘It’s what happens to every woman, every month.’

Rosie’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. She’d never heard of such a thing. Minnie McMullen was hazy about why women had periods and the workings of a human body – it wasn’t something a good, Catholic woman should know about she felt. But, she knew the monthly periods were connected somehow with having a child, and this was what she told Rosie.

Rosie looked at her in horror. She knew very little about sex and what you did to have a baby, but from the odd snippets picked up in the school yard, she knew you had to ‘do’ things with a man and she knew that to do those things before you had a husband and then to go on and have a baby, was just about the worst thing in the world. She’d be like Cissie Morlarty who, people said, had been expecting when she was but a young girl and there had been no boyfriend in sight. Anyway, whatever the truth of it Cissie was sent far away from her home to a place for bad girls so the rumours went and she was never seen or heard of again.

Rosie, gripped with desperate fear cried, ‘But, I’m not having a baby. I don’t want to have a baby.’

‘I didn’t say you were, you silly girl,’ Minnie replied sharply. ‘And I trust you won’t think of having a child until you are respectably married. This other thing is just part of being a woman, so that you can have a baby when you’re ready.’

Rosie was relieved beyond measure that she was normal and she wasn’t dying, but there were still things she needed to know and she decided to ask her mother now, while they were talking of intimate matters. ‘Mammy, how do babies get into you?’

Minnie’s lips pursed. ‘There is no need to know those things, or even ask about them until you’re married. Then, all will come clear to you.’

How? Rosie wondered, but she didn’t ask. One look at her mother’s face convinced her it would be a waste of time. Maybe, when she married, her husband would tell her. She hoped to goodness he knew something about it, or they’d never have a child.

She spent a lot of time as she reached her mid teens thinking about boys, wondering who she might marry and whether it would be someone around them, like Larry Sullivan the son of the blacksmith, or Rory McCabe, whose family owned a farm similar to their own, or even Dessy Finnegan, though when she thought of him she had to smile, for the boy was so small she stood head and shoulders above him like most of the other girls.

However, none of these boys attracted her in any way. In fact, they irritated her more often. Perhaps feelings change as a person gets older she mused or maybe she’d be swept off her feet by someone else entirely. She wondered what it would be like to fall in love, how it would feel to have a man’s hands upon you. Of course, that verged on impure thoughts and then would have to be confessed to Father McNally and yet she could scarcely prevent thinking of such things when she was in her bed at night.

Really though, when she thought deeper about it, she wondered if she’d ever have a boyfriend. She’d had to do so much with her sisters since she’d been ten that she’d seldom had time to think of her own appearance. She brushed both her sisters’ hair a hundred times each before plaiting it for bed, but her own waves got a cursory brush and she’d spent so long seeing that Chrissie and Geraldine were neat and tidy for school or Mass, that she scarcely had a minute to think of herself.

She examined her face and body critically in the mirror in her room and could see she had little to recommend her. Her eyes she felt were as dull as her hair, her skin sallow and while her body was thin enough, it had no shape to it at all.

She had few to compare herself with, for she saw her contemporaries only at Mass or the village, if she went in on Saturdays. There was a social in the church hall once a month for young people over the age of sixteen, but Rosie didn’t think she’d ever be allowed to go. She knew her mother didn’t approve of such goings on. Rosie didn’t mind too much for she had nothing to wear, the serviceable day clothes and outfits for Mass were not the sort of clothes to wear to a dance. She knew too, the possibility of her mother spending money to get her new clothes, especially the things suitable for a social, was as likely as her flying to the moon, and she had no money of her own.

But, despite all this, there was a boy, a man almost, Rosie liked and his name was Danny Walsh. She was the same age as his younger sister Elizabeth, while Sarah his other sister was another two years older and he had a younger brother Phelan, who was the same age as Geraldine. The girls had all been at school together and when she talked to them after Mass, she had ample time to study their older brother, Danny.

He was a well set up and muscular young man, and from being out in all weathers his face was always bronzed. As he was the eldest son he was set to inherit the family’s farm and he carried that assurance with him. His mouth turned up at the sides as if he was constantly good humoured, his chin was determined and strong and his sparkling eyes were as dark as the mop of brown curls he sported.

Rosie, knew that nobody as handsome as Danny Walsh would look the side she was on, and she kept her thoughts about him to herself and only dreamed about him in her bed at night when she was tucked in beside her sisters. However, Danny Walsh had noticed the young girl with the deep brown eyes and hair that shone in the sunlight, but he also knew how old she was and he was no cradle snatcher.

In the spring of 1914, Rosie was sixteen and a half and Danny’s feelings for her had deepened, though he had no idea how she felt about him. He was no flirt and didn’t give his heart freely and that Sunday morning he decided it was time to see if Rosie liked him enough to step out with him and he dressed with extra care. The McMullen family came out of church and Minnie and Seamus stopped to speak to some neighbours just a little way from the porch.

It had rained in the night and dampness still lingered in the air and Geraldine and Chrissie had Dermot between them and they were jumping him over the puddles. Rosie was standing a little way apart watching them, a smile playing at her mouth at the squeals of delight from Dermot and was unaware of the figure beside her, until he spoke.

‘It looks as though the afternoon might turn out nice after all,’ Danny Walsh said to Rosie and she, certain Danny couldn’t be talking to her, looked around to see who he was addressing.

Danny laughed. ‘It’s you I’m speaking to Rosie McMullen,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to take a walk with you this afternoon, if you are agreeable?’

For a moment or two, Rosie was unable to speak, both from astonishment and pleasure and her face flushed with embarrassment.

She didn’t know quite how much the flush suited her and how the blood pumped through Danny’s body at the sight of her pretty, fresh face. He felt his heart soar with joy for the blush and tentative smile told it’s own tale.

‘I must…I must ask my parents,’ Rosie stammered at last, when she’d recovered enough to speak. ‘If…if they have no objections I’d be pleased to walk out with you. What time did you have in mind?’

Danny shrugged. ‘Half past two/three o’clock. Whatever you prefer.’

‘Either would suit me admirably,’ Rosie said.

Minnie and Seamus had no objection to a relationship beginning between Danny Walsh and their daughter. The Walshes were known to them, their farms were nearly adjoining, though they were over two miles apart by road and they knew them to be a respectable, and a good, catholic family.

‘And he’s the eldest,’ Seamus said. ‘Going on for twenty-one now and set to inherit all.’

‘Aye,’ Minnie said. ‘Course Rosie is young yet.’ And a grand help to me, she might have added, for she knew she’d miss that greatly.

‘Old enough to marry,’ Seamus said. ‘Sure, she’ll be seventeen in September, and you were just eighteen when we wed.’

‘Aye,’ Minnie said with a sigh, knowing her willing helper would not be with her much longer. But then Geraldine would be leaving school herself in the summer and Chrissie would still be at home, time to lick the pair of them into some sort of shape.

And so, a courtship began between Rosie and Danny Walsh. Each Sunday afternoon through that long and glorious spring and summer, Danny would call for her and they would go from her home sedately enough until they were out of sight of the farm, whereupon Danny would clasp Rosie to him and kiss her, until she felt she had no breath left in her body.

They would walk hand in hand by the side of the lake and just the touch of Danny’s hand in hers sent heat pounding though Rosie’s body and when he turned to look at her and smile, she felt as if her heart had actually stopped beating.

Rosie regularly visited Danny’s parents, Connie and Matt, and found she liked them very much and knew they liked and approved of her. Phelan, though he liked Rosie, was not above teasing her. On her second visit to the farm he had a grin on his face as he grumbled, ‘Danny’s making me do all the work, since he met you,’

‘You cheeky young pup,’ Danny cried, cuffing his brother, lightly on the side of the head. ‘Bout time you pulled your weight. Anyway, it’s only the evening milking I’ve asked you to do.’

‘Aye, so far.’

‘You turn will come, boy,’ Matt told his younger son. ‘Danny does his share and more, so lets have no more talk about it lest we embarrass our Danny’s young lady.’

Rosie was anything but embarrassed. She loved the teasing and ribaldry between the family, never having experienced anything like it. As she helped Connie clear away the things from the meal one evening, while the men had a smoke by the fire, she gave her a brief account of her life and the cooking and washing and dairy work she’d done since she’d been a child.

Connie knew some of it of course. She knew too about the baby boy born to the McMullen’s after three daughters and at first she’d been as pleased for them as any of the neighbours, knowing most farmers wanted a son. Made the work all worthwhile if their own flesh and blood was to inherit all they’d worked for but though she’d been delighted herself to have two boys, she fiercely loved her daughters too.

She could talk to her daughters, far more than to her sons and she took pleasure in their company and she’d always hoped that Danny and Phelan would choose women who would fit in with the family, when they took a wife. She was delighted with Danny’s choice and knew she would get on a treat with Rosie and told Matt this later that night when Rosie and Danny had set out for a walk.

‘Mind you,’ she said. ‘I don’t like the set up in that house at all, and that’s not so much from what Rosie said, but more from what she didn’t. And didn’t Danny tell you when he was invited up for a meal, that the wee child was served even before his father and that he held court over the conversation at the table and all had to be quiet and listen to him?’

Matt gave a brief nod. ‘Aye, he did right enough.’

‘God, but they’ll have him ruined,’ Connie said.

‘Do him no good in the long run.’

‘Aye, don’t I know that?’ Connie said with feeling. ‘Course Minnie has always been daft about the boy and never has a good word to say for the girls and from what Danny says is far too free with her hands. Rosie herself let slip that Minnie had used the strap on her more than once.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t understand the woman at all. Rosie, at any rate, is a daughter I’d be proud to own and I’d welcome her here tomorrow.’

Danny somehow talked Minnie into letting Rosie go to her first social, to show her off he said and Minnie relented enough to buy Rosie a dress when she said she couldn’t go, for she hadn’t suitable clothes. Minnie wouldn’t want the Walshes to think her mean. Rosie didn’t care why the dress was bought, she was just glad it was for she was wild to go and let her friends see the fine man she had. Several girls were already jealous of Rosie’s luck in landing such a grand catch, but Rosie didn’t see Danny as a catch, but as a good and kind man whom she loved with all her heart.

Shay, Danny’s best friend still footloose and fancy free, teased Danny about settling down so young that night at the social. He had noticed a change in his friend over the last few weeks and knew Rosie had captured his heart. ‘Sure, isn’t there plenty of time and the whole world full of women?’

‘Aye, but it’s just the one woman I want,’ Danny said. ‘You’ll know one day. You’ll fall for someone and it will hit you like a ton of bricks and nothing will do you, but marry them.’

‘Well, I wish you joy of it. I’m in no hurry myself.’

‘Just wait until it’s your turn,’ Danny said and he left Shay and went over to claim his sweetheart, who was surrounded by a group of girls. ‘Excuse me ladies,’ he said. ‘I need to have a dance with my lovely Rosie’.

Rosie missed the looks of resentment and envy on many of the girls’ faces for she had eyes only for Danny and he took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor and they made up a set for the Dublin Reel with young people like themselves. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Danny asked. As the music came to an end and the partners bowed to one another.

‘Ever so.’

‘Well, it won’t be the last time you go to a dance I promise,’ Danny said. ‘You shouldn’t be stuck away in some farmhouse all the time, for just to look at the beauty of you would brighten anyone’s dull life.’

‘Oh, Danny, you say such silly things.’

‘True things,’ Danny said and Rosie was unable to answer for she was swung away by another man, as the music changed to a polka. The man had his arm tight about her waist and the pace was such that there was little time or breath to talk and she was glad to take a rest at the end of it and hang onto Danny’s arm and accept the glass of homemade lemonade he had ready for her for she was out of breath. It was a wonderful, magical evening and later in bed that night she went over Danny’s words again and again, as she did after every date and they warmed her very soul.

In fact, she thought about Danny nearly every waking minute and dreamed of him every night. With every passing hour and day, she loved Danny Walsh more and knew she would do anything in the world to please him.

One Sunday afternoon in late June, they climbed the Wicklow Hills. They’d been before, but never so high and eventually, Danny called a halt, hauling Rosie up to join him. They stood and looked about them, the lake shimmering blue in the sunshine that lit up the hillside. ‘Have you ever been up there?’ Danny said, pointing his hand way into the distance. It was a clear day and they could see for miles.

‘Sugar Loaf Mountain?’ Rosie said, recognising its distinctive granite summit where it was said nothing grew at all, although it was miles away. She shivered. ‘No. I’d be afraid. They say the Devil walks there at will.’

‘Jesus, Rosie, you can’t believe that?’ Danny cried. ‘It’s a tale put about to frighten the weans. Shay and I always promised ourselves we’d go there one day and stay the night, just to prove there was nothing to be scared of, but we never did get around to it.’

Rosie liked Shay Ferguson. The Walshes and Fergusons were good friends and Shay and Danny had been inseparable since their school days, just as Shay’s brother Niall was with Phelan now. ‘We used to get up to some high jinks as lads,’ Danny said. ‘We even had a den. Don’t know if I could find it now, if it’s still standing that is. It was an old shepherds’ shelter, but we thought it a grand place. We became blood brothers together there, slicing our fingers with our pen knives to mingle the blood.’

Danny gave a short laugh at the memory. ‘Little wonder we didn’t bleed to death, or get an infection,’

He put his arm protectively around Rosie. ‘There’s no need though for you to fear anything any more, Rosie McMullen for I will never let anything harm you in all your life.’

‘Oh Danny.’

‘Do you love me, Rosie?’

‘Oh yes, I haven’t enough words to tell you how much.’

Danny sank to the ground and Rosie was glad to sit beside him on the springy turf, for her legs had begun to tremble. They lay together clasped tight and when Danny began kissing Rosie, she felt those strange yearnings beginning in her body which she barely understood. Danny fumbled at her top until her breasts were partly exposed and as his tongue gently parted her lips, she felt such excitement and pleasure, she could no more tell him to stop, than she could prevent the sun from shining.

Dear God! She knew right from wrong, but never knew about this, this passion that could rise up in you. When Danny’s lips began to nuzzle at her breasts, she pressed him closer her whole yearning for him. Yes. Oh yes, and she pushed her fist in her mouth to prevent her saying the words aloud.

But she couldn’t help the cry escape her when Danny slid his hands between her legs. She felt she’d died with happiness and she cried. ‘Go on. Oh Danny, please go on.’

And how much Danny wanted to. God, he loved Rosie so much it hurt and he knew now, this minute, she would stop him doing nothing and that she wanted for them to be truly together as much as he did.

He pulled away reluctantly, though his groin ached with desire. He had to be strong and sensible for both of them. He was four years older than Rosie, and he had to be the one to put on the brakes, for she seemed incapable of it. He didn’t want her disgraced, her family dragged through the mud with her, the wedding rushed and baby born a scant six months later and all claiming it was premature. He’d seen that enough times and didn’t want it for his Rosie.

After that though, their courtship became more ardent and their lovemaking more and more intimate, until there were few places on Rosie’s body Danny hadn’t explored. Rosie, with Danny’s urging, had touched him too, feeling his strong muscles move beneath her hands and she had even felt the throbbing hardness of his manhood.

Each time, Danny would pull away from Rosie with difficulty and she would return home frustrated and filled with desire. She didn’t know what it cost Danny to resist, for he was burning up himself.

‘Oh God, Danny,’ Rosie said breathlessly one evening at the farm gate, as Danny pulled away from a passionate embrace. ‘Christ, I can’t stand this much longer.’

Danny too felt they had waited long enough. ‘Rosie, do you love me, as I love you with all your heart and soul?’

‘I love you with all my being,’ Rosie told him earnestly. ‘Danny, I’d need a lifetime to show you how much.’

‘Then you’ll have a lifetime,’ Danny said emphatically. ‘Rosie, will you marry me?’

‘Oh Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.’

‘Then my darling, we’ll talk to your parents tomorrow evening’ Danny promised.

But, despite Minnie’s indifference to her daughter, she had seen Rosie come home flustered time and enough and knew what ailed her. She hoped Danny Walsh had respect for Rosie and that Rosie had worn her sensible head when she was with him, for she knew well enough what could happen to young couples allowed out alone. So she was relieved and pleased that Danny came to see them and asked for permission to marry Rosie and readily gave their permission. Connie and Matt weren’t averse to this either, for they weren’t fools and had seen the way things were going for some time and the wedding was set for October 1914, a month after Rosie’s seventeenth birthday.



Rosie began sitting by the fire each evening that she didn’t see Danny, sewing things for her bottom drawer. Geraldine was an accomplished seamstress and helped her, but Chrissie had no interest in it at all. Rosie looked at the cobbled mess Chrissie had made of the sheets she’d offered to hem and knew she’d have to unpick the stitches and begin again. She knew Chrissie had tried though and said nothing to her.

Not so their mother. ‘Who in God’s name would marry a woman who barely knows how to thread a needle?’ she demanded, giving Chrissie a cuff across the head so hard that it knocked her from the stool. Chrissie’s face burned but her eyes remained dry. She said not a word to her mother, but once she’d left the room she whispered to her sisters, ‘Am I worried? I don’t think so. There are more ways of satisfying a man than sewing a button on his shirt.’

‘Chrissie,’ Rosie cried shocked. ‘Take care, Mammy would take the strap to you if she heard such talk.’

‘That’s why I’m not telling her,’ Chrissie said, with a defiant toss of her head and the three girls giggled together.

But, although Rosie had help with the basic sewing, she embroidered the night gowns and pillowslips by herself, for she had a knack for it and eventually a week later, with her wedding only days away, she said with satisfaction, ‘No-one could have a better bottom drawer than me.’

Chrissie had watched Rosie finish the last rosebud on the neck of the cambric gown, and snip off the thread and said, ‘Aye, it’s a fine nightdress right enough. And now, with all the work you’ve done on it, don’t you let Danny tear it from your back. Tell him to go slow.’

‘Chrissie!’

Chrissie paled instantly. She’d not heard her mother come into the room and now she watched her approach with dread. The first slap snapped her neck back, but the second on the other cheek with the back of the hand, scored a line down Chrissie’s cheek from Minnie’s rings. ‘We’ll have no more of that sort of dirty talk. You can just be thankful your father is out.’

Chrissie’s face with the scarlet handprint on one cheek and the other oozing blood from the deep graze had wiped the smiles from Rosie and Geraldine’s faces. Rosie wondered if she should say something – intervene, but in the past when she had tried that, it had only made things worse.

She wouldn’t risk it and waited till her mother left the room again before reaching for Chrissie’s hand. ‘I don’t care,’ Chrissie said defiantly as tears she wouldn’t let fall, glistened in her eyes. ‘I hate her! She’s a cow.’

‘Hush, oh hush,’ Rosie said putting her arms around her distraught sister. ‘Never say things like that, Chrissie. Think them if you must, but never say them. Mammy would kill you if she heard. But I’ll tell you what,’ she added, hoping to turn the subject from their mother, ‘Danny can remove the nightdress in any way he chooses and if he’s too slow, I’ll help him, so I will.’

Chrissie’s smile was tremulous, but it was at least a smile and both Rosie and Geraldine were glad to see it. Rosie gave her sister another hug and returned to her seat before her mother should come in



Connie had offered Rosie the loan of her wedding dress, to save the young couple money and when Rosie had seen it, shimmering satin with an overdress of lace and a large train, she felt her eyes fill with tears at her generosity. A neighbour woman ran up dresses of white satin for Rosie and Danny’s sisters on her treadle sewing machine and they were decorated by Sarah and Elizabeth with beads and little pink and blue rosebuds.

Then, Minnie announced she was going to Dublin to buy clothes for Seamus and Dermot. ‘The trousers on the suit your father wears for Mass have worn thin. They’re always shining on the knees and don’t hold the crease for five minutes and the jacket is downright shabby.’

Rosie knew she was right, but she worried at the expense of it, what with them already paying out for the reception although it was being held at Danny’s house as it was bigger ‘Oh Mammy, Daddy will be fine in what he has,’ she protested. ‘Don’t be spending money like this.’

‘Och, sure aren’t you the first to be married?’ Minnie said and a rare smile touched her lips for a moment. ‘We’ll do the job properly or not at all.’

‘But Dermot, Mammy. He’s just a wee boy. What does he need?’

‘I want him in a sailor suit,’ Minnie said. ‘In the paper it said they were the talk of the place in England. Won’t he look a little dote in one. Of course you’d get nothing like that in this town, but I’m sure to find something in the fine shops in Dublin.’

Rosie knew then why her mother was making the trip. It wasn’t for her father’s suit at all. The material could have been bought at the drapers’ in the town and run up by a seamstress the way it was always done, but, Dermot had to be dressed as a wee sailor on her wedding day. She said nothing, she had no wish to argue with her mother now and anyway there was little point. Her mother was blind and deaf to reason where the child was concerned.

Dermot didn’t care whether he had a sailor suit or not. He didn’t even want to go and see his Rosie marry a man who would be taking her away and he said so forcibly and shed so many and such bitter tears that Rosie felt immensely sorry for him. So little had been denied Dermot in his young life that he thought he just had to say that he didn’t want Rosie to go and she wouldn’t. It was a shock for him to realise that Rosie was going ahead with her plans, regardless of what he thought. ‘Don’t you love me any more? he asked plaintively.

‘Dermot, Of course I love you. I’ll always love you.’

‘Not as much as you love Danny Walsh.’

‘I love you differently,’ Rosie corrected. ‘It’s all part of growing up, getting married and leaving home. Nearly everyone does in the end and I’ll not be far away. You can come and visit as often as you are let.’

Dermot scrubbed at his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his jersey. ‘It won’t be the same.’

Rosie, moved by the sadness in Dermot’s face bent down and put her arms about him. ‘I know it won’t and I can’t do anything to make that better, but I want you to remember something always.’

‘What?’

‘That you are very, very special to me. My own wee brother and wherever I am you will always hold part of my heart.’

Dermot was only slightly mollified by Rosie’s words, but he did at least begin to see that whatever he did or said, would change nothing and the days rolled by one into another.

The day before the wedding, Rosie felt herself looking around her home, seeing her room, her sisters, her parents and little distressed Dermot in a new light, knowing soon she was leaving them behind her. She loved Danny and oh without a doubt she longed to be with him, longed to be his wife, longed for fulfilment and to be loved with intensity, but it was a big step nonetheless, whereas for Danny, little was changing. He’d have a wife certainly, but he would still be living at his own house and with his family still around him. It wouldn’t be the same wrench for him at all.

It wasn’t that Rosie disliked Danny’s parents or siblings and they’d gone out of their way to make her welcome in their home. It was just that she was nervous of leaving. Her home had never been a bed of roses and since Dermot’s birth, it had been liberally strewn with thorns, but it had been familiar and she knew she would miss her sisters greatly.

Minnie didn’t help her daughter’s unease at all, when she spoke to her the night before the wedding. She chose to talk to her after her sisters and Dermot had made their way to bed and Seamus was doing one last round of the farm before turning in. ‘There are things about marriage that women don’t talk about,’ she began.

There had been no lead up to the conversation. Rosie had stared at her mother slightly appalled and a little embarrassed. It was too late for this type of discussion.

Evidently, Minnie didn’t realise this, for she went on. ‘You must let your man do as he pleases once you are married. It’s what you’ll promise to do before the priest and congregation tomorrow. You don’t have to enjoy what he does, most women don’t, but you must endure it. He may hurt you at first, this fine husband of yours, but even if he does, you must let him have his way, for this is what marriage is all about.’

It seemed an eternity that Rosie sat before the dying fire that night after her mother’s words, looking into the turf settled into the grate with a hiss and lick of orange flame, while the wind gusted around the cottage, trepidation and fear of what was before her, driving away tiredness. And then, her father came in, the door torn from his grasp by the wind, so it slammed against the wall with a crash. He brought in with him the cold of the autumn night and Rosie, unable to sit any longer and make inane conversation, after the declaration her mother had made, took herself off to bed.




TWO (#ulink_11e279a0-025d-5df0-9c6b-458f17163dac)


The next day, Rosie awakened to a silent house. The morning was a dark one but the clock said it was half past seven and she knew her father would have been up a few hours or more, milking the cows. Guiltily, she pulled herself away from the warmth of her sisters curled up together, and began to dress.

Her mother turned from the fire before which she was sitting as Rosie came in. ‘That was good timing,’ she said. ‘I was just about to call you.’ The plate she laid before Rosie almost took her breath away – there were rashers, an egg, fried tomatoes, potato cakes, white pudding and fried bread.

Rosie couldn’t remember the last time her mother had cooked her breakfast, never mind a feast like this. ‘Mammy, this is marvellous.’

‘All brides should have a good breakfast on their wedding day,’ Minnie said. ‘Sets you up for the day and Lord knows when you’ll ever have one so good again.’

‘It’s like giving a condemned man one last request, the way you put it,’ Rosie complained, but with a smile. However, when her eyes met those of her mother’s and she saw her tight-lipped, an icy thread of apprehension trailed down her spine.

It vanished at the church when she saw Danny waiting for her at the altar beside Shay Ferguson, his best man. She walked slowly down the familiar church on her father’s arm, her four bridesmaids coming behind, when really she wanted to fly into the arms of her beloved.

The church was full of neighbours and friends of the young couple and Rosie heard feet shuffling in the pews and a few coughs or sniffs as women sat dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs. She wanted to say, ‘Don’t cry, I’m happy, I’ve never been so happy.’

But, of course, she said nothing. She reached the altar at last and gave her bouquet to Chrissie, slipping her arm from her father’s to stand beside Danny. He turned to look at her, and she felt her heart nearly stop and gave a short gasp at how handsome he looked. As for Danny, he thought he’d never seen a girl so beautiful. He knew in Rosie he’d met his soul mate who he would love till the end of his days, and at that moment vowed never to do anything that would hurt her.

Rosie came out of the church later, blinking in the rays of the October sun, on the arm of her husband and as she smiled at the crowds milling around them cheering the young couple Rosie felt warmed by their good wishes.

The wedding breakfast was laid out in the farmhouse. Trestle tables with benches had been borrowed from the church hall to seat people. Rosie sat at the end table with Danny, their parents either side of them, and looked at the spread put on and knew Connie and her daughters must have worked for days and days to provide for so many. Though her parents had paid for the food, Rosie knew her mother had not done a hand’s turn to prepare it.

The two-tier wedding cake had been a present from the baker in the village. ‘You keep the top tier for the christening,’ he’d said, with a nudge to Rosie’s ribs and then laughed uproariously as her face flamed with embarrassment.

It was fortunate that the day was dry and warm enough for the dancing to take place outside, and this gave Connie and her daughters time and space to clear away the dirty things. Rosie’s offer to help was waved away. ‘Not on your wedding day, bonny girl,’ Connie said. ‘Away and dance with your man.’

And Rosie did dance with him. She was seldom off her feet as the accordion, fiddle and banjo played the familiar reels and jigs and polkas while the bodhran beat out the steady rhythm.

It was a wondrous, tremendous day, and when the revellers eventually made their way home – and not all of them terribly steady, either – Danny and Rosie stayed outside while the velvety darkness closed about them. Danny had his arm around Rosie and she leaned against him in absolute contentment.

‘Are you happy, Mrs Walsh?’ Danny asked her.

‘Deliriously so, Mr Walsh,’ Rosie replied with a smile.

‘Shall we go in?’

Rosie, remembering her mother’s words, couldn’t stop the slight shiver that ran through her. Danny guessed immediately what she was nervous of. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he told her. ‘Not of me. I’ll not hurt you. Trust me.’

And she did trust him, of course she did, this was Danny, her Danny, who she’d lay down her life for. ‘I do trust you, Danny,’ she said. ‘It was the night air causing me to feel chilly, that’s all. Let’s go in.’

Danny knew it was no night air but he kissed Rosie on the cheek, took her arm and led her indoors, where he found everyone had prudently taken themselves to bed.

Rosie knew that they would be living with Danny’s family for a while, maybe for years, until a house of their own could be built near to the farmhouse. Connie guessed Rosie might find this strange and could well understand it. She had put her arm around Rosie’s shoulder one evening a few days before the wedding and said, ‘I don’t want you to feel that this is someone else’s house you are living in when you come here. From now on, this will be your home.’

‘Thank you, you’re all so kind.’

‘We should be thanking you,’ Connie had said, ‘for making our son such a happy man. In you I really feel I have gained a daughter. We must decide what you are to call me, for I know it has been awkward at times.’

Rosie had blushed. She had not known what to call Connie. Mrs Walsh sounded too formal and Connie too familiar, but she hadn’t been aware that the woman had known of her dilemma. Connie had gone on, ‘It was the same with me and my mother-in-law at the start, yet in a way it was easier for me: my own mother was dead and so I just called her Mammy.’

Rosie had thought of the love she’d experienced in this house in just the few months she’d been coming there, more by far than she’d ever had in her own home. She couldn’t ever remember her mother putting her arm around her the way Connie did with ease. Even Matt would catch hold of her hand or pat her on the shoulder as he passed and she realised these good, kind people were better parents to her than her own would ever be. She had turned to Connie and had said, ‘I would love to call you Mammy.’

‘You would?’ Connie had asked. ‘You don’t think your own mammy will mind it?’

‘I don’t think she will give a tinker’s cuss for anything I do,’ Rosie had replied bitterly. ‘It used to upset me, but now I have Danny, a new home and a new life and to an extent a new family. To call you Mammy will just be part of it.’

Danny was pleased his mother and Rosie got on so well together for he knew if there was any sort of friction between them, living in such close proximity would be untenable and there was nowhere else he and Rosie could live for the present, although he was doing his best to give them a private bedroom at least. As in most farmhouses, the main bedrooms led straight off the kitchen-cum-living room. The first one was the room that Elizabeth and Sarah shared and you went through that to reach the one Danny had previously shared with Phelan, just as it had been in her own home while Connie and Matt had the one room in the loft, up the stairs to the back of the kitchen.

Underneath the stairs was another room that had been used for storage and that was the room Danny had chosen. He and his father had worked hard before the wedding, moving all the junk to the barn and making sure the place was watertight and damp free.

Now Rosie stood at the threshold of the door and looked around in delight as Danny lit the lamp.

Connie and Matt had bought them a new iron-framed bedstead and mattress, and Rosie looked at it made up with the sheets and blankets she’d brought with her, the embroidered pillowcases visible where the sheets were turned down, and one of her nightdresses draped over the coverlet.

She saw Connie had been busy. There were pictures on the walls and bright rag rugs on the stone-flagged floor, and the Sacred Heart of Jesus above their bed. Rosie and Danny had bought a new bedroom suite from a catalogue, but Rosie hadn’t seen it until now because it had been delivered to the Walshes’ farmhouse only a few days before the wedding. Now, Rosie saw someone had hung her clothes in the dark wood wardrobe and her personal things were laid out on the matching dressing table.

‘Oh Danny, it’s beautiful!’ she cried.

‘So are you and I can’t wait much longer,’ Danny said huskily, wrapping his arms around his young wife. ‘Oh God, Rosie, how I’ve longed for this moment. I love you and want you so much.’

The love in his voice melted Rosie’s apprehension and she allowed Danny to strip the wedding dress from her and let it fall in silken folds at her feet, her petticoats, corset and bloomers following as he laid her on the bed and removed her boots and stockings. She lay beneath the sheets, naked as she hadn’t been since she’d been a wee child, for she’d always been taught to dress and undress beneath her nightdress.

Suddenly, Danny, in his haste to divest himself of his clothes, kicked the chamber pot beneath the bed and the ringing sound reverberated throughout the house. Rosie put her hand across her mouth to still the giggles.

‘Shut up,’ Danny hissed, laughing himself. ‘This is no laughing matter, madam. Please conduct yourself with proper decorum.’

‘Aye, Mr Walsh, I will,’ Rosie said, gazing at her husband as she spoke and realising she was seeing a naked man for the very first time in her life. Danny snuffed out the light and slid in beside her.

After her mother’s words she’d imagined herself lying rigid in the bed in her pristine nightdress while Danny did unmentionable things to her that she had to submit to now that she was his wife. She imagined it hurting her so much she’d cry out and everyone would hear.

But it wasn’t a bit like that. Danny held her close and caressed her gently, while his tongue, darting in and out of her mouth, sent sharp shafts of desire flowing through her whole body as she let her hands explore his body too. When she came upon his hardened penis, she gave a gasp. Danny was nuzzling at her breasts and she cried, ‘Oh, Danny, please, please hurry.’

Danny smiled. The passion in both of them could be denied no longer and he carefully entered his young wife. She did feel pain, but it was overridden by waves of exquisite joy which engulfed her over and over again, until she felt she could die with happiness. She couldn’t help the cry that burst from her lips, and as Danny, spent at last, lay on top of her, she felt tears of joy seep from under her lashes and trickle down her cheeks.

She felt loved, desired, wanted, as she’d never truly felt in her life before. But none of her earlier life mattered – now she had Danny and he more than made up for her parents’ indifference.

When Danny discovered Rosie was crying he was horrified. ‘Don’t cry. Oh God, Rosie, don’t,’ he implored. ‘Did I hurt you? Oh God, I’m sorry.’

Rosie’s smile was watery but her voice firm as she said, ‘Are you not the finest eejit, Danny? Don’t you know women cry from happiness as well as sorrow? Don’t ever apologise for what we did tonight, for I wanted it as much as you and it was wonderful so it was.’

Danny knew he’d found a treasure, a woman who’d love him all his life and who enjoyed their lovemaking. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. ‘I love you, Mrs Walsh,’ he said.

‘And I you, Mr Walsh,’ Rosie replied happily. She snuggled against him and the two slept entwined until the cock crowed the next morning.



Connie got on well with Rosie. She liked the girl for herself and also because she made her son happy. She’d known it from the first morning. Connie had heard the cry Rosie had given the previous night and knew what they were about and prayed that it was a cry of joy and not pain. She hoped her son had had the patience to take Rosie gently, for she knew she would be a virgin, and later the stained sheets she stripped from the bed gave further evidence of this.

But when she saw the two of them together the next morning, she knew that whatever way Danny had approached their first nuptial coupling, it had pleased his young wife, and that was all that mattered. She saw the way their eyes met and the secret smiles between them, the way Danny found ways to be near Rosie, putting his hand around her shoulder, touching her arm, catching her suddenly around the waist and pulling her close. Rosie delighted in these exchanges, even as she coloured in embarrassment. They were happy and at one together and Connie was content.

Rosie had wondered how it would fare with so many women in the one kitchen, but she needn’t have worried. Danny’s eldest sister, Sarah, had been working as a seamstress in Blessington village since Elizabeth had left school and was able to help her mother. Now, with Rosie to take on that role, Elizabeth was anxious to follow her sister, who assured her there was plenty of work. ‘Do you mind?’ Rosie asked Elizabeth. ‘I’d not like to think I was pushing you out of your own home.’

‘You’re not,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘I’ve been dying to go. Sarah has fun there with the other girls and after I left school I found the farm a bit stifling and lonely – you know how it is. It’s different for you, you’re married now and you’ll probably have your own babies soon enough, but I want something for myself before I tie myself down.’

‘Well, if you’re sure?’

‘I am,’ Elizabeth said, and suddenly, impulsively, gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek. Rosie was pleased but surprised. ‘What was that for?’

‘Oh nothing,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Just to say welcome to the family. We’re all glad you’re here, Danny especially – he’s like a dog with two tails.’

There was a lot of talk and laughter around the Walsh table in the evenings. They found humour in many things and were not averse to poking fun at one another. Rosie was included in this from the start and it only took her a short amount of time to be able to come back at them in the same teasing vein.

Connie knew that Rosie hadn’t been happy at home and she also knew, like most of the village, that the main problem in the house centred around the fuss made of the wee fellow Dermot.

It didn’t help that Dermot looked so angelic, with his fair curls and his large blue eyes and elfin face. He looked remarkably like the statues of the cherubs in the church in Blessington, except that he didn’t have the angels’ chubby frame. Dermot was slight and fine-boned, and Minnie called him delicate yet the child seldom ailed. ‘She’ll not let the wind blow on him because if it,’ Danny said with a snort whenever Connie spoke of him. ‘The child’s no more delicate than I am.’

‘I agree with you,’ Connie said. ‘Phelan was a bit like that when he was younger and now look at him.’ Phelan had sprouted that year and was continuing to grow, and while Danny was six foot in his stocking feet, she thought Phelan might even exceed that eventually. ‘No,’ Connie concluded. ‘There’s not a lot wrong with that wee boy – I’d just call him wiry.’

‘Call him wiry, delicate, or whatever you like,’ Danny said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, I’m almighty glad Rosie is out of that unnatural atmosphere.’

Connie agreed with Danny, and yet she encouraged Rosie to visit her old home once a week. After all, it was no distance at all over the fields, even if they were too muddy to cross and she had to use the roads, it was only just over two miles away, not that far at all.

Rosie was glad to go, for kind though Connie was, she missed her sisters and young Dermot too, for all he was a wee tyrant. But as the days shortened she seldom saw her brother for she always left the house before he came in from school so she could be back home before the dark set in. As the weather got colder, she often thought if it wasn’t for Connie urging her to go and the genuine welcome she received from Chrissie and Geraldine, she’d often not bother to leave the Walshes cosy farmhouse to fight with the elements to reach her old home. Her mother didn’t seem to care whether she was there or not; she never showed any interest in her new life, her marriage, the Walshes and how she was treated, and though Rosie had expected little else, she was still hurt.

Chrissie and Geraldine, on the other hand, were interested in everything, and Chrissie was particularly interested in sex and what it was like. Remembering her own ignorance over periods, and how it had caused her such distress and made her think she was dying, Rosie told her sisters about what would happen well before it should. Chrissie had been grateful to Rosie when she began her periods the previous year, but in talking about it, Rosie had set a precedent for talk of intimate things.

So on Rosie’s first visit home, Chrissie, on the pretext of leaving her down at the farm gate, had asked her as soon as they were away from the house, ‘Have you and Danny done it yet?’

Rosie turned to face her sister and replied sharply, ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Oh, please, Rosie,’ Chrissie pleaded. ‘You’re the only one I can ask.’

‘Why should you want to know?’

‘Well, just because I’ll probably do it eventually myself, won’t I?’ Chrissie said. ‘I mean, most women do and I’d be scared, if I didn’t know what to expect.’

‘It’s natural to be a bit scared,’ Rosie said. ‘I was.’

‘I just can’t imagine letting any man do that to you,’ Chrissie said. ‘It seems such an odd thing.’

Rosie hid a secret smile as she remembered the longing and passion that had almost taken over her reason when she’d been courting Danny. Chrissie had not yet had those feelings, but she was bound to have them one day and maybe it would do no harm to tell her a wee bit in advance. ‘The other girls talk about it,’ Chrissie went on. ‘Josie Clancy said her sister bled like a stuck pig the first time and it hurt like hell then and got no better. It’s just something you have to let men do. Is that the way it was for you?’

‘Far from it,’ Rosie said.

‘Do you bleed?’

‘Aye,’ Rosie said, ‘the first time. It shows that you’re a virgin.’

‘And does it hurt?’

‘Aye,’ Rosie said. ‘Again, just the first time, but you don’t notice it.’

‘I’d notice it, if someone hurt me.’

Rosie laughed. ‘Look, Chrissie, I’m not going into details, but there are things a man can do to a woman that means you’re as willing as he is. You have to let your husband make love to you, however you feel about it – it’s what you promise on your marriage, but if he is kind and patient and loving it can be that you will want it and enjoy it as much as he does.’

Chrissie still looked doubtful and so Rosie went on. ‘One day there will be someone who’ll make you feel just the way I’ve described and you’ll want to do things you know are wrong and he may promise you the moon if you’ll let him do as he pleases. When that happens, Chrissie, remember what I’ve told you and wait for the ring on your finger.’

‘Don’t fret yourself,’ Chrissie replied with meaning. ‘No man will get within a yard’s length of me I’m telling you. It seems a lot of fuss for little return and I want no part of it.’

Rosie remembered when she had felt the same about the vulgarities of sex. Any thoughts she had about boys had been romantic and very chaste – the position Chrissie was in now. But she said nothing else, and hoped when the time came, Chrissie might remember her sister’s words and that they might prove helpful to her.

She kissed Chrissie at the gate and made her way home, going over the conversation in her head. ‘I’m a fine one to talk about my words helping Chrissie,’ she told herself. ‘There are not words written that would have helped me with Danny. I just thank God he was good enough to make me wait.’



The Walsh family walked together to Mass early on Christmas morning. The milking was done but there had been no breakfast cooked for no one was allowed to eat or drink before taking Communion. Rosie was glad to hang on to Danny: she felt light-headed and her empty stomach growled in protest.

It was better in the lovely church, everything white and gold and shining and she listened to the Latin words and let the familiarity soothe her. The sermon was short, the priest taking pity on his hungry parishioners, some who’d come far greater distances than the Walshes.

Afterwards, around the churchyard, Rosie glimpsed her own family and Dermot, catching sight of her before anyone else, came hurtling across and threw himself at his sister, nearly tipping her over. Rosie felt sorry for the boy – though she’d visited her home every week, she’d always had to leave before Dermot arrived home from school and so she hadn’t seen him in ages. She also knew Dermot hadn’t been told that Rosie had visited on these occasions because her parents were well aware of the fine rage the child could work himself into if ever he was thwarted in anything. To Dermot it must have seemed as though Rosie had abandoned the whole family.

They’d never even met at Mass, for Rosie and Connie attended the one at half past seven, with Danny too if he was through milking in time. Occasionally, she’d glimpsed her father in the congregation and have a brief word, but she knew her mother, sisters and Dermot would attend the children’s Mass at nine o’clock.

So now, when Dermot pulled himself away from his sister’s embrace and said accusingly, ‘Why haven’t you been to see us?’ she knew he had a point.

However, before she was able to reply, Dermot continued, his voice high with excitement, ‘Santa’s been to our house, and I got an orange and pencils, a tin whistle and a bar of chocolate in my stocking.’

‘Well, aren’t you the lucky boy?’

‘Aye, and that’s not all,’ Dermot continued, almost breathless with the thrill of it all. ‘I’ve got a train set too – it’s all set out on the floor in the kitchen.’

Rosie’s mouth dropped open with astonishment. Her questioning eyes met those of her two sisters who’d followed Dermot to speak to Rosie and it was Chrissie who nodded and added wryly, ‘Aye, he does – a big one. It’s clockwork.’

‘You wind it up,’ Dermot boasted. ‘And I’ve got two big engines and lots of carriages and goods wagons and two tracks that wind together and a bridge and a tunnel and a station.’ He hopped around with exhilaration. ‘Come and see,’ he urged. ‘You can play with me.’

‘Not now, Dermot,’ Rosie replied. ‘I must go home and help cook breakfast and then Christmas dinner for us all. I’m coming to see you tomorrow.’

‘Promise?’

‘Aye, I promise,’ Rosie assured him.

Back home at the Walshes’ house, after they’d eaten, there were presents for everyone. Rosie’s were small for she hadn’t much money of her own, but she had bought lace hankies for Sarah and Elizabeth, a bottle of perfume for Connie, socks for Matt and Phelan and a new shirt for Danny.

She was overwhelmed by their gifts to her: a hat, scarf and glove set in dark red from Matt and Connie, and a blouse from the girls which they’d made in their free time at work. It was peach and the material had a shine to it, and the girls had embroidered flowers in pale blue and white on the collar. Rosie was able to declare truthfully that it was the prettiest thing she’d ever owned.

And then Danny gave her his presents. The first was a thick woollen coat in navy blue, the cut of it the height of fashion and the hem falling just to the top of her boots. She put it on and spun around in the kitchen in absolute delight and said she felt like a queen, and all the family had laughed at her fondly. Then Danny presented her with a little box. Inside it, set in tissue paper, was a brooch with an amber stone, surrounded by a filigree of blue and white that he’d chosen especially to go with the blouse his sisters had told him about.

The gifts, selected with such care, brought tears to Rosie’s eyes and she suddenly thought of her parents’ house, where a wee boy had a train set and numerous other presents and his sisters would barely be wished a ‘Happy Christmas’. But she wouldn’t let the unhappiness she was feeling for her sisters spoil her own magical day.

After a wonderful dinner, neither Rosie nor Danny was let near the sink. Sarah would wash, Elizabeth would dry, and a reluctant Phelan would put away. ‘Don’t even try complaining about it,’ Elizabeth told her scowling young brother. ‘It’s Christmas Day and it’s a mortal sin to argue on Christmas Day.’

‘It is not.’

‘It is so,’ Elizabeth told him emphatically. ‘And on Christmas Day, all big sisters have the right to beat the head off younger brothers who won’t do as they’re told.’

They all laughed so heartily that even Phelan had to smile, and Danny ruffled his brother’s hair as he passed. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Give in gracefully.’

‘And what will you do?’ Connie asked Danny. ‘Will you come up to the fire?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Danny, with a glance over at Rosie. ‘I have a mind to go for a walk with my pretty young wife.’

‘The wind would cut you in two out there,’ Matt told him.

‘Och aye, for old bones maybe,’ Danny said.

‘It’s not you I’m thinking of, it’s Rosie,’ Matt said.

‘With her warm coat on and her new hat and gloves covering her head and hands, her scarf tucked around her neck and my arms about her, what chance has the wind to even blow on her,’ Danny said to his father. ‘What d’you say, Rosie?’

She would say she’d follow this man to the wilds of Siberia and so she hurried from the room to dress for her walk.

They took the path down towards Blessington Lake, where they’d spent so many hours of their courtship. The cold was intense and the wind fierce, the sky leaden grey and yet Rosie was content to be by Danny’s side.

Blissfully happy at spending their first Christmas together as husband and wife, she nearly told him about the baby she might be carrying, but she couldn’t be sure until the New Year so decided to told her tongue. She knew what Danny would do if she was to give him a hint of it – he would run home and broadcast it to his family, friends and anyone else who’d listen.

She was even more glad she’d kept her news quiet when they arrived home to find that friends and neighbours had popped in with things to eat and drink and with a fiddle and an accordion player too. The rugs were lifted and the furniture shifted to make more room for dancing.

‘Your mother said nothing of a party,’ Rosie said to Danny, as she took off her things in the bedroom.

‘Everyone knows it’s open house here on Christmas evening,’ Danny replied. ‘Put on your new blouse, then let’s go out there and see the envious eyes of every man in the place.’

‘Oh Danny,’ Rosie admonished him, but she put the blouse on, to please Danny’s sisters as much as Danny himself.

Most of the people were known to her and many had been to the wedding and were delighted to see Danny and Rosie already so settled and happy together. Rosie had her hand shaken by many a man there and was hugged by the women. She felt surrounded by the love and best wishes exuded by the crowd and nearly danced her feet off.

During the evening, other people called in and the eating, drinking and jollification went on so late Danny said it was hardly worth seeking his bed at all that night for he’d be up in a few hours for the milking and that maybe it was a good thing Christmas Day came just once a year.

For all that, they did eventually snuggle up together as the house grew quieter. Rosie leaned against Danny and felt his big muscular arms enfold her, and wondered if it were possible to die from happiness.




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