The Four Streets Saga Read online

  Instead of moving into the bar for a pint of Guinness to settle his stomach, he sat down on a painted wooden bench, bolted to the wooden deck, to watch the young woman standing at the ship’s rail and wondered to himself why she didn’t step indoors and into the warm. Surely, it would be much easier than taking on the sea wind and trying to tame a wild mane of hair outdoors?

  Her already pale complexion turned a ghostly ashen as she gave up on her hair, staggered forward a few steps and grabbed the rail with both hands, looking more than a little queasy.

  Aha, Jerry thought, seeing an opportunity in the girl’s problem, thank ye Lord, a hundred thousand times, for here’s me chance. He embodied everything everyone knows to be true of an Irishman. He was as bold as brass, full of the blarney and didn’t know the meaning of the word shy. That was until he met Bernadette.

  Taking the initiative, Jerry nipped into the café, bought an earthenware mug of steaming-hot sweet tea and took it over to the strange but beautiful girl. In his grinning, cheeky Irish way, he tried to introduce himself, but he was so struck by the size and the blueness of her eyes that, for the first time in his life, he could say nothing.

  Bernadette didn’t notice Jerry as he approached her, so focused was she on holding onto the rail of the ship and on keeping in her stomach the fried eggs and bacon she had enjoyed that morning. She was sure she might faint, and was wondering how she would cope all alone if she did, when she saw Jerry’s tall, broad form standing next to her. It was hard to look up as it meant breaking her concentration, but she managed for a few seconds even though she felt like throwing herself overboard. A slow watery death was surely more pleasurable than feeling as she did right now.

  She was distracted by his large black eyes that made her forget her sickness for all of thirty seconds. ‘I felt as though they were burning into me very soul,’ was how Bernadette described her first meeting with Jerry, wistfully and often, her eyes welling up at the mere memory of the day.

  It was obvious to everyone who knew their story that Jerry and Bernadette had benefited from that all too rare but wonderful thing, love at first sight.

  He realized as he walked over to her that there was no reason on God’s earth why he, a complete and total stranger, should be taking a mug of sweet tea to a woman he had never met in his life before and might never meet again. Jerry introduced himself, as best he could, but it came out as a prolonged and indistinguishable jabbering.

  Holy Mary, he thought to himself, where the feck has me sensibility gone and why is me hand shaking like a virgin on her wedding night, spillin’ the bleedin’ tea everywhere?

  Although Jerry was talking gibberish, Bernadette could tell he was offering her the tea. So desperate was she to feel better that she accepted it, assuming that he could see how ill she felt.

  ‘Thank ye,’ she whispered, as she took the mug out of his hand, managing a very thin and feeble smile that she didn’t for one second feel herself. ‘I’m so glad there is someone who knows the cure for how bad I feel.’ She tried to improve the smile and look grateful, whilst her stomach did an Irish jig in her belly.

  Jerry’s stomach also began a jig, but it had nothing to do with feeling seasick. He smiled to himself at how it seemed to have gone into free fall, something he had never experienced before.

  Bernadette was doubly grateful for the tea as she had only half a crown in her purse and hadn’t wanted to waste a penny. She wasn’t sure if drinking tea with milk was the right thing to do in the circumstances, but she trusted him. He looked trustworthy – and gorgeous; even through her sickness she could see that. And why shouldn’t she drink the tea in any case? In Ireland, strong, sweet tea was the cure for everything from scurvy to colic.

  As she drank slowly and tentatively, Jerry studied every detail of her profile, her neck and her hair, which kept blowing across her face, covering it like a lace veil. Finding his sea legs at the same time as his courage, Jerry played the fool with his best show-off jokes and Bernadette tried her best to laugh at his audacity. After all, he was outrageously flirting with a sick woman. Suddenly, without warning, they both saw the tea again, all over the deck and Jerry’s shoes.

  Jerry sprang into action. The wind had met its match. He gathered Bernadette’s flyaway hair together and spun it into a knot, before tucking it back under her cap as tightly as he could, for fear she would vomit straight onto it. Bernadette was beyond caring that a stranger was stroking the back of her neck and whispering soothing, comforting noises into her ear. Her eyes had filled with tears of shame and she looked as though her knees were about to buckle at any moment.

  Jerry kept hold of Bernadette, and her hat, keeping her hair away from her face for almost the entire crossing. The seasickness claimed her as she vomited over the rail all the way to Liverpool during the notoriously choppy journey across the Irish Sea.

  As deathly as the seasickness made her feel, Bernadette had noticed Jerry’s black wavy hair and, for an Irishman, his unusually broad shoulders. He wore a typically oversized cap, which, although pulled down low over his forehead against the wind, blew off to the other side of the deck so that Jerry, thrown from side to side by the rocking of the boat, had to run like a madman to rescue it. Despite how ill she felt, she laughed. It was impossible not to laugh at this cheeky Irishman.

  They didn’t leave each other’s side for the entire crossing. If they had, Bernadette might have fallen over. By the time they docked at Liverpool, she felt she had known him all her life. To be fair, she had: not necessarily Jerry, but many young men from home just like him. However, it was the fact that there was something very chippy and confident about Jerry that made him different and extremely attractive, despite her self-imposed intention to meet a rich American traveller who would sweep her off her feet and carry her off, away across the Atlantic, to the country where so many of her Irish ancestors had emigrated to live.

  ‘Never worry, Mammy,’ she had said to her mother, who was upset at the thought that soon all her children would have left her to work abroad. ‘I’ll send ye me pay and when I’m in America, oh sure, won’t ye be the grandest woman in all of Killhooney Bay, I’ll be able to send ye so much.’

  Bernadette was confident that she would be massively successful in the land of milk and honey, and her generosity was such that she was determined everyone she knew would benefit too.

  She already had a job waiting for her as a chambermaid in Liverpool’s Grand hotel, with staff accommodation provided in the maids’ dorm under the roof, boiling in summer and freezing in winter. Bernadette did not care. This lowly position did not deter her from her grand ambitions. She would have work. That was something many in rural Ireland did not. It hadn’t stopped raining in Mayo for weeks before she left, and although she loved her home, she was looking for adventure and a way to earn a living, not to grow a set of gills.

  But she hadn’t reckoned on meeting Jerry and she also hadn’t expected to fall in love within minutes of her feet leaving the Irish shore. It wasn’t the most romantic or conventional beginning to what became the deepest and truest love affair, but it forged an immediate deep bond.

  Jerry told Bernadette he was off to stay with a widowed aunt who lived on the four streets. Although he didn’t have a job already lined up, he knew there was plenty of work in Liverpool for strong Irish navvies. Work on the docks, the roads or building the new houses was not too difficult to come by and a slice of a pay packet earned in England could transform the life of a family back home.

  As soon as they docked and Bernadette set foot on dry land, she started to feel better. On board the ship, she had felt as close to death as it was possible to be, having vomited what felt like the entire lining of her stomach. Never had she experienced anything as unbearable. She knew if it hadn’t been for Jerry’s company and the fact that he had looked after her, it would have been a million times worse.

  Jerry turned to look at her and laughed. In the five minutes since they had docked, the colour had risen in he
r cheeks. Her eyes had begun to take on a sparkle and her smile was less forced. Jerry didn’t want to part from her. He needed to know the Bernadette who wasn’t distracted whilst vomiting over the deck.

  ‘Let’s go in here,’ said Jerry, pointing to a rough-and-ready portside café. ‘Ye need to get a lining on your stomach before ye set off to your hotel, and I sure need to eat before I set off to look for work. Let’s grab a bite together, eh? It’ll set us both up for what lies ahead for the rest of the day.’

  Bernadette willingly agreed. She had no idea when she would get the chance to eat again, and she also wanted to spend some time with this handsome young man when she wasn’t embarrassing herself and could act in a more dignified and ladylike manner.

  The café smelt of damp wool, stale bodies, fried steam and blue cigarette smoke. They walked across its floorboards to a newly vacated table with a red gingham tablecloth, next to the open fire. The waitress came and removed the overflowing ashtray, replacing it with a clean one as she took their order. Jerry offered Bernadette a cigarette, a Capstan Full Strength, which made her choke, and both of them laughed a great deal as they began to talk.

  Very shortly a large brown earthenware pot of tea was placed on the table with a plate of thickly sliced white bread and butter, followed by two plates piled up with chips and two fried eggs on top. Bernadette hadn’t realized how hungry she was until they both devoured the food.

  Finally, Jerry plucked up the courage and, cheekily, reached out and took one of Bernadette’s hands in his own. She didn’t pull away.

  ‘Does ye not know any modesty at all?’ she chided playfully, hitting the top of his hand with her free one as though to knock it away, something she had no intention of doing.

  Bernadette might have been play-objecting to Jerry’s romantic advances but really she was giggly and delighted. They talked about their homes and family, the places they both knew and the people they had in common.

  ‘Do ye know the O’Shaughnessys from Mayo?’ asked Jerry.

  ‘Ah, sure I do, from Bellingar, I know the mammy and daddy and their daughter Theresa,’ replied Bernadette. This was Ireland. In the rest of the world they say you are only ever six people away from someone you know, but in Ireland it has to be two.

  Jerry was nervous, turning his teaspoon over and over between his fingers, making a constant tinkling sound as it tapped the cup. On a normal day, he found it hard to remain serious for more than a few minutes and here he was, for the last hour, pouring out his life plan to a woman who had thrown up over his feet. He had never before had a conversation in which he talked out loud about the things that made him hungry for the future. Jerry was stupidly happy. They both were. Emotions were gripping them both so fast they had no idea what was happening but neither resisted.

  By the time Jerry delivered Bernadette to the tram stop for the hotel, he had decided she was very definitely the woman he was going to marry. There was no doubt. She was the one. It was just a matter of time until she realized it too.

  As they said their goodbyes, neither could believe what had happened. A few hours ago they had boarded a boat to take them to Liverpool and a new life, and here they were, both without a shred of doubt that, just those few hours later, they were in love; their new life had arrived. It had jumped up and whacked them both in the face with no notice whatsoever. Things were about to change, forever.

  Jerry promised to call at the staff entrance of the hotel and find her at the weekend. They walked away from each other, waved, then both looked back and laughed. Jerry ran back.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ laughed Bernadette. ‘I don’t even know ye.’

  Parting was physically painful. Both were secretly worried they might never see the other again, that the magic bubble might burst. As Bernadette turned to walk away for the second time, Jerry reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, and that was when Jerry, in broad daylight, with people walking past and with the Mersey River watching and a thousand seagulls soaring, kissed his Bernadette for the first time.

  It was a kiss that was so daring, Bernadette often recounted it to her friends.

  ‘Sure, he was so bold I had no idea what was coming and when he kissed me, I lost me breath and almost fainted, so I did.’

  It was very different from what Jerry told his friends. ‘She was so keen, she couldn’t keep her hands off me and begged me for another, in front of everyone and in broad daylight too. I thought we was going to be arrested right there.’

  If Bernadette heard him, it would be followed by squeals and play fighting. No one ever knew which version was true and no one cared. Their storytelling infused everyone with warmth and laughter.

  When they finally parted, Jerry went straight to his aunt’s house, deposited his bag and, after a quick greeting, took himself straight down the steps at the end of the street to the docks. Dock work was casual. He would walk the entire length of the waterfront and visit every dock if he needed to in order to be taken on. He now had a new imperative, a spring in his step. A reason to find work and good, well-paid work.

  As he ran down the steps whistling, he couldn’t get Bernadette out of his mind. For what felt like every moment until the weekend, he relived each second of their conversation. In bed, in the minutes before sleep, he relived their kiss as his stomach churned at the excitement and expectation of another. Might there be more? Could this be possible? Could life really be that good? Could Jerry, a farmer’s son from Mayo, really be this lucky?

  He was. They met almost every night until the day they married, even if it meant Jerry had to walk to the hotel when Bernadette had only her break time free. He would stand at the staff entrance until she could slip out, just for a snatched kiss, to reassure himself she was happy. On her day off she would run down to the docks and spend it at his auntie’s house on the street, enjoying the comfort of having a place where she could spend her time and wait for Jerry to finish work. On Sundays they would attend mass at St Mary’s church together and walk along the shore as far as Waterloo.

  They were blissfully in love and, after nearly a year of steady work, Jerry asked Bernadette to marry him. He popped the question in the café at the Pier Head where they had their first proper date. Bernadette could not have been happier. He even got down on one knee as the customers and staff cheered and clapped. They both cried a little as an elderly man from Eire came up to them on his way out of the café and pressed a brown ten-shilling note into Jerry’s palm as he left.

  ‘For the babby when it comes,’ he said, and winked as he left.

  They both thought they would burst with joy. But this did not distract them from the plans they had. Jerry and Bernadette spent a great deal of time mapping out their future. When Jerry’s aunt suddenly died, it was a shock to everyone, but luckily, shortly after Jerry had moved in with his aunt, she had put his name on the rent book, which meant that he could remain in the house without question. The houses on the streets had transferred from one generation to the next in this manner ever since the first wave of immigrants had flooded through the gates of Clarence dock during the potato famine.

  However, the pressure was too great for Jerry and Bernadette to put off the wedding until after the full twelve-month mourning period. Bernadette was helping Jerry to cook and clean and look after the house, and not being able to run up the stairs was driving them both mad with desire. But Bernadette was a good Catholic girl and she was taking no chances with sex before marriage. No shotgun wedding for her. Suddenly, being alone in each other’s company in the close proximity of a bedroom was becoming an almost unbearable temptation. Bernadette would never stay overnight and the pressure built to an almost unbearable pitch.

  ‘Just stay tonight,’ Jerry begged, one Sunday night as Bernadette was leaving. ‘Please,’ he murmured into her ear in the midst of a very passionate kiss. ‘I promise I will be good and ye will still be a virgin in the morning.’

  ‘Not at all!’ replied Bernadette forcefully. ‘Are ye crazy? Can ye imagine
what they will be saying here in the streets tomorrow when they see me leaving in the morning?’

  Her resolve did indeed drive Jerry crazy. He wanted to put his fist through the wall, but he also knew she was right. They were married within three months.

  During those three months Bernadette got to know everyone on the four streets as well as she did her neighbours back home. Bernadette and Maura came from the same village, Killhooney, and had known each other since Bernadette was a baby. You didn’t need to travel far in Liverpool before you met someone from back home. The two women became special friends, which extended to Tommy and Maura’s children, especially their eldest daughter, Kitty, who spent as much time with Jerry and Bernadette as she did in her own house.

  Although Maura was older, she and Bernadette had attended the same school, knew the same families and had a shared history. Their deep yearning for home had drawn them together from the first day Bernadette had arrived in the street. Maura was daily homesick. Both their families came from the sod houses, close to the coast. Every day they talked about how there was no better view of the Atlantic than that from the cliffs overlooking Blacksod Bay. No better dancing at a ceilidh than that to be had at the inn. No better fish to be tasted than salmon poached from the Morhaun River or fish from the Carrowbay Loch. They had so much to talk about and their conversations about home acted as a salve to Maura’s always aching heart.

  Neither mentioned the poverty, the lack of shoes, the rain, the hunger or the wet ceilings. The sun always shone on Mayo when it came to the reminiscing.

  Bernadette spent hours talking about her work to Maura, who loved to hear the chambermaids’ tales about the guests staying in the hotel. Stuck in a life that would never alter, Maura found every detail fascinating, from what the ladies wore to the staff-room gossip, especially about the head housekeeper, Alice Tanner, who had worked at the hotel since she was fifteen and who was legendary for never having taken a day off or having had a visitor since Bernadette arrived.