The Celtic Knot

Brown Bread

Mam is furious that she’s being summoned to school. She doesn’t know who to be more annoyed with, Kathleen or Mother Rosario. She has a good mind to give Kathleen a walloping over this; can she not be trusted to behave herself and not go drawing attention to herself? Kathleen apologizes. She seems to only be saying sorry these days. Mam adds that she’ll give “that Rosario one” a piece of her mind, and Kathleen is shocked to hear the head nun stripped of her title like that. She begs Mam not to show her up in front of the nun. Kathleen tells Mam that she knows what nuns are like. If any of the girls’ mothers stand up to them, they take it out on the children.

That doesn’t exactly fit well with how kind Mother Rosario had been just the day before, lending Kathleen a handkerchief and slipping her a sweet, but Kathleen still doesn’t want to risk getting into deeper trouble. It’s well known that the nuns don’t take kindly to mothers who interfere.

Mam insists stoutly that they’re as good as the Mothers any day, though Kathleen knows that isn’t how the nuns see it at all. Everyone knows the nuns come down far harder on children from the tenements than on children from the Artisan Dwellings, the neat yellow-brick houses where the better-off workers and tradesmen live. The nuns believe they have a better chance of making something of those girls than of the daughters of the poorest classes, who, as everyone supposedly knows, will only marry young and produce broods of sickly, dirty children, many of whom will mercifully not live to see their first birthday. It’s an awful thing, but it’s true enough. The neighbors are forever having babies, and half of them die before they turn one. Mam mutters proudly that tuppence has no business looking down on three ha’pence, hauls on her best Sunday coat, and rams her smart black hat, feather and all, down over her springy curls, the hat she otherwise saves for only the grandest occasions. She snatches up her handbag, too, empty as it is, just for the look of the thing, and it rides on her hip the whole way to school, its straps tucked into the crook of her elbow.

Kathleen trots along beside Mam, wishing to goodness the day were already over. She coaches Mam the entire way about what she ought to say to Mother Rosario and what she absolutely ought not to say. Her little sisters trot along behind, quiet for once, listening hard. Kathleen begs Mam not to mention that she’d been out at a birth. Mam tells her flatly not to be telling her what to say. It’s time the nuns heard a thing or two about how real people live, she adds grimly. Kathleen wails that Mam is going to make a holy show of her.

Inside, Mam calmly explains to Mother Rosario that she’d had to attend to a neighbor in an emergency in the middle of the night, and that’s why Kathleen was late. Kathleen studies her own two brown toecaps, lines them up neatly, and stands very still, praying Mam won’t say another word. Mother Rosario asks, gently, what sort of emergency. Mam fumbles for a properly formal word and lands on “a confinement.” Mother Rosario replies that she understands. Then Mam presses on about young Liz, and Kathleen squeaks out “Mam!” in terror, but Mam barrels ahead anyway, revealing that the poor woman had been hemorrhaging to beat the band. Kathleen’s blush deepens. Hemorrhaging means blood. Why did Mam have to go and mention blood?

Mother Rosario responds only that she’s sorry to hear it, then explains that she doesn’t mean to dwell on it. Kathleen had been left in charge of her younger sisters that morning, and a few things went wrong, which is only natural since she’s young and has little practice at it; nobody is blaming her for being late.

Mother Rosario adds that she simply wants to make sure everything is all right at home, and asks whether Mam’s husband is out of work. Now it’s Mam’s turn to blush. She admits the factory closed down. Da had a good position there, foreman, until it shut its doors.

Mother Rosario notes she doesn’t wish to pry, but wonders whether he might be interested in a bit of work in the convent gardens, just a few hours a week, whenever it suits him. Their own gardener is getting on in years and coming close to retirement. She says if they find the right assistant, who knows, the position itself might open up in a year or two.

Kathleen doubts Da will think much of that, but beggars, as they say, can’t be choosers. She holds her breath. Mam promises she’ll mention it to him, and Kathleen can hear how pleased she is as she thanks Mother Rosario.

Mother Rosario asks if she can be assured that everything at home is fine, that nothing is troubling Kathleen. Mam assures her she’s a good girl, only that she asks so many questions.

That reminds her, Mother Rosario notes, turning to Kathleen at last, about her theological question. Kathleen has no idea what she means until Mother Rosario tells her that Saint Patrick lived long before Catholics and Protestants ever parted ways, that he was simply a Christian, and he belongs to all Christians. Does that answer it? Kathleen whispers yes, though privately she’ll need to think it over. She and the other children have always assumed the devil lives in the Protestant church, but that can hardly be true if the Protestants are Christians, too.

Mother Rosario continues that she believes Kathleen is talented. Mam is stunned. This is clearly the first she’s heard of it, and it’s news to Kathleen, too. She’s terrible at school, always getting her sums wrong, none too good at spelling either, though her handwriting isn’t bad. The teacher never once asks her to read her compositions aloud the way she does with the clever girls, and Kathleen always comes in last on sports day. She can’t imagine where any talent of hers could be hiding.

Musical, Mother Rosario clarifies. She’s heard Kathleen has a lovely voice. That much is true. Kathleen is forever humming and warbling around the place, though she’d never once thought of it as being musical. Everyone in her family sings—Irish songs such as “Molly Malone” and “Are You Right There, Michael?”, as well as songs learned off Polly’s wireless, like “Stormy Weather,” which is Da’s favorite, too, plus hymns like “I’ll Sing a Hymn to Mary” and “Sweet Heart of Jesus.”

That last one is the very hymn that got Patsy in trouble the day she brought the house down singing it and then protested that she hadn’t known Jesus had a sweetheart. Mam washed her mouth out with soap all the same, even though the poor little girl hadn’t meant to be funny or disrespectful. She’d only gotten muddled.

Musical, Mam repeats, wondering. She’d plainly never thought of it that way either. Then, delicately, not wishing to be indelicate, Mother Rosario muses that she supposes they probably haven’t got a piano at home. “No, Mother,” Mam says. Kathleen winces at the edge in Mam’s voice, sharp enough to cut with a knife, as Da would say. Mother Rosario suggests Kathleen could practice on one of the school pianos if she wanted lessons; it would help her talent along and build some discipline. Piano lessons, Mam repeats, doubtful. Mother Rosario then asks what Mam would think of dancing lessons instead, which might suit a musical child just as well? Mam asks what sort of dancing. Tap? Ballroom?

Irish dancing, Mother Rosario explains. Part of Our National Heritage. Plenty of the girls do it. It’s a lovely accomplishment for an Irish girl, gives her an interest, and keeps her out of harm’s way, as she puts it.

Mam isn’t very keen on Our National Heritage. Her family had all been on the Treaty side in the Civil War. The pro-Treaty people, like Mam’s family, wanted to settle with Britain after the War of Independence and get on with building up the new state, while the anti-Treaty people, led by Mr. de Valera (otherwise known as Dev), thought the agreement wasn’t favorable enough and wanted to keep fighting for a better deal. The Civil War happened before Kathleen was born, when her parents were young, and even though it’s all well in the past by now, Mam still doesn’t trust Dev, who was very big on Our National Heritage. Mam half-believes that Irish dancing, Gaelic football, and the Irish language were invented more or less single-handedly by Dev to make Irish people look more Irish than they really are. She’s wrong about that, of course, but that’s simply how her mind works, and it isn’t easy to change her opinions.

Da is a Dev man. He’s delighted with the new constitution Dev brought in, but he keeps his views to himself whenever Mam climbs up on her hobbyhorse and starts in on politics. Dev is keen on happy maidens dancing at the crossroads, Mam always insists, but it’s a long way from the crossroads to the tenements of the Liberties, and Our National Heritage doesn’t put bread on the table, that’s for certain.

Kathleen hopes to goodness Mam isn’t about to give this pet lecture of hers to the nun. The last thing she wants is for the two of them to get stuck in a political argument, though she knows perfectly well that Mam would do it for two pins. Luckily, she reins herself in.

Mam tells Mother Rosario that they aren’t very Irishy-Irishy in the house. She adds that her own father survived the Great War only to be nearly murdered by his own countrymen once he got home, and that she doesn’t think much of that kind of Irishness, nor does she approve of this Economic War business. She’d rather Ireland and England lived like neighbors and forgot the past. They all need each other in this world, as she sees it, and Ireland refusing to trade with England strikes her as cutting off its nose to spite its face. One only has to look at the state of the country, with half the men out of work and the farmers in a terrible way.

Mother Rosario laughs, and the sound makes Kathleen jump. She’s never once heard the nun laugh before. Mother Rosario tells Mam she’s remarkably well-informed about politics. Kathleen knows Mam won’t care for that, as though being poor should mean being ignorant, but Mother Rosario isn’t finished. She allows that Mam isn’t entirely wrong, but surely she has no actual objection to Irish dancing itself? Mam supposes it’s harmless enough. Mother Rosario insists it’s better than harmless, that it’s wholesome and healthy, good exercise, and patriotic besides. It sounds to Kathleen exactly like brown bread, good for the bowels, too, in all probability, though she doesn’t dare say so out loud.

Mother Rosario adds that it keeps a girl occupied in a proper, ladylike way, quite unlike other, more pagan sorts of dancing, and there are hardly any boys involved, though she supposes Kathleen isn’t thinking along those lines just yet. Kathleen blushes again, grateful that nobody happens to be looking her way.

Mam gives in at last. Since Mother Rosario thinks so highly of it, she supposes they might give it a try. Mother Rosario is delighted, certain Kathleen will love it, and lists off classmates who already do: Annie Ruane, Brigid Mullane, and Tess O’Hara. She insists they love it, they just love it.

Kathleen winces at the list. Those three are the snootiest girls in the whole class, and she has no wish to be lumped in with them. Her real friends, Angela and Nell, would desert her for certain if she took up with that crowd, and besides, all three have been dancing since they were six years old and will always be miles ahead of her. She tries to catch Mam’s eye and shake her head, but Mam is too busy smiling at Mother Rosario, charmed that the whole interview has turned out so well. Kathleen could do without any of it, and all because she burned the porridge.

When Kathleen tells Da the whole story that night, he only remarks that at least she won’t be burning it again. She’s indignant. Is that the only sympathy she’s going to get? It could be worse, he says dryly. She could have landed herself a job as assistant gardener to some old fellow with arthritic knees, ordering her about and handing her all the hardest work. That isn’t much consolation.