bet he’d like to marry you.’
Mother smiled wanly. ‘Give the poor man a chance,’ she said.
‘If you were all dressed up and made yourself attractive, as you used to be, he would. But you don’t make any effort; all you do is to sit around this filthy room and look awful.’
Poor Mother. How I regret those words. I never realized that she was weak from malnutrition. Yet the next day, by some super-human effort, she had tidied up the room.
The school’s summer holidays were on, so I thought I would go early to the McCarthys’ – anything to get away from the wretchedness of our garret. They had invited me to stay for lunch, but I had an intuition that I should return home to Mother. When I reached Pownall Terrace, I was stopped at the gate by some children of the neighbourhood.
‘Your mother’s gone insane,’ said a little girl.
The words were like a slap in the face.
‘What do you mean?’ I mumbled.
‘It’s true,’ said another. ‘She’s been knocking at all our doors, giving away pieces of coal, saying they were birthday presents for the children. You can ask my mother.’
Without hearing more, I ran up the pathway, through the open door of the house and leaped up the stairs and opened the door of our room. I stood a moment to catch my breath, intensely scrutinizing her. It was a summer’s afternoon and the atmosphere was close and oppressive. Mother was sitting as usual at thewindow. She turned slowly and looked at me, her face pale and tormented.
‘Mother!’ I almost shouted.
‘What is it?’ she said listlessly.
Then I ran and fell on my knees and buried my face in her lap, and burst into uncontrollable weeping.
‘There, there,’ she said gently, stroking my head. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re not well,’ I cried between sobs.
She spoke reassuringly: ‘Of course I am.’
She seemed so vague, so preoccupied.
‘No! No! They say you’ve been going to all the houses and –’ I could not finish, but continued sobbing.
‘I was looking for Sydney,’ she said weakly; ‘they’re keeping him away from me.’
Then I knew that what the children had said was true.
‘Oh, Mummy, don’t talk like that! Don’t! Don’t!’ I sobbed. ‘Let me get you a doctor.’
She continued, stroking my head: ‘The McCarthys know where he is, and they’re keeping him away from me.’
‘Mummy, please let me get a doctor,’ I cried. I got up and went towards the door.
She looked after me with a pained expression. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To get a doctor. I won’t be long.’
She never answered, but looked anxiously after me. Quickly I rushed downstairs to the landlady. ‘I’ve got to get a doctor at once, Mother’s not well!’
‘We’ve already sent for him,’ the landlady said.
The parish doctor was old and grumpy and after hearing the landlady’s story, which was similar to that of the children, he made a perfunctory examination of Mother. ‘Insane. Send her to the infirmary,’ he said.
The doctor wrote out a paper; besides other things it said she was suffering from malnutrition, which the doctor explained to me, saying that she was undernourished.
‘She’ll be better off and get proper food there,’ said the landlady by way of comforting me.
She helped to gather up Mother’s clothes and to dress herMother obeyed like a child; she was so weak, her will seemed to have deserted her. As we left the house, the neighbours and children were gathered at the front gate, looking on with awe.
The infirmary was about a mile away. As we ambled along Mother staggered like a drunken woman from weakness, veerign from side to side as I supported her. The stark, afternoon sun seemed to ruthlessly expose our misery. People who passed us must have thought Mother was drunk, but to me they were like phantoms in a dream. She never spoke, but seemed to know where we were going and to be anxious to get there. On the way I tried to reassure her, and she smiled, too weak to
Mother smiled wanly. ‘Give the poor man a chance,’ she said.
‘If you were all dressed up and made yourself attractive, as you used to be, he would. But you don’t make any effort; all you do is to sit around this filthy room and look awful.’
Poor Mother. How I regret those words. I never realized that she was weak from malnutrition. Yet the next day, by some super-human effort, she had tidied up the room.
The school’s summer holidays were on, so I thought I would go early to the McCarthys’ – anything to get away from the wretchedness of our garret. They had invited me to stay for lunch, but I had an intuition that I should return home to Mother. When I reached Pownall Terrace, I was stopped at the gate by some children of the neighbourhood.
‘Your mother’s gone insane,’ said a little girl.
The words were like a slap in the face.
‘What do you mean?’ I mumbled.
‘It’s true,’ said another. ‘She’s been knocking at all our doors, giving away pieces of coal, saying they were birthday presents for the children. You can ask my mother.’
Without hearing more, I ran up the pathway, through the open door of the house and leaped up the stairs and opened the door of our room. I stood a moment to catch my breath, intensely scrutinizing her. It was a summer’s afternoon and the atmosphere was close and oppressive. Mother was sitting as usual at thewindow. She turned slowly and looked at me, her face pale and tormented.
‘Mother!’ I almost shouted.
‘What is it?’ she said listlessly.
Then I ran and fell on my knees and buried my face in her lap, and burst into uncontrollable weeping.
‘There, there,’ she said gently, stroking my head. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re not well,’ I cried between sobs.
She spoke reassuringly: ‘Of course I am.’
She seemed so vague, so preoccupied.
‘No! No! They say you’ve been going to all the houses and –’ I could not finish, but continued sobbing.
‘I was looking for Sydney,’ she said weakly; ‘they’re keeping him away from me.’
Then I knew that what the children had said was true.
‘Oh, Mummy, don’t talk like that! Don’t! Don’t!’ I sobbed. ‘Let me get you a doctor.’
She continued, stroking my head: ‘The McCarthys know where he is, and they’re keeping him away from me.’
‘Mummy, please let me get a doctor,’ I cried. I got up and went towards the door.
She looked after me with a pained expression. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To get a doctor. I won’t be long.’
She never answered, but looked anxiously after me. Quickly I rushed downstairs to the landlady. ‘I’ve got to get a doctor at once, Mother’s not well!’
‘We’ve already sent for him,’ the landlady said.
The parish doctor was old and grumpy and after hearing the landlady’s story, which was similar to that of the children, he made a perfunctory examination of Mother. ‘Insane. Send her to the infirmary,’ he said.
The doctor wrote out a paper; besides other things it said she was suffering from malnutrition, which the doctor explained to me, saying that she was undernourished.
‘She’ll be better off and get proper food there,’ said the landlady by way of comforting me.
She helped to gather up Mother’s clothes and to dress herMother obeyed like a child; she was so weak, her will seemed to have deserted her. As we left the house, the neighbours and children were gathered at the front gate, looking on with awe.
The infirmary was about a mile away. As we ambled along Mother staggered like a drunken woman from weakness, veerign from side to side as I supported her. The stark, afternoon sun seemed to ruthlessly expose our misery. People who passed us must have thought Mother was drunk, but to me they were like phantoms in a dream. She never spoke, but seemed to know where we were going and to be anxious to get there. On the way I tried to reassure her, and she smiled, too weak to
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