herself to pray for such a drastic outcome to their action.
She thought then she might pray that nobody would be hurt, but she soon realised that that was a cowardly prayer. She knew that if there were guns they would befired, and it wasn’t into the air to frighten the horses that they would be fired. You couldn’t have it both ways – not pray that the Rising would be abandoned or discovered before it happened and at the same time pray that there would be no bloodshed. It was a conundrum. Of course, she could pray simply that Patrick might be safe, but that was a selfish prayer, and Mary Ann knew of old that God wasn’t likely to look kindly on someone who prayed that her brother might be saved while others were killed, others who had nobody to pray for them, perhaps. She puzzled and worried a lot over it all, and all the time she was thinking it through, it irritated her no end that she was wasting time on worrying that she could be spending on praying – for whatever it was she wanted.
In the end, she thought that she would just pray that all would be well, and she would leave it to God to figure out the best solution. And she had a very good week in which to pray – it was Holy Week, the week before Easter, and her employers were most anxious to ensure that she was able to attend all the special Easter ceremonies of her church. They told her just to down tools and go at any time when there was a service she wished to attend.
And there were plenty of those. First there was a long service on the Thursday. Amelia asked her about it, why it took so long, and Mary Ann shrugged her shoulders and said the priests took ages to wash the men’s feet.Amelia was intrigued and horrified and thrilled all at once. It sounded much more interesting than sitting in silence at a Meeting for Worship with nothing to watch, but at the same time slightly nauseating.
‘You mean really their feet? Did they take their shoes and socks off?’ Amelia was imagining corns and long yellow horny toenails and ripe red bunions sticking out at odd angles and wondering whether there wasn’t an unpleasant smell of sweaty sock.
Mary Ann gave her a curious look.
‘What do you mean, really their feet? If I say they washed their feet, then of course they took off their shoes, didn’t they?’
Really, Amelia’s questions were so bothersome when Mary Ann had such a lot of serious praying to do.
‘Well,’ replied Amelia stoutly, ‘if you say to wipe your feet, you don’t really mean your feet, you mean wipe your shoes on the doormat. This might be the same thing.’
‘Well, it isn’t the same thing,’ said Mary Ann, illogically exasperated. ‘They take off their shoes and socks and they really have their feet washed with real water in a real white enamel kitchen basin with a blue rim, just like that one over there in the sink.’
‘And do they dry them with a stripey towel like the one on the back of the door?’
‘Lawny! No. They have a special white linen towel, like in a hotel.’
All this talk of washing feet reminded Amelia ofFrederick’s bruised and bleeding feet. It would be nice if someone washed his feet for him in a blue and white enamel basin and dried them with a fine linen towel. She hoped he had got new boots and she wondered if there was an ointment or unguent she could send him. A zinc cream perhaps, to soothe sores and blisters.
On Friday, the afternoon service went on for hours too. This time, Mary Ann said that all the people queued up to kiss a crucifix, the thought of which sent a little shiver up Amelia’s spine. Mary Ann described to Amelia how the church was all gloomy and the statues were covered in purple drapes, like huge and knobbly parcels , and the priests wore black or purple vestments too, for mourning. She thought this was strangely appropriate to her personal circumstances, but of course she couldn’t explain this to Amelia.
On Saturday, the main Easter ceremony was late at night. Amelia
She thought then she might pray that nobody would be hurt, but she soon realised that that was a cowardly prayer. She knew that if there were guns they would befired, and it wasn’t into the air to frighten the horses that they would be fired. You couldn’t have it both ways – not pray that the Rising would be abandoned or discovered before it happened and at the same time pray that there would be no bloodshed. It was a conundrum. Of course, she could pray simply that Patrick might be safe, but that was a selfish prayer, and Mary Ann knew of old that God wasn’t likely to look kindly on someone who prayed that her brother might be saved while others were killed, others who had nobody to pray for them, perhaps. She puzzled and worried a lot over it all, and all the time she was thinking it through, it irritated her no end that she was wasting time on worrying that she could be spending on praying – for whatever it was she wanted.
In the end, she thought that she would just pray that all would be well, and she would leave it to God to figure out the best solution. And she had a very good week in which to pray – it was Holy Week, the week before Easter, and her employers were most anxious to ensure that she was able to attend all the special Easter ceremonies of her church. They told her just to down tools and go at any time when there was a service she wished to attend.
And there were plenty of those. First there was a long service on the Thursday. Amelia asked her about it, why it took so long, and Mary Ann shrugged her shoulders and said the priests took ages to wash the men’s feet.Amelia was intrigued and horrified and thrilled all at once. It sounded much more interesting than sitting in silence at a Meeting for Worship with nothing to watch, but at the same time slightly nauseating.
‘You mean really their feet? Did they take their shoes and socks off?’ Amelia was imagining corns and long yellow horny toenails and ripe red bunions sticking out at odd angles and wondering whether there wasn’t an unpleasant smell of sweaty sock.
Mary Ann gave her a curious look.
‘What do you mean, really their feet? If I say they washed their feet, then of course they took off their shoes, didn’t they?’
Really, Amelia’s questions were so bothersome when Mary Ann had such a lot of serious praying to do.
‘Well,’ replied Amelia stoutly, ‘if you say to wipe your feet, you don’t really mean your feet, you mean wipe your shoes on the doormat. This might be the same thing.’
‘Well, it isn’t the same thing,’ said Mary Ann, illogically exasperated. ‘They take off their shoes and socks and they really have their feet washed with real water in a real white enamel kitchen basin with a blue rim, just like that one over there in the sink.’
‘And do they dry them with a stripey towel like the one on the back of the door?’
‘Lawny! No. They have a special white linen towel, like in a hotel.’
All this talk of washing feet reminded Amelia ofFrederick’s bruised and bleeding feet. It would be nice if someone washed his feet for him in a blue and white enamel basin and dried them with a fine linen towel. She hoped he had got new boots and she wondered if there was an ointment or unguent she could send him. A zinc cream perhaps, to soothe sores and blisters.
On Friday, the afternoon service went on for hours too. This time, Mary Ann said that all the people queued up to kiss a crucifix, the thought of which sent a little shiver up Amelia’s spine. Mary Ann described to Amelia how the church was all gloomy and the statues were covered in purple drapes, like huge and knobbly parcels , and the priests wore black or purple vestments too, for mourning. She thought this was strangely appropriate to her personal circumstances, but of course she couldn’t explain this to Amelia.
On Saturday, the main Easter ceremony was late at night. Amelia
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