Not the Same Sky by Evelyn Conlon Page A

called for him—he should have known never to presume there was not a drama waiting to erupt.
    ‘One of the boys from the Kildare family has swallowed a pin’.
    ‘Swallowed a pin! Oh for God’s sake how did he do that? Never mind, the how is not important now.’
    Charles gave him plenty of biscuits to eat and then a sharp emetic. That would sort the matter out. His brother, upset at the attention not being given to him, asked if he could go to see the girls’ quarters, so Charles, in a fit of amusement took him down.
    ‘Now, here they are.’
    The boy was suddenly quiet, not so brave now, faced with so many girls, who rose to the occasion and decided to have a little revelry. Even the quietest of them got a pinch in, but quickly snatched their hands behind their backs, looking all innocent. The boy said, ‘Thank you,’ quickly, clearly having realised that his request may not have been such a good plan. He went upstairs and advised the other boys not to want to go there. The pin was passed by now. He thought it better to talk about that and ask his brother if it had been sore.
    Then there was another storm. Short but sharp. The girls were giddy because it ended so quickly. It began at noon but was over before the bell was rung for tea. The cook had kept some of the midday meal, which had not been touched, and which they ate now. As they walked over the newly holystoned deck, they delighted that the storm was over.
    ‘That was so short.’
    ‘Maybe they’ll stop altogether now.’
    Girls rustled into their beds, mostly content. Some were beginning to think ahead, those who would be worriers. Sleep was descending when a girl called Rose in the far corner jumped from her bed and started to cry. Another went to her aid, but this second girl began to cry louder.
    ‘Rose Larkin is dying, Rose Larkin’s dying,’ she wept.
    Honora and Anne rushed over. They were older and knew what was happening. This was not the first time this scene had occurred on the journey, but it was the first time that it had happened at night. It was surprising that the younger girls had not become aware, but it was also surprisingly possible to hold on to certain privacies, even in their cramped conditions.
    ‘Shssh, she’s not dying. She’s not dying.’
    ‘She is, she is, she’s bleeding to death. Look at her blanket. Rose Larkin’s dying.’
    Rose Larkin waited to hear what Honora Raftery and Anne Sherry would say. Then she would know if she was dying or not.
    Cissy Weir shouted, before Honora could get her explanation properly ordered, ‘That’s just a thing girls get.’
    ‘What thing.’
    ‘There’re rags for it.’
    ‘What thing?’
    Rose Larkin had stopped sniffing now, she was glad she was not dying. Her first helper was silent, glad that there were other girls who did not know what was going on. She hid behind their questions. But what thing could it be?
    ‘It’s a thing some girls get. What’s it called?’
    ‘It’s a thing all girls get.’
    ‘All girls! Don’t be silly.’
    ‘But what is it?’
    Then Matron arrived, to Honora’s relief. Someone must have run for her. Matron told the girls to go back to sleep and went and sat on the side of Rose’s bed and whispered an explanation to her. She did not want the younger ones to know before they needed to. Yet as she sat there she wondered if maybe it would not be best coming from her before they went to their new lives, because there was no guarantee they would be told with even a modicum of kindness. Luck would decide that—who hired them or who didn’t.
    Charles continued to write in his diary. He wrote about recaulking and winds and speeds and how to keep decks dry and private words about the captain. He grumbled on the pages that he had had to replace some of the upper boards on the fore lattice work to prevent some of the girls from talking too much with the sailors. He didn’t mind a small amount of talking when it was necessary and fruitful even. They