Time for a Change

By Mary Mcclarey

'Time for a Change' covers the period between 1969-1979, and is predominantly, but not exclusively, set in Belfast, Derry and Castlerock, Northern Ireland. The book follows the lives of a group of nurses and their friends and offers an insight into how ordinary life continued against the backdrop of an extraordinary times.Whilst this novel is fictional the author relied on a wide range of resources, including newspaper reports, the work of social historians as well as anecdotal evidence of those who lived through the times. Evidence of major events occurring during those years are plentiful, but it is the smaller encounters which bring this book to life. A pile of hand knitted black balaclavas in the corner of the room, the presence of weapons of war in a private home, and the not-at-school children participating in mayhem 'for the craic'.

 

The author trained and worked as a nurse, midwife and health visitor during 'The Troubles' and, 'Time for a Change' uses her experiences as a background to the novel. She believes that it was the privileged position offered to her as a nurse, which gave her the inspiration, and often the material, for her books. Although Mary progressed from 'bedside' nursing to 'bench' nursing over the latter years of her career she has always been proud to consider herself first and foremost a nurse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Mcclarey
• Release date: Sep 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201895174

Mary Mcclarey

Mary is the author of three novels ‘Long Road, Many Turnings’ and ‘Time for a Change’ were her first two, ‘Another Mother’s Child’ completes the trilogy. She is also a prizewinner of  the 2020 Fish flash fiction competition. Now living in Devon she describes herself as a hybrid Irish-European. Born and brought  up in Northern Ireland, her grandmother’s family originate in West Cork, which is the setting of the first two chapters of this novel. Her career as a Midwife and Health Visitor as well as her fascination  with people has enriched her writing. Mary hopes her novels generate an understanding of how different characters respond to their life challenges, stimulating a reaction in readers which touches their own feelings and experiences. Although her feet are planted in England her mind is constantly travelling elsewhere, often to the irritation of those who have to live with  her. Find out more about Mary at http://marymcclareyauthor. co.uk.

Book preview

Time for

a Change

Nursing in Northern Ireland

through the conflict years

MARY  Mc CLAREY

Copyright © 2021 Mary McClarey

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

.

ASIN:BO7DNF8BVR

To my family; Graham, Sean and Rhiannon.

And to all my nursing friends,

especially those from the City

Hospital in Belfast.

Nurse Finalists Belfast City Hospital 1971.

Photograph by George Craig, Press Photographers, Joy Street, Belfast.

Timeline Description automatically generated

Prologue

She stands apart now in the noisy, crowded airport, unable to go to the departure gate with them. Still feeling the hugs, hard and bony, soft and yielding, smaller and bigger, brothers and sisters, Mum and Dad.

‘Will I ever see you again?’ She asks, hopeful for a date. Maybe the promise of a ticket or a visit, some reassurance of their love for her. The reassurances are not forthcoming.

‘Only yourself to blame, you could have come with us.’ Her mother, Ellen, keeping an eye on her other children, responds. Not unkindly.

Then Dad turns back, unexpectedly. Not a man to show emotion, he hugs her close, engulfing her in the pungent scent of tweed jacket and lingering Old Spice. She knows he would only have put the Old Spice on to please Mum, who is awed by the occasion of an aeroplane journey.

‘Will it be summer or winter when you get there?’ she asks, striving to keep the conversation light.

‘Summer here, winter there. Just remember that, and your mother tells me Australia is twenty-five hours ahead. Remember that too, if you can work it out.’ He laughs then and holds her at arm’s length.

‘You’re such a bonny wee girl,’ he tells her, and she is sure his eyes fill with tears. Not Dad, surely not Dad, she hears her inner voice. His hands rough with callous, bricklayers hands, stroke the side of her face. The scratchy surface of his palm on her cheek, she knows she will remember the feeling long after they go.

‘A new life Dad, aren’t you excited?’ She wants them to stay linked like this for another few precious moments. ‘An’ I’m going nursing in September. Can’t wait. I’ll write and tell you all about it.’

‘Don’t kill anyone, Tess.’ He laughs gently, eyes clearing now. ‘I know you’ll be kind, but that’s not all a sick person needs..’

‘I’ll be fine, Dad,’ she reassures him, noticing the queue for passport control has opened and the rest of the family moving slowly forward. Mum looking back to see whether they’ve quite finished their goodbyes.

Her sister, Marie, breaks away from the queue, trotting back to be with them. Teresa expects her to pull Dad away, reminding him that it’s time to go. She turns away, giving her sister a shy half wave.

But Marie has come back for one final hug. And a plea.

‘Please change your mind, Tess. It’s not too late, you can follow us out.’

Teresa shakes her head. This is hard, but she’s made up her mind. She has chosen not to go with them and they have chosen not to stay behind.

But wait, this is not the story, this is what happened before what happened. We’re running ahead of ourselves..

Chapter 1

‘September 1969. Sydney, Australia.

Dear Agnes, I’m so grateful to you for offering to take her in. I’m not sure where else she would go, she has always had a special bond with you and now we have to make a success of life here for the sake of the rest of our children. Your loving niece, Ellen.’

‘Troops into Belfast, thousands disembark armed with bayonets.’ Agnes read the headline aloud and with trembling hands carefully folded the Belfast Telegraph face upwards on the small walnut coffee table at her side. Scratching distractedly along her thin, dry arms, she longed for a cigarette. Ten days now and still the craving was as strong as ever. She had hoped to be over the worst before Teresa came home, bringing her friends down from Belfast for a couple of days next week. Reminded of the youngsters whose company she enjoyed so much, she felt a frightened flutter in her belly. She who’d never had anything in her belly to flutter, just thinking about the danger they were in.

‘Don’t you go anywhere near those soldiers, Teresa

McCann’ she muttered, hoping her warning had wings.

Looking through the window of her solidly built seaside hotel, watching the Atlantic buffeting the rocks, the normally strong-willed and rarely anxious woman felt impotent. She was like the waves smacking, kicking up wild spray, without pause. They had no impact on the sea wall, she could have no

impact either. For once she was not listening to the melancholic calling of the gulls or using her binoculars to check the black wing tips. The Kittiwakes were on land now and she did love their high-pitched cries, which usually drowned her words and occasionally drowned her thoughts.

All she could think about were the soldiers and their weapons. What could it all mean? The next thing she’d read, she reckoned, was a shoot to kill, order, but that was a directive she really did not want to hear.

Surely, she reasoned with herself, this isn’t really a war. But now they must be expecting trouble, support for the police of course, she could understand that, but she was unconvinced that such military presence was really necessary to dispel civilians. She thought that the riots in Belfast were becoming far too frequent for even her revolutionary tendencies. Growing up in West Cork in the 1920s, she had heard about enough battles between the IRA and their British counterparts, the Black and Tans, to have a good antenna for danger. And she reckoned she had a great love of rebellion too, both nationally and locally.

But today she felt out of control and frightened, nicotine deprived and alone. No one to share her worries any more, now that Archie was gone. She was hating the stress of it all and knew she wasn’t handling these fears well. Tempted to reach for a cigarette she turned her mind away from the newspaper and towards the more comfortable thoughts of her years with Archie McCollum.

Archie and she had been lovers. They’d been real lovers, she remembered with a flush. She’d met him way back in Dublin, a few years after finishing Catering College. For him she had willingly sacrificed the chance of ever having a child of her own. Archie was all she wanted. She’d been a career woman at the time though.

Good at her job, she soon worked her way up to a management position in one of the best hotels. Then, nudging

forty, she decided she needed a challenge. To be her own boss, with a career that would give her independence. It’s what she told Archie she wanted. And he certainly listened. She wanted to run her own life without asking permission from anyone. Of course being with Archie meant there couldn’t ever have been babies, or family ties, just her standing on her own feet and making a go of it.

She’d known he was married right from the start. He had never deceived her. And he told her that although he and his wife lived separate lives, a divorce couldn’t be considered. He was a good Presbyterian, the wife was sick and he had a reputation to think of. That reputation had meant so much to him. He’d wanted to protect her, and his wife, as well as himself, from any whiff of scandal.

She couldn’t complain, could she? He’d asked her many times. Now she wondered whether he had hoped she would complain, push him into making a decision maybe. Too late now anyway. So for years they had their weekends away, when they both travelled halfway between North and South. The border towns where they’d meet up had been pretty and inviting, no barbed wire and control posts then. There had been no promises, no commitments, and, she had considered, no problem at all.

She thought of him as a lovely man, gentle and well mannered. All she could want really. Through his many business contacts, he had a well embedded network across the North, he heard that one of the elegant south-facing villas in Castlerock was for sale. He’d moved swiftly, she learned later, without any discussion, because he knew he could turn it into a hotel. He reckoned it would make him some safe money and give Agnes the chance to achieve her longed- for independence. The added bonus of having her so close by more than compensated for his paying the asking price without employing his usual tough negotiating tactics.

She shivered, remembering how thrilled they had both been at the prospect of her running the hotel. They called it Oceanview and took as much care deciding on the name as they would have taken in the naming of a child.

It was Agnes’s place really, although owned by Archie. He’d always said she meant the world to him and he would never leave her. And she had believed him. Moving to the North and being nearer to him had seemed to be a good move all right, and they saw each other whenever they wanted. He was the hotel owner after all. But the best change in her life came unexpectedly. It was the running of Oceanview with the help of her own family, her niece Ellen, newly married to Eddie who brought their first child, Teresa, into her life.

Well indeed, she remembered, it had been going along smoothly for many years, she as the manager, Archie the owner and not interfering in the running of the place, until someone, they never knew who, found them out. An anonymous letter was sent to Archie’s wife. Archie was devastated. He didn’t want to hurt his wife or her, he was torn between his responsibilities and his love.

Then his wife died. Agnes soon learned that no-one could ever compete with a dead spouse, particularly a spouse hurt by one’s own actions. But all that happened a while ago, and for the past five years there hadn’t been any afternoon liaisons to look forward to, no trips over the border to Donegal or Letterkenny, just a covert friendship.

What she missed most was the closeness, the relaxed opportunities where no elaborate plans had been necessary, the spontaneous late-night visits and the knowledge that their relationship was special and private, just between themselves. Now it seemed that the whole town knew and they had had to become much more careful. ‘Not enough to frighten the horses, never mind the neighbours,’ Agnes had often remarked to her housekeeper, the ever discreet Josephine. She’d often been tempted to say ‘so it’s still Not tonight, Josephine,’ but she knew her housekeeper wouldn’t understand, and really, she thought she had heaped quite enough on Josephine’s plate already without adding frivolous asides.

This afternoon though, her thoughts just wouldn’t stay on Archie. As soon as she glanced down at the newspaper the fear for Teresa came into her mind and Archie was out. Her mind drifted eighteen years back, right when Teresa’s family, Eddie and Ellen McCann had come to live at Oceanview. Those had been very good years, and she’d enjoyed having the house full with the young and growing family.

Teresa was her niece Ellen’s child, but whatever the blood relationship, they were very close. And she’d always treated the hotel as her second home. Now, with her parents and family suddenly up and gone to Australia, it had become, to Agnes’ great satisfaction, Teresa’s first port of call.

The girl had certainly been distraught when her parents left, and she’d done all she could to comfort her. Taking the place, willingly, almost eagerly some might say, of Teresa’s mother, she now considered Teresa to be the child she never had. She loved her fiercely and Teresa, who had always been close to Agnes, seemed pleased by their strengthened relationship.

But she was sure Teresa could have chosen a less dangerous post-school option than a nursing course in a large Belfast hospital. Well of course, it had been safe at the time but things quickly changed.

Such an unexpected turn of events. She’d left school last summer, just before her parents went away. Although Teresa hadn’t wanted to go with them, Agnes thought the girl might have seen something of the world before settling into a working life. Now, barely a year later, she was in the middle of riots, or worse, and her choice of career had made her very much at risk.

Agnes was looking forward to seeing her soon. Teresa and her friends were coming down and, as the autumn season was usually quiet, she would have plenty of time to make a fuss over them. They visited quite often, more in the summer months though; it was unusual for her to have them in October.

She was planning to do a late birthday celebration for Teresa and she hoped there would be a chance for a walk on the strand, the long sandy beach which bordered the town. Maybe they would all walk together up to the ruined temple on the hill, before they went back. The girls would certainly want to go dancing if there was a chance. There were show bands in the halls and freedom to go out and about here. No bombs or trouble on the North Antrim coast.

She loved the way they were always ready for a bit of fun; hitch-hiking wherever they wanted to go when they had no money. Well they never had any money. Certainly that didn’t stop them feeling able to enjoy whatever treat was on offer. She knew she would hear all about their adventures too. Carefully edited of course.

She hadn’t seen Teresa for a couple of months now. In August she’d taken the train up to Belfast and met her and a few of her friends for a meal in the newly opened Scandinavian restaurant. Eager to please, full of fun and always fashionably dressed, they were more interested in recounting tales from the hospital wards that would make her cringe, and of course about the boys they had met since moving to the city, than mentioning any concerns about rioting, shooting or bombs.

Although she didn’t like it, Teresa wanting to go to Belfast and make an independent life for herself was certainly something she understood very well. Agnes had willingly paid for the sorely needed additional maths tuition. Never particularly academic, the maths could have been a problem. But she knew the girl liked to make people feel good, so Agnes reckoned Teresa would be a great nurse altogether.

She imagined that Teresa took after her. She’d always enjoyed meeting people and making them feel at home. It was

a real pleasure to have people to stay, watching them relax at Oceanview. She was good at it and that in itself made her happy.

Flicking her eyes back to the newspaper headlines, she knew it was useless to hope that her niece wouldn’t do anything risky. Unreasonable to expect caution at that age.

Interrupted by the telephone ringing in the hallway, Agnes moved across to answer it as swiftly as her creaking hip would allow. She was always hoping for news from family or a friend, but soon heard an unfamiliar male voice with a strong accent. Ballymena she thought, or maybe even he’s from Scotland?

‘Ah, good morning, is that Mrs Collins? May I introduce myself?’ said the voice, not stopping long enough to allow a response. ‘My name is Geoffrey Owens, from Owens and McCarthy in Coleraine. I am the solicitor of Archie McCollum, Oceanview owner.’

‘Yes, hello. This is Agnes Collins. Miss.’

‘Indeed so. Anyway, I’ve been instructed to manage all of Archie’s affairs and that includes the lease of Oceanview. Maybe you know he’s planning to move overseas?’

‘Soon I think. Isn’t it Spain he’s going to?’

Mr Owens’ deeply accented voice cleared its throat, sounding impatient. ‘As I was saying, I have been instructed to examine the current arrangements and ensure they are providing him with the best return possible.’

‘Yes of course, Mr Owens, he told me.’ Agnes stalled for a moment and swallowed, feeling defensive and annoyed at having to confirm the trust Archie had always had in her.

‘As I’m the only manager Oceanview has had for more than eighteen years, whatever you need I expect I can provide.’

‘Thank you Mrs Collins, that is most helpful. Now just to be clear about it all, I wouldn’t want to waste any time here.’

‘No of course Mr Owens, I do understand.’ Agnes scratched her arm anxiously with her free hand, she sensed that this was not going well.

‘I need all your accounts, so I do. All. And a business plan with any projected expenditure.’ The voice paused as though to allow Agnes to process the information. She heard him sigh.

‘And I’ll need an urgent meeting in the first instance. Can you do that Mrs. Collins?’

‘Of course.’ Agnes replied quickly, anxious to have the conversation over and done with. Then one last attempt at clarification ‘And it’s Miss Collins, Mr Owens, I’ve never married. Perhaps you’d like to come here for the meeting, or would Coleraine suit you better?’

‘As I said it is quite urgent, Mrs er... Miss, my diary is busy, so I’d prefer to use our offices on the Diamond. October 20th? How about 2.30?’

Agnes wondered why an urgent meeting had to be scheduled for a date a week ahead, but quickly ended the call by agreeing. She felt sure that 2.30 was what had been decided and was already in the busy diary.

Returning to the front parlour, she switched on the side wall-lights to supplement the fading afternoon sun. There was a sudden knock and bump which made her turn back across the highly polished parquet floor to open the door. She knew that Josephine, a woman only a few years younger than herself, would be struggling with the heavy tea tray laden not only, as might be expected, with tea, but with account books and Agnes’s guest register. It would be tea for two, but no cigarettes this time. Agnes sighed.

Josephine smiled hesitantly before moving into the room. She dragged her feet in worn tartan slippers, making a slop-slop sound against the hard floor. Staggering over to the long table which doubled up as an office desk on Monday afternoons, the tray was gratefully deposited. She gave a soft groan before pulling out a chair and sinking her slender backside onto it, with the appearance of a woman who had carried a heavy burden over some distance.

Agnes was familiar with this Josephine-style entrance and knew better than to comment. She was very fond of the woman and always pleased to spend time with her. Josephine spoke quietly and adopted a self-effacing manner but although she liked to act the martyr, she should never be underestimated, as many had found to their cost. The wife of Oceanview’s winter caretaker, Willy-John, they had moved in ten years ago and Agnes soon found that they were needed all year round.

Josephine could cook and clean and had a surprisingly astute eye for figures. Teresa called her The Red Robin, because she often wore a red overall over her small frame and in the summer her face became nut brown with all the gardening. Josephine knew this was her nickname and added to the joke by reminding Teresa of how she used to help her practise tap-dancing to the rhythm of The Red Red Robin. Laughing, she had rehearsed the steps... shuffle hop, one two, shuffle hop one two. ‘Now I can only shuffle!’ she smiled sadly. At the time, Teresa hadn’t replied but blushed uncomfortably hoping she hadn’t been making a fool out of the woman, before noticing with relief that Josephine was teasing.

Whilst the tea china and biscuits were being laid out, Agnes took up the register.

‘That telephone call, Josephine’ began Agnes.

‘Ah, the man from Coleraine was it?’

It no longer surprised Agnes to learn that Josephine knew about her affairs, often before she did. It might have been the same for half the town, she thought, slightly amused by the idea.

It was just like that when they found out about her and Archie. But that was far from amusing. Of course everyone probably knew anyway, without needing any confirmation. She hoped she would never meet the person who had sent the letter but knew that until that particular mystery had been solved she would suspect everyone. Well not Josephine, of course, she was a fiercely loyal friend.

Acknowledging Josephine’s suspicions about the solicitor, Agnes thought she should give her a morsel of information.

‘He’ll need the books up to date for next week. Says Mr McCollum is moving to live overseas very soon and he has asked for an overhaul.’

‘Aye, well we know that don’t we? Willy-John heard he’s looking to sell what can’t make the money and bring new managers in to the other businesses.’

Agnes was silent, calculating the odds. She reckoned that if her books showed a profit then a new manager might be appointed and she’d lose her home and her job. If she didn’t show a profit Oceanview would be sold. Although she had carefully saved a nest-egg, she knew that she could never afford to buy the hotel. Looked like she’d lose either way.

I really don’t understand why Archie is doing this, she thought. She still loved him and respected his need to keep his reputation intact. It had been disappointing that even after his wife’s death he had never suggested anything which might be possible for their future. And true to form, Agnes had never asked.

‘So, Josephine,’ she stated, her voice strong, belying her true feelings, ‘we’ll have our tea now and then you can tell me how you see it. Then I’ll tell you how I see it. And we’ll leave what Willy-John heard out of it for now, shall we?’

The afternoon passed quickly. Agnes wanted to make sure that the book-keeping was up to date and with the help of Josephine’s considerable skill with figures, they soon completed the week’s accounts. They were even showing, against all odds as this was winter season, a small but reliable profit.

‘It’s a wonder to me still, Boss, how well we do in October. The weather’s turned and the clocks change but still the visitors keep coming.’

‘Not as many as the summer for sure, Josephine,’ Agnes replied, looking up from her accounts, ‘but I was thinking that as well as the Americans there’s always a trickle of more mature guests, looking for a break away from Belfast for a weekend.’ Agnes had decided she would continue to run the hotel and bring in her own ideas until she was told otherwise.

‘We should build on that.’

‘Maybe a wee special offer?’

‘Maybe. But I still think we do very well indeed, considering..’

‘Aye, considerin‘. Josephine’s wrinkled brow showed her irritation ‘You’re right there so you are. Considerin‘ it was those civil rights marches led to the riotin’ getting a hold in Belfast and Derry. Considerin’ the troops have been arriving, more all the time. Considerin’ everyone’s scared witless.’

Agnes couldn’t keep her guard any longer. ‘I’m so worried about Teresa, Jo. She’s right in the thick of it now.’

‘I’m thinkin’ that anyone with any money at all will be wanting to go overseas, like your man.’ Ignoring the implication for Teresa, Josephine seemed to support Archie’s actions.

‘Yes, of course. He’s right to do that.’ Agnes surprised herself by her loyalty. In reality she felt he had had no right to do that, leave her, just go overseas, and then threaten her livelihood. She swallowed a mouthful of tea before explaining.

‘We’re only here on a lease, you do know that? It was always dependent on Archie renewing. Now it looks as though he won’t. And if he doesn’t, then what’ll we do Josephine, what’ll you and Willy-John do?’

‘Nae bother, Miss Collins, Welcome to Gay, Friendly, Northern Ireland, is what’s written on the coasters in Bartolli’s on the seafront and that’s what people come here for. An’ we’ll be here for them too.’ Josephine stacked the teacups and plates on the tray, signalling the completion of their book keeping session and, for her part, the end of the discussion.

‘And they always will.’ she concluded firmly, hoisting the tray to settle under her skinny bosom with a low groan.

‘Alright so. Let’s be hopeful. Show that the money’s coming in and maybe they will give me the job as the new manager.’ Agnes rose and opened the door for Josephine before continuing ‘I can only play the cards I’m handed, after all. And I’m not going to lie.’

Before leaving the room, Josephine raised her eyebrows, speaking as if to herself. ‘Never known you do that Boss.’

Later, having forced herself to eat an evening meal she really didn’t want whilst listening to the news, Agnes began to think about her own future. Sixty-two years of age. Her choices, she knew, were limited. It had been a very good eighteen years at Oceanview and an even better twenty-four with Archie, but now she had to move on. Really, she knew she could retire and no one would blame her. Would they? Maybe go back to Drimoleague, her home town, for a while. Catch up with family. But West Cork was a long way from Belfast and she wanted to be near to her niece. Would she have enough put by for a small house, or maybe she could rent somewhere? She was confident that something would work out, but it wouldn’t be anything like the living she had here.

‘Oh Archie, why didn’t you make some plans for me, or even offer an invitation for me to visit you in sunny Spain? Was it all one way then, our love?’ Agnes couldn’t help speaking aloud to an Archie she knew wouldn’t hear her. ‘I know you felt ashamed when your wife got that letter and even worse when she died and everyone said it was her heart was broken. But it’s my heart is broken now. Between you and Teresa I’ll get no sleep tonight so I won’t. And tonight all I want is to know my girl is safe.’

To Agnes, family always came first. She wondered whether that was because she had been rejected at birth by her own mother, brought up in a family of cousins. She wasn’t one for

retrospection though, or self-pity, and simply accepted her life as it unfolded, never expecting more. Even her uncertainty over the future of Oceanview didn’t seem that much of a worry compared to the risks Teresa was taking in Belfast.

The burp-burp of the phone ringing across the hall had Agnes moving, far too quickly than was