The Unremembered

By Mike Smears

Mairead Kelly, only seventeen, barefoot, starving and alone, flees the unimaginable horror of the Irish Famine, only to find disease and desperate squalor in nineteenth century industrial Liverpool.

Against all odds, and amid a multitude of setbacks, she rises above the poverty and death, marries, and achieves a brief troubled happiness. But what is the dark tragic secret she is harbouring?

Mairead’s struggle to access education for her children backfires when her literate daughter embarks on a romance with the charming son of a despised, rich, English family. Are the English so uncaring after all?

As the tensions rise and the two families clash will Mairead’s tragic secret finally be revealed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Apr 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781805147909

Mike Smears

Mike Smears was born in 1947 and grew up in a poor area of Liverpool. He graduated in English Literature from Kent University in 1969, and subsequently worked at the University in Southampton, where he now lives. He is married with four children and (so far) eight grandchildren. The Unremembered is Mike’s debut novel with Troubador Publishing.

Book preview

Contents

Section 1 1849

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Section 2 1854

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Section 3 1860

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Section 4 1866

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Section 5 1867

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Warm thanks

Acknowledgements

Section 1

1849

Chapter 1

The deckhand gripped her wrists, moved his face closer and grinned. His teeth were yellow. From his nostrils sprouted hairs clotted with snot.

No, no, don’t come so near! Mairead’s heart thumped and she could feel her eyes watering. She tried to move away but his hands tightened on her upper arms.

Now that’s not very nice, is it? he said, shifting his sweating hands. She felt her breast compressed, invaded, sullied. He looked up, sneering. Just a little kiss from the pretty young girl and we’ll take you all the way to England.

She went rigid. She was tottering on the edge of the abyss. For God’s sake, pull back. All right, I will. Take your hands off, bring your face here. She parted her lips and raised her arms. His hands dropped. She inclined her head to one side and forced a smile. Now, you must close your eyes – and no peeping.

He lowered his face close to hers and shut his eyes. His breath was foul. She bent backwards from the waist, took a breath, then jerked forward as violently as she could, smashing her forehead against his mouth and nose. Unbalanced, he staggered backwards, and his heel caught the last raised rib on the gangplank. He tripped and fell, banging his head heavily on the planked deck. He lay there moaning, blood trickling from his mouth. She dashed for the stairs where the other passengers had gone. The lower deck was dark. She crouched down between two families and pressed herself back, feeling the hard wall against her shoulders. She was shaking, perspiring, crying.

Other passengers started coming down again. She began to shake less. Then another deckhand, dark and bearded, carrying a lantern, stooped under the low ceiling and stopped at each porthole, scanning the faces around him. She squeezed further back, craning her head, her hands clammy. Please God, don’t let him find me. He came nearer. Then, he was there, on one knee, studying her face.

So you’re the one. That strange accent again, like the other man. Well, well, there’s a tale for a long evening. He laughed softly.

What are you going to do? Was this death? All right, she would face it. Then it would all be over and she would no longer suffer. Is he coming after me? She stifled a sob.

He seemed surprised, and looked at her closely. No, Missy, no. He put the lantern down and took her right hand in his left, stroking the back of it with his right. Don’t worry, he won’t show his face again. The lads laughed him off the deck – beaten up by a woman in full view of everyone. And didn’t he have it coming. No, he continued, rising, you’ll have no more trouble.

Tears streamed again, this time in torrents. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t see.

There now, there. He crouched and stroked her hand again. Hush, you’ll be all right. Try to get some sleep. Before you know it, we’ll be landing in Liverpool. Oh, you won’t have eaten all day, will you?

She shook her head.

I’ll find some biscuits for you.

He picked up the lantern and turned to go, then once more he bent down, taking her hand again. You’ll be all right. Welcome to England.

She winced with pain, pulling out another jagged splinter from her finger. The ship rolled again and she retched: every swell made her feel sick, but she had nothing inside her save those few biscuits, all she’d eaten for two days. The child next to her had been vomiting over the floor since they’d left Cobh. He smelt like a wet sheep in an airless hut. Wouldn’t it have been better to die? Perhaps she still would: how many more hours of this nausea, cramped under this stooping roof?

She peered around: the other passengers were ragged, pinched, whimpering. Hundreds, squashed, sweating, smelly; some sprawled with bowed head, others prone on the deck. Some had bundles, others none. Most looked like family groups. If only her own family could have been with her. These unsmiling strangers were too hot, too sick, too distressed to care for her.

Maybe if she talked to someone…A family was squatting beside her, three squawking infants and a crying baby on the mother’s hip. The man, well, he was a father, perhaps he would be kind. What could she say? She knew where they were going, Fr Coghlan had told her, ‘Count the letters on the back of the ship. There will be nine, enough for all your fingers and one thumb.’

But still…she needed to say something. She licked her cracked lips: Are we going to Liverpool?

Aye, it’s for Liverpool all right. Der moment yer left Cobh, yer said goodbye to dear old Ireland for ever, said the man, peering over his shoulder, cradling a half-clothed infant. He had crossed-eyes. But, how old are yer?

Seventeen.

He slapped his forehead. Oh, no, yer should never have come alone. Der big city is no place for young girls. Where’s yer family?

I…I… She could say no more, sobbing. Did no one have any comfort for her? She wished more than anything that she could return and give Fr Coghlan back his ticket, and then stay for ever where she had grown up, in her home village, with the Nenagh River gleaming in the sun, and Liam embracing her. But it was too late. Never, never could she go back. Liam was…gone, never to return. She had no choice.

She wept again, unable to speak, her throat feeling strangled. The ship tossed high, then crashed down with a jolt. She retched again, but it was useless. She leaned back and at last fell asleep.

She was woken by shouting above. Through the babble she made out the word ‘Liverpool’. They must be in sight of landing. What new dangers now? If only, if only she had someone with her who would know what to do. Perhaps there would be a few, maybe even just one, kind person who would look after her there. Please, God, please. She felt sick again. Her hands sweated and trembled.

The deck shuddered; the ship must have hit the shore, bounced back and crashed against it again. She retched, but once more there was nothing inside to bring up. The family next to her were gathering children and bundles and preparing to go. She rose, stumbled, then started to creep towards the stairs. Trembling, she paused while a large group, talking in Irish, began to climb, and she mingled in with them, so that deckhand wouldn’t see her.

She scrambled up the gangplank, desperate to leave that awful ship. It was icy on the shore, and chains hanging from metal posts near the edge swung in the gale. The quay was littered with fragments of rusted metal and patches of dog-mess. Everyone around was brushing past, seeming to know where to go and ignoring her. She was lost: she must be the loneliest person in the world.

An odd sight caught her eye. A dark-haired girl about her age was crying hysterically, bent almost double and shaking from head to foot, oblivious of everyone around her. She paused for a moment, looked around at the crowd as if searching for somebody, then convulsed again and stumbled towards the water, lifting each leg in turn over the chain. She stumbled to the water’s edge and leant over. Oh no, she was going to jump in.

Mairead began to run but before she reached her, a tall man had leapt over the chain and caught the girl, putting his arms around her waist to pull her back. He dragged her to the other side of the chain but kept his arm around her shoulders. When Mairead reached them he was trying to console her. Der now, yu won’t want to be doing dat, will yu now?

What’s wrong, can we help you? said Mairead.

The girl shook her head, still crying, but made no attempt to move away. Mairead held her hand and the man stroked her head.

After an age, the girl stopped and was able to speak. I-I-I’ve been r-r-robbed, she wailed. I’m after travelling all the way from Galway to Dublin, to cross to here and take the ship to America, to join my f-f-family. But when I was getting off the boat, a man offered to help me with my bag. Then when we came ashore, he ran away with it and I couldn’t stop him. No one would help. She sobbed for several minutes, then gulped and spoke again. He disappeared, and the bag had my ticket for America inside. I’ve got no money to buy another. I’ve lost my family and I’ll never see them again. She burst into tears again, and howled like an animal.

The man stroked her hair. Now look, yu need to come and find somewhere to stay tonight, and when yu’ve had some sleep, yu’ll feel better in the morn. I know where yu can be finding a place. Yu mustn’t be drowning yu’self. Come with me. My name’s Seamus Corcoran, and I’ll take yu to where all the other Irish live.

Mairead could judge people. This man was kind and honest. She felt strong: she at least would never have trusted a stranger with her only possessions, and she wouldn’t dream of killing herself, even when everything seemed lost. This girl needed help. Yes, she said, you go with him, and there’ll be people to look after you. My name’s Mairead. Can I come with you too, Seamus?

Yous both can come. We’ll find spaces for yous.

Mairead put her arm round the girl. We’ll go together. What’s your name?

Sarah. Thank you both so much.

Midnight. Mairead cowered in her corner of a noisy room in Henry Edward Street. She counted nineteen people in the other three corners, squabbling, jostling, smelling. They would probably have paid attention to her if there was space. Nice people…except that Mr Collins. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. Whenever he came near, she drew her shawl and skirt around her. How could she sleep in the same room as a man like him?

This was the place Seamus had found for her, and that poor girl Sarah was next door. She shuddered: she wouldn’t sleep tonight now she’d felt a rat brushing against her feet. She couldn’t stay here for long. But, for the time being, she was out of the wind and rain.

Someone started shouting. She peered into the dim light from the Collins’ candle. Burly Donal Walsh was on his feet, hands raised. Facing him was Ronan Kelly, thrusting his head forward, clenching his fists, yelling threats in Irish. It sounded as though one of the six Walsh children had soiled the blanket which the five Kellys were trying to cover themselves with. This time the row subsided and everyone lay down again.

A dog-high urchin, naked from the waist down, tears streaking his dusty face, wandered into the room, sobbing breathlessly. Maybe he was looking for food. Or his mother. No one looked at him. He shuffled out again.

She lay awake, trembling. But she thought of Sarah: no, she was not going to give up. She was going to survive; and if ever she had children she’d never, ever allow them to suffer like this. She would work, all her life if necessary, for them to be able to eat and grow up safely and never have to worry about where the next meal was coming from.

Outside the rain fell in torrents. She huddled in the cold, then fell asleep.

Chapter 2

Church bells jangled in the distance. Henry Edward Street was getting lighter, but the clouds were still low. It was so grey, she thought, leaning back against the Court wall. Everything was grey. She spoke to her new companion, who had long black hair and brown eyes: Better today, Sarah? Did you sleep?

Sarah was as small as her and more slightly built. She lifted her head slowly, as if reluctant to leave the sanctuary of her thought. No, not really, Mairead. The children cried. I feel sick.

Minutes passed. Neither spoke. Groups of women slouched by the railings, heads forward, arms folded, talking. Mairead stamped her feet on the cobbles, anything to warm them.

She sighed as two women started to wrestle over a broken chair in the far corner of the Court, each shrieking curses and tugging at one of its wooden legs. One leg came loose, and the woman holding it fell backwards, cracking her head on the cobbles. The other walked away, brandishing the remains of the chair in triumph. A child threw a stone at her but she was oblivious.

Sarah touched her arm. How about you? Have you eaten?

Yes, I asked the other families in my room to give me some bread. They even had some left over.

How?

You can get money and coupons for clothes somewhere. I’m going to find out where. Mr Collins offered to take me but I can’t trust him. They all go separately and take the children twice. So they get double.

Silence again. Then Sarah began to cry. I’ve had nothing today. I don’t feel like it anyway. This is a terrible time. I wish I was back in Galway. No, I wish I was dead.

Mairead linked her arm. Maybe she did too, but there was no point in wishing. Poor Sarah. "Now, there. At least there’s food in this city. And we are alive. Listen, shall I see if there’s some bread left?"

Oh, Mairead, you’re so kind.

Mairead came back with a half-eaten crust. Seamus, bless him, found this. One of the children left it.

Is he coming out?

Yes, said Mairead. He’ll come later and say hello. I don’t think he’s feeling well this morning. He’s after drinking last night.

Sarah ripped into the crust with her teeth. She munched in silence. A child screamed from inside one of the houses.

A tall rosy-cheeked man in a dark suit, carrying a small black booklet, came into the Court and immediately entered a house on the opposite side. I wonder who that man was. That looked like a Missal in his hand. If he’s a priest we could ask him for help, said Mairead.

Oh, I, well, I’m not sure. It’s just that I missed Mass the last few weeks. If he gets to know I’ll be in trouble.

Mairead shook her head. What was Sarah thinking of? "Sarah, it’s no sin to miss Mass, or anything else, when everyone around is dying of hunger. You can do anything, even steal food – well as long as you leave the other person something. You have to survive."

Do you think the person who stole my bag, and my ticket to America, was hungry?

I don’t know. There are wicked people around, Sarah, you must always be careful.

How could he have done such a thing? She turned her head away and began sobbing. My life is ruined. I’ll never, never, see my family again.

Mairead knew, she knew all too well. Her own throat hurt. She put her arm around Sarah. Eventually the sobbing died down.

Silence again. The dark-suited man reappeared. Mairead waved, and when he came over, asked Hello, we were just wondering, are you a priest?

Yes, I’m Fr Murphy from St Anthony’s church. ‘Tis in Scotland Road, not far away, in that direction. So he was Irish too. That was grand.

Sarah was still silent. Mairead said: We weren’t sure, Father. You don’t dress like the priests in Ireland.

Ah, ‘tis a strange country youse have come to. Catholic priests are not allowed to wear religious clothes outside in the street, so they’re not.

Why not?

I suppose the authorities have their reasons. He smiled: Maybe they’re frightened of us.

Do we look frightening? How did you know we were Catholics?

Everyone in this street is Irish and Catholic. And the next ten streets – he waved his arm – not a single English person lives in this area.

Everyone Irish, some comfort, thought Mairead. And this priest seemed a kindly man. She introduced herself.

And I’m Sarah McNally. Father excuse me but I’ve missed Mass a few times.

Missing Mass is no sin, my child, at a time like this. He smiled and patted her shoulder. Her eyes filled with tears again. If only t’was all we had to worry about. I just gave Extreme Unction to Mrs Flaherty’s Cormac. He’s her fifth and she’s lost two already. I don’t think, he lowered his voice, that he’ll survive the day. His eyes were watery too. He looked away. Sorrow all around, thought Mairead.

Silence. But now, seize the moment. "Please can you tell me, Father, where is this Fenwick Street where you can get money for food and clothes?

He sighed. I was forgetting, have youse not yet found it yet? I can show youse the way. And come to St Anthony’s on Sunday – lots of good friends to make there.

Mairead heard a rhythmic sound approaching. A red-haired woman, about the same age as her and Sarah but taller, marched towards them, head upright, arms folded, bare feet slapping the cobbles. Her face was freckled.

Well, if tisn’t Bridget Riley. More introductions.

Father, I came to ask about Cormac Flaherty.

Fr Murphy repeated the news. Bridget folded her arms again and looked away. Bridget, I’m wondering if yer have a few minutes to show these good people the City Parish Offices in Fenwick Street?

Bridget answered, looking at no one in particular: I’m going there myself, they can come.

Well then, I’ll be off and leaving youse in good hands.

Goodbye, Father.

Mairead watched him go. Well, at least it was a start, all she needed just now. And somewhere else to go, away from this awful place.

Leaving youse in good hands, so he says, said Bridget as Fr Murphy disappeared. And I suppose he wants yer to come to his church?

Yes, said Sarah, in a voice of hope. He thought we’d make some new friends there.

Well, if that’s what yer want. Bridget, unsmiling, seemed to be talking to the wall behind them. It’s a big church and it’s full most weeks. It smells, yer head gets hot and yer feet get cold. And Mass takes ages.

He doesn’t seem so proud and severe, said Sarah, like some of the priests in Ireland.

"I sometimes think that he’s not sure if he is a priest, said Bridget. Well if he isn’t, who have we got?"

Mairead found another subject. There must be something good to talk about. Where can women get work?

There’s cloth factories near the docks. I’ll show yer. Machines for sewing, stitching, all that. Yer have to work twelve hours a day. It’s boiling and they have English bosses who shout at yer all the time.

But you get money?

If you call their wages money. Anyway, turning away, I’m off to Fenwick Street. Are youse coming or not?

Without waiting she set off. Mairead and Sarah scuttled to catch her up.

Mairead looked around the City Parish Offices in Fenwick Street. It was so drab. The walls were dark green up to head height and yellow from there to the ceiling. At one end sat a row of men in grey, clerks with quill pens. They looked drab too: most were bearded, and all wore identical jackets, waistcoats and high collars. They must be sitting on raised chairs behind the chest-high counter. While being interviewed applicants had to stand facing the clerks. She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her sat scores of others on about thirty rows of wooden benches, like elongated stools without arm or back support, which were fixed to the floor with metal brackets. Beyond the last bench stood yet more applicants, waiting their turn first to sit down, then slowly to progress to the front bench as those in front of them were ordered to the counter, reprimanded if they hesitated too long. Talking was forbidden and transgressors were sharply rebuked by bulky, dark uniformed, men with peaked caps and aquiline noses, who patrolled the benches. Some risked low whispers, under the cover of children coughing and crying. Next to her was Bridget, arms folded, and on the other side Sarah. To Sarah’s right a man wearing flannel trousers with gaping holes at the knees wheezed and sniffed. His nose dribbled on to his upper lip. The room smelt of dirty washing. It was nearly their turn. She had been waiting most of the day. Her tongue was dry and her stomach burned.

Bridget went first to the counter. She held a snapped conversation with a clerk, during which he tapped the counter between them repeatedly with his index finger, and she jabbed hers towards his nose. She emerged holding some coins and a piece of yellow paper, which Mairead assumed must be the clothes coupon.

Yer’ll find your own way back, she said, over her shoulder, plodding out of the door.

Next for Mr Nelson, boomed a bulky man, scowling beneath his cap. It was Mairead’s turn. Her under-arms were hot. She tapped Sarah’s elbow: I’ll wait for you when I’ve finished.

Yes, please, whispered Sarah, already looking tearful.

No talking, snapped the bulky man. Turning to his companion he remarked, loudly enough for the first few rows to hear, Another deaf Irishwoman. Mairead studied his features closely: he had pig-eyes. She went to the counter.

Name and address, shouted the young man across the counter. So this was ‘Mr Nelson’. He had brown eyes and his features were quite regular, but he had a sour expression and his blond hair was unkempt, like a bird drying its feathers after the rain. A quill pen was poised in his hand. He stared at her throat, then lowered his eyes to her chest.

Name and address what? said Mairead. Her heart raced. She hated bullies.

I asked you to give me your name and address.

You did no such thing. If you want to know my name and address, you should learn how to ask properly.

Nelson’s pursed lips narrowed further. He opened his mouth as if to say something, looked instead at his watch, and closed it again. Scores more applicants were queuing. He banged the counter. What is your name?

She banged the counter too. Mairead Kelly.

And will you be so good as to tell me, the sarcasm thick, how you spell Mairead?

I don’t know.

Well no, you wouldn’t. Smart answers, empty heads. Always the way. Don’t you have any education in Ireland? Or are you all just too stupid for it?

You only asked me because you don’t know how to spell it either. Who’s calling who stupid?

LOOK. Nelson stopped, opened his mouth again, then glanced over her shoulder at the benches full of waiting applicants. He made some notes, scribbling furiously and in silence, then threw the quill down, leaving blotches of navy blue ink on the counter. He opened a cash-box, selected