Dainéal’s Dream

Inside My Heart

Beyond these shores
Into the darkness
Beyond these shores
This boat may sail
And if this is the way
Then there will be
A path across this sea

Previously - Cill Ghallagá¡in, County Mayo, Ireland, 1958….

“It’ll be only a year…My doctor in Dublin found a surgeon…only we can’t get all the work done…but it’s a start, and I’ll be able to come back. I only wish you happiness, Moira. You’ll find a boy you like and settle down and have lots of kids, you’ll see.” It hurt the girl something fierce to utter the words, ‘find a boy,’ but she knew she could never give Moira what she needed; indeed probably what she wanted. Her heart ached, but there was nothing to do but say goodbye; perhaps forever as every vestige of the boy they both remembered would no longer exist in only a few short months.

“You’ll see, it will be alright, Moira. I want you to live and be happy. It’s what has to be.” Seonaid put her head down once again, her hand against her face as she tried futily to stop crying. Moira pulled her close and kissed her cheek; a sisterly kiss since that’s what they’d become, hadn’t they?

Dublin, Ireland, 1964...

The girl sat on the bed, dangling and kicking her feet against the side rails playfully.

“You’ve got to get out more, me darlin’ cousin.” Maired laughed softly and tossed a pillow at Seonaid, who had been combing out her hair at the vanity table. It was a very small flat; barely what they could afford even though both were working full time. A large bed for the two of them made things difficult and nice at the same time.

“I wish for all the love in the world for you, dear one!” Maired laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“An fer me as well, but we’re not likely to find anyone any time soon unless we both broaden our expectations.”

“I already told you, Mare…I’m not interested in anyone…and especially any lads from work, no matter how professional or well off they might be.”

“Kenny has the eyes fer ye, ye haf to admit that!” The girl sat up and threw the other pillow at her cousin, who ducked as the pillow flew by her head and bounced off the large mirror behind the table. It caromed into a tray full of perfume bottles and spilled two, leaving the room aromatic with a cheap but fairly pleasant fragrance.

“I know, and it’s takin’ me all the strength I have to keep him at bay. What would I tell him, anyway. Oh Excuse me, Mr. Flanagan, but don’t mind the thing between my legs. I’m was supposed to have it whacked, but I sorta ran out of funds. You wouldn’t happen to have about thirty thousand pounds or so lying around that I could borrow to finish the job, aye? Yeah, that would go over really well, cuz!” The tone might have been almost playful, but Sionaid put her head down.

“What am I gonna do, Mare? I’m stuck between two worlds here.” She turned to see that Maired had hopped off the bed and was standing behind her. The girl massaged her cousin’s shoulders and said softly,

“Ye haf to hold onto the faith you’ve got, Janey....Yer Ma would have wanted that for you! An you’ve got me in your corner. Let’s go down to Clerys and look at some shoes, okay? We got our dreams and we got our faith.” Her words may have been of some comfort, but did little to help her cousin keep from crying, and the tears flowed freely.

“Shhhh…shhhh…it’s alright, Janey…we’ll get it done…you’ll see.” Mare cooed in Seonaid’s ear. And a soft sound seemed to fill the flat; what started out as a low drone, but soon it sounded almost like a familiar tune that you’ve never really heard. And outside the flat, a petite young woman stood. She wore a long dress, grayish gauze with a broad green belt. Her blond hair was woven in three thick braids down to the small of her back, with gold threads throughout. Her feet were bare, save for several toe rings. And she sang.

Sligo, 1964...

“Young lady, you’ve got to pick yerself up!” Moira’s mother Agnes shouted from the kitchen. Moira rolled over in her bed and stared almost blankly at the clock on the nightstand; 1:27 in the afternoon, and she was not even ready to face the day. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying herself to sleep for the umpteenth time after a night of partying and a quick one with her newest boyfriend. She laid back and put her hand over her eyes to block the sunlight that glared rudely from the half-open blinds in the window. She swore she heard the sound of a girl singing.

O'Banyon's Pub...Dublin...New Years Eve, 1964...

“An what would you be doin’ here on a Friday night, Janey lass?” Kenny Flanagan sidled over to Seonaid, who sat nervously on a stool next to Maired at the bar.

“Just a pop in before heading home, Mr. Flanagan.” Seonaid put her head down and looked away.

“A pint for my friend,” Kenny said as he pointed to Seonaid.

“No, sir…please, but I don’t drink.” She shook her head and held up her glass of bitters. Like it or not, her hair swept back and forth across her brow almost like a shampoo commercial.

“Nonsense, Janey lass….nobody comes into a pub unless they plan to drink.” He took the pint from the barman and placed it in front of her, pushing it closer while his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Please, Mr. Flanagan….don’t,” she protested as she shied away from him, but his arm remained around her, pulling her back.

“Ye best be listenin’, darlin’! Ye work with me, and you won’t get far as a social worker without my help.” He frowned and smiled almost at the same time. He was about to kiss her on the cheek when a strong presence made itself known immediately behind him.

“Mr. Flanagan? I believe the young lady made herself plain, aye?” Kenny turned around to find himself face to face with his supervisor, Sean McDarmid; a kind grandfatherly man who wore a very impatient look on his face.

“Mr. McDarmid…I…I didn’t know you came here….how are you this fine evening?” Kenny stammered nervously as his face grew warm and red.

“I’ll be doin’ fine once I see you walk to the other side of the pub and leave this woman alone. And I’ll be keepin’ my eye on you from now on. I don’t suppose you’ll be wantin’ your fiancé to find out about this? “ He grinned broadly as the younger man skulked away.

“I’ve got a daughter just about your age; she’s studying to be a doctor in London, and I’m sort of protective of her, so I hope you don’t mind?” Seonaid shook her head nervously and smiled a half-smile.

“No need to be ashamed, aye?” He leaned closer to the girl and said in normal tone, but unheard by any other in the very noisy pub,

“She’s in her studies for plastic surgery….a fairly open field, but the work she wants to do is for girls who….who need a special sort of service.” He smiled a knowing smile and pointed carefully to his own Adam’s Apple; Seonaid's kerchief had loosened, exposing her neck.

“Don’t worry; most folks won’t notice, child, but I know, aye?” He smiled and she bowed her head as tears came to her eyes; her cheeks grew hot and she covered her face with her hand.

“None of that, Miss Murphy….Your secret will be safe with me. I have a friend in London who’ll be able to help you. She’s a benefactor of sorts and has been helping girls like you since her brother decided to follow the example Roberta Cowell set a few years ago. Don’t worry, child….it’ll be just fine, you’ll see. You’ve got to have faith.” Sionaid’s eyes widened and she spoke, barely heard above the crowd.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she looked down as the man thrust a business card into her hand.

“I don’t know why I thought of this; I haven’t spoken the old tongue in years, but just this, Miss Murphy. Go maire sibh bhur saol nua!”

“I shall indeed, Mr. McDarmid. Thank you.” Seonaid said as tears streamed down her face.

“I best be off, child. Mrs. McDarmid will be havin’ dinner on, and I’m hungry.” He smiled once again before walking toward the entrance of the pub, wondering just why that even on the eve of the New Year he felt the need for a pint at that moment at that place. Seonaid turned to see Maired's face almost as tearful as hers, but a broad grin spread from ear to ear as her cousin nodded eagerly. And two young women stood in the far corner, smiling knowingly; even as Sean McDarmid walked out he thought he heard the sound of singing over loudness of the pub.

Sligo...New Years Day, 1965...

And if I sail beyond
The farthest ocean
Or lose myself in depths below
Wherever I may go
Your love surrounds me
For you have been before
Beyond these shores

“You should find a nice secretary job in town, Moira. This singin’ thing isn’t the kind of job a good girl should be havin’!” Moira’s mother shook her head and glared at Moira, who had sat down at the kitchen table.

“And just what does that mean, Ma? Am I not a good girl? And what if I’m not? Seems you didn’t care what kind of girl I was when….” She said as her voice trailed off.

“A good girl doesn’t hang around in pubs and get in bed with every boy in long pants, and don’t you use that tone with me. You've been pinin' for that fag boy of yours ever since....”

“That fag boy is in my heart Ma! And what kind of man should I be goin’ out with, Mother? Someone like your brother?” She glared back through angry tears.

“Why do you care, anyway. I’m damaged and that’s a fact. Who would want to marry a fookin’ whore like me?” Moira didn’t mean to but still placed her tea cup too rudely into the sink and it cracked apart loudly, adding to the angry mood between mother and daughter.

“Don’t you be usin’ that language with me, girl. If you had only been modest and not a harlot my brother might be alive right now. You know men can’t resist that."

“I was fourteen, Ma, an he was forty! And you just stood back and let him go at it. I was a kid, Ma! An it didn't matter that he was the man in my bed! Never mind. I don’t care any more!”

Moira ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. Six years had past and the move to Sligo had done nothing to change things, since her mother never took any responsibility for the horror her brother had inflicted upon her daughter. Moira had given up all hope; it wasn't that she didn't care...she no longer had the strength. Moira threw herself on the bed and sobbed into her pillow. She didn’t notice, but a kindly young woman clad in a dark blue gown sat on the bed and rubbed her back.

An older looking woman spoke in a near whisper.

“Aye Fiona, what she needs now is love, pure and simple. Let it flow from you to her; a gift of the one who made her; not to be discarded but treasured. Not someone to be used, but someone who will finally realize just how precious she is." Calleigh the Wise nodded as the woman continued her ministrations. And two younger women stood off to the side and sang almost as one a sweet melody in an ancient tongue; older than the old Irish and filled with hope.

Wherever I may go
Your love surrounds me
For you have been before
Beyond these shores

Next: Wave After Wave

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May
(complete version)
1909 by John Willam Waterhouse

Beyond These Shores
words and music by the performers
Iona
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_mR-dNAJ38