Page 100 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘No need to wait too long, I suppose.’ He grimaced. ‘With the war and all.’

They talked of the news then, and agreed on almost everything. By the time they left the pub Alex was feeling reasonably confident that he would have a good relationship with his father-in-law. Maisie’s mother was quite another matter. ‘I wondered if I could treat you and Mrs Canavan to afternoon tea at the Grand Central Hotel next Sunday? Maisie should be off that day.’

‘Thank you, Alex. That’s very generous of you. Now, come you on with me, and meet the family – or some of them, anyway.’

Nerves fluttered in Alex’s gut. These people were set to be an important part of his life from now on; he needed to make a good impression.

Entering Maisie’s family home for the first time was a surreal experience. They were clearly expected; despite the fact it was Monday they were all wearing their Sunday best, and the table in the tiny kitchen was set with a snowy white cloth. There was even a bunch of late wildflowers – harebells and heathers – in a tiny vase on the mantel, directly below a picture of a female saint who was holding a bunch of roses.

Maisie was there, joy in her eyes, along with her brother Matty and her two younger sisters. He’d met every one of them before, which helped. Although Matty was a few years younger than him, already Alex hoped he would become a brother to him. Maureen he knew from the céilís, and the awful night Mrs Lennon had died. And as for wee Molly, she was bouncing about with excitement; he clearly had made a good impression with her.

He had been worried about Maisie’s mammy, but Mrs Canavan was like a woman transformed. Gone was the cool politeness; she was warm and welcoming and clearly delighted about his decision to switch religions. With the directness he had already come to expect from her, she asked when he would be taking instruction.

‘Oh, I’ve already borrowed a Catechism from Father MacLaverty,’ he said, and she nodded.

‘Good, for they usually do the converts at Easter. You’ve plenty of time between now and then.’ She sent a pointed glance towards Maisie. ‘Time to plan a wedding too, maybe.’

‘Maybe.’ Maisie was non-committal. ‘We haven’t had the chance to even talk about it yet.’

They had tea then, and freshly made soda farls spread with precious butter from their rations, which was generous of them. Two ounces of butter per person per week was all anyone was allowed, so this signalled something of a celebration.

Afterwards he and Maisie went for a walk up the Falls in the cold, dark evening, each carrying hooded lamps. Not that they cared about the cold or the darkness, for they had a million things to talk about.

Almost straight away they decided that Father MacLaverty was the priest they wanted for their wedding – even though he was at St John’s and not St Paul’s. Early summer seemed a good time for the wedding, so they resolved to speak to the priest about a date as soon as they could. They spoke of houses, and Maisie shed a happy tear when Alex made it clear they could buy rather than rent, and that they could easily afford to buy a nice three-bedroom somewhere nearby. ‘We’ll have an indoor plumbed bathroom too!’ he said, and suggested that Maisie’s family could come over for baths any time they wished – for which he got a grateful hug.

‘What about your ones?’ she asked then, and he grinned.

‘Oh, one or two developments there.’

‘What?’ She stopped walking, lifting her lamp to peer at him closely. ‘Something happened. What is it?’

‘Not much,’ he replied in a casual manner. ‘Just that I found out my great-great-granda fought with the United Irishmen, that my father is named after Henry Joy McCracken, and that my father’s whole family were Catholic up until the time of the famine.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘What? You serious?’

‘Yup. I could hardly believe it myself. And my granda speaks Irish!’

‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!’ She blessed herself. ‘It’s a miracle, Alex. An actual miracle.’

‘It does feel that way, to be honest. All those candles you lit, I reckon.’

She was crying again. ‘I can’t believe it! It’s gonna actually be all right!’

‘Not completely,’ he said grimly. ‘My father is still fell out with me, and says he won’t come to the wedding.’

‘Ah, I’m sorry, Alex.’

He shrugged. ‘His choice – though I can’t deny it hurts. But Granda says he’ll definitely be coming, and I reckon Mother will come too.’ Setting his lamp down, he slid his arms around her. ‘But the most important thing is that we’re getting married, Maisie.’ His lips found hers, and joy spread through him.

32

Easter 1941

Alexander Patrick Lowe and his grandfather made their profession of faith in a quiet ceremony at St John’s Church on the Falls Road, being welcomed into the Catholic Church by Father MacLaverty as part of the Easter celebrations. The priest had challenged Alex firmly when he had first spoken of converting, making him think carefully about his decision and look at it from all angles. Alex had never wavered, and his friendship with Father MacLaverty had only strengthened under the priest’s tough questioning.

Wedding preparations were proceeding with great pace. Alex had provided a generous sum from his savings, and Maisie and her mother were using it to arrange dresses, hats, and a modest wedding breakfast, to be held in the St John’s parish hall after the ceremony. The date had been set for July, and Alex and Maisie were currently in the process of buying a gorgeous red-brick villa on the Springfield Road, complete with three generously sized bedrooms, a luxurious bathroom, and three reception rooms downstairs. There were high ceilings, ornate fireplaces, and a beautiful hand-carved staircase, and Maisie frequently exclaimed at the notion somewhere so elegant and fancy might become her home.

Granda had been welcomed into the Canavan family, and Alex frequently borrowed his father’s car to take Granda to the Canavan house in Dunlewey Street, or for tea together in one of the fancy city centre cafés. Father was still not speaking to him, but – like a missing tooth or a fading scar – Alex was slowly becoming accustomed to it.