Ma, I'm Gettin Meself a New Mammy by Martha Long

Author:Martha Long
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ireland, memoir, 1960s, history, abuse, child, orphan, convent, sexual abuse, class, irish history, irish, autobiography, female, women's studies
Publisher: Seven Stories Press
Published: 2014-03-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

‘Come in,’ Sister Eleanor said, smiling and waving me in the door.

I crept around the door, putting me head in and bringing me suitcase after me.

‘This is the girl I was telling you about, Mrs Daly! This is Martha,’ she said, holding her arm out for me te come closer and say hello.

‘Hello,’ I said, looking at the woman’s black tight perm that she must have just got done for the Christmas. It looked like a little woolly hat. I stared up at the sort of granny hat sitting on top of her head, a bluey grey one that puffed up at one side and sat flat on the other, looking like someone had let the air out. She kept it sitting there with a big knobby pin pushed through inta her scalp and coming up again out through the hat. Me eyes travelled te the red-and-brown headscarf with horses jumping over bars, folded around her neck, and the brown wool figuredin coat that the women used te wear when I was small. It looks a bit short for her. I’d say she’s been wearing that for years. Her high heels were a bit hickey, too! They’re not really high heels, more the type grannies wear when they want te look glamorous. Brown with a square toe and a bow on the front, with wedge heels. Very hickey! She looks like a country woman, not glamorous at all, I thought, staring at her, feeling disappointed. I was hoping for someone with a bit of style.

‘Martha is fifteen, Mrs Daly,’ Sister Eleanor breathed, leaning towards the woman and smiling from her te me.

‘Ah, Martha! It’s really good to meet you,’ she smiled, saying in a big country voice, putting out both arms, coming towards me and leaning over te grab me te her and smother me in her coat, and put her hand on me back and the other one on me head. I held meself tight, feeling a bit afraid she might not be really like this; she might just be acting nice. Then she turned me around, still holding me, saying, ‘This is Thelma, my daughter; she’s fifteen, too. Say hello, Thelma.’

I could smell lovely perfume and powder from the woman, and she smelt fresh and clean. She kept rubbing me back and squeezing me shoulder without thinking, and I started te let go me breath, feeling a bit easier in meself.

‘Hello!’ Thelma said from across the room, staring at me from head te toe.

I stared back at her short mousey-brown wiry hair, chopped around her ears. She must have cut it herself, I thought, gaping at her with me mouth open. Or maybe her ma cut it. Sister Eleanor is always chasing me with the scissors, but I wouldn’t let her near me. No fear! I’m letting me hair grow down te me toes. Even if it does look like rats’ tails, that’s what Sister Eleanor calls it.

She stared out at me through black horn-rimmed glasses, wondering what she was going te make of me or whether she’d even like me or not.

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