A Prayer for Blue Delaney Page 2

  Someone put a hand on his shoulder. He looked around to find a small nun standing behind him. A tiny wisp of dark hair had slipped out from under her wimple and it brushed against her smooth round face.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, child,’ she said.

  She turned up the cardboard tag that was pinned to his jacket and nodded.

  ‘Number 49 from St Bartholomew’s. You’re to be one of my charges during the voyage. You’re very lucky, to be chosen for such an adventure.’

  Colm knew better than to argue with nuns. He let her take his hand and lead him down into the lower part of the ship.

  ‘I’m Sister Mercia. What’s your name?’

  ‘Colm. Colm McCabe.’

  ‘Well, Colm McCabe, this is the first time I have been to sea and I suspect it is the first time that you have been to sea. I think we should watch out for each other, don’t you?’

  Colm gazed at her, puzzled. She obviously hadn’t been a nun for very long.

  The third-class dining room was packed with children seated at tables according to the homes they’d come from. Tommy Cassidy was easy to pick in the crowd with his shock of white-blond hair. Shyly, Colm edged his way to Tommy’s table.

  ‘What are youse looking at?’ snapped one of the boys.

  ‘Ach, leave off, Paddy, before I have to wipe the table with ye face,’ growled Tommy. Then he shoved one of the other boys off the bench and gestured for Colm to sit down. ‘This is my little mate here, what saved my skin while you idiots stood around with your gobs wide open. There’ll be no messin’ with him, got that?’

  The other boys nodded at Colm or muttered assent.

  ‘Right then,’ he said to Colm. ‘Tell us your name.’

  ‘Colm McCabe.’

  Tommy slapped the table hard and laughed. ’So you’re Irish. Of course, you had to be Irish - none of the lousy English can think as fast as lads like us.’

  Colm had never thought to question whether he was English. Did that mean his mother was Irish too? If Tommy Cassidy was Irish, perhaps it was a good thing to be. Maybe his luck was turning. Maybe this voyage was going to be a grand holiday after all.

  3

  The turning world

  Blood oozed out of Tommy’s thumb and trickled down into his palm. He smiled as he handed the knife to Colm. ’See, nothing to it,’ he said.

  Colm shut one eye as he slashed the blade across his own thumb.

  ‘Mary, Jesus and Joseph, you didn’t need to chop the whole bleeding thing off!’ said Tommy, laughing as Colm cupped one hand beneath the other to catch the flow of blood. Colm grinned sheepishly, though his hand throbbed with pain. Quickly, the two boys pressed their bloodied thumbs together.

  ‘So that’s fixed it. We’re blood brothers for life,’ said Tommy.

  ‘For life,’ repeated Colm.

  Dibs frowned when Colm explained why he had a handkerchief wrapped around his thumb.

  ‘What you mucking around with that bad lot for?’ he asked as they sat waiting for their turns at badminton.

  ‘I saved Tommy’s life, so he says that means that we’re joined together forever and we had to do something to prove it. Like in the Westerns, with the Red Indians being blood brothers.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have saved him. My gran reckoned if you save someone from drowning, then you cheat the sea of her prize and one day you’ll drown yourself.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have drowned. He’d have gone splat on the docks.’

  ‘He might have fallen into the water. If we get caught in a hurricane and all drown, it will be your fault.’

  Colm started humming under his breath, blocking out Dibs’s words. But Dibs wouldn’t let it go. ‘He wants you to be his real brother. If you get adopted together, then you can’t be my brother.’

  Colm flushed darkly. ‘No one’s going to adopt me. I’m going back to England.’

  ‘You can’t. We’re going to live in Australia for ever and ever.’

  ‘Sister Clothilde said it would be a holiday.’

  ‘Nuns always tell fibs when they want to make you do things. And that Tommy Cassidy, he probably tells fibs too. He’s trying to trick you into being his friend.’

  Colm rolled his eyes. ‘He doesn’t need to trick me. I like him.’

  ‘He’s bad luck, I tell you. A hurricane will swallow us up, and it will be your fault because you saved him. And then I’ll never find a family.’ Tears started to streak Dibs’s face.

  Colm punched him on the shoulder in a friendly way. ’Stop blubbing. You’ll find a family one day and I can still be your friend, even if I’m not your brother.’

  ‘But what about the hurricane?’

  ‘There won’t be a hurricane,’ said Colm, with finality. ‘Look, it’s our turn now.’ He got to his feet and ran to scoop up the birdie, ready to start the game.

  That night, as Colm lay in his narrow bunk in the cabin, he felt a cloud gather over his thoughts. He gazed out through the porthole at the dark sea. It seemed to be taking a long time to get to Australia. What if his mother came looking for him while they were away? What if nuns did tell fibs? What if Dibs was right and Colm was going to be punished for saving Tommy? What if a hurricane came and swallowed up the ship with everyone on board? The questions pounded inside his head until it ached. Colm wished he was back in England.

  The next morning, after they’d finished lessons with Sister Mercia, Colm waited until the other children had left the dining hall.

  ‘Sister,’ he said, looking at his feet as he spoke, ’do you think we’ll be hit by any hurricanes on our holiday?’

  Sister Mercia laughed. ‘I certainly hope not. But if we do, I’m sure if we pray to our Blessed Virgin Mother, she’ll make sure all the orphan children arrive safely in Australia.’ She sat down at the piano and put a sheet of music on the rack.

  Colm felt his heart lighten. She hadn’t said this wasn’t a holiday. She hadn’t said anything about not going back to England. He moved closer to the piano, feeling the music vibrating through the soles of his shoes. When she finished the piece, he reached out and touched one of the yellowing keys.

  ‘Can you play?’ asked Sister Mercia.

  Colm wanted to laugh, the idea seemed so crazy.

  ‘I always think that, if you’re worried about something, playing music can drive all your cares away.’

  ‘I think that too,’ said Colm. ‘Except all I can do is hum.’

  ‘Well then, hum me a tune and I’ll show you how it sounds on the piano.’

  Colm hummed ‘O for the Wings of a Dove’ and Sister Mercia picked out the notes on the keyboard with her right hand. Then she added some chords with her left hand and played the song right through. Colm watched closely. When she’d finished, he asked if he could try. He fumbled his way through the first part of the song and then slumped. It was much harder than it looked

  ‘Don’t be discouraged, Colm. You’re very quick,’ said Sister Mercia. ‘Perhaps I should teach you. Would you like to have piano lessons?’

  Colm looked up into her shining face and smiled.

  Every afternoon, while the other children were playing games on C deck, Colm sat at the piano with Sister Mercia. He wanted to make songs leap out from beneath his hands the way she did. It was as if the notes soaked up through his fingers, through his skin and reverberated against his bones, inside his chest, inside his own heart.

  One afternoon as he came out from his piano lesson, he found Tommy leaning against the doorframe, grinning.

  ‘Wotcha hanging around with the nun fer? We’re coming into Colombo,’ said Tommy. ‘This could be our big chance.’

  ‘Our big chance?’

  ‘They’re going to take us lot ashore. You and me, we could jump ship here and have us a real adventure.’

  ‘But then we’d never get back to England,’ said Colm, frowning.

  ‘Bugger England, and Ireland too. I never want to go back.’ Tommy grabbed Colm by the wrist and dragged him over to the
railing. ‘Look at all that, will you,’ he said. ‘Bloody marvellous, innit?’

  They hung over the rail together, gazing at the people swarming below. They were dressed in bright colours, and the foliage was a rich, dark green, like nothing Colm had ever seen before. The air smelt both spicy and sweet in the same instant. It seemed exactly like the sort of place to have adventures.

  ‘You’re not really going to run away, are you?’ asked Colm as he squinted in the brilliant light.

  Tommy punched him in the arm. ‘Nah, only messing with you. I’ll stick with this tub a while longer. I want to be a cowboy. I’ve heard there’s wild horses in Australia. Friggin’ country’s full of them. That’ll be the life, eh? We’ll ride wild horses and lasso the Injuns, like Hopalong Cassidy. You know, we could be partners - I’d be the Lone Ranger and you could be Tonto.’

  Colm laughed. ‘I can’t go and ride wild horses with you. I’m going back to England when the ship sails home.’

  ‘You’re jokin’. Why go back to that scummy place? Besides, Tonto, no one’s going back to England. This is a migrant ship, see. We’re all going to live in Australia. This ship won’t take you back.’

  Suddenly, Colm felt as if he was going to throw up. He ran below deck, pressing his hands hard to his ears, not heeding Tommy’s calls. Locking himself in one of the toilets, he sat alone and miserable, listening to the tramp of feet as the other children disembarked for a day of exploring Colombo.

  When the sound of people tramping up and down the hall had slowed, Colm got up and stared at his reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink. His hair had grown since they’d left England and the black rings beneath his eyes weren’t as dark as they used to be. He narrowed his hazel eyes and decided he looked different when he frowned. What if sailing to Australia had changed him? What if his mother didn’t recognise him when they finally met again? If they ever met again. The thought made his stomach lurch. He turned the tap on and stared at the water spiralling down the plughole. At first he thought he would throw up, but the spinning motion of the water was somehow calming. Sister Mercia had told him that in the Southern Hemisphere water spiralled down the drain in a different direction to the other half of the world. Colm tried to remember which way the water had spiralled down the drains at St Bart’s, but already the orphanage was becoming hazy in his memory. It made Colm’s head spin again, thinking of the turning world and how far across its waters he had sailed, how quickly time and memory had receded.

  He stayed in the tiny room for a long time, filling the sink and then emptying it, watching the spiralling water and humming to himself. Someone pounded on the door. Colm opened it to find the dark-robed Sister Mercia framed in the doorway with a thunderous expression on her face. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked like a real nun.

  The ship was ready to sail again and everyone had been searching for him, thinking he had been left behind in Colombo. She scolded him and dragged him out by his wrists. When she’d notified a steward that the missing child had been found, she marched him down below deck. By the time they reached his cabin, Colm could feel her anger dissipating.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Colm?’ she asked, exasperated.

  ‘I want to go back to England.’

  ‘Perhaps, when you grow up, you’ll go back for a visit.’

  Colm stared at her blankly. ‘No. I want to go back now. Sister Clothilde said it would be like a grand holiday. When you go on a holiday, that means you get to go home at the end of it.’

  Sister Mercia shook her head. ‘But Colm, Australia will be our new home.’

  Colm looked away from her, at the dark coastline disappearing through the porthole. Dibs had been right. Nuns told fibs or perhaps they simply didn’t understand how families worked. How could Australia ever be his home? His home was with his mother.

  ‘Colm,’ said Sister Mercia softly. ‘Please look at me while I’m talking to you.’

  As if it strained every muscle in his body, Colm turned towards her.

  ‘I won’t be disembarking in Fremantle. I’m sailing on to Adelaide to join my Order. I’d been saving this to give to you when we reached Australia, but perhaps now is the time for you to have it.’

  She reached into the folds of her robes and drew out a small card. On one side was a picture of the Virgin Mary in blue robes, with baby Jesus in her arms. She was standing in the middle of a brown island set in a swirling green sea.

  ‘It’s a consecration to Our Lady Help of Christians,’ said Sister Mercia. ‘And you see, she’s standing in the middle of Australia because she is one of Australia’s patrons. I think she should be very special to you, Colm. She’s very special to me. Mary is the spiritual mother of all of us. I want you to promise me that whenever you’re worried or lonely, you’ll pray to her. She is the Queen of Heaven as well as our mother, so she can help you no matter what your circumstance. All you need do is pray to her and she’ll hear you.’

  Colm fingered the gilt edge of the holy picture. ‘My mother wore a blue coat,’ he said.

  As they drew into Fremantle Harbour, the children were all sent to their cabins to put on the good clothes they’d been given before leaving England. Dibs stroked the sleeves of his new blue wool jacket with pleasure, but Colm pulled his clothes on reluctantly. He didn’t want to look like the sort of boy someone might want to adopt.

  Before they disembarked, Sister Mercia helped them to knot the navy woollen ties. Colm had never worn one before. As soon as it was pulled tight, he started to sweat. The heat was intense. The air felt hot to inhale, hot and dry and sharp with unfamiliar smells.

  They walked down the gangplank, a long line of pale and excited children. Colm stared out at the docks of Fremantle with despair. Everything was about to change.

  There were men with cameras, and people milling everywhere. Dibs and a little girl in a bright orange frock were selected to be photographed with an official. The little girl had to hand a bunch of flowers to the wife of the important-looking gentleman while Dibs grinned happily. Colm knew no one would want to take a picture of him. He probably looked too miserable, his expression numb, his eyes blank, his mousey blond hair uncombed.

  When the welcoming session was over and all the officials and cameramen had left, the children were separated like sheep and goats. A Brother in a long dark robe put his hand on the heads of the older boys, directing them to one side. Colm felt his heart sink when Tommy was singled out.

  The chosen boys piled into the back of a truck. Tommy shouted to Colm, ‘Don’t worry, Tonto! Remember the wild horses!’ He gave Colm the thumbs-up sign as the truck drove off into the morning sunlight. Colm shut his eyes and tried to imagine riding side by side with Tommy through an Australian wilderness.

  4

  Dibs adrift

  On the bus, Dibs turned to the boy in the next seat. ‘Where are they taking us?’ he asked. ‘Are they taking us to our families?’ No one was clear about where they were going.

  They drove past a wide blue river and fields of golden grass and orchards of plum trees laden with fruit. Finally, the bus turned up a long driveway, past a sign that read ‘Clontarf, Christian Brothers’ Orphanage’.

  When they finally disembarked, a small group of boys and two Brothers in black were waiting to show them into the building.

  ‘Will we have to wait long for the parents to come and adopt us?’ Colm heard Dibs asking one of the big Australian boys.

  The oldest boy snorted with laughter and clipped Dibs across the top of the head while the Brothers’ backs were turned.

  ‘Let’s call this one Runter. He’s the runt of the litter, for sure.’

  Dibs folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ asked the Australian boy of Colm. ‘Oi, gooby-eyes. I’m talking to you. What’s yer name?’

  ‘That’s Colm,’ said Dibs.

  ‘Colin?’

  ‘No, Colm.’

  ‘Colm? What sort of a dumb
Pommy name is that?’

  ‘I’m not a Pommy,’ said Colm. ‘I’m Irish. My name’s McCabe. That’s an Irish name.’

  ‘You don’t sound like no Irish to me. You sound like a bleeding whinging Pom. Last thing we need around here is another pack of you lot.’

  The Brothers took away all the clothes the orphan boys had arrived in, including their shoes and their bags, and gave them cotton shorts and shirts to wear instead. Colm managed to keep his picture of Mary by slipping it inside his shirt, but Dibs wasn’t so lucky with his marble collection. Colm could see he was fighting back tears, too afraid to defy the men in black. The whole time Dibs had been at St Bart’s and all through the voyage out, he had hoarded his marbles as his most precious possession.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Colm, stepping forward and tapping a Brother on the sleeve. ‘Dibs needs to keep his marbles with him.’

  The Brother turned. Colm could feel the man’s anger tunnelling towards him through the warm air, like a blast of black fire. It took his breath away. Before Colm could retreat, the Brother produced a thick leather belt and strapped Colm across the back of his legs. He shouted at all the boys to get in line, driving them into formation with the strap. As soon as Colm joined the line, the Brother seemed to forget about him and turned on another boy who was loitering near the pile of confiscated possessions, the thick strap unfurling again as he rounded up the stragglers.

  Colm quickly came to understand that there was no place for asking questions. Every move they made, every breath they took was subject to the discipline of the Brothers in charge of the orphanage. The first few weeks were like running an obstacle course where the migrant boys could only learn by their mistakes what was allowed and what would earn them a flogging.