The Mammy Read Online Free
it. She stood back from the mirror.
‘Agnes Browne, look at you, a ragged auld wan!’ she said aloud to her reflection. She was being hard on herself, for although she had given birth seven times in fourteen years, at thirty-four she looked thirty-four! Medium height with full lips and a button nose, she was pretty, her outstanding features being her raven black hair and chestnut-brown complexion around almond-shaped brown eyes, a legacy of her grandfather’s visit to Spain ... he returned minus a leg but plus a wife! A beautiful wife, for which most men in The Jarro would have given both legs for the chance to use the remaining one! She had died young, at only twenty four, of TB, but not before leaving behind three daughters, the loveliest of them being Maria, who became Agnes’s mother. Agnes looked like her mother.
She heard a radio announcer say it was ten o‘clock. She hurried down the stairs and gathered the children together. As she herded them out the door she noticed Mark was missing.
‘Where’s Mark?’ she asked no one in particular.
It was Cathy who answered. ‘He’s in the toilet, he said he’s not coming to Da’s funeral.’
Agnes did not reply. She looked into Marion’s face and in an effort to make a puzzled face, Marion turned the edges of her mouth downwards, gathering all the mole hairs together.
‘Marion love, you go ahead with these,’ suggested Agnes, ‘I’ll go up and see what’s wrong with the little cur.’
She quietly climbed the stairs calling him, ‘Mark, Mark Browne ... get out here now!’ By the time she had reached the toilet door there was still no reply. She banged on the door.
‘Mark Browne, I haven’t time for this messin’. You’re going to Mass whether you like it or not. Get out of that fuckin’ toilet now!‘
The bolt clicked back and Mark emerged.
‘What do you think you’re up to?’
Mark did not look up. ‘Nothin’,‘ he mumbled.
‘Then get down them fuckin’ stairs and up to that church ... and listen, don’t you carry on today or I’m tellin’ yeh, I’ll swing for yeh! Do yeh hear me?’ she was screaming.
Mark was already halfway down the stairs when he said ‘Yeh’. They caught up with the rest of the family before they reached the church. Agnes straightened hair, pulled up pants and tucked in shirts, then the new widow and seven orphans entered the church as a pale and frightened family.
Chapter 3
IF THERE CAN BE SUCH A THING, it was a great funeral. Agnes sat in the front pew during the Mass, flanked by Marion on one side and her seven orphans on the other. The children were pale from a mixture of fear, because they did not really understand what was going on, and excitement, because people kept coming to them and rubbing their hair and mumbling‘God bless you’ or ’God love you, child‘, at the same time pressing money into their hands. The younger children would stare at the shining silver coins, wide-eyed. Not that they would have them for long, for after what he regarded as a respectable period, Mark gathered the coins from the children to give later to Mammy. The younger children would hand the money over without question, and Rory after some soul-searching, but Frankie would not hand his over under any circumstances. What Frankie had, Frankie kept - for Frankie! Mark hated his younger brother. Of all the children Frankie was the most selfish. He would never share anything he brought home with any of the others, yet if Mark got sweets from Mr McCabe, the local shopkeeper and the supplier of Mark’s newspapers for his paper round, Frankie would sit there long-faced until Mammy insisted that Mark gave him some of them. Mark had often wished Frankie wasn’t his brother. Frankie was Mammy’s favourite. Mark understood that Mammies have to have favourites and he didn’t mind that he wasn’t it, but he couldn’t understand that with children as cute as Trevor and Cathy, or even Denno - cheeky but lovable - Mammy
‘Agnes Browne, look at you, a ragged auld wan!’ she said aloud to her reflection. She was being hard on herself, for although she had given birth seven times in fourteen years, at thirty-four she looked thirty-four! Medium height with full lips and a button nose, she was pretty, her outstanding features being her raven black hair and chestnut-brown complexion around almond-shaped brown eyes, a legacy of her grandfather’s visit to Spain ... he returned minus a leg but plus a wife! A beautiful wife, for which most men in The Jarro would have given both legs for the chance to use the remaining one! She had died young, at only twenty four, of TB, but not before leaving behind three daughters, the loveliest of them being Maria, who became Agnes’s mother. Agnes looked like her mother.
She heard a radio announcer say it was ten o‘clock. She hurried down the stairs and gathered the children together. As she herded them out the door she noticed Mark was missing.
‘Where’s Mark?’ she asked no one in particular.
It was Cathy who answered. ‘He’s in the toilet, he said he’s not coming to Da’s funeral.’
Agnes did not reply. She looked into Marion’s face and in an effort to make a puzzled face, Marion turned the edges of her mouth downwards, gathering all the mole hairs together.
‘Marion love, you go ahead with these,’ suggested Agnes, ‘I’ll go up and see what’s wrong with the little cur.’
She quietly climbed the stairs calling him, ‘Mark, Mark Browne ... get out here now!’ By the time she had reached the toilet door there was still no reply. She banged on the door.
‘Mark Browne, I haven’t time for this messin’. You’re going to Mass whether you like it or not. Get out of that fuckin’ toilet now!‘
The bolt clicked back and Mark emerged.
‘What do you think you’re up to?’
Mark did not look up. ‘Nothin’,‘ he mumbled.
‘Then get down them fuckin’ stairs and up to that church ... and listen, don’t you carry on today or I’m tellin’ yeh, I’ll swing for yeh! Do yeh hear me?’ she was screaming.
Mark was already halfway down the stairs when he said ‘Yeh’. They caught up with the rest of the family before they reached the church. Agnes straightened hair, pulled up pants and tucked in shirts, then the new widow and seven orphans entered the church as a pale and frightened family.
Chapter 3
IF THERE CAN BE SUCH A THING, it was a great funeral. Agnes sat in the front pew during the Mass, flanked by Marion on one side and her seven orphans on the other. The children were pale from a mixture of fear, because they did not really understand what was going on, and excitement, because people kept coming to them and rubbing their hair and mumbling‘God bless you’ or ’God love you, child‘, at the same time pressing money into their hands. The younger children would stare at the shining silver coins, wide-eyed. Not that they would have them for long, for after what he regarded as a respectable period, Mark gathered the coins from the children to give later to Mammy. The younger children would hand the money over without question, and Rory after some soul-searching, but Frankie would not hand his over under any circumstances. What Frankie had, Frankie kept - for Frankie! Mark hated his younger brother. Of all the children Frankie was the most selfish. He would never share anything he brought home with any of the others, yet if Mark got sweets from Mr McCabe, the local shopkeeper and the supplier of Mark’s newspapers for his paper round, Frankie would sit there long-faced until Mammy insisted that Mark gave him some of them. Mark had often wished Frankie wasn’t his brother. Frankie was Mammy’s favourite. Mark understood that Mammies have to have favourites and he didn’t mind that he wasn’t it, but he couldn’t understand that with children as cute as Trevor and Cathy, or even Denno - cheeky but lovable - Mammy
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