A hapenny will do, p.1
A Ha'penny Will Do, page 1
A Ha’penny Will Do
Alison Huntingford
Austin Macauley Publishers
A Ha’penny Will Do
About the Author
Dedication
Copyright Information ©
Acknowledgement
Foreword
Note
About the Author
Alison Huntingford has a degree in humanities with literature, and has always enjoyed reading, especially, the great writers of the 19th century.
She is an only child of two only children and so has always felt a distinct lack of family. This has inspired her to research her family history and most of her writing is based on this. Her debut novel, The Glass Bulldog, was published in 2019, and was nominated for the Walter Scott Prize for historical fiction. This is her second full length novel, although, she has also written several short stories.
In her spare time, she enjoys spending time with her husband and their pets, listening to music, going to the cinema, and gardening.
Dedication
Dedicated to Kate, Fred, and Joe (Grandad Pop) – may they rest in peace. With thanks as always to my dear husband, Nigel, for his patience and support.
Copyright Information ©
Alison Huntingford 2022
The right of Alison Huntingford to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398408135 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398408142 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2022
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®
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Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
Thanks is due to the following websites:
www.ancestry.co.uk
www.findmypast.co.uk
www.forces-war-records.co.uk
www.wikipedia.org
owlcation.com/humanities/Victorian-Maid-of-all-work-a-miserable-life
www.victorianlondon.org.uk
www.workhouses.org.uk
victorian-era.org
www.funeralwise.com/customs/irishwake
www.jack-the-ripper-tour.com
Plus, many more too numerous to list.
Foreword
Every family has its secrets, its mysteries, its half-truths. Ours is no exception.
When I was growing up, I was fascinated by tales of my grandad and his Irish mother. Her Irish origins seemed such a romantic and exciting notion that I was desperate to know more.
“She came from the poorest area of Cork,” my mum told me, “and was a great beauty, so we believe. Her name was Kate. Unfortunately, she died when the children were quite young, and their father had to bring them up.”
“Your grandad, Joe, was one of four brothers,” she continued. “There was Ern, who was a hero in World War One; he married your gran’s sister. Then there was Bill, the youngest, who used to do magic tricks on stage, and of course, Fred, who no one talks about.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well, they say he went bad and disappeared off somewhere.”
I was confused by what was meant by ’went bad’. Had he been in prison, or worse? This intrigued me, but no one seemed to know the answers.
After extensive research, I have finally pieced together the truth of what happened to this family – a truth which is never plain, and rarely simple. The mists of time have parted briefly to reveal a glimpse of their lives. What I discovered was quite unexpected and surprising; including another brother who had never been mentioned before: Albert. Why has no one talked about him? I’ll leave you to decide that for yourselves. I also found out what happened to Fred; but again, you’ll have to read on to find out.
Therefore, I can now present the authentic stories of Kate, Fred and Joe, recreated through diaries, letters and my grandad’s memories. The mysteries are solved, and the ghosts are appeased. I hope I’ve brought them justice at last.
Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat.
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do.
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you!
Joe’s Recollections, Introduction
I remember my mother as if it were yesterday, her dark curly hair piled up on top and a gentle Irish lilt to her voice. But I realise now that these are only my childhood memories of her, as she certainly wasn’t like that towards the end. It’s strange how time dims the things we don’t want to remember. However, since you’ve asked, I’ll try and tell it like it was, but my memory’s failing a bit now, so bear with me.
Her name was Catherine (McCarthy by birth), but I only ever heard her called Kate, even by her mother, who would occasionally visit us. I know they both came over from Ireland, although I don’t know exactly when. The family had lived in one of the most notorious slums in Cork – Barrack Street. It had a dreadful reputation for poverty, disease and filth, and yet my mother always spoke of it with the greatest affection.
“Joey,” she would say, “I had a grand childhood, I’m sorry yours has had to be so hard.”
She always called me by my middle name, Joe, (even though my first name is Andrew) and I still prefer to be called that. It reminds me of the good times with her and the feeling of being loved and wanted.
I hear the slum dwellings of Barrack Street have been cleared away now and new buildings put up, ones with running water, sanitation and electric lighting. My mother would have hated them and would have said they had no soul, not like the overcrowded, cramped hovels of the ‘lanes’. She didn’t live long enough to see her beloved street swept away; maybe that was a good thing. I don’t know.
As to the rest of her family, I have very little information. I believe she had a brother somewhere, and some Irish cousins and aunts, but the details have vanished in the mists of time, just like the leprechauns and faery folk that she used to tell us about at bedtime.
It was my mother’s very ‘Irishness’ that first attracted my father, William Duffield, to her, but it was also what most annoyed him when he was in one of his moods. On one occasion, I heard him shout at her, “There ain’t no shamrocks here, woman! So, stop your Irish blarney.”
My father was a dark, brooding kind of man, who usually only laughed at someone else’s expense. He had a certain charisma, I guess, and a way of being able to talk himself out of a bad situation. Trouble was something that followed him around, especially when he’d been out drinking, which was often. Nevertheless, he was popular with the local crowd and recognised as something of a ‘character’.
I’ve never been to Ireland, which is odd, I suppose, as my brother Ern lives over there now. After he married his second wife, Agnes, they moved out to be nearer to her family. Maybe the Irish connection was stronger for him as he was older than me and had more time with our mother. We still exchange Christmas cards and the like, but we’ve drifted apart a bit recently. I’m not sure why. Ern is quite a few years older than me, but we were close once. He even introduced me to my own dear wife, who was his sister-in-law. We had some great times then, the four of us together. I miss that. Maybe it’s because Bet has passed on that it’s all changed.
I’m closer to my youngest brother Bill than anyone else in the family. As for the others, I never see Albert these days and Fred has been gone a long time now.
Kate’s Diary 1 January 1879 Cork, Ireland, aged 12
Athbhliain Faoi Mhaise Daoibh! Happy New Year!
Mam gave me this diary for Christmas because she knows I love writing. She’s right – I really want to be a writer, though I know it’s probably hopeless. That’s why I’m going to make the most of this diary and write down all my memories and my innermost thoughts that I can’t tell anyone else. I’m really going to try and keep it up, so here goes.
Last night we were all at home together, the four of us; me, Pat, Mam and Da. Of course, the O’Connells, who share the house with us, were around as well, but we kept ourselves to ourselves, as is usual on Year’s End Night. Da said I could do the traditional fetching of the water from the well, as I’m old enough now. It has to be done before sunset and not taken out again until the next day. It’s an old custom and I loved doing it. It felt like I was carrying on something special which has been passed down through the years. Mind you, Pat got to do the throwing of the bread at the door, this year. Da said as he’s the oldest child and the only son, it was his right. I hope he did it proper like, so that we don’t go hungry again this year. It’s supposed to ward off famine and we certainly don’t need another one of those. Pat had to recite this really long verse and he got a bit muddled i
I love living here in Cork City. We may be poor but it’s our home. Barrack Street is a great place, in spite of everything. Some people say it’s a slum and should be cleared away, but I think it’s grand. I’m proud to be a ‘barracka’.
True, there is sewage running down middle of the street, and people get sick a lot of the time, but it’s a real community. There’re always children laughing and music playing, not like in those ‘well to do’ areas, such as Montenotte, where no one dares to laugh or speak a word. They’re all too frightened of their own shadows. Live a little, I say!
Kate’s Diary 5 January 1879
Today, I went back to my job at the South Presentation Convent School. I’m only doing a bit of charring and washing there, but if the truth be told, I hate it. The nuns just seem to want me to scrub those cold stone floors all the time. If I have to do any more, I think I’ll go mad!
I used to hate going to school there. They were always so strict, and I often got in trouble when I spoke my mind. Mam says I need to ‘keep a lid on it’, but if I think something isn’t right, then I feel the need to say so. Those nuns tried to tell me that the Holy Mother Mary was a virgin when she had Jesus, but Mam says women only get pregnant when men ‘interfere’ with them. When I argued about that, Sister Assumpta really lost her rag and sent me to the Mother Superior. She made me say fifty Hail Marys for penance.
I don’t know why I took on the work there, really. I was dying to leave the place, but kind old Sister Bridget asked me to stay and clean for them. Mam said I should, even though I didn’t want to, to help bring in some money for the family. Anyway, I like Sister B – she’s one of the only ones there who seem half-human, and I know she was only trying to help us out.
Kate’s Diary 2 February 1879
Yesterday was St Brigid’s feast day to celebrate the coming of spring. It was a mighty craic! We went to Murphy’s Bar in our street, where we danced, drank and sang all night. Da enjoys a pint or two and was singing along with the best of them; mind, he never gets nasty drunk, only ever good natured and fun. Some of the locals were playing the pipes and fiddles and everyone joined in, even Pat, who plays a bit of melodeon now and again. It doesn’t matter how good or bad you are at the music, what matters is the taking part. Mam and I can’t play nothing, but we danced and sang along till our feet ached and our throats were sore. It seemed like most of Barrack Street were there, though there were plenty of other bars with similar parties going on. What a night it was!
Kate’s Diary 12 May 1879
Away from the city, everywhere is so green. Living in ‘the lanes’ of Central Cork, I tend to forget how beautiful Ireland is. Yesterday, Da gave me a rare treat and took me on his cart when he had to take a load over to Waterford. I got to go this time ’cos Pat was working and Da needed an extra pair of hands to help out. We took our time, enjoying the fine spring air and having a fair old laugh along the way. Da is always fun to be with.
We travelled along the wild Atlantic coast, up and down hills, the poor old horse taking the strain. The weather was grand, though there was a fierce wind by the sea. The sight of all that sparkling ocean fair took my breath away. The sun was glinting off the waves and it looked so inviting, though Da warned me of its dangers.
“There’s more currents out there than you can shake a stick at,” he told me, “just waiting to sweep you away in an instant. It’s a wild patch of water, that one.”
I asked Da what was over yonder.
“Beyont is the coast of England, Kate. Best left well alone.”
It was a beautiful ride over to Waterford and back. The rolling hills were alive with the green of new spring growth, trees in leaf again after the long winter and flowers blooming. The track was strewn with blossom from the May trees, which rose up in a cloud as we passed by and settled back again behind us, as if we had never been there.
I felt I could have written a poem about it, right then and there. When we got home, I tried, but the moment had gone and the words I had in my mind have slipped away. It’s so frustrating at times.
At midday, Da stopped the horse and cart for a rest. We left the horse munching hay in the shade and took our bread and cheese out onto the soft meadow grass. Da was in a talkative mood and told me stories of his youth, spent on a small farm in the local countryside.
“It’s only when the Great Famine came and the crops failed that we had to move to the city,” he told me. “There was no way to make a living, otherwise. Yer Uncle Frankie is still out there trying, but it’s a real struggle. Ireland’s a grand country, darlin’, and no mistake, but a hard one to survive in.”
Kate’s Diary 5 July 1879
Today, I had a right set to with Mam. I didn’t mean to, but she told me I can’t go with my friend, Saoirse, to see her Da play in the Barracka Street band. Mam never minded when I did it before; but a couple of weeks back, something changed. There are a lot of temperance marching bands in Cork, but instead of getting on, they all seem to be rivals these days. There was a real carry on when the Fair Hill band accidentally met the Blackpool band at a crossroads, and it blew up into a rare old fight. There were stones flying and fists punching – not at all the kind of thing you’d expect from musicians. Talk about music bringing folks together – well, that’s one way of doing it! Fair play to Mam – I can see where she’s coming from, but it wasn’t our band after all. Oh well, mebbee I should tell her I’m sorry.
Kate’s Diary 22 August 1879
My, it’s been a terrible bad summer this year. It’s rained so much that water is coming through the roof and all our mattresses got wet the other day. I can hardly sleep at night ’cos it’s so cold. Da has got an awful fierce cough that he can’t get rid of and Mam is sneezing all the time. Over in County Mayo, however, they’re having an even worse time; the potato crop has failed again, and the people are going hungry. It’s not as bad as last time but folks are beginning to talk of famine. There’s an air of panic and fear all around and Mam said food is getting really expensive. Last week, she went out to the grocers but could only afford some bread and cabbages. She told me she saw a man shouting at the poor shopkeeper because he couldn’t pay his bill. Tempers are getting frayed and people are worried. I hope things get better soon.
Kate’s Diary 1 November 1879
Da told us today that his brother Frank and wife Mairead are coming to stay with us. They were tenant farmers in Clonakilty until just recently, when they were turned out ’cos they couldn’t pay their rent. There’s been a lot of that going on in the last few months and a fair bit of angry grumbling about it, locally. Da reckons there’ll be trouble soon enough, what with Charles Parnell and the Land League now trying to stand up for people’s rights. I don’t fairly understand it meself, but I reckon it’s not right that folks should lose their homes.
Mind, I don’t know how we’re going to manage for space with me uncle and his family here as well. It’s already mighty cramped as it is, what with sharing with the O’Connells, but I guess we must do our bit to help. I’m going to have to find extra space in my bedroom now for my cousins Bronagh and Colleen. Let’s hope we will all get on.
Kate’s Diary 28 November 1879
Today is the first time I’ve ever seen Da really angry. He’s usually so calm, but today he fairly let rip at Pat.
“Patrick McCarthy,” I heard him shout. “What do yer think yer doing? Going on a march! Don’t you know it’s asking for trouble? You coulda been arrested by the Garda and put in prison. It was a feckin’ daft thing to do!”
