Don’t Tell Mummy: A True Story of the Ultimate Betrayal. Toni Maguire

Even then I could sense my mother was uninterested. I’d come to recognize the polite smile she wore when with company that bored her. In contrast, a cheerful smile rarely left my father’s face as he, the centre of attention, laughed at every new item of gossip.

      Tired out from the day’s excitement, feeling happy that I was part of such a big family, I contentedly slept in a put-you-up bed placed at the foot of my parents’ bed.

      Daylight filtering through the thin curtains that covered the small window wakened me the following morning. Going in search of my mother I was told my parents had gone out for the day and that I was to stay with my grandmother.

      My mother had never left me without telling me first and again I experienced a slight twinge of apprehension and loss. Looking into my new grandmother’s kind face, however, I was able to push my doubts aside.

      While she made me an ‘Ulster fry up’, as she called it, of fried pancake, black pudding and egg, I washed myself at the kitchen sink. Going to the outside lavatory I was dismayed to find neatly cut up pieces of newspaper in the place of toilet rolls. When I pointed this out to my grandmother she looked embarrassed and told me they’d just run out and would get some after breakfast. It was not until several months later I realized that poverty gave newspaper several uses and that toilet paper was considered an unnecessary luxury.

      Once the breakfast dishes were washed up she boiled more saucepans of water and told me I could help her with the washing. Into the minuscule back yard we went, where a large metal bowl was filled with steaming soapy water. She placed a ridged board into it and proceeded to wash towels and shirts by rubbing them briskly up and down its grooves with hands that were red and chapped, quite unlike my mother’s white ones with their carefully applied scarlet nail varnish.

      I helped her wring the sodden items through the mangle by holding one end while she fed the other one through, a procedure we repeated several times. When every last drop of water had been wrung out we pegged the washing with fingers already growing numb with cold onto a line suspended between the back door and the lavatory. Finally we hoisted it as high as it could go with the wooden pole that held it in place, letting it float above our heads in the chill air.

      Every evening except Sunday the still damp washing would be placed on a wooden clotheshorse in front of the fire, filling the room with the smell of steaming clothes and blocking the heat.

      Midday brought my grandfather back, not from work as I thought but from the bookies or, if he’d been lucky on the horses, the pub. I was given the task of laying the table, which was covered with clean newspaper, before the meal of soup and soda bread was laid out.

      That weekend most of my time was spent with my grandparents while my parents disappeared, not returning until I was already in bed asleep. On Sunday morning my mother saw my woebegone face when I realized she and my father were going out again and promised we would spend the following day together.

      ‘First I’m taking you to be enrolled at your new school,’ she said. ‘Then, if you’re good and stay to help your grandmother today, I’ll take you out for lunch as a special treat.’

      Placated, I beamed back at her, happy again, and she gave me a quick hug, leaving the smell of her perfume lingering in the air.

      Monday brought a weak winter sun that brightened but failed to warm the cold morning. However, anticipation of a whole day with my mother took the chill off it.

      ‘It’s only a half hour’s walk,’ she reassured me.

      After breakfast we walked hand in hand out of the narrow streets around Park Street, across the town square and into tree-lined avenues, where tall red-brick houses stood back from the roads. On reaching one that was only distinguished from the nearby houses as a school by its several grey prefab buildings and fenced-in tennis courts, we entered its large wooden-floored hall and introduced ourselves to the school secretary.

      Within a few minutes we were shown to the headmistress’s rooms. She was an imposing woman; her white hair tinged slightly blue, dressed in a tailored grey suit, which was almost covered by a black gown.

      ‘Hello, I’m Dr Johnston,’ she said, touching my shoulder briefly. ‘You must be Antoinette.’

      After talking to my mother for a few minutes she set me a simple reading test, which I read straight through without stumbling once, despite my nerves. When I’d finished she smiled at me warmly.

      ‘Antoinette, you read very well, even though you’ve only been at school a few months. Did your mother teach you?’

      ‘No, Nanny taught me,’ I replied. ‘We used to read Flook cartoons together in the Daily Mail.’ She laughed and asked what else my grandmother had taught me. She seemed amused when I said that I’d learnt to count by playing cards.

      ‘Well, she’s certainly up to standard,’ she reassured my mother. ‘I think she will fit in well here.’

      My mother looked pleased and I was content with her pleasure. After various formalities Dr Johnston gave us a tour around the school. Looking at the groups of children dressed in their green uniforms, playing in their break, I thought I was going to be happy there.

      Armed with lists of what was required, my mother and I walked the short distance into town. First we bought my uniform, green gym tunic, three white shirts and a black and green tie. The last purchase, which my mother told me was a present from my English grandmother, was a smart green blazer with its distinctive white badge on the breast pocket. The next stop was the bookshop.

      Weighed down by all our parcels, we made our way to a nearby tearoom for the promised treat of lunch.

      ‘I think you’re going to like your new school,’ my mother said as soon as our food had arrived. With my mouth full of toasted, buttery crumpet I nodded happily in reply.

      The morning I was due to start I jumped eagerly out of bed and rushed downstairs to wash and eat the breakfast my grandmother had already cooked for me. My father had left for work and my mother had laid out all my new clothes on their bed. I could smell the newness of them. I dressed myself from my green school knickers to my gym tunic, asking my mother for help with my tie. My hair was brushed, a slide clipped in to hold it into place, then, with my satchel containing all my new books slung across my shoulder, I gave myself a glance in the mirror. A happy child with just a residue of puppy fat smiled confidently back at me. I preened for a moment and then descended the stairs to be hugged by my grandmother before my mother and I left for the walk to school.

      My teacher introduced me to my classmates and sat me beside a friendly blonde-haired girl, whom I was told was named Jenny. The morning passed quickly and I gave thanks for my English grandmother’s extra tuition. I found the reading and arithmetic easy and was rewarded by a smile and words of praise from my teacher.

      At the sound of the bell our class rushed from the schoolroom to the play area where Jenny took me under her wing. Finding my name difficult to pronounce, the children, with peals of laughter, called me ‘Annie-net’. Knowing their laughter was friendly I was happy to feel part of this group and laughed with them. By the end of the day Jenny and I had become best friends. She seemed to like the kudos of looking after a little girl with a strange accent and proudly introduced me to my fellow classmates. Basking in her attention I felt the warmth that sudden friendship brings. The need for a best friend that starts when babyhood ends and childhood begins was fulfilled.

      Two more weeks passed at my grandparents’ house until the day of our moving came. This time I had mixed feelings; I loved being part of such a big family, especially being the youngest member and the centre of attention. I was constantly fussed and petted by them all. Even my taciturn grandfather would chat to me, send me on errands to the tiny local shop to buy cigarettes for him and sweets for me. When nobody was looking he would even make a fuss of Judy. I knew I was going to miss them, but my adventurous side looked forward to living in the countryside and helping my mother with her poultry farm.

      A compromise had been reached to appease both my grandparents and me. It was common then in the rural areas for the buses to run only twice a day, once in the morning