A Rare Find: Ethel Ayres Bullymore. Donna Mann

in the final amen brought closure to more than the prayer.

      The next morning Ethel looked across the breakfast table at Elsie turning her spoon around and around in her porridge. How discerning this child was—perhaps not capable of putting her feelings into words but showing them in her actions. Life over the last month had left Ethel feeling as if she too were turning in circles from one emotion to another.

      She fixed her eyes on Elsie’s face and thought how people always remarked on their likeness. She wasn’t surprised at their comments, because those same people had said for years that Ethel was a mirror image of her mother. She knew it to be true as she looked over at Mum and smiled. Those beautiful facial features framed by her lovely soft dark hair resembled Ethel’s own countenance in many ways. Three generations, and so much alike.

      There was a lot to say in these last few minutes before Ethel would leave for the train station, yet the silence allowed these deep thoughts to penetrate her mind. Looking at Elsie and then back to her mother, Ethel knew she’d see Elsie again, but the awful truth surfaced that leaving Mum was different. Saying goodbye to Pa earlier when he went to work had almost crushed Ethel, and now the same turmoil between what she wanted and what she must do divided her loyalties again. She doubted if she’d ever get back to England in her parents’ lifetime, and she knew they wouldn’t make the trip to Canada.

      Breaking the silence, Ethel looked for words to move her past this moment of despair. “I’ll write letters to you both while I’m still on the boat and post them as soon as I land.”

      “That will be lovely, dear,” Mum said. “The whole family will gather to read them.” Tears ran down her reddened cheeks.

      “And you, luv.” Ethel reached over to Elsie, lifted her from the chair and drew her close. “Come and sit on your mummy’s knee.” She turned her face towards her own. “What shall I send you when I get to Canada?”

      “Can you send me kisses?” Elsie asked.

      “Do you mean those chocolate candy kisses?” Ethel laughed. “For your sweet tooth?”

      “Yes, ’n some of these,” Elsie said quietly and placed her fingers on Ethel’s lips.

      Ethel pushed her face into Elsie’s hair, more to hide her own tears than to whisper. “I’ll find a way to send you something special, sweetheart, with Mummy’s kisses all over it.”

      She straightened and glanced at the kitchen clock ticking away precious minutes and then looked at Mum. Ethel’s bottom lip trembled. She wanted to bawl—just rest her head on the table as if she were alone and cry until there were no tears left.

      Just then, Horace came into the living room, twirling his peak cap between his fingers. “We’ve got a bit of a trip ahead of us, Etty. Are you ready to go?”

      “I think I am,” Ethel replied. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

      “Ethel,” Mum said, “you know I support you in this decision, and I’ll follow you all the way to the dock in my heart, through my thoughts and in my prayers. When I close my eyes over the long hours to come, I’ll see you with your shoulders straight and holding your head high.” She paused to brush a tear from her cheek and said softly, “We’ll all be with you in spirit, lass. Know that you are loved, and no miles, no distance, absolutely nothing can change that.”

      “Oh Mum.” Ethel sighed. “What will I do without you and your words of wisdom? Is there anything that will make this easier?”

      “Nothing is going to help, my dear, unless you decide to bring your luggage back from the train station, unpack your clothes and stay put here in Enfield.” Mum attempted a weak smile while wiping her eyes. “And that’s not going to happen. So we just have to get through this.”

      Mum stood and linked her fingers around Horace’s elbow. “In the meantime, Horace will look after you until you board the ship.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “That’ll settle my mind, some.”

      Elsie squirmed in Ethel’s arms, and Ethel tightened her grip as she listened to Mum.

      “Once you get on the boat, you’ll start thinking of the immediate and of Tom, you’ll see. I’ve heard others say the same thing. It’s just getting you to the dock and onto that ship.” She bent over and placed her hand on Ethel’s face. “And keep the faith, lass. Remember the Scripture you were raised with.”

      “I will, Mum. I’ll always remember that.”

      Reluctantly, Ethel let Elsie down. She stood and leaned over to embrace Mum, resting her head on Mum’s shoulder as she did when a child. She knew to which Scripture Mum alluded. There’d be no problem loving her neighbour as herself, but she didn’t know if she could love God today with all her heart and soul and might. She’d prayed so much about Elsie’s health, and it had only worsened. Indeed, she would have to talk to God more about that.

      Ethel turned to Elsie, knelt and lowered her face into her little girl’s neck. She recalled the long and difficult struggle of giving birth and then holding Elsie’s sweet stirring body, bundled up in soft flannelette.

      She drank in the sight and familiar scent of her little girl and looked into her pleading eyes. Cupping Elsie’s face in her hand, she kissed her forehead with a long, lingering touch. “Goodbye, my dearest, for now.”

      Nurse Rankin’s words about good things coming from labour pains flashed through her mind. What could possibly come out of this pain except more of the same?

      With that, Ethel kissed Elsie again and turned her toward Mum. She picked up her purse and said, “Let’s go, Horace. You and me, we’ll make good use of our extra time together. You can tell Mum all about it when you return.” She grabbed her satchel by the handles, pushed the kitchen door with her free hand and walked out into the sunshine. Glancing back for one more look, Ethel saw Mum in the doorway holding Elsie, who was eagerly waving a white handkerchief. “I’m wavin’ it like they do on boats, Mummy.”

      “Thank you, sweetheart,” Ethel said as she swallowed her tears. “I’ll think of this when I board the ship.”

      4. Grief in Goodbye

      The wheels clattered over the uneven railway sleepers on the tracks, changing to the screeching sound of iron on iron—rubbing, dragging, seizing. Ethel and Horace chatted comfortably while bumping along in the passenger coach as it rumbled and swayed on the tracks towards Liverpool. They’d caught the train at Enfield Town Station without problem, and now the occasional mournful call of the train whistle seemed to widen the distance between Ethel and her family. Tiny droplets of rain slid down the window, disappearing out of sight. Ethel watched while thinking that nothing stays forever. During this daylong trip to Liverpool, she’d have a lot of thinking time.

      The train slipped through back gardens, towns and industrial settings. She took some sandwiches Mum had made from her satchel and opened two jars of fresh water and handed one to Horace. They lunched while looking at the daily newspaper and commenting on the scenery. After brushing away the crumbs and putting the soiled paper into the waste, Ethel rested her head back on the seat as her muddled thoughts became one with the rumbling sound of the train. Laughing and talking about their childhood filled the hours, and Ethel cherished each one as a gift with Horace.

      Wrapping her arms around her body, as if to nurture and strengthen a less than confident spirit to uphold her during the time ahead, she felt the reduced speed of the train. The scenery had changed, and they had entered the heavily populated centre of Liverpool: buildings, smokestacks and multiple train tracks.

      “Are we here?” Ethel asked.

      “Almost,” Horace replied. “Thanks for this extra time, sis. It’s been good.”

      “Yes, it has been.” Ethel began to gather her bags together. “It’s so peaceful just riding along with you.”

      “Not like when we were kids and you were always teasing me.” Horace laughed a hearty chuckle.

      “Ah,