A Prayer for Blue Delaney (3 page)

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.

After they had been there several weeks, Colm discovered that they were allowed to write letters home at weekends, if there was a home to write to. Some of the boys wrote to the Sisters who had run the orphanages that they had come from. But Colm couldn’t imagine wanting to write anything to Sister Clothilde. He hoped he’d never see her again. There was only one person in England that Colm wanted to write to. He joined the other boys at the long tables and took the pencil and paper that were offered to him.

‘You haven’t been in to write a letter home before, McCabe,’ said Brother Brophy. ‘Have you suddenly thought of someone?’

‘I’m going to write to my mother.’

‘But the records say your mother is dead.’

‘That’s a mistake. She’s not dead.’

‘And where do you expect this letter to be delivered?’

Colm looked up. ‘People put messages in bottles, don’t they? They put messages in bottles and fling them into the ocean and then people on the other side of the world find them. Maybe someone in the post office will know my mum. Maybe they’ll see it and they’ll find her for me.’

Brother Brophy opened his mouth to say something but Colm quickly began writing, his head down, the pencil scurrying across the page.

Dear Mum,

I miss you very much. I am at a place called Clontarf in Australia. You can get to Australia on a boat. Please come and find me. I will be a good son. I will be the best son a mother could want.

Love from your boy, Colm McCabe

Colm folded the letter up and placed it in the envelope he’d been provided with. On the front he wrote ‘Mrs McCabe, Liverpool, England’. He held the envelope up and stared at it. It didn’t look like much of an address but he wasn’t sure what else he could write.

That night, as he lay in his narrow bunk, he took out the prayer card of Mary that he kept hidden beneath his mattress. He could just make out the ring of stars around her halo in the moonlight that shone through the dormitory windows. Mary Help of Christians was the Mother of Mercy and the Queen of Heaven. If he asked her, as a mother and a queen, she’d be sure to make Colm’s letter reach its destination. He pressed the card against his heart and said a short prayer. He could feel the strength of his longing pour into the entreaty. Now all he had to do was wait.

There were sixty boys in Colm and Dib’s classroom, all sitting in rows at battered desks. The heat in the room was intense, and when they opened the windows the summer air poured in and made it hotter still. While the Australian boys worked on arithmetic, the migrant boys were given another test. Colm saw Dibs crumple at the sight of the sheet of questions. Some of the other boys had already been taken out of the classroom and sent to work on the farmland that surrounded the orphanage. If Dibs failed this test, he was sure to be set to work in the fields or orchards and he’d never learn to read and write properly.

Colm finished the paper quickly but he could see that Dibs was struggling, his lips silently mouthing the words, his panic growing more intense as other boys began handing in finished papers. Dibs started to writhe in his seat. He put his hand up but the teacher didn’t notice. He tugged at the cardboard sign that hung around his neck and waved his hand urgently. The sign read ‘I am a fish’ and Dibs had been forced to wear it everywhere for the past week.

Dibs had to sleep in the bed-wetters’ dormitory, a dark, gloomy room at the back of the main building. The floor was bare concrete, the paint was peeling. The mattresses were rotten, with old brown wadding bursting out of splits in the fabric. Colm couldn’t bear the smell of the place. In the early mornings, Colm had seen Dibs and the other bed-wetters, wrapped in their sodden sheets, trudging off to the showers to scrub them.

All through the day, Dibs kept his head hung low, avoiding the company of the other boys. Colm didn’t know how to help him. When the bell rang at the end of school, the boys poured out of the classrooms and headed straight to the river to swim. It was one of the few things in the day to look forward to. At the end of the jetty, they stripped off their clothes. All the Australian boys swam like fishes. They dived in and quickly reached the deep water in the middle of the wide Canning River. The new boys bathed in a shallow area near the banks. Colm had been practising holding his breath underwater and getting the feel of the silky river water. Today he was ready for more.

Dibs watched from the bank, twisting the corner of his shorts in a tight knot of anxiety as Colm waded out. Colm felt the flicker of guilt that Dibs always brought out in him these days, but he pushed it away.

The deep water was beckoning and Colm wanted to swim out to where he could float alone, staring up at the perfect sky. When the water covered his ears, the rest of the world disappeared. He turned onto his back and stretched his limbs, imagining he was a small, floating insect on the surface of the wide river. With his eyes shut, he could pretend his skin was a shimmering shell. Then, below the muffled splashes of other boys, he became aware of another sound. Someone was calling out. Rolling over, he was startled to see Dibs not far away, thrashing wildly. How on earth had he got there when he couldn’t swim a stroke?

The distance between himself and Dibs seemed to take forever to cross. By the time he reached the deep water, Dibs had gone under. Colm took a breath and dived down into the cold darkness, groping blindly until he felt the thin prickle of Dibs’s scalp. Reaching deeper, he scooped one hand under the other boy’s arm, pulling him up. Sputtering and gasping, Dibs immediately tried to climb on top of Colm. He kicked hard to get away, shouting, ‘Dibs, don’t fight me! You’ll drown us both!’

Taking another breath, he swam back but Dibs panicked again, clawing at Colm. Colm punched him then tried to lock an arm around Dibs’s neck.