By Edna McCabe

Part 4 - Married Life

During my first few weeks in Athlone, in 1947, I couldn't get over the silence. I actually missed the noise of the city. Where I lived in Dublin buses and trams ran past the front door and there was a "music box" at the corner, which played night and day. Very few shops were open when I went shopping early on that first Monday morning. I remember crossing the wooden walkway on the town bridge and looking down at the lovely river Shannon. It was so peaceful and there was hardly a boat in sight.

Every Saturday morning there was a market at St Peter's Square. You could buy all your vegetable at the right price and there was a fish stall, which was run by "Fitzgerald Brothers". One of Fitzgeralds's men used to deliver door-to-door; you could get a plateful of fish for two shillings. There was also a clothes' stall and "Cheap Jack" had a stall from which you could buy all sorts of gadgets.

Our milk was sold "loose", and Mrs Scanlon from Coosan delivered it by horse and cart. At the time there was no such thing a supermarket; so every family had its our own shop for groceries. Our shop was Elliott's of Fry Place. There was a bar at the end of the shop and some of the people who came in from the country used to sit in the little snug to have their weekly drink and a chat. Then there was Byrne's Hardware shop on the Town Square and Case's in Church Street, which also sold hardware. I continued dealing in Elliotts, long after I moved away from High Street, until it eventually closed down.

Athlone was a happy, lazy place and I grew to love it. Clothes were bought "over the counter", which was such a friendly, personal way of dong business. There were few cars; so you could walk across the road in comfort. Children too could walk to school and there were no such things as school busses.

Martin came and went to work on his bicycle, as did most of the men. In later years we would remember those days as some of our happiest. On the corner opposite where we lived there was a fairly big shop called McKay's. It seemed to have different items in the window every week. I often popped in to pick up something and I noticed that our landlady was a regular customer. I remember buying a lovely frying pan there once. When I told my friend Mary Neville that I had bought a frying pan in McKay's she burst out laughing. I didn't know at the time that I had just been shopping in the town's pawnshop.

Little by little I discovered more about our landlady. Every morning she went to the pub with her jug for a fill of porter. And worst of all, I discovered why they called where we lived "The Flay Kellys". It seems her lodgers often complained about fleas in her blankets. We never saw any fleas in our flat; but in any event we moved to Connolly Street shortly after that.

We spent many evenings waling along the banks of the river and I remember how majestic the bridge looked on moonlight nights. Then we went for spins on our bicycles around Athlone. We got to know the town and the surrounding countryside as we were also looking for a house. We also got to know one another in those early days. Martin learned that I had a good sense of humour and that I could be emotional. I always wanted things to be happy and I used to cry when we went to sad films

Martin on the other hand was serious and he was a particularly good judge of people. He made friends everywhere he went but could move on easily to other friends. I had my friends since my schooldays and I cherished them forever. I was loyal to a fault. Martin used to say, "You'll only get hurt if they let you down". I was to learn that what he said could be true.

Our flat consisted of two furnished rooms. The toilet was outside, downstairs and we had to share it with others. The water supply was also downstairs; so we had to bring up our water in white enamel buckets. There was a big open fireplace to cook on but no electricity. We only had lamplight, which I thought was rather romantic. I had my first bit of fun with Martin at this time. "Right" I asked, "Where do we wash?" He explained that we could buy a bath and heat the water on the fire, as we had a large kettle and saucepans. And I said, "You can scrub my back and I'll scrub yours." Martin didn't see the funny side of this remark and he explained "deadly seriously" that he could take a shower in the barracks at any time.

One day shortly afterwards I was looking out the window when I saw him coming round the corner with the huge bath on the bar of his bicycle. By the time he got to the door I was hysterical with laughter. He just looked at me and said, "Oh boys, oh boys where did I get you?" This was his favourite expression.

Well, it worked out fine. I'll always remember washing in front of a big turf fire and having my clothes warmed; it was so cosy. I never thought of all that water Martin had to carry up the stairs. He really wanted everything to be right for me. He made lovely presses for the landing for my dishes and saucepans, a clotheshorse for my washing. I washed in a basin but I used the local laundry for all the big things. We owned one armchair, which was a wedding present. (I often wondered why we hadn't been given two.) We were both so skinny at the time that we'd squeeze into it together. However we did have some chairs and a radio. Most evenings we went for a walk or to a film. There were two picture houses in the town.

Then Martin started cutting turf for us on the bog in Clonown. I was amazed to see teams of men using sleáns to cut "large pieces of muck". A couple called Mr and Mrs Egan lived in the house nearby. Theirs was a "made match". Mrs Egan explained to Martin and his friend Paddy Neville how the match had been made by her parents in a pub over a pint of porter. Her husband was twenty years older, and they had a young family. When I had my own children later on Martin used to take some clothes that the children had outgrown to her for the little ones. In return she used to give him some homemade country butter, which Martin loved. Later when her husband died Mrs Egan could be seen around Athlone enjoying herself in the company of her now grown-up children.

About this time I discovered that Martin hated writing letters though he had written hundreds of letters to his "dearest Edna". When I asked him about this he said, "I must have liked her whoever she was." So I soon took over writing to his mother, sending Christmas cards and presents and so on. I couldn't cook, but with plenty of flops and lots of fun we got by. I remember the day Martin brought a friend in for tea and I cooked rashers and eggs. The rashers were fine, but the eggs stuck to the pan. Quick as lightening I got the fork and said, "I hope you like scrambled egg" and started mixing. We got through, but poor Martin often went back to work chewing a piece of steak he had cooked himself. In any event I soon became an expert at balancing the saucepans on the turf fire.

I often wondered what Martin thought, coming from a home where his mother and sisters could cook anything. All either of us ever said was, "I wish our mothers could see us now". In time we bought a primus stove. I remember we put oil into it and pumped it until a small flame appeared. It was great. You could cook a saucepan of anything and if you put a steamer on it you would have a second vegetable. I only used it if Martin was there as I was afraid it would blow up.

Eventually the landlord lent us a pot-oven as she presumed I could bake the way she did. Pot-ovens sit on a grate over a fire and are quite troublesome to use. Luckily, we had a friend called Michael Kavanagh who was a cook in the army. He came one evening, got the fire going, and started making soda bread. We just had the bread in the over when our landlady called. Michael quickly put his hands into his pockets, flour and all, and sat down. He wanted to let the landlady think that I was the cook, even though I couldn't bake a bun. I never bothered using that oven again after that - all that trouble, opening windows to let the smoke out and so on, was too much for me. I don't know how Martin's mother managed to bake all her bread using one of those ovens. By the way, Michael duly met an Athlone girl, got married and transferred back to Dublin. He was a true Dub and he could never understand why I left the city.

I don't know why Martin and I never talked about having children. We were content with the present and completely happy. We had the same principles about religion. We said our prayers together, believed in God and went to Mass together. I could bend a little with our way of life but Martin was so straight that to him black was black and white was white. I thought everyone could be like that. Anyway one night I became very sick, I was up all night with poor Martin holding my head and mopping up. Next day when the doctor told me I was pregnant all I could say was, "I'm only a few months married". Martin was delighted, "Now we'll be a family", he said.

By now we even had a dog, a pedigree Irish terrier, which Peter McCabe sent to us. We kept it in the shed downstairs and Martin took it for a run every evening, or off with him when he was cutting our turf on the bog. Life was going along fine but by now we were becoming anxious about the baby and, like my own mother before me, I wanted to go home for the birth. There is a saying "You can take the girl out of the city but you can't take the city out of the girl." So Martin took me home to my family and friends and he spent his free time during the week papering and painting the flat - as a surprise for me on my return. He even stained and polished the living room floor. (Something they are all doing now, 50 years on.) He came to visit me every weekend and all I wanted at the time was to have my baby and return to him.

At this time my sister Grace had a boyfriend, Toby Roche, and Matt had married Mary O'Toole. Joe was doing a strong line with Marie Maxwell.

Our little girl was born on 13th. December 1947 in a semi-private ward in Holles Street Hospital, Dublin. We had hoped she'd wait until our first anniversary. After the birth we were all sitting up nursing our babies when a nurse said, "There's a fellow out in the corridor waiting to get in. If he thinks he'll get in before visiting time, he's making a big mistake." "Well I said to the rest of the women in the ward, my fellow is in Athlone." But who walked in, in full uniform, but Martin, and of course I burst out crying. It was just too much. There he was hugging us both. He had managed to swap duties with another soldier and as a result he had come to Dublin on army business.

By the way, all that sweat and moaning you see on TV is exaggerated. Though Grace's birth was slow, the anticipation of having my first baby made it all worthwhile. As soon as all the fuss of going home to my mother, sister, brothers, and friends was over, Martin took us back to our humble abode. He had bought the cot and my mother and Grace came to see us the following week and bought us the pram. The two items were purchase in Foy's of Church Street. (Very many years later we were to meet Geoff Foy son of the owner, who one day would be a great friend to my third child Valerie. That is another story.)

I remember my mother buying me two "soothers", "to keep the baby quiet" when we were going back to Athlone. Martin had never seen such things in his house and I wasn't going to use them as I was breastfeeding. Michael Kavanagh, our friend, was Grace's godfather and came to see her with a present of a beautiful blue pram rug. I hadn't the heart to tell him it should be pink for a girl. I asked Martin would he have liked a boy and he said he didn't care once the baby was all right. That never changed.

One day as I was just sitting there with my new baby Martin said he had to go somewhere. When he returned he was wearing a pioneer pin. He had been to see the army chaplain and had taken the pledge. We had no problems with him taking the odd drink so I was surprised. I even told him you have to be one year in the pioneers before you get the pin! He had persuaded the priest to let him wear it, so that his friends in the army wouldn't put pressure on him to drink. It was like a safeguard ­ he called it his protection. From that day until he was in his seventies he never took another drink. He said he couldn't afford both "it and us". I shouldn't have laughed when he said that because he took everything so seriously.

Life went on and I became obsessed with the baby, perhaps because I had never even held a baby before. Martin on the other hand had experience of handling babies as he had helped his mother to look after his younger brothers and sisters. About this time I started sleepwalking and Martin would wake to find me sitting on the floor beside the cot holding the baby's hand or walking around the room looking for her, even though she was asleep in the cot. He even found me looking up the chimney at one stage. In the end he locked the bedroom door, as he was afraid I'd fall down those crooked stairs.

When I continued walking around the room he pushed the bed against the wall and made me slept on the inside. He'd fall asleep with his arm around me and that was something that lasted forever. Even in later years if I moved in the night, his hand would touch mine and he'd say, "Are you all right Edna". I have to tell you about that first bed. When Martin pushed it against the wall he discovered it had no spring, only wooden boards with the mattress on top. To this day it was the most comfortable bed we ever had. When we bought our first bed with its lovely interior sprung mattress, we laughed all night because we couldn't sleep; we wished we were back on Mrs. Kelly's wooden bed.

Grace was a model baby. She slept night and day, never cried and was happy with her four-hour feeds. Indeed, there was a man in the flat above us who said he never knew we had a baby until he saw her walking. I used to blow gently on her face to wake her. I thought she'd die if I didn't feed her on time. Mrs. Melvin a pharmacist in chemist shop near us became my friend in need. I'd push the pram up the hill to her whenever I was worried, (which was nearly always).

At this stage of our lives we got into the habit of going for walks in the daytime and staying in at night. At weekends we would go to the bog or go house hunting; so we got to know Athlone really well. Houses were very scarce and expensive, so Martin put our names down for a council house. Food was rationed because it was the war years and we used to buy two ounces of tea and two ounces of sugar at a time. Martin used to tell them he married me for my sugar ration.

Soap was also very scarce, so I used to collect ends of toilet soap and put them in a jar. They were great for washing the baby's nappies, which were made of cloth in those days. We couldn't get milk but Mrs. Kelly, our landlady, got a pint for us every day from a milkman who came with his horse and cart. She'd just take a little drop for her tea. In return we'd give her the odd bucket of turf, which Martin used to cut himself. We also got milk from two friends of Martin's, Mary Neville and Mary Kelly. The two Marys kept in touch with us when we all got our own houses.

The next thing the council were building more houses so we decided we'd move to an unfurnished flat and get some furniture. We wanted to be ready if a house came up. So we moved around the corner to Connolly Street, and that's where I met Chrissie Reddin, Esther Sweeney and Mary Grehan. We all got houses in the same road later on.

At least in Connolly Street things were a bit better than in High Street. We actually had water and a little toilet in an alcove on the landing, and a range to cook on! It was like heaven. When Martin was using the toilet he'd say, "I'm going to yonder corner" Martin polished all my blackened saucepans like new and I bought a cookery book. Mary Grehan from the upstairs flat taught me how to bake soda bread. She used to bring some down to us when she'd bake, but in no time at all I became an expert. I could cook anything in that range, and I was always trying out new recipes. I think there was a bit of my dad in me as he was a splendid chef. Balancing the budget was always a problem and that's where we made our first mistake. We decided we'd have to have the bare necessities, such as a table, chairs, and a bedroom suite. We bought them all on hire purchase and we seemed to be paying for them forever. After that we saved for anything we wanted.

Grace was two now, I knitted all Grace's dresses and jumpers and I even sewed a dress for her by hand. Martin's mother gave me a simple pattern. I used to bring her for walks down by the river and to meet Martin coming out of the barracks. On wet days Martin often bought a small bag of sand; then we used to put newspapers on the table so Grace could make sand pies with her little bucket. She had a rag doll named Biddy and it got so dirty that we bought her another one exactly the same. She threw away the new doll and went around the place looking for Biddy. I was so sorry I had dumped it.

Martin carried Grace on the back of his bicycle when we went to the bog. As we used to spend the whole day "on the bog" Martin made a cave for Grace in the turf back and there she slept peacefully while all the activity was going on around her.

At this time we had a pedigree Irish terrier called her Judy which Peter Mac Cabe sent us. She was always following Martin into the barracks so in the end we gave her to one of the lads in there. I wasn't sorry because Martin had to take her for a walk every evening after work. That was our second dog, the first one we had in High Street was stolen from the shed. So we said no more dogs until we got a house. We each had a bicycle and we'd cycle on good days with Grace on a little back carrier.

Any time Martin had to go away on duty to Finner Camp in Donegal or to the Curragh I went to Dublin. On one occasion someone went into our flat and took the five-shilling piece with our names inscribed on it. Nothing else was touched. I was always sentimental and even now I would love to have it back. Things were developing in my family; my sister Grace married Toby Roche and Matt married Mary O'Toole. We managed to get to Grace's wedding. I was her matron of honour and the reception was in Swamille Place, our old home. Matt and Mary lived in Dublin for a while and then went to England.

At this stage there was a "hobby room" in the barracks where the lads could make things in their spare time. Paddy Nelville and Martin decided to do a bit of carpentry. Over a period Martin made a kitchen table and a kitchen cabinet. Years later we replaced them with modern furniture, something we regretted afterwards.

Martin now wanted to renew his involvement with the boxing club in the barracks. He kept asking me, "Are you sure you don't mind." His mother said to me, "Let him off, it's better to let him get involved than having to go looking for him in the pubs." Wise woman.

By now we had two beds, so my mother and my sister Grace came regularly to see us, and of course they had Grace junior spoilt. I never remembered being lonely, indeed we sometimes looked back on those first two years and considered them to have been our happiest. We knew very few people, missed no one, and just wanted each other.

I grew up so slowly. No wonder Martin always wanted to protect me. When we married I hadn't the faintest idea about contraception. We hadn't talked about it or about having children. We just wanted to be together. Martin had his own simple belief about love. He said you love each other when you commit yourself to each other. Falling in and out of love was not in his book. He said love is not a game to play. One day a friend of mine sent me a book on contraception, he was furious. First of all he said it was none of her business how we lived our lives; he was so annoyed his stammer came back! He had learned to control this in the army. Then he burned the book. We hadn't read it although I admit I was curious. So we made love or we didn't. Either way our life was beautiful, we were on a bubble of happiness. Sadly that bubble was to burst. Now I look back and think that no matter how happy life seems, it can suddenly change and become cruel.

At this sage Martin started scouts in Saint Peter's parish in Athlone where he established a lovely scouts' den in the basement of St Peters church. He began with just eight boys but the numbers grew steadily. After some years Martin became a very popular scout leaders in Athlone. He ran scout shows in the Dean Crowe Hall and of course he was know in all the youth organisations around the town. He was so unassuming you'd never realise he did so much good for the town. Far a young man who came to Athlone as a complete stranger his work was all the more to his credit. (Of course I'm prejudiced!) Indeed he went to get the bronze, silver and gold medals for scouting and was known everywhere in Ireland.