Till the Sun Shines Through
A family is divided when its favourite daughter is forced to flee rural Ireland and to seek her living in war-torn Birmingham.Bridie McCarthy loves her family’s farm in the remotest part of Donegal, even though she’s forced to work hard when all of her siblings leave home. She can’t bear to let down her beloved parents – until a horrible act of violence gives her no option but to run away. She turns to the one person she can trust – big sister Mary, now settled with a family of her own in Birmingham.Life here couldn’t be more different, but slowly Bridie comes to see the good side of a busy city, and begins to regain her confidence. But fate has more trouble in store, as World War Two looms, threatening everything she’s fought so hard to win.
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ANNE BENNETT
Till the Sun Shines Through
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2003
Copyright © Anne Bennett 2003
Anne Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007139828
Ebook Edition © JUNE 2013 ISBN: 9780007534685 Version: 2017-09-13
Contents
Both Bridie McCarthy and her cousin Rosalyn were lying across the straw bales on the upper floor of the barn, the place both girls made for when they needed a bit of peace. Rosalyn was reading the latest letter from Bridie’s sister Mary, who was married and living in Birmingham and had written asking if Bridie could come and stay with her a wee while before school opened again in September.
Rosalyn handed the letter back to Bridie with a sigh. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said.
Bridie didn’t contradict her cousin. Instead she said, ‘Well, Mary did promise I could go on a visit when she had her own place. You mind they had to stay with Aunt Ellen first after their marriage last year?’ She hugged her knees with delight. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘I bet,’ Rosalyn said. ‘Anything would be better than this place day after day.’ She crossed to the barn window and Bridie got to her feet and joined her. ‘It’s not to see Birmingham,’ she told Rosalyn. ‘It’s to see Mary. I’ve missed her so much since she left. Before then – Mary leaving and all – I thought life would just go on the same way year in, year out.’
‘For me it does.’
‘No, even for you there’s change,’ Bridie reminded her. ‘For a start you’ll be working in the shirt factory in Donegal town in a few weeks, now that you’re fourteen, instead of going back to school.’
‘Aye, I’ll work longer hours, give most of my pay to Mammy and still be at her beck and call when I’m home. “Rosalyn, do this, or that, wash the dishes, see to the weans, change the baby”. God, it would sicken you.’
Bridie burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be such a grouch,’ she said.
‘Well, don’t you ever want something to happen?’ Rosalyn demanded. ‘God, Bridie, there must be more to life than this.’
Bridie looked out at the farm and countryside she loved with all her heart, where the sun shone down from a cloudless sky giving everything a glow. In front of the squat whitewashed cottage the hens strutted about the yard, pecking the grain that had fallen between the cobbles, while the cows placidly chewed the cud in the lush fields and occasionally leaned their heads on the five-bar gate to watch the world go by. To the side of the house was the orchard, the trees heavy with fruit at that time of the year. Much of the fruit would be picked in another month or so, Bridie knew, and bottled or made into jam, except for the apples. They would be stored in straw-layered barrels in the barn.
Everywhere she looked there were trees and greenness and beauty and it always left her with deep satisfaction to look upon it. There were other cottages like their own dotted about, all on the same lines and most with a curl of smoke wafting from the chimneys. Some cottages seemed almost to nestle in the verdant green Donegal hills that were dotted with sheep who tugged relentlessly at the grass.
The lane to the road divided the cows’ field from the tilled ground where Bridie could see her father and her brother Terry working. Just a little way along that road the lane meandered down to run alongside the rail bus tracks at the bottom of the farm.
