 
# Time Tells Tales

# Catherine's Tale

By

Stephanie Fletcher

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Stephanie Fletcher on www.smashwords.com

# "Love, Loss, Lust and Lies."

Copyright © Mother's Day, Sunday 10th March 2013 by Stephanie Fletcher

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

I dedicate it to all _'Mother's'_ , not just biological, but anyone, any sex, who understands what it is to be a Mother and live from unconditional love.

Stephanie.

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# Time Tells Tales

A Novel in Five Tales

Set in Ireland and England in the early 1900's, covering a century, Time Tells Tales is a Novel in five parts or 'Tales'. They explore the history of three families; their interconnected lives are intricately woven together by love, birth, death, and marriage. These lives are spiced up by religion, revenge, scandal, abuse, heartache and spiritual intervention.

The five Tales are told from different perspectives by the characters that drive this novel along to the surprising conclusion, spreading across time, space and dimensions, hence the title - Time Tells Tales.

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# Catherine's Tale \- Love, Loss, Lust and Lies.

# 

## Prologue

George and Alice Mc'Ginty welcomed their daughter into this world in 1936, a much-wanted child. They named her Catherine Mary Mc'Ginty, names taken from George and Alice's grandmothers. In this era of romance and poverty, the Mc'Ginty's were a well established, and much loved family in Puncheston, County Kildare, in Ireland. They owned the local slaughterhouse and butchers shop, both dubbed 'Mc'Ginty's Meats', and it had been in the family for three generations.

George, although he seldom showed it, was sorely disappointed that his newborn baby was a girl. They had waited so long for a child and had almost given up hope when Alice became pregnant. Almost every person they met, day to day, was convinced Alice was carrying a boy. Of course, this encouraged George to think so too, and yet here he was denied the son he needed to carry on the family name and business.

"She's still a Mc'Ginty, my dear". Alice offered these words as a reassurance, mostly when she noticed George staring at Catherine. Not at her, almost through her like he was thinking about the things he hoped to do with a son. Now this little girl had taken all those dreams away. However, and in spite of her delicate gender, he loved her the best he could by putting her on a pedestal to be admired by all \- just like the joints of meat he sold in his shop. To him, Catherine was beauty personified - a wonder to behold but still a fragile female and what use, other than decoration, was she going to be?

Subsequently, Alice, his wife and her mother, was pushed to fourth place in George's heart; and she knew it. She was aware of how disappointed he was, as it was all too evident when she placed little Catherine in his arms for the first time. His face had fallen; the creases in his forehead became evermore prominent as he stared down at the little bundle, wrapped in a pale pink blanket. He may as well of shouted, "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

It had been a difficult pregnancy for Alice and an even more difficult birth. The doctors told her she should never carry another child, as it would kill her. It added to her husband's view of her and his disappointment. She was another totally useless female.

As the years progressed Alice withdrew into herself. She loved her daughter, she loved her husband, but it wasn't enough, more than anything she felt she was a failure. Amongst the other Catholic women of Kildare who produced offspring aplenty, (the average number of children to two parents being six), she felt as though she was defective, flawed and somehow tainted. It destroyed her soul and like the delicate flower she was, she wilted away and simply faded into the background.

The Mc'Ginty family were considerably well off, despite the hard times leading up to and during the Second World War. This meant that Catherine had the best possible Catholic upbringing. Even though George had wanted a boy, he did everything he could and spared not a penny when it came to his Angel. She had a Nanny from her first year of life as it had become apparent that Alice was struggling to cope. And then at the tender age of five, in 1941, Catherine was sent to a Catholic boarding school, in Dublin.

Nuns of the order of Saint Bernadette were in charge of the day-to-day running of the school and every aspect of the student's education, both moral and religious. Saint Bernadette was officially canonized a Saint by Pope Pius XI on December 8, 1933, for seeing as a little girl, the apparition of Mary of the immaculate conception and the Mother of Jesus Christ. She had appeared to Bernadette in many visions at the grotto, now a famous place of pilgrimage in Lourdes, France, on the 11th of February 1858. She was a Saint that Catherine grew to admire and began to relate to as a normal girl who saw things, and was believed. Catherine was considered privileged, although some would consider her spoilt; yet all this little girl yearned for was the love of her Mother and respect from her Father.

Increasingly, over her years of being away from home and then thrust back into the tension and emotional turmoil of it on her return, she had noticed that her mother would no longer look her in the eyes, or hold her close as she thought a Mother should. In fact everyone of close connection to the family had seen Alice's health, appearance, and general well being diminish over the years following the birth of her daughter.

Suddenly, in the summer of 1948, Alice passed away. Some may have expected her death, yet for Catherine the circumstances were confusing and why hadn't those people who had noticed her rapid deterioration done anything about it?

In later years as Catherine matured, she tried to find an answer to this question over and over again, but to no avail. It was a mystery that went to the grave with Alice. Her death became sullied with gossip and rumour and even though her death certificate read 'natural causes', it was generally believed by the local population of the village, the local Catholic Church and especially by the customers of Mc'Ginty's meats, that Alice had taken her own life, an unforgivable mortal sin in the eyes of the Catholic Church. She had surely been denied entrance through the golden gates of heaven, her soul cast down to the hot fires of hell, damned forever.

George was devastated and the viscous scandal and libellous gossip that surrounded her death did not help him to recover quickly from his loss. The young Catherine could see the same look in his eyes that she had seen in her mother's - disappointment and blame. She was only twelve, an age where a young girl needs the comfort, wisdom and guidance of a mother, as she enters into her teenage years. Her body was changing, growing, and instead of her Mother she had the Nuns and their understanding of such things, always with reference to the Bible, and their limited personal experiences, which differed greatly.

Catherine blossomed into a much-admired young girl; her natural Irish beauty grew more prominent year after year. Her long, wavy, gleaming gold hair with a slight copper burned into it; her piercing, crystal blue eyes; her pale porcelain skin, so fresh and radiant; her figure changing with puberty, well rounded in the right places, so unlike her mothers slender shape. Her bosom was developing; her childbearing hips were wide (which was a good thing, so she was told) and in-between, a delightful petite waist, all enhanced by the latest fashions of dress and couture. When Catherine entered a room, she was noticed.

For all that, Catherine was not vain as she might have been; the Nuns would never have allowed it. Instead she had a timid shyness, which caused her to blush until her cheeks felt as though they were alight. Catherine kept her head down when in school, fearing the older girls would notice and tease her for her blushing red face; therefore she hid behind her long hair, keeping her appearance as plain as possible, hoping they would leave her alone.

She had dreams of escaping from this imagined restrictive prison of self-doubt, low self esteem and general lack of understanding of the nature of the world and other's perceptions of her. Their jealousy and envy in most part, their scorn and hurtful words aimed at her as weapons to demean her natural beauty and grace, denying her acceptance and friendships.

When at school she concentrated on her education, hoping it would be enough for her to escape the same sorry existence her mother had lived. Catherine's favourite subject was literature and she dreamt of being a poet and an author, such as the likes of Jane Austin, her idol. As Jane did, she kept a diary into which she wrote down every memory, her thoughts on the day and of life in general. It was a place into which she could pour her heart out, and gain some peace in her solitude as an only child, motherless, friendless, adored, but forever an only child. As such she was dismissed by her Father as a frail female, just for his pleasure and entertainment, and the rest of the time... she was to be unseen, unheard and kept firmly in her place.

It is here we can join Catherine through the most up-setting of times, the best of times, times of despair, grief and heart felt pain, of horror at the hands of others, of falling in love for the first time, of being betrayed by those she held dear and trusted the most. We join her in 1948, as a twelve year old, and through the pages of her diary we can re-live with her, her tumultuous passage into adulthood.

This is Catherine's Tale.

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## 1st of August 1948

My mother has died. She has truly abandoned me now. I have returned home for the summer break and my first duty is to see my mother buried. Father made me gaze upon her in her coffin. It was awful; I have never seen a dead person before. It was so strange; my Mother looked like bone china, shiny, hard and cold to touch, but still so pretty and frail. I kissed her for the last time and as I looked at her the same thought kept going round and round in my head, until it hurt so much I could barely stand through the wake.

Why? Why was my Mother dead at only thirty-seven years of age? What had happened to her? Why was her life taken so suddenly? Had she taken her own life, like I heard in the rumours that were whispered? Where was the proof? What were the circumstances? Where was the note that people supposedly left when they chose to leave this life by their own hand? And what about the loved ones left behind? Had my mother give any thought to what this would mean for me?

I have approached Father twice now, hoping he would give some explanation.

"God giveth and God taketh away." That is all he would say to those who dared question him. "It is not our place to question the ways of our Lord and our place in his eternal plan." I guess this is the most I will get from Father, as he seems so lost in thought and his general manner is so unlike his norm. I feel like I have lost him too, as he stares straight through me. I guess he is wrapped up in his memories, which is strange to me, as I never once saw him in any affectionate way with Mother.

He was always brash and dogmatic. He treated her the same way as our cook. To my knowledge he has never as much as kissed her goodbye, so why all this solemn grief and darkening depression? Is it the weight of responsibility of me, I wonder? I am mostly away at school and home only at the holidays. I have no Nanny now either. My beloved Nanny Margaret - she left me too, dismissed when I started boarding school and I miss her terribly. She was my understanding of how a Mother should be, attentive and loving. Nothing was ever too much for her and Father made her go. Why? She had been helpful to him and now I sorely need her attention and loving company.

We still have 'Cookie', who is our housekeeper as well as being our cook as she took on the extra duties of running the house when Mother began to wane. She had become so forgetful and the Doctors were concerned about her being too exhausted and so thin. She did get so very thin. She was a sliver of her former self, a skin covered skeleton in ivory, a doll like figure, so still, frozen in time as she lay in her coffin. The remembrance of this image will lie within my heart forever.

'Cookie', as I have always addressed her, has told me of some of the times before Mother's death, and also what will be expected of me as now I am head of the household in regards to its daily functions. Am I now to replace Mother? It is not fair that I am expected to give up all my education, all my plans, to care for my Father! How I am downhearted at this expectation and denial of my future, but what am I to do?

Father Dominic is with Father again in his study, the place where Father seems to be hiding out. He is our local priest and close friend of my Father, and is much admired and respected by all of his parishioners here in the Catholic Church called St. Johns. He is a very nice man, and has been of great comfort to me. He has said he will hear my concerns and worries after confession next week, but for now he must council and support my Father in _his_ grief. What about _my_ grief? Do I not count as suffering a loss too?

As usual, that horrid boy Joseph is here. William and Joseph Bennett are my cousins, being the sons of my Mother's sister, who passed away some years ago now and they have visited us regularly since her passing. They are like the brother's I never had and never particularly wanted as I like neither of them. In someway I think my Father hopes that they will take on his business.

Their Father is a manager at the local stud and often away at race meetings. Therefore both his boys go to a prestigious boarding school in England. I presume they are home for the summer break, as I am myself, and now it is down to me to entertain them, be at their beck and call as a useless female. It is so annoying and inconvenient. Does no one appreciate my need for time for myself? Instead of being allowed to grieve I have to pander to these spoiled rotten offensive boys!

Joseph is about sixteen, I think, and I do not like him at all. He reminds me of a slimy slug! He is podgy, always sweating and his odour is repulsive. William, however, is older by a few years and quieter, a big difference to Joseph. He might be considered handsome I suppose, and seems to be very studious and polite on the surface. Yet he too looks down his nose at me, or does not acknowledge me at all as if I were invisible to him. What a snob! But he is more acceptable than Joseph, not that I have any experience of the male sex other than my Father, Father Dominic and our gardener, Jim who is Cookies husband.

If Joseph is the norm for a boy of his age, I hope never to have to entertain one as a prospective husband. I prefer William, although he does tend to look at me as if I am something that shouldn't exist or be heard, and especially should not have an opinion on any matter other than needlework and matters of the house. That look I am used to, and I wish very much I were invisible as to escape my inevitable future in this male dominated world.

Joseph has told me of all his aspirations of taking over his Father's position at the stud, and his love of the races, all puffed up like a peacock in his procrastinations. William, however, is to take employment as a junior bank clerk, a position I think suits his austere nature. I sit and listen politely, as expected, offering more tea, another scone or piece of cake, yet inside I wish to shout, "My Mother is dead; go away you insignificant, wretched, horrible boys." But my breeding and education forbids such a disdainful outburst. There are no comforting words for me, for my loss. This boy Joseph is very much in love with the sound of his own voice, I think. Yet, I am a dutiful hostess and pour him yet another cup of tea into which the sweat from his brow will drip, and his third slice of Cookies fruitcake to add to his already more than ample waistline.

I never thought I would wish so much to return to school or to my books. I long to lose myself in the world of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre - but they stay for dinner. Father Dominic and his charges, as he calls them, they must be related to him also in some way for him to speak of them as fondly as this. I think I once heard of them being called _his_ nephews. Father Dominic must be the brother to their Father or something like that. Who knows? I am always last to find out anything, especially about decisions concerning myself, which I find frustrating and annoying beyond belief. They stay until past nightfall and I am glad to return to the room of my childhood and to you, my diary and best friend.

I have no-one here in which to confide or find solace, other than Cookie and even she is too busy at present, what with all the visitors coming to pay their respects. I have questions that need addressing concerning my Mother's death. I feel so alone. There is no one of my age here for me, no child hood friends or other female relatives. Truly, I am beside myself with grief and these horrible circumstances that have been thrust upon me. It is all too much for me to shoulder alone, and I am scared of disappointing Father - more than my female form already does.

I pray to God with every breath I take, with every beat of my heart, that he release me from this unwanted, heavy burden but I feel even he cannot prevent the future that I hoped and wished for from being taken away. My dreams are crushed and the future heralds a life anew. What awaits for me now? A life of servitude and obedience to Father until I am married off to another unenlightened, ignorant male I expect. I wish I could change my sex and have the life of choice that men are accustomed too. Even though the equality of women is spoken of, I fear it will be a long time coming for Irish women, and an even longer time for me.

"Mother in heaven I love you dearly and miss you to distraction.

I hope you are amongst the angels and at peace.

Please Mother if you hear my prayer, help me to understand why you have left me so alone?

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

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## 3rd of August 1948

Today was Mother's funeral service and internment. I have never cried so much. I am sure I cannot possibly have another tear left in me. My eyes are sore and red and my throat feels like rough sand paper and as dry. Father surprised me by holding my hand so tightly lest I fall or faint, I think, and I am of the mind that he may of broken bones, as my hand is tender with bruises.

Was there really so much love between Father and Mother? Or is his crying for some reason other than her loss? I swear I do not understand the complexities of married life or of love between a man and woman.

There were a good many people that attended the service and some that had to stand outside the church doors. I did not recognise a face other than that of our household, my cousins and Uncle. Cookie told me later that many were his customers paying their respects, and some distant relatives who came to see if they were left anything of value.

I queried this with Father Dominic after the burial, about a will, but he said as Father was alive, all went to him, especially the inheritance from Mother's Father, who passed away a year ago. It was a _substantial_ amount of money after the estate had been settled and divided as per his wishes. Some of this money was to be saved for me as my ' _dowry'_ , whatever that is, or it will be _bestowed_ to me on my twenty first birthday or on Father's death, which ever comes first, then I will inherit all of his estate... unless I bear him a grandson first. Again no one has bothered to explain _substantial,_ _dowry_ or _bestowed_ to me, and why my having a son would make any difference. As usual I am without the right person to ask so I shall have to wait and hope it will be made clear when it is the right time of importance.

People have been coming and going all day and Cookie has given me many duties, offering drinks and handing around platters of food. I have hardly had a moment in which to grieve myself and reflect upon the day. I have no appetite and no more tears. I must try and be strong for Father. I wanted to hug him so much when Mother was lowered into her last resting place in the family crypt (a very scary place), but it would have been inappropriate. Therefore I had to console myself with a gentle squeeze of my hand within Father's - but there was no response. I doubt he even felt it.

As soon as we entered our home again he locked himself away in his study and I was left with seeing to the slow procession of guests as they came and went. Father Dominic was with him when I knocked on his study door to say I was going to retire. By accident I overheard part of a strange conversation, their voices being so deep and not that hushed so that I could easily hear them from my position at the door. I would not normally eaves drop but the subject matter pricked my ears.

They were talking of a young woman in a nearby village, one of Father Dominic's parishioners, who had been bereaved of her Mother also, and had been struggling to cope with five brothers and a young baby sister. Their Father had left the family in terrible poverty, some years ago. I knew nought of this family but it crossed my mind that these children would understand my loss, doubly so as they had no Father too.

Father Dominic was discussing the best means to help this family. I knew my Father was a very generous benefactor to the church and sat on its charitable commissions committee. He gave much of his time and money to help the less fortunate – as long as they were god-fearing Catholics of course. He was doing the Lord's work, as he understood it, and it would stand him in good stead when the day of reckoning came. I only wish he could see or understand me and not just my female form. It is so frustrating; if I had been born a boy I would be treated differently, fairly and with respect of my accomplishments and standard of education. Instead they are worth nothing in both _'Father's'_ opinions.

What does gender matter? I am as intelligent as William, as he has told me this. In fairness I could not run my Father's business as it is too physically demanding, but I could serve the customers in the shop with some guidance. I hate the slaughterhouse and its smell of death. When I hear the last squeals of the pigs and calves my heart breaks for them. I once told my Father of this, when I was younger and I can remember what he said word for word. "There would be no meat and provisions on the tables of many if it were not for my skills as a butcher and fine purveyor of meats."

I was naive and it was a shock to me that the meat on our table came from the livestock he slaughtered. Even today I am not a great eater of meat, it offends my sensibilities, and I have learnt you do not have to eat so much of it to be a healthy person. My thoughts have wandered, as often they will, from one important thought to the next in my female brain, a brain that is said not to be capable of serious thoughts or ideas.

Back to my knocking at Father's study door to which I was granted entrance and said my goodnights. Father seemed to be a little more jovial and was sharing a pun of sorts with Father Dominic. It was nice to hear his bellowing laughter and I think he smiled at me!

It has been a difficult and long day, a day I hope I do not have to repeat again soon but also a day I will never forget. I am drained of emotion and sorely tired for my bed but I doubt I will sleep much. I am curious about the family my Father and the priest were talking of. I think this woman must be a saint to take on the care of her many siblings. I must look for her in church when next we go, for surely they would understand my predicament.

There are five more weeks to these holidays; I do hope my time is not lost on so many household duties that I have no time for myself. I long to walk the lanes and visit the beautiful countryside around here, as is my want. I miss it terribly when at school, and it is the base and inspiration for my poetry and tales.

"May God keep you in his eternal light of love and grace.

May his compassion be extended to Father at this harrowing time.

I miss you dearly, my Mother.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

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## 6th of August 1948.

Today I was summoned by Father and asked to undertake a very emotional and physical task. He asked me to enter Mother's room, (they had separate rooms since my birth,) and begin packing away her clothing and belonging's. I could choose any items I might like to keep for myself, with his permission.

At first I was taken aback at the scope of this exercise and so soon after her death, but he explained to me that her belongings would not bring her back and only increase our suffering so it was best for all to tackle the job as soon as possible. He had agreed with Cookie and Jim I was best placed to make the decisions of what must stay and what could go.

Everything that is not wanted is to be sent to the church as a charitable donation, to be issued to those in need. I think Mother would have approved of this. Father told me to take my time and when the task was done, if I wanted, I could move into her room, as it was by far the largest, prettiest and sunniest room in the house. Jim would be sent up to move the furniture and help me with my belongings.

At first I was horrified at the thought of sleeping in the room Mother had died in, but as I looked through her belongings, I found a new respect for her and comfort in being close to her things. I am to keep all of her jewellery and any clothing I may want, either to use myself or just as a memento - but there is not much. Mother was a conservative, prim and proper woman and dressed as such. Nothing is to my liking, but I have kept the lace shawls that she painstakingly made. They still hold her perfume and I confess I have cried myself to sleep with my head buried in them.

I found another trunk hidden away in her big robe, and was surprised to find it held her wedding dress. It is beautiful, all lace and pearls and so small, it must have shown off her tiny waist and slender form. It was also an insight to her shape before she had me and I ruined her body, as she would often say to me on her bad days when wallowing in self-pity. I have decided to keep the dress in the hope I too shall have her petite figure. I now wear her gold heart shaped locket that she always wore, in which there is a photograph of me at one year of age and of my parent's on their wedding day. I wear it next to my heart and I hope she sees that I love it as much as she did.

I also found an old battered photograph album; full of faces I do not know, with names I had never heard. When I showed Father my find he took it from me with no explanation. "Another time, Catherine," he said. That was that and it has not been spoken about since. This left me with more questions with no answers. What was in that album to produce such a reaction? More skeletons in the closet? I made myself laugh at this pun as the people in the photos were probably all skeletons by now and I did find them in Mother's closet! I asked Cookie and Jim if they had ever seen the album, but they said no so I suppose I will never find out.

I do hope that when I am about in town, I meet no-one wearing Mother's clothes. It would be too much for me - but I accept it is the right thing to do. The task of sorting through her clothes took all of my day, and all that was not wanted is packed away in a large trunk to be collected. Tomorrow I will move my meagre belongings into her room and leave my childhood behind.

"Mother I hope you see I have done my best, in your memory,

And will not be too upset.

Father misses you so much of this I am sure.

Be at peace.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 8th of August 1948

The sweaty lad, Joseph, came by today to take Mother's trunk and some other furniture away, to be put into the charity store, where ever that is. I had to take him to Mother's room, now mine, to show him what was to go but he would not stop talking! How he irritates me. I do not want to listen to him, as I am grieving. I sat on the un made bed of my Mother, half listening to his dribble and self pontificating, waltzing around the sunny room, now partially filled with my belongings.

He came and sat next to me on the bed, at first I thought he had noticed how upsetting all of this was, but no, just more nonsense and time wasting. I couldn't think how to be rid of him without being rude, when suddenly he did something quite horrible. He tried to kiss me! I was in shock at his rash behaviour, when he then groped my breast \- I was stunned! I think he took my silence as my being agreeable but I was anything but. I could not scream or shout and when I tried to wriggle free he put his smelly, sweaty hand over my mouth. I was in sheer panic. What was he trying to do?

He was so heavy lying atop of me, squashing the very breath out from my body. He was touching parts on my body that only Mother and I had ever touched. Inside my pants his hand was rubbing on my ' _very_ ' private parts. I was frozen with fear, paralysed by his fat wobbly body, and his smelly bad breath whispering his words of love to me. I gagged and felt sickened by his actions. I am sure I never gave any encouragement for him to try such an act on me. Even with my limited knowledge of sexual behaviour, I knew this was wrong. His puffed up reddened face was concentrating on his evil act and he was moaning so much I thought (and hoped) he would attract attention, but no-body came.

I struggled and wriggled under him but his weight compressed me into the soft mattress, the palm of his hand was across my mouth and nose making it very difficult to breathe, then all of a sudden he groaned and let go. I let out such a scream as to wake the devil himself! Then I think I must have fainted...

When I came too I was in the arms of my Father. He was holding me so tight for a moment I thought it was the fat boy again and tried to wriggle free and screamed. I was instantly comforted by him and quietened down and then the tears came. What had happened to me? What had the fat boy done? He had violated me... of that I was sure. I was bleeding from my private place where the boy Joseph, I was told later, had taken my most important possession, my virginity. I was soiled and shaken to the core; unable to speak of the horror I had just under gone. The house was in up roar. Father Dominic and a physician had been summoned and my Uncle was sent for.

Cookie came and took me to the bathroom and ever so gently asked me what had happened as I lay in the bath where the water slowly turned pink with my blood. I related the proceedings as best I could, but being so innocent and ignorant I did not know the words for such things. It was not a lesson the Nuns at school had taught me, and Mother had answered my natural inquisitions as best as her limited upbringing allowed. The act of lovemaking was shrouded in mystery, only to be revealed on my wedding night, as Cookie explained to me, but now that had been taken from me. Am I now dirty and unworthy of the love of a decent man? Who will entertain me, as the imperfect, defiled female I am now?

Slowly I told the awful tale, Cookie cried and her shock was evident. Was I in trouble? I asked her, but she said no. My actions were not of any concern as I was innocent. The young lad, Joseph, would pay for this heinous act. Cookie told me he would be lucky to get away with his life and surely a beating from my Father was inevitable. With that she helped me into the very bed that ' _heinous_ ' (a word I must look up) act, had just happened upon. A fact, as I lie here, writing about this in my diary, that still troubles me. This bed has seen too much trauma and sorrow. I will ask Father for a new one that will have no memories of the past.

There was a lot of shouting going on downstairs, I have tried to block it out with my pillow, but it is hard as I am still lying on the very bed where, a few hours ago, that monster ruined my life. I have never felt this emotion before, hate. I detest him and wish him dead. I know this is a mortal sin, but I pray and pray and hope to God he will be sent away, very far from here.

Father Dominic came up to my room to see me and offer his condolences and apologised for the boy Joseph's behaviour. He went to great lengths to assure me it would never happen again to any girl of the fairer sex. He would make sure of it. He prayed with me and then left, but where was my Father? Why did he not come to comfort me? I was in dire need of his reassurances that I would be okay, but he never came. I was drowning in all the grief for my Mother and grief for my stolen virginity, taken so violently and never to be replaced.

Cookie had explained this to me as she answered my many questions on the sexual advances I had under gone. She said I had been raped which is a crime and a sin. She also said the boy should be castrated like the dog he was, but I didn't understand that. I am just too tired to ask any more questions with answers that only raise even more questions.

It is so unfair; my life is full of feelings of abandonment. My Mother dead and with God, my Father shut away in his study, unable to look me in the eyes with anything but pity and disappointment. I was his angel, but no more and I was not yet thirteen. Perhaps it would be better if I gave my life to God, and become his bride - a nun. Would that gain my Father's respect? I will discuss it with Father Dominic when he visits again.

"God, if you are listening, help me recover from this violation of my body and soul.

Send me your healing love.

Please send that boy far away from me and make sure he never hurts another girl.

In time I will try to forgive him.

I ask this with all my heart.

Amen"

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 9th of August 1948

The house was very quiet today, just as it had been when Mother passed away. I stayed in my room for the most part and Cookie bought up my meals and gave me what little comfort she could. She has no children of her own and I think she mother's me in the best way she can. It is sad when lovely people like Jim and Cookie cannot have a family and yet so deserve one. I am learning some very important lessons it seems, the first of which is; life is not fair or just.

Father Dominic came as he did most evenings to talk to Father, but this time he came straight up to my bedroom. I was sat on the lovely 'summer seat' around the bay window, as my Mother called it, watching the world pass by on the streets below. My mother's room, now mine, is above the shop of my Father's butchery and I used to enjoy the sounds of my Father bellowing with his deep voice, making jokes as the customers came and went. It used to give me comfort when I sat with Mother reading or watching life pass by, but today it did not offer me any cheer. I am sure I am to be unhappy forever.

We said prayers, offering thanks and forgiveness, and Father Dominic talked to me for an hour but it seemed a much longer time. I had to go over the events of yesterday again, so he could clarify the details as Joseph was denying everything, saying I made it up and he was only trying to console me in a time of grief. I must admit I cried and let my anger go, showing him how hurt I had been by this monster, but Father Dominic said my reaction was to be expected and time would heal the wounds on my body (I had a lot of bruising, down below) and on my soul.

God would forgive me in my innocence, as it was very clear to him now that Joseph was indeed lying and committed an act, vile in its nature. I was raped, he told me and at such a young tender age, it was bound to leave scars. It was a mistake the boy had made and it had been agreed to send him to an _ecumenical_ school to enter the priesthood when he was of age. It seems so very perverse to me that a rapist was to become a priest. Where in heaven does that seem just? And what of me? What of the law?

I asked Father Dominic if it would be wise for me to enter the church as a bride of Christ, when I reached sixteen. I explained that I saw no future for myself within a marriage, as who would marry one whose body was now tarnished and un-pure. He reassured me that it was of no concern and when the time was right my Father would choose a man for me to marry. One who would take on the responsibilities of his business and the future of the family, in fact, they had someone in mind already, but that was to be of no concern to me. I was to get on with my education and finish school and to try and put all this horror and grief behind me.

It was easy for him to say, yet so hard for me to ever think things could go back to normal. He then left saying he would come and collect me himself for confession and see me back home safely. I was not to worry, as this matter would never become public. No one outside the family was to know, and all had been sworn to secrecy to protect me.

Oh my! That did not give me the security I needed, as I know how gossip spreads in little towns such as ours. Cookie would tell me of the people and matters that would be the subject of the current most shocking gossip and I would listen intently. To me, they were just colourful stories about people I did not know and was unlikely ever to meet, but now I was the subject. I was sure that all would know my secret and stare at me, on Sunday at Mass. Would they be able to see how dirty I was? Or see the black mark on my soul, which I am sure by now, must swallow it whole.

It is devastating me. I cannot see how I will ever recover from this soul-destroying act. I feel dead inside. Dead as my Mother who should be here, I am so angry with her and angry with Father for abandoning me with his silence. I despair, and am sure all this will drive me insane!

"I pray to my Mother whom I sorely miss at my hour in need.

I miss her comfort and advice.

I hope you are at rest and can send me your love, helping me to heal my soul from its darkened state.

I also ask for you to comfort Father who still has not been to see me.

I pray and hope he loves me still as I feel so alone and in need of his guidance.

Amen."

Your very sad and confused daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 20th of August 1948

It has been a while since my last entry to you, my diary. I have not been in a happy place and the effort to do my duties in the house as taken all my energy and concentration. They have done little to improve my mood and it does not help that Father still has not spoken to me. He has locked himself away in his study, only venturing out to perform his duties in the slaughterhouse or shop. He has even had his bed bought down for his comfort and never ventures upstairs. I am invisible and forgotten it seems.

Yet today did hold one surprise for all of us. Father Dominic bought a young man to see Father and I was summoned to the study to be informed of the goings on. The boy is to be apprenticed to my Father for five years, to learn the trade and assist him where needed. He is to live with us as well, but not in the house. For which I thank God, as after recent events I do not want to share time or space with a boy! He is to have a small room in an empty outbuilding near the slaughterhouse and I am to help Cookie and Jim to clear it out and select some furniture from the house to suit him.

Whilst I was being told all this I carefully sneaked a look at the boy. He is very short and stocky with the typical orangey red Irish hair, which was kept short and neat. He has freckles like mine, across the bridge of his nose that is of a good shape, no bumps or lumps from fighting too much. He is smaller than me by an inch I would surmise but it was difficult to guess, as he didn't stand still, shuffling from one foot to the next. Father noticed it and shouted at him in that bellowing voice his customers love so much. The poor lad went rigid! I swear if a gust of wind blew in it would have had him right over! He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, poor thing. I felt quite sorry for him. I am not sure of his age but I guess no more than a year or two older than me, so fourteen or fifteen. I will find out from Cookie later and she will be able to fill me in on his family, as she knows everyone here about in our little town.

It took most of the day to clean the little room of rubbish and cobwebs. The window was very small but its four panes cleaned up with some elbow grease, provided by me of course. Jim bought in a cot type bed, which seemed impossibly small for that boy, but it only just fit in, so I guess if he grows anymore he will be very squashed. I found an old rug that was to be thrown away as it was worn in places but it did nicely in his room, covering the bare, cold, earthen floor once we had removed all the decaying straw. Jim said this room used to be where the animals were kept before slaughter but it became of no use as the business grew and the new slaughterhouse was built. It is a place I never seek to enter, I can barely stand the thought of what goes on in there never mind the noise and smell.

Cookie bought the boy a paraffin lamp in, as there was no electricity and no fireplace. I did question how he would keep warm, but all Cookie would say is 'blankets' and 'hard work'. I hoped he would like his room and the bible I put in there so he could keep himself on the right side of God. Unlike the last boy, that rapist Joseph, who surely works hand in hand with the devil – but then he is to be a priest. Something's do not make sense.

Father bought the boy into the room that was to be his, after he had given him a tour of the butchery and all it entails, and had explained his duties and times of work. He introduced him to us as Alfred Rooney, and in passing said we had spoiled the lad with all the finery, but I think he was joking. It was so nice to see Father smile and share a joke with us.

It kept crossing my mind whether this lad would be the same as Joseph, would he lust after me too? He seemed quiet and polite with his "yes sir, no sir", but he never looked up, or met anyone's gaze, so it was difficult to judge. I will be back at school soon and then I will have no problem, but for now I am going to have to avoid him at all cost. The thought of him talking to me, or being in the same place as me, un-chaperoned, is a frightening and sickening thought that leaves me all a quiver.

We left him to settle in and returned to the main house, and as we walked away, I heard him shouting and whooping and generally sounding very happy with his lot. Alfred is to have his meals with Cookie and Jim, as I sometimes do when Father is away or engaged elsewhere. Father says he is not a servant, but an employee to be treated with respect and under no circumstances am I to interfere with his duties or hold him up with idle chatter. Not a chance! Why would Father think I would even talk to him?

My trust in the male sex has been crushed and it will take a miracle for me to get it back and accept that they can be trusted and respectful of the so-called _weaker_ , female sex. Is this how men maintain their dominance over us weak, feeble females, by sexual dominance, by degrading us, diminishing our self-respect and confidence? This is a matter to which I am going to give a great deal of thought before I ever trust another male.

Alfred is also to accompany us to Mass on Sundays, then afterwards he will be free to see his family and do as he desires. I think this Alfred has fallen on his feet working for our family and the prestige it will offer him.

Back in the kitchen, whilst having tea with Cookie and Jim, they told me of the sad story of Alfred's family and I found it a very moving and sad tale. He was born in a village not too far from our town, a village known to be run down and impoverished, to a family where both parents had left for one reason or another. He was from the same family I had overheard Father Dominic talking about to my Father, the time I accidentally eves-dropped, where the mother had died and the Father had run away leaving the eldest daughter to bring up her five siblings' by herself. It occurred to me Alfred would understand what it is like to be without a proper Mother, and if I can ever bring myself to talk to him, we shall have something in common.

Cookie carried on telling me about his eldest sister, Maggie, who had been looking after all five children until she could cope no more. His three older brothers, Pat Junior, Mick, and Joseph were sent to an orphanage and foster home in Dublin, arranged by Father Dominic, as they were always in and out of trouble and Maggie could not cope with their bad behaviour anymore. Maggie was to be married to the choirmaster, a Michael Thompson, who worked at the same bank as William Bennett did. It had been decided that the two youngest children would stay with Maggie and her new husband and as soon as Alfred was of age he was to be apprenticed out, which apparently Father had agreed to. He could have gone to the stud as he had potential as a jockey, Jim told me, but Alfred's Father's reputation of being a tout, a drunk, a fighter and a gambler put paid to that. So I guess we were second choice but at least Father has someone to train and take his place and if he works hard he should have a good future. However, I will stay away from him just in case he is another wolf in sheep's clothing.

"God bless all my family and our new addition, Alfred.

Help him to settle in and work hard and be of good behaviour.

I pray we have turned a corner and that Father will rejoin us soon.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 1st of September 1948

It has been one whole month since Mother passed away and left my life for good. I still feel her presence in my room, which was hers, and often smell her perfume - Lily of the Valley. Sometimes I get this smell just as I am falling asleep, and I swear I feel her stroke my hair or plant a soft kiss on my cheek, but I guess it is wishful thinking.

I have been to the cemetery today and placed some fresh lilies on her grave. The headstone has now been placed and looks magnificent. It is solid white marble with grey running throughout, and it has an angel with wings unfurled looking to the sky atop of it. It is by far the finest in the entire cemetery. Father would not come. He still finds it so very difficult and there is still the rumour of how she ended her own life. All I can think is that it must be guilt on Father's part and not knowing the whys and where forth, as she left no note, no explanation to her actions. I think it cannot have possibly been intended. Somehow she made a mistake, but I suppose I will never find out. I have planted some bulbs around her grave, daffodils and snowdrops were her favourite, and they will look spectacular in bloom next spring.

The day has been very autumnal, windy and wet, then a burst of golden sunshine making all the raindrops glisten and the leaves shine. It has made me realise that the holidays will soon be over, and this sad stage in my life too. Over? No – that is wrong. It will never be over for me or forgotten. The pain and memories may lessen but they will always be there and a part of who I am destined to become.

I will return to school and the comfort of my room and books. I am lucky I do not share, Father insisted on that, less distraction for me, and I suppose it worked as my grades are good and I am expected to do well in my exams next year. I am in the second year now, and turn thirteen on December the 1st. I wonder if Father has had to tell school of my experience at the hands of my cousin. I cannot say his name now without feeling so very sick.

I overheard Cookie telling the new lad all about Mother's death and the mysterious circumstances surrounding it. I found out that the police were called and a _post mortem_ was undergone. I am not sure what that is, but as nothing was found the case was closed and yet the rumour persists. I stepped into the kitchen and asked, quite forcefully for me, what a post mortem was? Cookie shooed me away saying I should not eavesdrop on others' conversations and I retorted harshly that when it concerns my Mother I am entitled to know. The boy, Alfred, spoke up telling me with a fully coloured blow by blow description that it's when a doctor cuts open a dead person from neck to down below, pointing on himself as he said it, to see inside their body and find out how they died. I nearly fainted!

Cookie belted him one with the dishcloth she was holding, chasing him out of the kitchen. She then came to me and pulled me into that big bosom of hers, patting me on the back and kissing my cheeks. I felt sick and I am sure I was as white as one of Cookies over starched white sheets that adorn our beds. Cookie was adamant that Alfred made it up and a post mortem was no more than a doctor looking over a body to gain any insight into what had happened and she definitely was not cut up - but I am sceptical. I did see her in her coffin and she looked whole and very beautiful to me, so I decided that it was Alfred who was cruelly trying to scare me. Boy! Was he going to get a tongue lashing when I next have cause to speak to him, which of course I won't - I am still so scared of boys.

Father summoned me to his study this afternoon and as usual, Father Dominic was with him and they obviously had something to tell me. They had decided due to the unfortunate happenings of this summer it might be best if I stayed at home and went to the local catholic school. They hoped I would feel more secure and comfortable. Father said he wanted me close, as he could not bear another loss.

I have never, ever, _ever_ seen Father cry, but he did now. The floodgates opened and I stood routed to the spot nervously not knowing what I should do. Father Dominic gestured with his hand that I should go to him. With trepidation I closed the gap between us and he pulled me roughly onto his knee ( _another first!)_ and hugged me until my bones screamed for him to stop. I cried with him, not for the loss of my Mother, but for the Father who I had all the love in the world for, and who acknowledged me at last. I was happier in that single moment than in all my life thus far. I shushed him and whispered I loved him, reassuring him I wasn't going anywhere, not realising I had with these words and actions given up any hope I had of becoming a writer or having a career. I had at some level, decided to care for my Father. I could never replace Mother but I could make sure my Father got all the love he needed.

Father Dominic explained that all my belongings at the boarding school had already been sent for, as well as my school records and that I would be starting at Saint John the Baptist next Monday. They said they knew it was a bit of a step down but I was glad to get away from the overbearing Nuns and their strict regime of punishment and religious verve.

Cookie was to take me into town to purchase a school uniform and everything else I would need and with this he handed me a list that had twenty or more items on it. I was overwhelmed and now as I write this in my diary, I am full of fear and apprehension as I feel like I have suffered another loss, the familiarity of my old school and the few friends I had there.

Father Dominic said he would meet me personally at the school gates and take me to the headmistress himself and make sure there were no problems and that she was to be made aware of my devastating summer and all the events that had occurred. This made me even more fearful. What if others found out? Would they see the dirty way I felt, tainted, spoiled and Motherless?

I hope I can make friends quickly and not undergo any of the bullying I had last year. It is a small school, with boys that attend as well, so that will be new for me and rather frightening too. The boys will be in some of my lessons but they have their own entrance and playground and certainly will not be doing games and P.E with the girls, so Father Dominic informed me. He went to great lengths to assure me, answering all my questions, but still I am full of trepidation. Everything I have known has been ripped away and replaced with something else. All I can do is try to cope for Father's sake.

Father has slowly become more like his old self; loud and laughing as he serves customers in the shop, but when at home he still hides away in the study, taking his meals alone. We go to Mass together, which is a small consolation. I am hopeful now that he will acknowledge my presence and spend more time with me. I loved the hug and the attention I had from him in his study today. I feel complete again and happier than I have been in a long time.

"I pray to God and our Mother Mary to comfort my Father and bring back to him the peace and happiness he so deserves.

May my first day at my new school be agreeable and may I settle in well.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 5th of September 1948

Today I started at my new school and it was not the frightening experience I thought it would be. The headmistress was quite old in my estimation and the entire staff of teacher's wore black gowns and these funny square hats with a tassel that swung around when they moved quickly. Watching them was quite hypnotic. I was placed in a classroom of only twenty pupils and all my lessons, except the sciences and P. E. would take place in here. I had a lovely old wooden desk with a lid that lifted up and inside I could keep my books and personal items. The girls had their own cloakroom where I hung my coat and all my new physical education equipment, including hockey boots and a stick. Hockey is a game I have never played. I have only ever played netball, and have a limited knowledge of what the Nun's called gymnastics. Surprisingly I was to have swimming lessons, which added to my feeling of being spoiled, excited, and apprehensive all rolled into one. I couldn't wait for the day to begin.

I was introduced to the class and shown to my desk. We all sat in single rows facing a big blackboard and my first lesson was English, my favourite. I sat quietly observing those girls around me, a few I recognised from Church on Sundays, and they nodded to me, acknowledging my presence. The lesson was soon over and it was time for the morning break of fifteen minutes outside in the playground. We were all given a drink of milk as we filed passed a woman whom I presume must work in the kitchens, as she was dressed in a white overall, with a white hat like Cookie's.

In the playground I soon had a crowd around me staring and pushing to gain a better view. One girl, who was taller and bigger than the rest, spoke first to me asking if I were the girl whose Mum had killed her self. There was no escaping this line of questioning. I had anticipated it and straightened myself up, squarely facing the big girl who had asked, and in the strongest voice I could muster I told all those who listened, yes I was that girl, the daughter of the butcher, and yes, my Mother had died in suspicious circumstances, but it had not been proven she had taken her own life. Yes, I had gone to a 'posh' school where I slept away from home, but now I was happy to be here and I hoped to make some good friends.

The big girl wandered off with a small group following her. I think she realised I was not going to be pushed around that easily. A lot of the other girls left too but a few stayed and I was happy they did. I have answered a lot of questions today, and I have made two new friends, Moira and Mary - who were twins. I had never met a set of twins before, and they did look the same, they were identical twins they told me. They have yellowy straw like hair tied tightly in plaits either side of their heads, and were very chatty. They have a habit of finishing each other's sentences, which was confusing at first, as I never knew which one to address with a reply. I like them. They did not push for information from me but stayed on the normal topics of school life like the who's who of teachers. Who was the best one and which girl's I should watch out for, namely the big girl who had challenged me earlier called Sarah. It struck me they too have an insight into what it feels like to be different and like me, they sought to blend into the crowd rather than stand out.

The day flashed by at lightning speed and I hurried Father Dominic, who had collected me as promised, all the way home and went straight to Father's study to tell him about my day, but he was not there and his door was locked. I bid Father Dominic goodbye and I dashed down to the kitchen where Cookie and Jim were having a pot of tea together, so I joined them and excitedly told them of my day and about my new friend's.

Father returned late into the evening and I was in my room but he knocked at my door and I bid him enter. ( _Another first!)_ He planted a big kiss on my forehead, and sat in the window seat. I was writing to you, my diary, but quickly put it aside to answer his questions about my day, and he seemed truly interested and captivated by my re-telling of the day. He said he hoped that I would settle in and then quite out of the blue, asked me if I was happy with the décor of Mother's room, and would I like it redone to my style and taste? I said I would think about it. It seemed a bit like he was trying to remove the very last vestige of her memory in our home.

I did admit it would be nice to update the tired, outdated décor and I then remembered to ask if I might have a new bed and mattress. I told Father it was very old and rickety. The mattress was worn-out, and had springs ready to poke me in the back if I lay over them. I think he realised it was in fact because of what had happened on this bed that I wished rid of it. Father agreed and said he would get the lad Alfred and Jim to start on it after the weekend and I could go with Cookie to pick out new wallpaper, curtains, bed and bedding. It is all very exciting and I feel like it is Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. I will keep Mother's dressing table and chest of drawers and her pictures but I am sure she would be happy for me to make the room more to my liking.

The thought of the apprentice Alfred, being in my most private room, where no males other than Father and Father Dominic were now allowed, especially being un-chaperoned (due to you know who) was a little un-nerving, but Jim would be there and besides most of the work would be done whilst I was at school. I really did feel very lucky and as happy as could be. Father was too, I could tell. Perhaps his focus on me helped him to put the death of Mother and his grief and loneliness behind him. I truly, with all my heart, hope so.

"Father in heaven and all the angels above, please look after my Father and I pray and hope that his new found peace will continue for ever more.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 1st of December 1948

I am thirteen today, and I have a lot of birthday cards from my new found friends at school. I received a present from Father that I could not believe; he has bought me a pony! It is stabled a mile or so away where it has its own stall and a paddock that she shares with other horses. I know nothing of the care for such an animal but I am to have lessons as well. Her name is Misty, she is a Connemara breed, which is popular in Ireland, and at present she stands 12 hands high, so I am told.

When we went to the stables so I could meet her, I was surprised as she was not the small size I imagined, looking more than '12 hands' to me. Jim, who had accompanied me, not Father, had a right laughing fit at my expense and explained how the measurement of hands was applied. I did feel ignorant but as he assured me, that was the reason for lessons.

Father has told me that this is a present that can be taken away if I do not take her care seriously and especially if my studies are affected. That was a bit of a surprise as it was the first time he had ever mentioned ' _my studies'_ as if they meant something special. How I am to fit in her care and exercise as well as riding lessons plus school work and managing this household is beyond me, but I shall give it my best effort.

I was a little sad today that Mother was not here to share this, my special birthday as I enter into womanhood, but it soon passed and my friend's came for a small party. We had cake and party games, but Father did not partake, preferring the solitude of his study. Cookie, Jim and the lad 'Alfie', as we now call him, made my party very special and now I am exhausted and glad it is over. Alfie is to take me tomorrow, Saturday, to the stables and help me undertake the chores that need to be done. Father says until I can be left with the animal, Alfred will see to its daily needs, and I can then concentrate on enjoying my present. He seems very happy to do this, which I am grateful for as I was worried how I would cope with all my ever-increasing duties.

I do not worry so much about being alone with Alfie as he is nothing like the other slimy podgy boy, Joseph. Alfred is kind, attentive and very respectful. He keeps calling me 'Miss' which I find amusing but I suppose it is proper. He has taken to the butchery trade very well and Father has said how pleased he is with him. He has certainly grown in stature and confidence and is no longer the shy, shuffling lad I first glimpsed.

Now he is always laughing and joking, having a smile and a wink for the ladies, Jim tells me. The customers love him and Father has bought him a new bike, complete with a basket on the front, which displays the name of the shop and on which Alfie, does the deliveries. Father told Jim that if 'the lad' continues improving he might teach him to drive the big van, to do the bigger deliveries and collections, as Jim agreed with Father, he is no 'spring chicken' anymore. Apparently that means he is getting too old for the heavier work and I told Jim that I didn't realise he was old as I always thought of him of an age like my Father. Jim did laugh at this and told me something I had never known – they had gone to school together and known each other for many years. Jim was honoured when he too was employed by my Father and has had a very comfortable living because of him. Also there was Mary, his one true love; he would never have met if not working for Father. I queried where this Mary is now and did Cookie know about her? Again Jim laughed at my ignorance – Cookie was Mary! We both laughed a lot at this. It made me wish Father could be more like Jim, open and warm-hearted, but obviously life has not given him the same rewards as Jim. It is so confusing!

Again my mind has wandered, as it will. All the animals that are to be slaughtered are collected in the van by Jim at present, as he explained to me at the tea table, and the larger deliveries of all the finest cuts of meat and other products such as black pudding, sausages, gammon and so on, are delivered to the big shops in the larger towns such as Dublin. I am not sure what a _black pudding_ is and Alfie overheard me asking Jim and then teases me with horrible descriptions of pig's blood congealing. It quite makes me feel unwell and makes me want to vomit, but I do not let him see my reaction.

On questioning Cookie later, I am told he was correct up to a point. I really must pay more attention to what goes on in the shop if I am ever to learn something of this trade, and try to develop a stronger stomach for these un-tasted offensive products that we sell. And yes... her name is Mary, but I can call her Cookie as she loves her _nickname_ and with that she chases me out of the kitchen, armed with her dreaded dishcloth!

What is a nickname? Do I have one? Everyday it seems I learn so much about what is hidden in other people's lives, including my own. It seems I am very ignorant and must pay better attention to what is going on about me, and not hide so much in the world of Jane Austin and her stories. Life now, a full hundred years on, is very different, I think.

My friends at school were all envious of my gift of a pony, as it is way above what their parents could afford, except for the big girl Sarah. She still looks down her nose at me, and proceeded to tell all who would listen, in a very loud voice so those who were trying to ignore her could not help but hear her boasting, that she had a _horse,_ not a pony, and rides every weekend in _gymkhanas'_ where she always wins many first place _rosettes_. Again, these are things I do not understand but I am going to make sure I find out!

Worse still Sarah's horse is stabled where mine is so I will not be able to avoid contact with her, but I am sure Alfie will soon see her off with his quick-witted remarks and his enigmatic Irish charm. Alfie is becoming a true friend to me and I can't imagine a day without seeing his freckled cheeky face and smile. He always has a wink for me and goes out of his way to make me feel special.

Today has been a great day for which I am thankful. I did wonder how I could be so cheerful and happy when my Mother was not here to share it with me, but I was. When Father appeared he more than made up for her absence by being larger than life himself, with his hearty bellows of laughter, singing happy birthday at the top of his lungs, I swear the whole town must have heard him!

"Mother I missed you on this day, my special birthday, as I enter my teens on the journey to womanhood.

Father is a changed man and made this day so very special for me.

I hope God allows you to come and look over me. I pray your soul is healing and you are at peace.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

( _We are to leave Catherine's diary at this point as she puts her head down and concentrates on school, her family life and her new found love for her Father. The ins and outs of all the days that string together, as a pearl necklace, are all faithfully recorded in her diary but as with all life there is only so much of the mundane that is tolerable. Instead we shall jump ahead, periodically, to the next important milestone of the life that is Catherine Mc'Gintys_.)

* * * * *

## 27th of July 1951

Today I left school and all its wonders behind me. My last exams are over and Father says he is pleased I have done so well, but then again there is really no need for anymore education. He still firmly believes that a ' _woman's place is in the home'_ and no amount of pleading by me will persuade him to allow me to stay on for sixth form and attain the grades I would need to get into a University. I secretly hoped over the years he would have softened his view, and I might be able to go to university eventually, but no, he is adamant and I am sorely saddened and depressingly disappointed. So much for his reformed character, the loving exterior, I now understand it covers a hollow shell where his heart was and his outdated views on the equality of womankind have hurt me deeply.

The summer holidays are here and time seems to go so much faster the older I get and there is so much more I must do. I am quite a proficient rider now and have won many rosettes for dressage on my pony, Misty, but sadly she is to be sold as I have out grown her. I will miss her very much but Father says she must go to some other lucky girl. For now I must be content on riding the other larger ponies and horses stabled at the yard, as times are tough.

Yet more disappointment, but this one has a silver lining Father does not have a clue about! I do not wish to continue with riding at the shows but I still want to visit the stables, as it will give me more time to be with Alfie. I miss his company when he is busy at the butchers with Father. He will still be able to help out at the stables, but Father has him driving the big van now, doing deliveries and it takes up much of his day. He has only a year left on his apprenticeship and I can't help wondering what he will do then? I do not know. Perhaps Father will keep him on to run the shop as he is of increasing age now and I see how weary he becomes, spending more and more time locked away in his study.

Alfie has become a trusted friend and companion but I think he still sees me as a little girl, silly and flighty, not to be taken seriously, only to make jokes about and have a laugh with. Yet I see him as a very well informed young man, knowledgeable of his trade and current events, with a love of horses and the turf. He has grown considerably since his arrival at our home. His body has certainly become muscular and toned, but he still has the freckles and cheeky grin and when I see him now, which is most days, my stomach flips with excitement and I feel faint, dizzy, hot, and bothered when he is close to me. Seriously, I can't imagine a day to go by without Alfie in it.

With no school now I help out in the shop most evenings as I have no homework or studies to complete and Father says I can work some afternoons as well, when my chores in the house are done and he will _'pay'_ me! It will be nice to have some money of my own to buy personal items and gifts for others but do I really want a career in butchery? I still have Mothers money...but I cannot access that until I am twenty-one or married. It seems like all the important decisions are taken from me, as I am a feeble female! It makes me so mad!!

_Married?_ Marriage will be my next big step, I think. Would Father see Alfie as a prospective husband? I do not know, but then I do not think Alfie has ever considered me anything other than an annoying little girl. I have been on a quest of sorts, exploring these new feelings I have for Alfie. I have read all the romantic greats; Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice being my favourites, but is _true love_ really like this? Is it as told in these old stories, or is it different now, many years on in real life, and my lifetime?

I know my Father missies my Mother, but his love for her during my childhood was never evident to me, other than an odd look which I glimpsed between them. I know Mother was not happy, so did they love each other? I just don't know and I can hardly ask Father. Now Cookie and Jim, they are totally different, they are so relaxed with each other and always seem to be laughing and joking, hugging each other, and I have seen them kissing when Jim has to go away on errands for Father. Cookie is always so pleased when he comes home and she makes such a fuss over him. They never managed to have children of their own and I think looking after Alfie and I, has somehow completed their lives.

Never a day goes past when Cookie doesn't ask me how I am and what I have been doing. Then telling me she is so proud of me, that I have grown into a fine young woman who turns all the lads' heads when I walk out with her in town, shopping and taking tea and the likes. She tells me I should have no trouble finding the _'right'_ man to marry. Little does she know that the only man I want to notice me is Alfie, but I dare not say this to her, my surrogate Mother, as something inside me tells me it would not be appropriate.

I shall keep my secret, and enjoy the friendship I have with him. I have seen the way the other girls look at him, at the stables, always laughing and flirting with him and he responds in kind. Sarah is still at the stables and still as nasty to me, even more so since I started winning more of those precious rosettes than her. She is so obvious about her affections for Alfie, constantly flirting with him and she is nearer his age as well. She lets me know often how she does not like my friendship with him and that I am too much of a rich snob.

Alfie dismisses her attempts to draw him into a relationship and often whispers to me that he can't stand her stuck up ways, her horse like face and annoying squeaky voice. He makes me laugh so much with his way with words, so direct and clear, no big words with hidden meanings for Alfie, he says it like it is and I love him for that.

Love him? A Freudian slip of words - or the truth? Yet... I think I may love him, how? As a friend or a brother? I have nothing to compare with which I can base my feelings upon. I think of him differently to my girl friends and I have no _'brother'_. William Bennett is my closest family now, but he is so much older than me and stuck in his ways. I suppose I think of _him_ as an older brother. I do not dislike or like him. I am indifferent to his company and tire so of his monotonous conversations, retelling of his days in the financial world. He still comes around when Father has his private meetings with Father Dominic and they go 'hide' in the study for hours and I have to entertain him. William treats me as if I am unworthy or beneath him. I find him tedious and pity whosoever ends up as his wife!

Nothing like Alfie, I have always felt on par with him. No, my feelings for Alfie are a world away from my feelings for anybody else I know that is male at all, ever. I just wish he would notice me as a young woman. My looks are not displeasing and I have a fine figure, slender and well proportioned, and I wear the fashions of the day and always take care with my looks, so I know I am presentable but he still does not ' _see'_ me in the way I wish he would. Perhaps I might tell Father Dominic at confession next week and he could advise me how to deal with these feelings and whether they are good or not. I don't see how they could not be good, as love for a man is a natural thing, is it not?

"Oh Mother I miss you so when in a quandary such as this.

My feelings are all in turmoil. I know not what I should do.

I desperately need your guidance and insight.

Please answer my prayer and show me the way!

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine

* * * * *

## 10th of August 1951

At last! It has happened and I am so happy! Alfie looked at me in the stable as we were cleaning it out and asked me if I would go out on a date with him! He wants to take me to the cinema and maybe go for a walk after, but I am too afraid to ask Father. It has opened the floodgates, for Alfie and for me, as we talked long into the afternoon, working side by side as we have done many times before, but now it is different, so very different.

Alfie has told me he has secretly wanted to ask me out for quite a long time, but felt it was in appropriate as I was not yet sixteen - he is eighteen now. He too, was unsure of how Father will react, so we have decided for now, it must be a secret.

It is so exciting! It is just like the heroines in all the novels I have ever read, when the girl finally gets her man and then can't declare her love to all. So romantic – and of course, like all good plots, we too have a secret plan in motion. I am to say that I am going out with one of my girl friends from the stables, but instead I will meet Alfie. It is a deception but not a true lie as my girlfriend, Betty, truly rides out with me therefore I do not feel so bad over telling this ' _lie_ '. Luckily, she too has a boyfriend and they _will_ be accompanying us on the date, so I am chaperoned and if seen, we can say we happened to bump into the boys.

Alfie held my hand as we walked back home together, after finishing at the stable. It felt like an electric shock went through me when we touched, and everything seemed to melt into the background. It was the perfect evening sunset and just us - everybody else in the world seemed to disappear. He told me he has liked me for a very long time but didn't know how I felt as I always treated him like a brother. When I revealed that this was the way I had been thinking too, that I felt I was nothing more than an annoying girl to him, one he had to put up with, as I was the spoilt daughter of his employer. He stopped me quickly, and told me he never once thought me spoilt, and indeed, if memory served him, I had never annoyed him either. He said I did make him laugh with my innocence and gullibility. We both had to laugh at this and at how much time it had taken for us to declare our feelings.

I asked him about Sarah, the loud-mouthed bully from the stables, telling him that I thought he preferred her. He soon calmed my fears by telling me he would never have chosen her horsy face and shrieking voice that grated on his nerves, over someone who looked like an angel walking upon the earth! _(How romantic! He compared me to an angel!)_ He went on to say he felt very honoured that I liked him in that special way, not as a friend or brother, but as a man, who very much liked the woman whose hand he now held. _(I could have fainted...)_ I am sure I may have wobbled, not paying attention to where my feet were placed as I felt I was walking on air and not over the rough, gravelly surface of the puddle strewn lane we were on.

Alfie caught me as I stumbled stupidly, and we ended up in an embrace as I held on to him for support. His arms went round my waist and I could feel the heat of his body through the grubby linen shirt he was wearing. He smelled of straw and something else, I'm not sure what it was, but I liked it. I liked the way he looked at me too. I was a bit taken aback as his gaze was so intense. His eyes seemed to penetrate to my very soul. I felt light-headed and limp, which made him, tightened his hold on me, pulling me even closer into his strong arms.

I loved the way it felt, like he would never let me fall. I raised my head, yearning for him to kiss me. I had never been kissed on the lips and it was everything and more than all the romantic novels ever said it would be. I felt like I had lost my grip on life and we were floating around in heaven. I am not sure how long we were in each other's arms, oblivious to all around us, but eventually we had to break away lest we suffocated in our desire for one another. Alfie made sure I was happy for him to kiss me this way, so thoughtful. Of course I said yes, I was very happy, but in fact it did not do justice to how I truly felt – I was ecstatic!

We arrived home nearly an hour later than we should have, but Cookie had kept our dinners warm and Father did not even know we were late, as usual - he was in his study. Cookie did give Alfie a knowing look. I think she realised we had come back two very different people to those who had set out that afternoon, but she didn't say anything. Well - not to me, and I hope she does not think to tell Father of her suspicions. I want this to last forever, this happiness, this most glorious of feelings; my first real taste of what true love could mean for me.

"I pray to God, the Father of all, to send his blessing to us.

I pray he will allow our love to blossom and grow.

I pray my Mother will approve and one day when Father is told, he too will give his permission for our love to follow its natural course.

Amen".

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 26th of September 1951

I am in love; I have no doubt - at all. I love Alfred Rooney with all my heart, body and soul and he loves me. Everyday he tells me and he buys me flowers when ever he can, which I have to hide in my bedroom. He takes me to the cinema, where we hardly ever see all of the film. In the main, we rush through our chores at the stable yard, on the days we are supposed to be there, and then we escape into our beautiful Irish countryside where we can wander the lanes, arm in arm, (hopefully unseen) jumping behind bushes and trees when anything or any person approaches.

We are alone, lost in each other, together in our love. We plan for the future, our future, where our home will be, for our marriage ceremony, for the children that one-day, we hopefully shall have. We have even chosen names! Alfie likes Joan or Theresa, as they were the names of his sisters that sadly died, and I like Alice, the name of my mother, if we have girls. For boys it would be Francis or Christopher - yet it goes unsaid that this may never happen. We both realise Father would never permit me to marry below my station, even in this rapidly changing world, being a Catholic, having money and status, these things are more important than true love.

I miss the long summer days where we could go to our favourite spot up in the hills, away from eyes that would reveal our love to my Father. I am in love so very deeply, right to my very core and I know in my heart, there will never be anyone else for me. Even though I know it is a sin and yet, it felt so right - I have given myself to Alfie. He was unsure and willing to wait until I was sixteen, but our love is so strong we needed the physical release of making love to bind and complete our love. It happened so naturally. I was not afraid and it didn't hurt, like the _other_ time. We were very careful to make sure he did not ' _come_ ' inside me.

It was so very different from my last experience of _'lovemaking'_ at the hands of that bastard, Joseph, but I could not bring myself to tell Alfie of this, as I am unsure of his reaction so I have decided to keep it to myself until the time is right. As if there could ever be a right time to tell someone you love, what another did to you in the name of love. It is a dilemma I am still wrestling with. I do not want to spoil the moment or risk losing Alfie. Would he still want me if he knew I was ' _spoiled_ ' goods?

We lay so long in each other's arms and we have made love many times since but now the weather means we will have to make a new love nest inside an old dilapidated barn, we came across, full of rotting straw, hay and mice. Alfie has cleaned it all away and laid out blankets. We have a lamp and we even lit a small fire the last time we were there, as the chill of autumn is truly here. We have made it the best love nest ever, almost like our first home and I will never forget the days of our lovemaking in our retreat from the world. Time is irrelevant here and passes at a different rate. It is so difficult, so hard to come back down to our reality of not being able to publicly declare our love and commitment to one another.

We know this yet we cannot help but carry on as if it didn't matter. But when I am alone in my room, writing to you, my diary, I am aware of how hard it is going to be to persuade my Father to agree. And now, we have another, potentially, bigger problem. That horrid Sarah has put two and two together and is trying to blackmail us! She had me cornered in the tack room at the stables, delighting in pushing me around, though I did my best to stand up to her. She called me such horrid names and swearing - 'Feckin' whore!' being the most used. She is jealous that Alfie has chosen me, and the more he ignores her, the more it seems to have sent her crazier than normal, she is truly demented.

Alfie came to the tack room when I didn't return and caught her shouting at me. He managed to pull her off me but she continued shouting abuse and such swear words, as I have never heard before. She surely will have much to confess, next time she goes to church. It was an unpleasant scene and very upsetting. Sarah has said if we do not do her stable chores and groom her horse too, she will reveal all, in confession to Father Dominic! It did not stop there either, as she has now demanded money - Fifty pounds!

It is such a lot of money and she knows Alfie could not pay such an amount. It is her way of hurting me, I suspect. I will raid my savings, from my allowance and the bit I save from working in the shop. I have nearly three hundred pounds saved which will go along way in helping Alfie and I with our plans for starting a new life together, but now I have to give it to this witch, this ungrateful spoilt cow - Sarah. ( _Sorry Jesus, please forgive me.)_

Alfie was angry. I have never seen this side of him, yet when that bitch left _(sorry again, God)_ he was genuinely upset that I had to see, or be part of, such a disgusting scene, and even more so that I have to pay the extortionate cow her money. We will have to be more careful in future where we express our love for each other.

Life is so unfair and cruel, and I am sad to have our love tainted by such a nasty person. I cannot see her giving up on us either, which is going to make life unbearable. The never knowing if she will let up on us, or go and tell Father, tell the world of our ' _sordid love saga'_ , as she calls it. We have decided to act out a break up scene, which she will witness and Alfie, who cleverly thought of the idea, will then resume flirting with her and seemingly push me aside.

I think it will work. I hope and pray to God it will work, in taking her attention away from me. I will not show up at the stables for my chores, therefore adding weight to the break up, and when she sees me about town, I will act broken hearted and miserable. It will not be hard for me. All I will have to do is imagine a day without Alfie in my life and my heartbreaks.

It is a deception, I know, yet another one. All I seem to do is lie about something that is pure and wonderful, that makes me so happy one moment and so scared the next. I worry for our future, for our dream life, for Alfie's safety and for our love. It is not supposed to be like this! I weep hot tears of desolate sadness at the thought of never being with Alfie... Oh my God! My soul feels torn and would be truly incomplete without my Alfie at my side.

Now we must hide our love from the world. I realise I will not get to see him as much as before and working in the shop, when he is about, will be difficult. I will have to become the best actress ever seen on stage or screen. I must not let slip a word or action that may reveal the truth. Yet, do I feel it all slipping away from me. Even though I know this is not the reality now, that Alfie loves me still, I fear by acting and deceiving all, God will look upon us less favourably, as we taint his gift with lies, the best gift he has to bestow on anyone - his love.

"God our Father in heaven, hear the pleas of your children who are in such turmoil because of the actions of others.

Help and show us the way to be true to you and bless us with your love and approval. I ask this with all the love I have.

Protect and bless my Alfred as he battles with the devil that would ruin our love and life together.

Amen"

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 1st of December 1951

I am sixteen at last. Alfie and I have such plans to escape this life and be together in England. Sarah at last has let go of her grip on Alfie as a new stable hand began work there a month ago and she now favours him. Good luck to her. It feels like the pressure has been lifted but she still sneers at me when our paths cross. Just in case she changes her mind we keep up the deception. Altogether we paid her two hundred pounds and Alfie worked twice as hard, doing her work at the stables as well, which meant our time together was limited but intense. On finding her with the new lad he told Sarah she could get him to work for her now - but I am sure his words were more colourful than I can say.

Alfie has kneeled before me and asked for my hand in marriage! To which, I, of course, said yes, and he slipped onto my finger the most beautiful diamond and sapphire ring, three stones in all, which will tell of our eternal love through time, the past, the present and our future. I cannot wear his declaration of marriage on my finger openly, as I should, as we are still frightened it would not be allowed and Alfie might be sent away. Alfie was apologetic as it is 'second-hand' but he has paid for it in full with some of his savings. It means we will need more time before we can go forward with our plans, such as they are.

When Alfie has finished his apprenticeship and has received his notices of excellence in the field of butchery, we hope to elope to England and marry at a place called 'Gretna Green' where you do not need your parents' approval and permission, but if you are both over sixteen they will wed you. Of course it is not a Catholic church, and I will miss out on a big white wedding and will never be able to wear the wedding dress of my Mother, but I mind not. I would give up everything so that Alfie and I can be legally bound and wed together. Then there would be nothing Father or the Catholic church could do – except disown us.

Alfie has been busy, working a lot of overtime with the Christmas rush upon us; therefore, together we will have a tidy sum put aside. He will travel to Dublin on his day off, to purchase tickets for the ferry to Liverpool, and train tickets from home to Dublin as well. I have one bag packed with all that I treasure most, and a nice dress, in cream lace, ruffles and tiers with pearl buttons and matching gloves. Father generously surprised me with it, and he told me he had bought it when he was last in Dublin, for my finishing school party, making much of it being the height of fashion and it suited the occasion greatly, as it was to be worn by me being a young woman and no longer a school girl. How it is ironic that I will now wear it as my wedding dress, as I ply my troth to the only man I shall ever love.

We are to go in two weeks time, when Alfred goes to collect a stock of turkey and duck to be slaughtered for customers Christmas lunch. After delivering them and putting them in the pens as normal, I will ask Father if Alfie can give me a ride into town before he puts the van away, giving the reason that I wished to meet my friend and purchase gifts for Christmas, for which I needed transport. Christmas time usually fills my Father with much cheer, as his sales soar so does his generous mood. I will ask as Alfie was done could he wait to help me with my purchases. I know my Father well; he will say something like not ' _busting the bank'_ and ' _spending all my savings_!' If only he knew my savings were safely tucked away in my purse.

I hope I will carry off the ruse, like the practised actress and liar I have sadly become. In reality I will be saying goodbye to my friend Betty and her new beau, and then going straight to the train station, on our way to start our life together, in England. We have meticulously gone over our plan, step by step, and know we can do this. It is as if it is intended for us to be together and we have the blessing of God himself.

I was given a small party, by Father, for my special sixteenth birthday for which I had, to wear my special 'grown up girl' dress, as he called it. I say party - it was no more than an evening meal as usual, with a homemade birthday cake and sixteen candles for me to blow out. Father Dominic and William were present and I received from Father, a new rosary, from William - a fine brass crucifix for my room, and as he said to me, "You can never have enough crucifixes in a good catholic home." But I was thinking, "I wish I had a life size crucifix for me to nail his rapist brother too."

It still makes me feel sick when they talk of him. He is still at Priest College or whatever it's called, and they are very proud of him as he is doing very well, nodding and staring my way as if I should care. After dinner I went to the kitchen and had more birthday cake with Alfie, Cookie and Jim. We can't even tell them our good news lest they disagree or let slip our plans, but they are not stupid people and I think they have an idea of what we are planning. We have a nice time chatting and laughing at Jim's awful jokes, a far cry from the earlier celebration and one I much preferred because of the openness and love I felt all around us. In this warm, homely kitchen, where I have spent most of my growing up years, were the two people who were more like parents to me, and to Alfie for that matter, than the ones we had and did not have for them being with our Lord.

"Mother I missed you so much on my big day, entering womanhood.

Father does his best for me and I know somewhere deep down he loves me too.

I hope you do not disapprove of Alfie, we love each other so much and I am glad to become his wife.

I wish you were here to advise me.

May the Holy Spirit shine upon us and help us to do the right thing.

Amen."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 12th of December 1951

It's all gone wrong! We are found out and Alfie was beaten until he was unconscious and thrown in the slaughter room and locked up.

It all happened so quickly and I am still spinning inside my head and feeling sick- but the sickness is due to something else though. I am pregnant by three months; it has been a shock to both of us as we were so careful.

When I went to the family doctor yesterday, about feeling sick and dizzy, it did not occur to me that it was because of a baby. Oh my God, I am to have a baby and the Father lies beaten outside! I hope and pray Father does not kill him. Father Dominic has been called and they are deep in conversation in his study, but I can hear their raised voices and Father thumping on his table. I am so very afraid, afraid for my baby, for Alfie and for myself, and for what is to come of everything? I do not know, but something inside tells me to be strong as I have a new life to protect and love, growing inside me.

Cookie came up to my room to comfort me and she assures me everything will be all right. She tells me Jim will make sure Alfie receives no more beatings. She then began to tell me how we were found out. It wasn't from the Doctor as I assumed, but from a letter Father received anonymously, detailing our love affair, all the deception and lies. It could only be from one person – Sarah! That evil bully, jealous, envious cow of a girl, how did she know I was pregnant as I only found out a day ago?

When I had told Alfie, immediately after the Doctor's appointment, he was over the moon with joy and happiness, even though it meant bringing our plans forward to this weekend. That bitch must have over heard us, or it could have been the new stable lad, yet we were so careful...

It is not fair and I am very scared as to what Father might do, to me, to my baby and to Alfie. Cookie hugged me to near suffocation and told me that Jim and her self had guessed something was going on but they never breathed a word to anyone. She said it reminded her of when she met Jim and how quickly and deeply they fell in love but never having children themselves, they thought of Alfie as their son and me as their daughter. I knew as much, and now I know nothing came from them and I feel sure they would protect us, as much as they could.

Eventually I was called to the study and on entering I nearly screamed when I saw what Father had done to Alfie. He was doubled up in the corner of the study on the floor, his face was covered in blood, one eye closed and his lips split and bleeding, and so was his nose, which looked broken. Oh, he looked terrible and in so much pain. I went to run to him but was denied this by William, who was stood behind me; I did not see him on entering the room. He grabbed me and held me firm by my arms so as to restrain me from any movement. He then pushed me down into one of Fathers armchairs and warned me to be still. How dare he! Father was in his big seat behind the large solid oak desk he loved so much. He had his head in his hands and was shaking as if he were crying...

My heart crumbled as I began to realise what was going on. Father Dominic pulled a chair over so as to sit in front of me and began to question me to the circumstances of my present state of being. Was I forced to have sex? It took me back to that last time I had been questioned like this over the rapist cousin. I cried, pleaded, and screamed until I had no breath left. I told them of our love and that we were afraid to announce it, as we feared it would not be accepted, that we truly loved each other and we wanted to marry.

Father bellowed and shouted until my eardrums felt like they had exploded with the force of his voice. His face was black and red, contorted in his agony, his shame and guilt in not realising what was being done to his daughter by this scum who betrayed his position and place of trust as an employee. Father then told me I was dead to him, spitting in my face, his nose nearly touching mine. I could see all the blood vessels on his forehead throbbing, I felt sure his head would explode all over me. He stood up, took one step back, raised his arm, and slapped me so hard across the face my neck snapped back and made a terrible crunching noise. My nose hurt and began to bleed but no one came to my assistance.

Alfie had tried but William rushed at him knocking him to the floor again and kicking him in his ribs. Alfie howled in pain and then he was still, he did not move an inch and I could not see if my beloved was breathing still. Father shouted for me to be taken away whilst he dealt with _'the devil'_ \- my Alfie. _Oh, what is to become of us?_

Cookie saw to my bleeding nose and has cleaned me up, she was crying all the time she attended to me, assuring me that everything will be all right - if I was a good girl and kept quiet and did as I was told. When I felt better I asked what she thought would happen to Alfie, but she had no real answer except she thought the police would not be called as Father would not want the social stigma, or his standing in the church ruined by his daughter producing a bastard child. _(A bastard child?)_

If the police had been called she could of perhaps defended herself, and speak of the rape she truly received at the hands of the soon to be evil Priest. Would they intervene and help her? Or would they lock Alfie away for an eternity? Have I, myself, committed a crime?

I weep for my baby who is no _bastard_ to me and has two loving parents although not wed in the eyes of God; they still love each other and their unborn child. I knew it was a mortal sin, a permanent black mark on my soul in the eyes of the Catholic Church, but I was not giving up my child, I'd rather die, like my poor Mother, I would take my own life and put myself and my baby in purgatory, into the hands of God himself.

"I pray for the sin I willingly committed to be forgiven, and the life of my unborn child to be saved and blessed.

I pray too, for Alfred Rooney, my love and Father to this child, that he too may be forgiven and we will be allowed to wed as we desired to and have our child in wedlock to remove any sin upon its soul.

Amen"

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 15th of December 1951

I have been locked away all day in my room and have not seen or heard from Alfie. Even Cookie came only once with a tray for my breakfast and then she seemed very worried, even scared a little, and she hardly said a word other than "eat up your going to need your strength for the baby now." I have had nightmares about Alfie being dead and I am very scared about being pregnant. I know nothing of babies. I know how they are conceived as I studied it in biology in school, and the true act of lovemaking was a natural and wonderful thing, nothing like in the books I read, nothing like what Joseph did to me, and I regret it not one bit.

Father Dominic came up to see me with a tray for my lunch and asked if he could sit with me for a while and have a talk about what was going to happen next. I am not sure if it was excitement or extreme fear I felt at this statement, but I could hardly eat for not knowing what had been decided for all three of us. My morning sickness has gotten worse and seems to last all day, but Cookie assured me that it is a good sign of a healthy pregnancy and just to eat when I can. So for my baby's sake I eat the bread and cheese provided and drank the milk even though I know I will vomit it all back up sometime later, but I must show Father Dominic I am to be a good Mother.

Oh... how innocent am I? I am to be punished for my slip into evil and taken to a convent where young girls in my condition go, to be hidden away out of sight until their ' _sin_ ' is born and taken away. Please God no!

I am in despair and could hardly believe the cruelty of what my Father and this priest have decided for me. I have no words to explain how I feel, other than _"I want to die."_ When I asked after my Alfie, Father Dominic told me he had been sent away and he was very lucky the authorities were not to be involved. He tells me that the pig Joseph is back home on a break to see his family before his ordination in January next year, and has volunteered to ' _see to'_ Alfred himself. Last night he took him away...

_Last night?_ I could not believe my ears - I did not even get a chance to say goodbye! I asked where repeatedly, but I am not to be told it seems. I have been warned that I will never see him again, he is to be dead to me and if I tried to follow him, I would be placed in a convent never to see the light of day again. It seems my childhood offering to become a 'Bride of Christ' has come back to punish me...

I am so confused, scared, and worried for my baby who will be taken forcibly from me. Cookie came up after Father Dominic left to go somewhere with Father, and said she was to make sure that I packed a suitcase with all that I would need and be ready to go first thing in the morning. To go where I asked, but Cookie did not answer.

How ironic! It is the same day Alfie and I had planned for our elopement. Instead now I am to be imprisoned in a convent, to have my baby grow inside me, only for it to be snatched away and sent, quite literally - God knows where.

Cookie was unusually quiet with me, I could not persuade her to help me escape, even when I offered all the savings I had, nearly five hundred pounds! She looked at me with such love and sadness, and the only thing she did say, was that Jim and her were to go themselves. Father has sacked them, as they had not spoken out when they realised what was going on but chose to hide our relationship. He said as they were complicit, they too were to leave. She told me it hadn't really helped when Jim had lost his temper with my Father, trying to defend us.

Cookie said Jim was furious with Father! After all his years of loyal service and long time friendship, that he was to be dismissed, and for what - protecting two adolescent children he was not even related, yet could not possibly of felt closer too, as if they were his own. Apparently that last remark had sealed their fate. Cookie said that they had both thought Father would arrange a quick marriage for us and that would be that, but it seems the Church has too much of a hold on him and his pride and vanity would not allow it. He was more worried about the scandal and how it would ruin him and his business. He could not see that the sin he was committing against his own daughter and grandchild, was worse than the act of conception without marriage.

I do not comprehend how everything has gone so wrong, so quickly and I worry for Alfie, not knowing how or where he is. It is almost too much for me. It is a cruel twist of fate that the rapist Joseph, who was dealt with so leniently for his sin, now holds rule over my true loves life.

I have packed as I see no way out of my situation, all I can do is hope and pray Father might change his mind and not give his own flesh and blood away to God knows who and only God will know where. What cruel irony! Fate has dealt a punishing blow and for what? To punish the unborn for the sins of their parents! How cruel is this God? I can no longer have faith in him.

I renounce this religion that punishes the innocent and does not acknowledge unconditional love as I once thought. I feel a betrayal worse than that of my true Father. Damn and blast these hypocritical Catholics to hell, for surely that is where they have come from...

"Mother, if you can hear me, if there is a heaven with an all loving God; can you ask him why my baby is to be punished?

Why is my love for Alfie so wrong? Why am I being forced to give up my unborn child?

Mother, I wish you were here, I need you so much!"

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 16th of December 1951

I have smuggled my diary into my bedchamber in this cold and draftee convent. You are my only solace now and I will record the truth of what is happening to me.

I will go to the beginning of this awful day, as I stood packed, on the doorstep of my home, with no one to wave me off with sentiments of missing me. Only Father Dominic and the _rapist_ Joseph came and took me to the train station, the very same place I was going to elope with Alfie.

In the car ride there I was informed that the _rapist_ Joseph was to accompany me, as he had also done with Alfie, but in his case to Dublin, and had seen him put on a ferry for Liverpool. It was our planned escape route, yet I was not with him... but my _rapist_ of all those years ago was! Things could not get much worse!

My new ' _home_ ' was to be in county Kerry, at a convent and orphanage. _Rapist_ Joseph, the ungodly man sat beside me, and would not be pressed on any more details, and when I objected to the _devil's_ abomination accompanying me - I was totally ignored. Father Dominic then dropped another bombshell on me, and from the _devil rapists_ face, I gather he knew nothing of what was said next.

On delivery of my baby and its removal from my life, I was to return home and to be married off to _William Bennett!_ He had very charitably agreed to this union and the ' _gift'_ of my inheritance from Mother, plus Father was to purchase a house for us _(away from his doorstep as he never wanted to see me again)_ and he would not be attending the service of marriage, so there would be no one to give me away and... I would not be permitted to wear the wedding dress of my Mother.

How could things get any worse? I want my life to end, to be over, but I can't think like that with a new life within me. From the _rapist_ Joseph's gasp and protest against the wedding, he obviously was not included in this decision. He tried to offer his own hand to me, declaring his love for me was never ending and he would make things right over his earlier sin and... he would allow me to keep my baby! This time the sickness I felt had nothing to do with the new life within me but the image of being ' _his'_ wife was enough to make me actually vomit all over the floor of the car, and ' _his'_ shoes.

Father Dominic would have none of it and called him a variety of names I thought a priest should not know. After this heated argument Father Dominic left us to catch the train alone, and when seated in the first class carriage the _rapist bastard pig face_ , Joseph did nothing but glare at me, clenching and unclenching his fists. I am beginning to enjoy swearing now and how many inventive names I can think of for this _slime-ridden slug_ of a near human being.

It was a long journey to be so silent - yet I welcomed it. I had time to gather my thoughts and try and decide what to do. I could have tried to persuade Joseph to run off with me and then maybe I could keep the baby, but the thought of life with the _devil incarnate_ leaves me cold, and there would be no guarantees he would not take to the baby and mistreat it as well as me. I think I could not bear to be in his company for life and would surely go the way of my own Mother. _But,_ I could not do that to my child – it was not an option.

My only option is to accept that my baby will have to grow up, not knowing her real Father and Mother, but as the great Roman Catholic Church ran the orphanage, I should think they would find a good catholic home for her. Perhaps a loving couple like Jim and Cookie, who had been unable to have their own child, and had been like loving parents to Alfie and me. It is the best I can hope and wish for.

Joseph the _demon rapist, bastard, disgusting half man_ , deposited me at the doors to the convent and just before the Nuns opened it he said to me in a hushed, threatening way, that he promised he would _take care_ of my child, the best way a priest can. He would ask to become its _Godfather_ and take an interest in its up-bringing. And then with as much malice he could spit at me, he said he would do all this for the love of me, but he would make sure that _my love child_ would never cross my path! I could hear the hatred and malice in his voice when he said I would never hear a word about _its_ well-being, and he would make sure _it_ would never be adopted, but would live a life in the service of the Lord our God, on her bended knee paying a penance all her life - for my sin...

I didn't have any suitable swear words to respond. I was shocked to my very core at the evil that emanated from this man of God, and was distraught at the life he described for my unborn child - born from love yet to live in hate...

Satisfied with himself, he turned and smiled, nodded at the Nun who opened the big doors and welcomed us in. The _Anti-Christ_ Joseph went off to speak to the Mother superior and I was incarcerated, to await my baby's birth, and all the heartbreak it will bring upon both of us...

I do not see me being able to run away from this convent; it is more like a prison, or what I expect a prison would look like. There are no comforts here, my ' _cell'_ is only a bed length long and standing in the middle of the room I can touch either wall. It is damp and musty smelling and very cold. I have the heat and light from two big candles and that is it. There is a window but it is very small and high upon the wall so I can access no view nor use it as means to get away from this antiquated place. My bed is no more than a cot, similar to the one we gave Alfie when he first joined our family, and the bedding is an old scratchy blanket that smells awful, surely they have never been washed to be in such a bad state.

So this is to be my life now? I am to see another doctor on Monday at the nearby hospital, also run by Nuns and the church, where I shall eventually give birth. They need to see how my pregnancy is progressing. I wish the child should miscarry then maybe I would not have to marry William, what an awful thought, but it seems I am denied that as a means of escape too - a suitable penance for even thinking of such a thing.

The Nuns seem pleasant enough and I have one in particular to assist me and make sure of my obedience and repentance. Her name is Sister Theresa, her name from the saint Theresa; and it is a nice name for a girl. She is about forty years old and has been a bride of Christ since her sixteenth birthday. She asked me my age and when I told her I have just turned sixteen myself, all she said was that I have a lot of years in which to repent my sin, and ask for forgiveness in Heaven. She is kindly though and gentle with me as she takes all my clothes away and helps me into a novice gown and shows me how to affix my head wear. I am to dress like this daily, the outfit being spacious to allow for the growth of the baby. She also goes through all my belongings allowing me to keep no jewellery other than my new rosary, any makeup or perfume, but I am given one bar of soap that smells horrible and a very rough towel.

All the books I packed are to go to the Mother superior who will decide what is appropriate for me to read and the rest will be destroyed! As I said in the beginning I managed to hide you, my diary, under the thin horsehair mattress before she started robbing me of all my comforts. The rest would be put into storage for when I leave their care.

Sister Theresa then took me around the convent, called Saint Mary and Magdalene, showing me the kitchens where I will work, and the big laundry, then on to the chapel where every morning at 5 o'clock I will begin my day in prayer. There is no vow of silence here but it is so quiet you can hear the mice pattering around. I have one in my cell; it is a good thing I am used to them from our love nest in the old barn and it keeps me company.

Thoughts of Alfie and me in those days of innocence sadden me and I feel desperate, out of control, my path has been set and it is not the one I dreamed of. I will do the best for my child and give it a healthy birth and start to life and then I do not care what happens to me. I hope I die in childbirth.

"I pray to my Mother in heaven. Allow me passage into heaven, where I will repent my sins for eternity to this unjust God.

Let my unborn baby be granted a different future to the one his servant Joseph has proposed to me.

I ask you to forgive my Father who could not see past his pride to forgive me."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 18th of May 1952

My baby was born today - it was a girl. I never caught a glimpse of her; she was taken away at such speed. The Doctors said I'll make a good recovery and should be able to go home in a week. Home? What home?

The _sinner_ Joseph was here again yesterday and he came to see me in my cell before I started with my labour and enjoyed telling me how he has managed to get a placement with the elderly priest who is the Governor of the Orphanage and takes the services in the chapel here. _The bastard rapist, slime bag, offensive and repulsive half man_ , Joseph will be living here to help him with his duties at the orphanage and convent until he retires.

Oh, how he has enjoyed seeing me in pain! It means he will see more of my child than I ever will. _He is evil_. I feel it in my very core of being. This man is not a ' _man of god'_ , but a demon, a devil in disguise. I hate him with passion but what am I to do? And now I am too be married to his brother, William? What if he is as cruel? I have to step into a life I have had no choice in, into a life I do not want to live.

The _Anti-Christ_ Joseph is a conniving unscrupulous man, his entry into the priesthood was cover up for his wants and needs and I dare not think or even guess at what they might be now or what his agenda is to be with mine and Alfie's child. I despair for her.

Sister Theresa came to be with me during my delivery and then after as I lay recovering. She tells me the baby is fine and feeding well, she is to be called _Theresa!_ With this news I am happy, and Sister Theresa holds me as I break down in heaving sobs letting the pain of the delivery, the pain of my separation, and the pain of what lays ahead, the unknown, wash over me until I am exhausted.

"Help me Mother! As you took your own life, help me be rid of mine.

My faith in God has gone with the child he took from me.

My love departed from my being the day he took Alfie from me.

I am devoid of feeling, an empty shell.

Please, please help me Mother!"

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

## 25th of May 1952

I write this last ever entry to you, my diary, as I am on the train, with no one accompanying me, returning to home to a life I am unsure of. I do not wish to record anything, anymore. I am dead inside, bereft of any feelings, numb to the very core of my soul.

I have been told Father will not see me and burns all letters I write. He does not even know he has a granddaughter. William and I are to live in a cottage in the next town and are never to see him again.

He who should not be named had taken great delight in telling me that the butcher's shop had been sold as well as the home of my child hood. Father has taken to gambling and drinking his life away. He no longer sees Father Dominic and has abandoned his faith. Something tells me that this is not the truth but just one more dagger into my heart. I think I know my Father better than that snivelling evil priest. Father would never abandon his faith, or close his shop; they were his life's work.

All this has happened because two people fell in love and begot a child. Oh, how I am desperate and disillusioned. What will happen to her, to my little Theresa? What kind of life will she have? Will I ever find out what happened to Alfie?

These are questions I shall take to my grave whenever the unjust God decides the time is right to reclaim my soul and sends it to purgatory to punish me more. I have finished with life and will not acknowledge this as living anymore; I am already in a living purgatory, never to be allowed in to the comforts of heaven, to be with my Mother. Therefore, there is no more to record of my life, my existence, my body may go on but my soul is destroyed, and I have no mind of my own to rule my life - so what is there to write about? Nothing.

"Mother, look over my daughter Theresa, as her guardian angel and bestow upon her the light of truth and guide her decisions in life for the highest good.

May you watch over her and keep her from harm.

I hope that Alfie has a good life, even though we have been denied time together on earth.

I pray in our afterlife we will meet in _a heaven_ , where _true love_ is never denied.

Only time will tell."

Your ever-loving daughter,

Catherine.

* * * * *

Other books by this Author

# Time Tells Tales

## A Novel In Five Tales

Set in Ireland and England in the early 1900's, covering a century, Time Tells Tales is a Novel in five parts or 'Tales'. They explore the history of three families; their interconnected lives are intricately woven together by love, birth, death, and marriage. These lives are spiced up by religion, revenge, scandal, abuse, heartache and spiritual intervention.

The five Tales are told from different perspectives by the characters that drive this novel along to the surprising conclusion, spreading across time, space and dimensions, hence the title - Time Tells Tales.

* * * * *

Alfred's Tale

Dead in a Ditch

Alfred of indeterminable age is lying at the bottom of an icy cold deep muddy ditch, where he is hidden by brambles and branches. He has been knocked into this desperate place by a hit and run driver on a lonely, unlit lane on the Staffordshire moorlands. He was drunk as a skunk and it was pitch black. He didn't blame the driver for not stopping, why would they? He was one of life's destitute wanderer's, better for all if he was not found.

He was sure that broken bones aside, this was going to be his last resting place. As this realisation hits home Alfred begins to review, play out the high and lows of his mostly misspent life, whilst his body succumbs to hypothermia, and finally death.

What will he reveal? Will he be found? These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher.

For sure, Time certainly has some Tales to Tell.

* * * * *

Catherine's Tale

Love, Loss, Lust, and Lies

This is the sequel to Tale One - Alfred's Tale, and tells the story from the perspective of Catherine, the love of Alfred's troubled life. Here we meet this young girl, Catherine, on the verge of womanhood, who has to deal with the unexpected death of her Mother under suspicious circumstances, and the fallout of her Father's grief and the interference of the Catholic Church.

Catherine is brought up a devout Roman Catholic living in a town called Puncheston, County of Kildare in Ireland, in the 1930's. Just as Catherine seems to be coming to terms with her loss, she suffers an unexpected attack on her person, raped by a trusted member of the family, a cousin older than her twelve years who makes this abhorrent, botched declaration of his love for her, resulting in uproar and more emotional outbursts.

We can live every moment with Catherine as we read from the pages of her Diary. She aspires to become a writer like Jane Austin, her heroine. We have access to her most private thoughts, written as she struggles to come to terms with all the devastating trials and tribulations that beset her. She describes her first love, a secret and forbidden, eventually giving into lust with Alfred, the apprentice butcher, who comes from a family of some disrepute. We continue with her as the consequences of their actions drive them far apart \- forever.

What are these consequences? Will Catherine ever recover from the highs and lows of this emotional roller coaster? Will she recover from the loss, the lust, the love, and the lies? These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher.

For sure, Time certainly has some Tales to Tell

* * * * *

# Theresa's Tale

Forbidden Love

Theresa's Tale is the third tale of this novel and tells of forbidden love. She is the illegitimate daughter of Catherine and Alfred, raised by catholic nuns in an orphanage in County Kerry where she was born, cruelly taken from her mother before she had chance to even glimpse her bastard child.

Theresa is a troubled child who is bullied and beaten by the Nuns who see her as a child that is no good, scarred and useless. The local priest who is attached to the church and the orphanage plays a big part in keeping this child from knowing her heritage and her parents as it is only him, Joseph Bennett, who has all the answers to all the secrets and lies.

We follow Theresa as she is moved from home to home coping with abuse, lack of love or any true affection and generally having miserable existence. Theresa runs away to England, to London, looking for her best friend from her last 'home' David, and she is dragged into the world of prostitution and drugs, her only way to survive on the streets.

A familiar face, her childhood abuser, rescues her! Theresa is pulled into another world of paedophilia and child slavery. She slowly plans to exact her revenge on the devil incarnate while helping as many of the kids that he rescues in the name of God, to escape their horrible fate. Theresa does this with the help of Brian and Mary, a brother and sister who befriend her. It is with Brian she has her first glimpse of what true love could be, but she worries that Brian will not be able to love her, an abused physiologically damaged middle-aged woman with no experience of a real loving relationship.

In November 1999, just before the millennium, Theresa's plans come to a violent conclusion but with an unexpected twist. This Tale presents us with many more questions and few answers to the ever more complicated lives of these characters in Time Tells Tales.

Will Theresa ever find out who her real parents are? Why was she left in the hands of those cruel nuns? What is true love and why would anyone want to love her? Will Theresa ever escape the hands of her abuser and save her mortal soul? Will Brian get passed her damaged persona and love her truly? Will she live to find answers to these questions? These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher. For sure, Time certainly has some Tales to Tell.

* * * * *

# Jim's Tale

Out of the Mouth of Babe's

Set in 1994 in England, this Tale is about Jim Middleton and his wife Serena, nee Rooney, and younger sister to Alfred. Serena and Jim have one child, Paul, born in 1958, who meets June Bennett, legitimate daughter of Catherine Bennett, whilst at university and they marry in 1982.

They have a gifted child, Angela, born 1989, Jim's only grandchild who Serena got to hold, cruelly for a brief moment before her passing. Serena dies prematurely from bowel cancer at the age of 58. Jim comes to terms with his wife's sudden death by helping to care for five year old Angela whilst June is pregnant with their second child as it is a difficult pregnancy.

Angela opens her Granddads eyes to possibilities he had never given much credence to, his scepticism about all things supernatural and spiritual. But his lack of belief or faith in an everlasting life after death is challenged by events and Angela helps him to cope with his grief, changing his whole outlook on life and death.

This Tale introduces a new family to this saga and opens us to new concepts, pushing the boundary of belief systems, sharing the struggle of a five year old girl and the trials and tribulations she has had to face in her short life.

Will people begin to believe in her gift? Will she grow up bullied, tormented and hide her gift, never to help those who seek her help? These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher.

For sure, Time certainly has some Tales to Tell.

* * * * *

Angela's Tale

A Gift For All.

This is the final Tale, set in 2008, in both England and Ireland. This Tale is about Angela's special gift, and how she learns to use it. How it helps to brings to a conclusion to all the secrets, scandals and lies which intricately wove the lives of these three family histories together.

Angela finally un-wraps the mystery that she had begun with her Granddad Jim, who sadly passed away, but Angela with her special insight and empathy made his passing memorable and peaceful as he returns to the arms of his loving wife.

Alfred's letter and journal's came too late for Serena and Jim but with Angela's gift, she helps her family in ways no-one else can and they set out to solve the mystery of Catherine and Alfred's forbidden love and hopefully to find the lost child they never got to see.

As Angela is now a fully qualified a nurse as she feels her gift and her intuition is best used in the healing profession. Her most recent patient is a middle aged woman who was involved in a shooting and she was hit by a bullet which lodged near her temple in her brain. The woman had undergone surgery which was successful, but she was left in a coma for over ten years.

Angela gets messages and visions from her Grandparents, Jim and Serena, who help her find Catherine, her mother's mother who she has never spoken about and finally revels to her family her past family life in Ireland. The evidence contained in Alfred's journals and Catherine's diary highlight the possibility that this woman in a coma might be related. Will they piece together who this woman is? Will she ever gain consciousness? Will Brian stand by her? Will Catherine survive the ravages of old age to finally hold her long lost daughter?

These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher. This is the final tale of a family reunited on both sides of the veil _. Time has truly told a Tale._

* * * * *

Time Tells Tales - The Lost Children

### Sequel Book to Time Tells Tales

# The Rooney Lads

The Voyage To Hell And Outback

Taken away at a young age and put into care in an Irish foster home, ran by the Catholic Church, these three brother's experience the kind of adventure children should not have to face.

Well-meaning people govern their lives as it is seen to be the right thing to do. Instead they are ripped apart and scattered over the globe by circumstances that were then, beyond their control. Will these lads ever reunite? Will their shared history reveal their heritage? Who were their parents? Do they have other family back in Ireland? So many questions and the boy's experiences make this novel trip over your heart and scream for a happy outcome, but as we all know fate likes nothing more than to throw a curve ball or two. These and many more questions will be answered in this second novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher. For sure, Time certainly has some Tales to Tell.

* * * * *

Short Stories

Season's Anthology

These four short stories reveal to us the four stages of ' _LOVE'_ throughout a year in the lives of four very different couples and their experience of love at a certain stage in life.

'Spring' tells us of a first love, of puppy love, of a crush, and the ending of such love, as a person grows with experience and they learn more about their relationships. (Not available yet.)

'Summer' is about a chance meeting which maybe the beginning of true adult love, or unconditional love. It is a story of hope, of not giving up on love, that it may, at any time, in any situation, leap out and touch us on the shoulder.

'Autumn' reveals to us what happens when things start to go wrong, when love leaves and divorce seems inevitable or is it? (Not available yet.)

Finally, 'Winter' takes us to a place that all couples fear - being the one left alive and alone, when their partner passes away. It is a sad but enlightening story which shows that true love never dies.

* * * * *

Summer

Sally is twenty-four and disillusioned with her life and the daily grind on a road to nowhere with its many pitfalls. A chance meeting on a day that started out as grey as the rest, changes her life forever. Who does she meet? Can she really escape her tower block, warehouse city existence? Is it the summer sun that illuminates a different path to her soul? Can one day really make a difference?

* * * * *

Winter

Betty woke up and turned to the empty side of the bed she had shared with Percy for the last twenty-seven years of marriage. There was still an indent in the mattress where he should have been laying alongside her, but it was cold and empty. She reached for his pillow and snuggled into it, breathing in his smell, she couldn't bear to wash the pillowslip as yet.

It had always been her fear, her nightmare that Percy would die in bed beside her, but instead he died three days after his seventieth birthday - in his beloved potting shed, his other home, his allotment. A quick final blast from his heart, bang! And over and out - Percy was no more.

'Winter' takes us to a place that all couples fear - being the one left alive and alone, when their partner passes away. It is a sad but enlightening story which shows that true love never dies.

* * * * *

Where There is Light, There is Understanding.

Holly is struggling to keep her life together, juggling with grief and a new sixteen-day-old baby. Will history repeat itself? Can she cope or will she opt out like her own mother? This is a short story with a big lesson for those who are open enough to understand.

* * * * *

My Poetry Collection

Family and Pets

Book One

This is book one in a series of three different collections of poetry, all on different topics. Book one poems is about family, children, and pets. All are easy to read and well written. I hope you enjoy them.

* * * * *

Inspirational Poetry

Book Two

This is an Inspirational collection of Poems that I have written over the years, during good times and bad. I found that the writing of them helped to keep me sane and hopeful.

There are two with the same title; 'Love begins with me', as they are poems entered to an Invitational competition with that theme.

In 2010, I came first, and in 2012 I had an honourable mention.

A few of the poems have been experimental in writing style, and the judgement of how successful I have been will lie with you, the reader- so enjoy!

* * * * *

This and That

Book Three

A collection of poems written over the years which are varied in theme and style, from a trip up a Volcano to the depths of Insomnia, there is something for everyone. I hope you enjoy my journey in rhyme.

* * * * *

About The Author.

Stephanie Fletcher.

Biography

I am a Mother and best friend to three girls. I truly love my life and every person who has ever touched it with unconditional love, and I am grateful for all their support in my endeavours. I am now a Grandmother and I am sure inspiration will come for some children's stories!

I have a website for publishing my writing and poetry. The web link is http://www.stephanie-fletcher.co.uk

I started writing seriously after having a traumatic event in my life resulting in a nervous breakdown to boot. My physical and mental health suffered greatly and now several years later, hand on heart, I can honestly say I am not the self-driven OCD perfectionist I was before.

I had a spiritual enlightenment, counselling, and time, lots of time on my hands. I could have quit, and sank deeper into depression but I didn't. I am lucky enough to have three wonderful caring and considerate daughters who witnessed my decent into hell and back, and a family who never left my side. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and hit life head on again like the Taurean bull I am.

I have always written a journal of sorts, spasmodically, and the days of staring into thin air became times of inspiration. At first I was scared to show others my work. The last thing I needed was criticism that cuts you to the soul. I needn't have worried, only but a few people gave me critique that knocked my confidence and I began to grow as a writer.

I am the first to admit I am not very well educated, only secondary school but I returned to college at forty, did a creative writing course and gained a certificate in counselling skills. I read a lot, anything and everything and I take notes everywhere, for use later in my work. I collect idioms and sayings, inspirational quotes etc and they all help. A voice recorder is handy for those nighttime ideas and I also read my work out loud, recording them and then playing back, as it is easier to see where something doesn't work. I have a programme called 'dragon speak' which types up my recordings and saves a lot of frustrating keyboard time, which does my arthritis no good! I like to do my original work long hand so I have a lot of A5 notebooks needing attention.

Writing is never dull, or a job, I enjoy every day I spend writing and often surprise myself at what comes out. I am now attempting my first Novel, called 'Time Tells Tales', a synopsis is on my website and it is now finished! It is available as an e-book on Smashwords and Amazon or buy it from my bookshop on my website! I have three collections of poetry and two short, novella length stories available as well, one of which is free, so go help your self to a copy!

Connect With Me Online:

Email: stephanie-fletcher@sky.com

Website: http://stephanie-fletcher.co.uk

Twitter: http://twitter.com/safletcher59

Facebook: http://facebook.com/angelstar59

Smashwords: http://smashwords.com/profile/view/angelstar59

Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/978767.Stephanie_Fletcher

LinkedIn:  http://uk.linkedin.com/pub/stephanie-fletcher/4b/937/a10/

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