Page 32 of The Irish Gypsy
She shook wildly. She was so agitated, hedidn't press her for an answer, but led her to the sofa and wrappedhis old overcoat about her.
"I'd better get back to the house and seewhat's up," said Terry.
Her grandad rocked her gently and smoothedback the tumbled hair from her face. Her body trembleduncontrollably, but as the realization of her close escape dawnedon her, she calmed a little and laid down her head to rest. Afterabout an hour, Terry returned wild-eyed. Kitty sat up wearily as hecame to the couch. "Did you lose your job because of me,Terry?"
He shook his head. "He's dead, Kitty!" Terryblurted.
She crossed herself. "Mother of God,how?"
His bedroom caught on fire."
"My God, he wasn't burned to death, was he?"she asked, horrified.
He shook his head. "Oh, no, he soon had thefire out. It was after that in all the confusion, he must have hadanother stroke and dropped dead."
Kitty was covered with guilt. "I'm the reasonhe died and they'll accuse me of killing him!" she cried.
"Well, we never can go back, that's forcertain sure," said Terry.
Chapter 9
For the first week Kitty was afraid to gooutside for fear she would be picked up by the police. Gradually,as time elapsed and nothing happened, she began to relax a littleand slowly returned to her usual good cheer. Her immediate needswere pressing. She had one dress, one shift, one pair of shoes andstockings, but no drawers. How was she to get the things she neededwith no money and no job? The poverty in the Blakely household wasunbelievable. She sat and thought for over an hour, then resolutelyput on Ada's shawl and went out the back door. She walked up theback streets until she came to a line of washing. Swiftly sheunpegged two pairs of navy blue bloomers and a pair of black cottonstockings, and was back home in under ten minutes.
She tried everywhere to get a job, but therewere signs posted at most places that read: NO IRISH NEED APPLY.She heard that Constantine's, a modern drapers, was opening a newshop in the town center and needed girls. She had the spriggedmuslin dress, which when washed and ironed would do very nicely,but she needed something warm to go over it. She went to asecondhand shop and looked through all the cloaks, but they seemedtoo shabby; then she spotted a gray velvet pelisse that was justher size. She hunted among stacks of hats and feathers until shefound a small gray bonnet. The pelisse and the bonnet took her lastpenny, but she left the shop feeling elated.
She needed ribbon to trim the bonnet and makeit look half decent, and she knew exactly where to find some. Shewalked home past Deane Churchyard. There, on a fresh grave, stoodthe ugliest wreath Kitty had ever seen, but it had a marvelousmauve satin ribbon on it that lit up Kitty's face with delight.
She got up very early the next morning,heated some water in the kettle and washed her hair. When it wasdry, she put on her outfit, knew she looked pretty, and hurrieddown to Constantine's.
A well-dressed young man, two veryplain-faced young women and an older woman with a hooked nose thatlooked like it was trying to detect a bad odor stood behind thecounter. Kitty approached the gentleman, but the older woman pushedforward and said, "Could I be of service?"
"I'm applying for the position of shopassistant, ma'am," Kitty said, and hesitated.
"Irish?" the woman inquired, her nose seemingto discover where the odor was coming from at last.
For a fleeting moment Kitty thought she woulddeny it, but she lifted her chin a little and said, "Yes, ma'am,I'm Irish."
A hush fell. The others were listeningintently. The woman gave her a pitying look and said, "I'm sorry,you wouldn't be at all suitable, and besides everyone knows thatall Irish girls are bags!"
Kitty felt a lump rise as her throatconstricted and tears threatened to come to her eyes.No by God,they won't see me cry,she silently swore. She looked them allup and down in turn and said, "Well, in that case, you can all kissmy arse; the north side of it!" She cheekily flipped up her skirtsat the back and sailed from the shop with her head in the air.
"It'll have to be one of O'Reilly's mills,I'm afraid. They're the only ones who will hire the Irish," saidAda.
"Can I call myself Kitty Blakely when I gofor a job? I don't want the O'Reillys to know where I am."
"'Course you can, lass," Ada said.
Kitty went around to the Falcon and was hiredin the knotting room. The first thing she had to do was trek toUncle Joe's once again and pawn her sprigged muslin, shoes and grayvelvet pelisse. She picked navy and white striped pinafores and apair of button-up boots.
She entered the knotting room with greattrepidation. Counterpanes hung from long tables. She was shown howto pick up alternate fringes and twist them into knots, making surethe edges were uniform and even. This was an easy task; however, alot of the goods were shoddy and manufactured from poor yarns. Togive them a more substantial finish so they would sell, the clothwas soaked in a vat of sizing and then dried quickly between hotrollers. This process filled in the weak spots and holes, but itmade the fringes stiff and sharp. Before the end of the day,Kitty's finger ends were rubbed raw and spots of blood smeared onthe counterpanes. These were immediately classed as 'damaged' bythe examiner and she received no payment for them.
Thus Kitty embarked on that period of herlife when she saw daylight only on the weekends. The knocker-upwould tap on the bedroom windows with his long pole at five in themorning and she would clatter off to the mill with the wave ofhumanity that swept down the street and through the mill gates byfive-thirty each day.
Inside the mill, the hot-oil stench of themachines always made her nauseated at this hour and the incessantclatter of the big machines gave her a headache until she learnedto block out the noise. The rooms were kept very hot and damp, ashumidity was needed in the processing of cotton so that the threadswouldn't break so easily and to keep the fibers floating in the airto a minimum. Soon, Kitty was promoted to the weaving sheds to helpa more experienced woman who ran four looms. Her job was 'tenting'.The large room held hundreds of towel looms, which belted to andfro at top speed. Kitty was intimidated by the noise and frightenedby the flying 'picking sticks' and unguarded straps that whirledthe machinery.
Between the rows of machines the alleys wereso narrow, the workers had been warned to always pass a machinewith their backs to it; never their faces. It was an incrediblydirty atmosphere and after working her twelve-hour shift, she wenthome to wash her overall and her hair every night. She was carefulto always wash the machine oil from her black cotton stockingsbecause she had seen some of the other girls' legs and they werecovered with masses of pimples.
Her job as a tenter, was to rethread theshuttles. She noticed that many girls did it with their mouth andsucked the thread through the shuttles. Although this was fasterthan using your fingers, Kitty could not bring herself to do it.For one thing, if there were different colors in the cloth, yourmouth became daubed with different hues of dye, and for anotherthing, Kitty noticed that the girls who did this had rotten frontteeth as a result.
