Sally in the City of Dreams

First published in 2023 by The O’Brien Press Ltd, 12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, D06 HD27 Ireland.

Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777 E-mail: books@obrien.ie Website: obrien.ie The O’Brien Press is a member of Publishing Ireland ISBN: 978-1-78849-451-9 Text © copyright Judi Curtin 2023 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Copyright for typesetting, layout, editing, design © The O’Brien Press Ltd All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

13578642 24 26 25 23 Cover design and cover illustration by Rachel Corcoran Internal design by Emma Byrne.

Photo credits: p281 courtesy of Judi Curtin, p282 Wikicommons, p285 & 286 Shutterstock.

Printed and bound by Norhaven Paperback A/S, Denmark.

Published in

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Ireland, Early 1900s

Chapter One

‘A

m I too late for the wake?’ Our neigh-

bour, Abina, pulled her shawl tighter on her skinny shoulders and peered greedily around our little house, eyeing the food set out on the table in the corner.

‘You know well you’re the first here,’ said Bridget.

‘Aren’t you always?’ Mammy glared at her, and Bridget looked ashamed.

‘Should I try a little of that bacon to see if it’s fresh?’ said Abina. ‘Wouldn’t it be terrible altogether if the whole village were to die of poisoning?’ Without waiting for an answer, she went to the table and helped herself to a huge chunk of bacon and two 5

thick slices of bread.

I was tempted to get food for myself, but Mammy’d warned us that family should eat last – in case there wasn’t enough. This seemed unlikely though, as I’d never before seen such a big and fine spread – not even on Christmas Day. My brother Tom slipped his hand into mine.

‘Sally, I thought this party was for you and Bridget,’ he whispered. ‘But now Abina says it’s a wake and I know wakes are only for dead people, so does that mean you two are going to die like Grandad did? I don’t want you to die.’

‘Oh, Bridget and I are hardy out,’ I said squeezing his warm, little hand. ‘We won’t die for years and years.’

‘So why did Abina say it’s a wake?’

‘This isn’t like the wake we had for Grandad,’ I said.

‘This is different. This is an American Wake.’

‘What does that mean?’ He crumpled up his little face as he tried to work it out.

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‘Well, Bridget and I aren’t going to die,’ I said. ‘But tomorrow we are going very far away. We’re having this wake so people can say goodbye to us, that’s all.’

‘Why do you have to go so far away? I like playing with you.’

‘You’ll still have Aggie and Joe.’ ‘They won’t play with me. They say I’m only a baby.’

I knew he was right. Aggie and Joe lived in their own little world, with no room for Tom or anyone else. So instead of answering, I gave Tom a big hug.

When he was born, Aggie and Joe were two wild young things, and while Mammy ran around after them, I spent many hours rocking my newest brother, and singing to him. I loved all my siblings, but Tom was the baby and my special pet.

‘I like when you read me the book about beautiful Princess Tiana,’ he said. ‘I like it when you cuddle me at night and tell me I’m your best boy. Why can’t you and Bridget stay here with me and Mammy and Daddy and Aggie and Joe and Granny?’

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‘Oh, Tom, Bridget and I have to go. There’s no jobs here, and Daddy’s little farm doesn’t make enough money to pay the rent and feed us all. There’s plenty of work in America. There’s all kinds of opportunities for girls like us.’

‘Are you sad?’ he asked. I didn’t I know how to answer. I was sad about leaving the people I loved.

And I was scared – but also very, very excited for our big adventure.

‘Will you ever come back?’ There was a shake in his voice. Most people who went to America never returned. The few who did waited years and years, and seemed so changed no one even knew them anymore. But how could I break my brother’s heart by telling him this sad truth?

‘Of course we’ll come back,’ I said, smiling at him.

‘And we’ll bring you a big trunk full of toys and sweet cakes and velvet britches.’

‘Eww. I won’t wear velvet britches. They’ll all laugh at me.’

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‘No velvet britches then. Just toys and books and cakes and so many sweets it’ll take you a hundred years to eat them all.’

Now Abina came over, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I had a man courting me once long ago – oh, he was a handsome one, he was. He went to America and said he’d get a fine place for us to live – but he never did send for me.’

‘I wouldn’t blame him,’ muttered Bridget, and I tried not to laugh as I looked at Abina’s tangled grey hair and filthy clothes.

‘Bridget Bernadette!’ said Mammy (who always used her full name when she was cross). ‘If you can’t say something kind, then don’t say anything at all.’

‘Yes, Mammy,’ said Bridget, and I could see she really was sorry. She took Abina’s skinny arm and brought her to a stool by the fire, and spent half an hour bringing her plate after plate of food, and listening to boring stories about long ago.

Bridget is nearly a year older than me, but Daddy

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says she hasn’t the sense she was born with. She’s got the kindest heart in the world, but you wouldn’t always see that at first. I hoped her big mouth wasn’t going to get us into trouble in New York. * * * Soon our little house was full of people. Some brought food and some brought cans of milk and some pressed coins into my hand or Bridget’s, money to help us get settled in our new lives. A few, like Abina, brought nothing, but ate as if they hadn’t seen food for months – and Mammy welcomed them all, never judging, and trying to give everyone a chance. I hoped Bridget and I would meet people like Mammy in New York.

Granny, who couldn’t walk any more, sat up in her bed in the corner of the room. She loved company, and chatted with anyone who came near. I sat with her for a little while, and she held my hand in her

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warm bony one. Granny always petted us children, and never got cross with us the way Mammy and Daddy sometimes did. I tried not to think about how very old she was, and how I might not see her again after tomorrow. * * * Some of the neighbours brought fiddles and whistles, and a man from the other side of the village stood up and sang. Granny clapped her hands in time to the music. Daddy and Bridget somehow found a space to dance their favourite jig, while everyone around them clapped and stamped their feet and laughed and sang, and for a while the house was full of joy.

Then Bridget tried to do a high kick, and when she came down her foot went from under her, and she fell to the ground with her skirts up around her knees. The music stopped and everyone roared with laughter, but I knew trouble wasn’t far away. Bridget

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hates when people laugh at her. She scrambled to her feet, with wild hair and a cross, red face.

‘What are ye laughing at?’ she cried. ‘Step forward anyone who’d like to tell me what you’re laughing at.’

Her eyes were flashing and even the big grown-up men put their heads down and looked at their feet. A few brave children giggled, but their mothers made them stop.

‘Well?’ said Bridget. ‘I could have broken my neck, and all ye can do is laugh like jackasses.’

Daddy put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Come, Bridget,’ he said. ‘Granny wants to talk to you.’

And because Bridget loves Granny so much, she calmed down, and let herself be moved away from the centre of the floor.

‘Play some more,’ said Mammy to the musicians, so they played another merry tune, and the party was saved. A little later, a man sang a sad song about families being parted, and people told him to hush, and I saw Mammy go pale and slip out the door.

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By the time I found her, she was a little way up the road, sitting on a wall and crying quietly. I sat up beside her and put my arm around her, rubbing circles on her back, the way she’d done to me a hundred times.

‘Oh, Sally,’ she cried. ‘I’m glad you girls will have a great new life in America, but what will I do without you at all?’

‘You’ll have Daddy, and Aggie and Joe and Tom and Granny, and Auntie Sarah and all your friends – and maybe one day Bridget and I will ...’

‘Hush now, Sal,’ she said, putting one finger over my lips. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Just sit here a while and keep me company, and in a minute we’ll go back inside and join the party.’

‘I’ll write to you, Mammy,’ I said. ‘You know Bridget – she’ll have great intentions of writing, but will probably never get around to it. I won’t be like that though. I promise. I’ll write enough for both of us.’

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‘Truly?’

‘I’ll write so often you’ll be fed up of reading my letters and be wishing for a break.’

‘Well, that will never happen and that’s for sure.

I’ll treasure every word you write about your new life, and I’ll write back and tell you how things are going on here, and it won’t feel as if we’re apart at all.’

Now tears came to my eyes, as I tried to picture a world where I wouldn’t see my dear ones every single day. I wiped the tears away, though. This was a time for being brave and bold. This was the start of my new life.

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Chapter Two

‘W

ake up, girls. It’s time to go.’

It was still dark outside, but Mammy’s candle gave

enough light for Bridget and me to get up and wash our faces and put on our best dresses, which we’d laid out on the chair the night before.

Aggie and Joe half woke, stretching up sleepy arms for hugs, before settling back to their dreams. I pulled the blankets over their shoulders so they wouldn’t get cold. I knew they’d sometimes miss Bridget and me, but in their own little world of two, things wouldn’t change too much.

Tom was curled in a corner of the bed, with a little smile on his face, as if he were dreaming of something nice. I picked his book up from the floor, and turned to the page with the picture of beautiful Princess Tiana, so he’d have something pretty to look at

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when he woke.

Bridget and I kissed his soft, warm cheek. ‘Goodbye, my sweet boy,’ I whispered. ‘Be good, and safe until …’

I choked on the last words, as Bridget pulled me away. ‘No tears,’ she whispered. ‘We promised each other, remember? If we cry we’ll only make it harder for Mammy and Daddy.’

She was right, but I wasn’t sure I could keep my promise. I patted Tom’s curls, which were damp from sleep, and followed Bridget out to the kitchen.

‘Come here, Sal,’ said Mammy, taking the brush from the shelf. ‘Let me plait your hair for you one last ...

She didn’t finish, and I pinched my arm to stop myself from crying. Of course I could plait my own hair in America, I’d been doing it for years, but I still loved Mammy’s gentle but firm touch, and how she hummed to herself as she combed and braided. So I sat quietly and tried to store up the moment like

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a treasure so I could take it out in the future, and remember it.

‘I’ve heated some milk for you,’ said Daddy, handing Bridget and me a cup.

‘And here’s some bread for the journey to Queenstown,’ said Mammy, jumping up and wrapping a few slices in a cloth. ‘They say you’ll get nice food on the boat, and you won’t go hungry at all.’

Neither Mammy nor Daddy looked at us, and their voices were funny as if they’d both caught colds overnight.

I drank my milk, and looked at the trunk that was next to the door. Inside were our few bits of clothes, and the presents of stockings and scarves some of the neighbour women had made for Bridget and me.

Also in the trunk was the seed cake Mammy’d made as a present for her second cousin, Catherine, who was letting us stay with her in New York, and had found jobs for Bridget and me.

‘What’s Cousin Catherine like?’ I asked, suddenly

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afraid. Catherine left Ireland before Bridget and I were born, so we’d never met her.

‘I can barely remember her,’ said Mammy. ‘She grew up a few miles away from here, and we were both only young ones when she left.’

‘Is she kind? Will she be good to us?’

‘Didn’t she send the money for your fare?’ said Mammy. ‘And I heard a few years ago she sent money for another two girls from the other side of her family – wasn’t that a very kind thing to do?’

‘Are those girls still with her?’ I had no idea what New York was like, but I suddenly had a lovely picture in my mind. Cousin Catherine would have a big house, maybe near a stream or waterfall. There would be lots of bedrooms, and all the girls she brought to America would live there and be best friends.

‘I think there was a letter saying those two girls moved on to California a few months ago,’ said Mammy.

‘California,’ I sighed. That sounded even more

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exotic than New York. Maybe one day I’d actually see it for myself.

There was a sharp knock on the door. ‘That’ll be Connie,’ said Daddy. ‘Aren’t you lucky girls altogether that he has business in town today, and has room for you on the cart. Otherwise it would have been the train for you, and a night in lodgings in Queenstown.’

Bridget put her cup on the table, wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and picked up her basket.

‘Come on, Sally,’ she said. ‘Get a move on. The boat won’t wait for us.’

As I picked up my bag and took my shawl from the peg, I suddenly felt sick and weak.

What were we doing?

Why were we leaving our cosy home and our family to voyage across the sea to America?

I wanted to run to Mammy and throw myself into her arms and never let her go again.

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I wanted to take Daddy’s hand and go for a long, long walk through the fields I’d known all my life.

I wanted to go back to bed and cuddle next to my sweet little brother, and tell him stories that would make him laugh like mad.

Mammy came and put her arms around Bridget and me. ‘Be good girls,’ she said. ‘Promise me you’ll stay together and look out for each other. As long as you’re together all will be well.’

‘We promise,’ we both said, as Mammy pulled away and stood in the shadows, maybe thinking we wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

Daddy slipped some coins into Bridget’s bag. ‘I’m sorry I can’t afford more, but maybe this will help a little in the early days. After that you’ll be fine – sure aren’t the streets of New York paved with gold? Be safe, my dear girls. Now go, before Connie gets fed up of waiting.’

So Bridget and I walked out into the cold darkness on the first steps of our big journey.

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* * * Dear Mammy, Daddy, Granny, Aggie, Joe and Tom, B and I got safely to Queenstown and are on the boat now. I’ll write a little bit every day, and when we get to New York I’ll post all the letters and then you’ll have every bit of our news.

The boat is called The Majestic and I can see why. It’s bigger than you could ever imagine. I don’t think it would even fit into the big field by the church.

It’s the fanciest place ever, like something out of a fairytale. There are electric lights that you turn on just by pressing a button – it’s like magic!

B and I sleep in a darling room, and it has eight beds in it, and we all have one each. There’s five women that came

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from Liverpool together and they don’t talk to us much except to give out about stupid things and to tell us be quiet when we’re whispering at night. You’ll be glad to hear that B doesn’t answer back, though I can see she’s tempted.

There’s a girl from Killarney called Julia. She doesn’t say very much, and she looks sad, but she smiles at us sometimes, and I think we might be friends before our voyage is over.

Now I know ye want us to be happy and we try to be, and when one of us is sad the other one tries to buck them up. I have to say though that when we passed Roche’s point a little while ago, most of the passengers – including us – were crying. Nearly everyone was up on deck and even though it was freezing cold we stood there until even B with

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her sharp eyes couldn’t see land anymore. That was a very sad moment, but then we went in for our dinner and everyone was kind to each other, and it wasn’t too bad.

Now it’s time for bed and one of the cross ladies is telling me to put out the light so good night and kisses from somewhere in the ocean.

Love from your girls who are still closer to Ireland than America.

* * * Dear Mammy and Daddy and Granny and Aggie and Joe and Tom, I can’t believe we’ve already been at sea for five days. We’re getting used to the way the boat moves under our feet, and now it doesn’t seem strange any-

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more when we look out from our deck and all we can see is water and sky.

Sometimes we peep through a door to where the first–class passengers are, and you wouldn’t believe your eyes if you could see how nice it is. If we make our fortunes in New York we’ll come back as first-class passengers and you’ll be so proud of us There’s a special dining-hall for thirdclass passengers like us, and it’s very nice and big and clean. (They say the first-class dining room is like a palace, but ours is plenty good enough for us.)

You’ll be glad to hear that there’s plenty of food, and can you imagine – we get meat or fish every single day! (That means Cousin Catherine’s seed cake is safe – which it wouldn’t be if we were starving.)

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Julia is our very best friend now. She told us her story, so we know why she sometimes looks so sad. Her Mammy and Daddy both died recently, and her only brother left for New York years and years ago. The poor girl would have been destitute except that a kind man in her parish heard of her plight and paid for her passage to America. Julia is very sweet, and I hope her brother lives near Cousin Catherine so we can still be friends in New York.

Soon we’ll be there, and I’ll post these letters.

Love from your daughters on the sea.

PS Tom, I hope you’re working hard on your alphabet, so you’ll soon be able to write letters to your big sisters in America.

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PPS Aggie and Joe, I hope you’re being kind to Tom and letting him join in your games.

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J

Chapter Three

ulia was the first. We were walking on deck with

Bridget when our new friend gave a little cry.

‘Look,’ she said, pointing. ‘I see it! I see it!’

Lots of people rushed to the railings, and as it was dull and misty it took me a few minutes to make out the shape of land in the distance. Bridget, Julia and I held hands as the grey mass slowly came closer, and became clearer.

‘America!’ I whispered, hardly able to believe my own eyes.

For a while there was a strange silence, except for the sound of a little boy repeating the same words over and over – ‘Are we there, Mammy? Are we really and truly there?’

Then the mist lifted and there were gasps as we saw a huge statue rising up in front of us. Oh, how beau-

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tiful she was, this tall metal lady in her flowing robes and star-shaped headdress! I’d heard of the Statue of Liberty, but in my mind it wasn’t real. To me it had been like something in a story book, but there it was solid and real – and right in front of our eyes.

‘Greetings, Lady Liberty,’ shouted a man, as the boat slowed down, and it was as if his words broke a spell. All around us people began to laugh and dance and shout, and while I saw a few tears, it was hard to tell if they were sad or happy ones – probably a mixture of both.

Julia, Bridget and I joined in the dancing and though we were tired from the journey, my feet were as light as air, and I could have danced all the day long.

But then a sailor appeared, shouting at us to gather our bags and baggages, and there was a big scramble as people hurried below decks to get all the things they’d brought with them.

Soon Bridget and I had carried our bags and our

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trunk up on deck, and we got a good spot against the railings, and a great view of everything around us.

Next to us, Julia stood with her bag and small suitcase, containing everything she owned in the world.

We were close to the shore and the boat was going very slowly now. We could see buildings so tall I wondered they didn’t topple over in the wind. We could see people walking and talking and going about their lives – in America!

The boat stopped next to a pier – ‘Hudson Pier,’ read Julia. ‘Where we’ll first put our Irish feet on American land.’

‘I’m afraid not, young lady,’ said a tall man standing next to us. ‘Only first- and second-class passengers can disembark here.’

Bridget looked up to see that the deck above us was crowded with rich passengers. ‘That’s not fair!’ she said. ‘Why are they allowed to leave before us?

Every one of us has been travelling for days and we’re all dying to set foot on dry land again so why ...?’

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‘Hush, Bridget,’ I said. ‘We’re only poor Irish girls and shouldn’t be complaining. Aren’t we lucky to be here at all?’

‘But we’re every bit as good as them,’ she began, always ready to fight about what was fair. Then she saw something else that made her even crosser. ‘Those people haven’t even got their trunks with them!’ she said.

She was right. The first-class women – many of whom were dressed in fur coats – only had small handbags. The men didn’t seem to be carrying anything at all.

The man next to us laughed. ‘When you’re that rich you don’t have to carry your own things. Porters will bring their bags to their homes or hotels.’

‘Lucky them,’ I sighed, wondering how far Bridget and I would have to carry our trunk. My hand was already sore from the rough leather strap.

Bridget gave a big laugh, and right then I loved her so very much. She could go from angry to happy

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in the blink of an eye. ‘Don’t be jealous, Sally,’ she said. ‘We’re in the land of opportunity now. When we make our fortunes we’ll be travelling in style too.’

‘I can’t wait for that day,’ sighed Julia.

‘So if we don’t get off here, what are we supposed to do?’ asked Bridget. ‘There’s no way I’m going back to Ireland and having all those sad goodbyes wasted.’

For a second I wondered what would happen if we did go back; if we walked into our dear little house, calling ‘surprise!’ How happy Mammy and Daddy would be – before they’d start to worry how they’d afford to feed and clothe us. How they’d fit us all in over the coming years, as we got bigger, but our little house remained the same size.

Now the man laughed. ‘We have to get onto a ferry and go to Ellis Island.’

‘Our neighbour, Abina, talked about Ellis Island,’ I said. ‘But I wasn’t paying that much attention. Where is it and why do we have to go there?’

‘It’s not far from here at all,’ said the man, pointing

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over the water to a small island with a few huge, big buildings on it. ‘It’s where all third-class passengers have to be checked.’

‘Checked for what?’ asked Julia.

‘The Americans don’t want people bringing disease into their country,’ said the man. ‘So they look at you to see if you’re healthy. If you seem well, you’re allowed through, and America will be yours.’

‘And if not?’ said Julia in a small voice.

‘If you show signs of disease, you might have to stay on the island getting treatment for a few days – or even weeks,’ said the man. ‘They’d only send you back to Ireland if you were very bad altogether.’

Julia had gone pale. She’d been coughing a little bit, and I could see she was worried. Bridget and I didn’t want to go back so soon, but at least, if it came to it, we had a home in Ireland to return to. Poor Julia had nothing at all.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘It’s probably only the dust on the blankets that’s been

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making you cough. We three are strong and hearty and soon we’ll be strolling around New York just like everyone else.’ * * * Dear Mammy and Daddy, Well here we are – sort of in America.

It’s very strange because even though we’re on dry land, I feel as if the earth is moving under my feet, as if we’re still rocking on the waves. A lady told us that will stop after a while. We’re in a place called Ellis Island. We have to be checked to see if we’re healthy, but I think we probably are, as you made us eat so much cabbage when we were little, and were always giving us glasses of the creamiest milk and having none yourselves. (I hope now that you don’t

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have to feed B and me, there’s more food for everyone else.)

The big thing they’re afraid of is an eye disease called trachoma – but there’s other things they don’t like either. If you don’t look healthy they put a chalk mark on your coat, and you have to go for another medical test.

I saw one family where the mother got a mark, and her husband and children didn’t, and when they were separated their cries were terrible to hear.

If B got a mark and I didn’t, I don’t know what I’d do. I suppose I could put a mark on my own coat, or maybe wipe away the one on B’s – anything to stay together.

If you’re so sick they won’t let you in, then the ship that brought you has to take you back – and you don’t have to

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pay! A free trip home would be nice, but maybe not on our very first day.

There are so many people here you wouldn’t believe it – bigger crowds than I thought there were in the whole world. It’s very noisy with people shouting and babies crying and children fretting and fighting and there are smells of things I don’t know – maybe some kind of food. I’m looking forward to trying American food.

It was all very exciting at first, but now we’re getting a bit bored. We’ve been waiting for hours and hours. Every now and then we move into another room, and soon I hope we will be checked and done.

If this letter comes to you by post, you’ll know we got through, but if I hand it to you, you’ll know our

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American adventure was very short.

Love from your nearly American girls.

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