Chapter 6

ALL the other patients had a common bond in the fact that they all came from the same country. Kathleen was a stranger amongst them. She had not much in common with them, as they were older than she was, and they found it difficult at times to understand her Scotch accent. The nurses with their white uniforms reminded her too much of the nuns whom she knew since her babyhood days. So it was my privilege to share in all her secrets and her little worries. As she said one evening, "Do you mind if I tell you? They (meaning her worries) won't be half as bad if I share them with you".

One of her worries concerned two patients, Kathleen Fleming and Rose Coyle, who were about 18 years of age, and therefore the nearest in age to herself. When Kathleen was able to get up she used to go about a great deal with them, but since the coming of the fine weather, the two patients had their beds removed to the veranda and slept in the open air.

For some days they had not come into the ward to see Kathleen, and she worried about what she had said or done against them. When I mentioned it to them they were all apologies, not realising how they had hurt her, and from then on they called in often to see her.

On another occasion, it was the maid who had scolded her for asking for a second helping of potatoes at dinner, and Kathleen always shrunk from being scolded.

"I wouldn't mind," she observed, "but I hadn't eaten anything for a few days before because I had a sick stomach, but I could have eaten two more potatoes on that day if I got them. Don't say a word to the maid about it. I would be ashamed to tell you what she said, but she hurt me and then she might hurt me again."

I found out afterwards from one of the patients that the maid shouted at her, "Shut up, you, and be satisfied with what you're getting. You are only here on charity."

A crowd of indignant patients wanted to report the incident to the Matron but I persuaded them otherwise. Kathleen would be worse off at the mercy of the maid. With a little diplomacy, I got the maid to be nicer to her.

At another time she had a big worry with regard to Canon Fergus. He had known her while he was Parish Priest in Ballinrobe and, on his appointment as Bishop of Achonry, he had promised to give her something before leaving. She was afraid he would forget about it.

"Alright,"'I replied, "I will tell him when I get back.” Immediately she jumped up in the bed and caught my arm. "You must not mention it like that," she exclaimed. "Ach, he'd know I told you."

"What will I say then?," I asked. She thought for a while and I could see the frown on her forehead as her white pearly teeth bit on her lower lip. "I have it," she said. "You could tell him you were talking to me, and that would remind him."

Luckily I met the Canon on my way home and I told him exactly what Kathleen had said. He laughed at the cuteness of the child and at the same time he was glad to be reminded of it, because in the rush of packing, in all probability he would have gone away and forgotten all about it, and he would never have forgiven himself if he did so. He bought her a large pious picture with a cellophane covering, and on the following Saturday she showed it to me, and she was delighted that, of his own accord, the Canon had not forgotten her. "But," she added, "it is too good for this place. I will send it home to my Gwanny”.

She asked me for my fountain pen and wrote something on the back of the picture after asking, "How do you spell 'remembrance'?" Then she handed me the picture with full directions as to how to parcel it, and she got me to repeat her grandmother's address, "Cloughmore, Achill Sound" a few times, to make sure I knew it.

"Now you can read what I wrote on the back," she said. She watched me closely as I turned over the picture and read: "To my Granny. Keep this in remembrance of me when I am dead, Kathleen." I looked at her. "So you know?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied, "I know now for certain that I am going to die, and when I am dead I will be dressed all in white, and white shoes, and I will have a wreath on my head." "How do you know?," I said. "Because my Gwanny sent them to me," she replied, "and the Matron showed them to me, but I knew what they were for.”

I found out afterwards that when her grandmother had got word that Kathleen was seriously ill she had got a white dress and a Wreath sent in from a shop in Westport. When the parcel arrived the Matron had it opened and showed Kathleen what beautiful things her grandmother had sent her. But no smile of pleasure lit up the face of Kathleen. Instead, a strange faraway look came into her eyes as she quietly replied, "I know what they are for."

The nurses were sorry that they had shown them to Kathleen because they brought the idea of death too vividly to the child. Once more they were parcelled up, stowed away, and not opened until they were put on her dead body.

The prayer book which Kathleen used was a white covered one which I had given her, and which was buried with her. On one occasion while I was talking to her I noticed it on the table near her. I took it up and noticed that she had written as follows on the front page:

"To Kathleen, with lots of love. X X X X X X".

I asked her what all the X's meant, but I got no reply except that the dimples got deeper and a big smile spread over her face. I asked her again and she replied, "You know well what they are for." Again I protested I did not know, and then she said, "They are kisses, and the Canon saw them too"

"What did he say?" I asked. She burst out laughing. "He said he was surprised at you," she said. "But I did not send you kisses and I did not write that," I protested. "Ach, I know," she replied. "It was I who wrote it and the Canon knew that too.”

The long summer days to which Kathleen had looked forward came, but they brought no pleasure or happiness to Kathleen who was now confined to bed. While she remained in the ward she felt it hot and stuffy and perspired a great deal, which is one of the characteristics of the disease. And when her bed was moved out onto the veranda the hot sun shining through the glass roof gave her a headache.

She began to lose energy and had no inclination to get up, even for a short while. Once during that time she got out of bed to see if she could walk without support, but after going a short distance she collapsed to the floor and had to be helped back to bed. From that on she made only a few attempts to leave the bed.