"Happy New Year Maisie." It was the tenth of January. He was supposed to be in Dundee. That meant being late home, so he could spend the whole afternoon and most of the evening in Hurlford.

"Aye. A happy New Year to you too Cormac. Come in." She pecked him on the cheek.

"Am I your first-foot?" he asked, handing her a small package.

"You are."

"That’s so that you’ll always have a bit for your fire." He nodded to the package.

She unwrapped it to find a bit of coal. "Thank you sir. A first-foot’s supposed to be tall dark and handsome. You’re no’ very tall but the rest will do all right. You’re dark and you’re handsome."

He coloured. She kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Hang your coat up and come through. I’ve a nice fire going. Will you have a wee dram?"

"If you’re having something, I’ll join you in a toast to nineteen hundred and seven." She poured him a whisky and a sherry for herself.

"Happy New Year." They clinked glasses and sipped.

"Sit yourself down." He pulled the big easy-chair closer to the fire and sat down as he was told. She sat opposite him.

"You look awful nice. Is that a new dress?"

"It is. Do you like it?"

"It’s just right for you. That dark green suits you. You’ve had your hair done as well. It’s nice"

"Thank you. Did you have a nice Christmas?"

"We did, thanks. The children are at an age where we enjoy them enjoying Christmas."

"What age are they now?"

"Mack’s eleven, John’s ten, Paddy’ll be seven next month, Thomas is two and a half, Maggie’s one and a half and wee Dan’s, lets think, seven months. We had a grand time." He watched carefully for her reaction. She saw his look.

"It’s all right. I gret my heart out on Christmas day. It was awful hard being alone on the first Christmas with her not being here. D’you know, that’s the first time I cried for her. I drank a whole bottle of sherry and went to my bed, as drunk as a rat. I had a terrible head the next day."

She finished her sherry and poured herself another. "You?’

"Aye, go on." She poured him a good three fingers of whisky.

"You’re not going to start hitting the bottle?"

"Don’t be daft. I don’t like the stuff."

"It’s easy done. One leads to another and before you know where you are, it’s got you by the throat."

"Not me. I’ve got too many plans to become a drunk."

"Oh aye? And what plans have you got?"

"I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I’ve been here. There’s nothing else to do in Hurlford except think."

"And?"

"I’m a fighter Cormac. When I was pregnant and got thrown out, I fought my way to a decent life. And that was with a new bairn. You wait and see what I’m going to do without a bairn to hold me back."

"Good luck to you." He raised his glass to her.

"You wait and see." She stuck her chin out. "I’ve made some dinner. Do you want some?"

"Aye, that would be fine. What’ve you got?"

"It’s just a bit of braised beef, tatties and a turnip."

"That sounds grand. Can I help peel the tatties?"

"You sound just like one of my men in Paisley." He coloured again. She laughed at him.

"I’ve got everything ready. Just sit there and I’ll light the gas under it."

After they had eaten, he helped wash up. Sleepy from the whisky and the meal, he sat in the easy-chair by the fire. She put the dishes away in the dresser and came and sat on the arm of his chair. She ruffled his hair. He put his arm round her waist. She slipped from the arm onto his lap. He pulled her head towards him and kissed her gently.

"I’ve been that lonely," she said softly.

He kissed her harder. She moaned in her throat. His fingers traced the line of her throat down to her breast.

"Take me to bed Cormac. I want you that much. Christ I need you."

Hand in hand they went through to the bed-room. The magic was still there.

The next day, Beth found the stub of a railway return-ticket from Seabank to Hurlford in Cormac’s coat pocket.

Now where on earth did that come from, she thought. The earlier nagging, which she had managed to bury, bubbled up again. She put the stub into the fire, but not before she had checked the date; yesterday’s.

*****

"Cormac, I’m expecting." They were lying in bed in Loudon St., with their sweat cooling. The window was open and the smell of May filled the room.

"My God." And then silence. He held her close.

"Is that all you can say?"

"We’ll call her Corrie. It’s going to be a lassie."

"No. Corrie was Corrie. She’ll never come back. I don’t want to call her Corrie. And anyhow, it’s a boy."

"And how do you know that?"

"I just know."

They held each-other, knowing that this would make both their lives more difficult.

Phillip Wilson was born at the beginning of December, 1907.

Maisie had made friends with Lizzie Lindsey, an old spinster who was daft about children. A retired teacher, Lizzie looked after Phillip while Maisie went to work. The job in the mill had been exchanged for that of pub-manageress. Maisie’s business-sense had quickly impressed the owner of the Loudon Arms. He asked her to take over the management. Her assertive, friendly manner suited her to the customers and staff of a busy pub. She attracted new customers and kept a keen eye on the bar-staff so that the earnings almost doubled.

Maisie saw how the staff fiddled the takings. She dismissed the old staff and hired her own. Then she used the same fiddles to her own advantage. She soon had a tidy bit of cash in a paper bag under the underwear in a drawer in the bed-room.

*****

Cormac visited her each month when Kilmarnock played away from home. Before the end of the season Beth found another ticket-stub, also to Hurlford.

"So, how did you get on then? You got beat, I suppose."

"Not at all. We won one-nothing. But I will say, we were lucky. The Hearts could easily have had two goals. They were a better team than us today. But that’s football." He had bought a paper and read it on the way home.

"You’re getting awful interested in the Killie this last wee while. Maybe you’re going to start coming with me next season."

Beth had been asking about the game regularly since she had found the first stub.

Neither her faith in her man nor her Faith in the Virgin Mary, with all the accompanying, petitioning rosaries, gave her peace or answers. She searched his pockets every week after he returned from a match. She tried to catch him out in wrong accounts of the games he had been to. She hated herself and her suspicions, but could find no relief from the questions festering in her mind.

In September the following year, the bedroom scene in Hurlford repeated itself.

"I’m expecting."

"Can I have a Corrie now?"

"No. No Corries. But it is going to be a wee girl this time."

"I believe you. What’ll we call her?"

"Ellen."

"That’s a nice name. Why Ellen?"

"Ellen was my granny. I was awful fond of Granny Ellen. We’ll call her Ellen."

"Ellen. I like Ellen. She’ll be Ellen."

Ellen Wilson was born in April 1909. Lizzie Lindsey looked after both children. Maisie’s nest-egg under her knickers grew.

Each month Cormac gave Maisie something to help with the upkeep of his children. Little did he realise that Maisie was earning considerably more than he did.

The nest-egg outgrew the paper bag and needed a shoe-box.

*****

Beth and Cormac were talking to Father Boyle in the vestibule of the recently opened Catholic church of St. Andrew’s in Kerlaw. It was the Sunday after Christmas, and it was extremely mild. The snowdrop and crocus bulbs, planted in the borders of the gravel drive were pushing through the earth where the sparrows foraged for what they could find.

"Father, can I have a word with you."

"Certainly Cormac, what’s on your mind?"

"Can the priests not do something about this Gaelic Association? Since young Taggart became the president they’re whipping the young ones up with their anti-Protestant nonsense."

"Come now Cormac, it’s not as bad as that. I will admit that some of them run off at the mouth a bit, but they’re just young. I don’t see a lot of harm in it."

"I disagree Father. It’s not just the odd one. It’s getting to be what the club is all about these days. Olly Cosgrove started it as a cultural thing, and now it’s becoming a nest of rebels. I really feel that the priests should try to make them cool down a bit. It’ll only lead to trouble."

"I think you’re being too pessimistic there Cormac. I’m their spiritual adviser. I keep an eye on things. They’re just being a bit wild, but it’s only talk."

"At least, withdraw your support of them. If you refuse to be their spiritual director any more, it will tell them that the priests are not happy with the way they’re behaving."

"Nonsense, Cormac. You’re exaggerating things out of all proportion."

"Father, I am not wrong. I cannot urge you strongly enough. For God’s sake, please rein them in. They’ll listen to you."

"If it will make you feel better, I’ll have a word with Danny, and ask him to tone the rhetoric down a bit."

"Thanks Father." Cormac made his excuses and went off to speak to some-one else.

"Mrs Sleanagh, the altar was amazing for midnight Mass. I don’t know how you ladies manage to find flowers in the middle of the winter."

"It was more good luck than good planning Father. When we moved into the house seven or eight years ago, there were trays and trays of chrysanth cuttings in the green-house. I just kept watering them, and at the beginning of December, I brought some of them into the house. In the heat, they just grew like anything, and the week before Christmas, they all started flowering. I’ve been doing it every year since. I never had a garden in my life till we moved to Kerlaw. But since we came here, I’ve been gardening away great-style. It’s God’s hand guiding me."

"It must have been. They were beautiful. Everybody was talking about them. Our first midnight Mass in our new church. Those flowers made everything just perfect. Your Mack and John did really well serving the Mass. I think Father Milligan in Seabank did a good job training them. I didn’t have a lot of time myself, what with being just new in the parish."

"Ah Father, not at all. I think you’ve done wonders here. You and Father Kane opened a new parish and look what you have done in less than nine months. It’s going to be a really nice parish

"Well, that’s very nice of you to say so. I hope you’re right."

"Mack likes being an altar-boy, but I have to drive John out the door every time. I think he’ll be stopping soon."

"Don’t force them. If he has no notion, then let him be. He’s what now, thirteen, fourteen?"

"Just turned thirteen in November. Maybe you’re right. But I like to have my boys on the altar. It’s good for them. Gives them a feeling of being part of the church. They need to get that feeling early. Then they never forget it."

"I agree with you. We cannot get them young enough. Take your Mack now. I sense that he has an affinity with the church. He is quite devout. I see it in the way he acts on the altar. There’s a tremendous respect for the Mass there. Has he ever talked about ... you know ... any signs of a vocation?"

"You mean becoming a priest? He’s not fifteen yet. He’s just a boy."

"I was twelve when I entered the seminary."

"I never thought, they would start them that early."

"That’s the age we like to get them started. When they enter the seminary at that age, they are untainted. They can make wonderful priests when they have never been exposed to the worldliness of this world."

"Yes, I can understand that. Mack’s never said anything about being interested in that sort of thing. He’s just a wee boy."

"Sometimes, God needs a wee helping hand."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it could be that an idea is in there at the back of some-one’s mind, but it just needs a wee push to make itself felt."

"You mean you want me to talk to Mack about it?"

"Well, I wouldn’t just put it like that. But, if it were to come up in a conversation, the subject could be looked at."

"Aye, I see what you mean. I’ll have to think about it. If he ever mentions anything, I’ll tell him to come and talk to you Father."

"That’s right. That would be the thing to do."

Thoughtfully, Beth found Cormac, and went off to cook the Sunday-dinner. Father Boyle returned, well satisfied, to the parish-house.

That seed is well planted, he thought. I’ll be hearing from the Sleanaghs before Easter.

*****

"Mammy, I don’t want to be on the altar any more. I don’t like being up the front with all them folk looking at me."

"John son, you know I like you being on the altar. It gives a mother an awful nice feeling to see her boys serving God. For that’s what you’re doing when you’re on the altar."

"I don’t like it Mammy. I only did it in the beginning ‘cause you wanted me to."

"Can you not keep on doing it for me. It makes me awful proud, seeing my boy up there beside the priest."

"I don’t like it. I want to stop it. Please let me stop going."

"All right, son. If you really don’t want to, then you don’t have to. I’ll talk to Father Boyle tomorrow and tell him you’ll be stopping."

"Mack will still be there."

"Aye, that’s right son. I’ll still have one of my boys on the altar. And Paddy’ll likely be ready to go on the altar soon." She put her arm round him and gave him a squeeze. He went out to join his pals. It was Saturday afternoon. It was January, and, while it was cold, the sun was starting to break through the clouds.

"And don’t go getting your shoes dirty, otherwise you’ll have to polish them again for mass in the morning."

Mack had been sitting at the fire while Beth and John were talking.

"You still like it on the altar?"

"Aye Mammy, I like it fine. The only thing is, I can’t concentrate on saying my prayers. You’ve always got to be watching when to ring the bell, or go and change the book from the epistle side to gospel-side, or go and get the cruets with the water and wine, and that. You’ve got no time for saying your prayers."

"Would you not like to be saying Mass instead of just serving it?"

"Don’t be daft. Only a priest can say Mass."

"Aye, well, that’s what I meant. Did you never think about being one yourself?"

"Me, a priest. I’m not clever enough to be a priest."

"And why not? You are clever. You’re just lazy. You could be top of the class if you wanted to. Your teachers all say so."

"What would I need to do to be a priest? I’d need to go on at school and do my highers and that. That’s hard. You have to learn an awful lot of things."

"Well, there’s no reason why you can’t learn them."

"I don’t want to be a priest."

"How do you know? You’ve never even thought about it."

"I just know."

"Well, why don’t you just think about it for a wee while? What do you want to be?"

"I don’t know. I never thought about being anything."

"There you are, see. If you think about it, maybe you’ll find that that’s what you do want to be."

Mack said nothing.

"You just have a wee think, and say your prayers. Ask God to tell you what he wants. It’s what he wants that’s the main thing. Now away out and play. There’s the sun out. And keep your shoes clean, or you’ll need to polish them for tomorrow like John."

She took him in her arms as he stood up. He let her cuddle him, something that John would never tolerate.

*****

"Daddy, if I was to become a priest, where would I need to go?"

Cormac had been reading the football scores in the Saturday evening paper.

"What did you say son? I didn’t hear you just then."

"Where would I need to go to become a priest?"

"Now, that’s a big question my son. I’d have to think about that myself. D’you know, I don’t think I know the answer to that." Cormac was extemporising. "Is this something you’ve been thinking about for a while?"

"Not really. Mammy and me were talking last week, and she asked me if I had ever thought about being a priest."

"And, have you ever thought about being a priest?" he asked.

"No, not really. But God needs priests and what if He wanted me?"

"If God wanted you, I have a notion that He would be telling you in a way, that you’d not be wondering whether He wanted you or not. He’s an awful powerful person, God. When He wants something, He doesn’t take his time. Has He told you He wants you?"

"I don’t think so, but how can I be sure?"

Thinking hard, he steepled his fingers in an attempt to gain time.

"Son, I don’t know the answer to that either. The only thing I can say, is that, if God wanted you, He would have put the idea into your own head. He wouldn’t have needed your mammy to do it for Him. If somebody put the idea in your head, then, it’s not your own idea, and that means that God didn’t put it there. You’re young yet. You’ve plenty of time to think about being a priest, or anything else for that matter. You’re still at the school. Now away you go to your bed. it’s nearly half past nine. You’re serving eight o’clock Mass in the morning. You’ll need to be up early. Away to your bed. Good night son," he added kindly.

The boy stood up. Cormac could see he was looking more for reassurance than logic, but he had nothing more to offer. As he walked past him the boy reached out towards his father. Cormac took the hand in both of his and held it for a moment.

"You’re a grand boy Mack, You’re going to be a fine man." He let the hand go.

The boy went up to bed.

*****

The children were all in bed later the same night.

"Beth, I had Mack asking me earlier about becoming a priest. What was that all about? He said he’d been talking to you."

"We’d been talking about him being on the altar, and we got on talking about priests and that, and I asked him if he’d ever thought about being one."

"I don’t want you putting ideas into the bairns’ heads. They’re well able to do that for themselves. I don’t mind you running up to the church the way you do. It’s your choice, the way you want to lead your life. You’re full-grown and can make up your own mind. But I don’t want you pushing Mack or any of them into the church. They’re far too young to be making those kind of decisions. I could get really angry with you about this. I don’t want to fall out with you, but if you ever do something like this again, I will; badly."

The controlled voice rang an immediate bell in Beth’s mind.

"Father Boyle just said that sometimes, boys have a vocation, and don’t realise it, so it can do no harm to ask the question, just in case. Sometimes God needs a wee helping hand. That’s what he said. So, I had a wee talk with Mack. Father Boyle said he was awful good on the altar."

"I might have known that there’d be a bloody priest at the back of this. Please never do anything like this again. The children will make their own choices in their own good time. Now, we’ll say no more about it. I’m tired. I’m away to my bed." The irritation he always felt when the clergy made an appearance in their lives spilled over into his voice.

"All right. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but I just wanted to ..." She trailed off.

"I know. It’s all right. It’s done and forgotten. Come to bed, it’s been a long day, We were up early this morning."

But it was not forgotten.

*****

"Miss Kane, hello. Is Father Boyle in? I’d like a wee word with him."

"Hello Mr. Sleanagh. He’s at his dinner. Would you like to come back later?" Miss Kane was the parish priest’s unmarried sister, who had been his housekeeper since he became a PP.

"It’s a wee bit important. If you don’t mind, could I wait till he’s finished? I have to go somewhere else later on, and won’t get the chance to come back tonight."

"Oh, that’ll be all right. Come in and wait in the parlour. I’ll tell him you’re here. He’s nearly finished, so he shouldn’t be long."

"Father Boyle, that’s Cormac Sleanagh waiting for you in the parlour. He says it’s quite important." She went back to the kitchen leaving the two priests to finish their meal.

"There you are Father, I told you that we’d hear from the Sleanaghs before Easter. That’ll be him wanting to tell us that the boy wants to go to the college in Aberdeen. That’ll be our first seminarian, and we’re not here a year yet." He rose from the table. "I’ll get my custard later. I’ll go and talk to him straight away."

"Cormac, good evening. How are you? Please sit down. What can I do for you?"

"Good evening Father," said Cormac, sitting down. "Our Mack came to ask me about becoming a priest the other night."

The priest’s heart quickened. I knew the boy would go for it, he thought.

"I’m not very happy that you encouraged Beth to influence the boy Father. I don’t think it’s fair to put ideas into the head of a boy at his age."

"I assure you that I had no intention of influencing any-one. Your wife and I did have a conversation where the subject of boys entering the priesthood came up, but I made no attempt to influence her to put ideas into the boy’s head."

"Well, you’re probably right, but Beth took it differently. She talked to the boy about it, and he came to me asking whether he had a vocation or not. I’m very unhappy about it all."

"The Church needs priests Cormac. Part of the job of a parish priest is to look out for boys who might have a vocation. Approaching such boys is not just frowned upon, it is strictly forbidden."

"Father, you did not approach the boy. You approached his mother, who we both know to be a very devout woman. A woman who would love to give a son to the Church. I think that’s a bit devious."

"I assure you I made no attempt to approach Mack, through Beth."

"Beth told me that you said that sometimes God might need a wee helping hand."

"I never said such a thing." The priest’s discomfort was becoming obvious.

"Beth was very specific about it. As you can imagine, we had quite a talk about the whole business. She repeated the words a couple of times; ‘sometimes God might need a wee helping hand’."

"She must be mistaken. I never said anything like that."

"All right, then, What did you say to her?"

"Good Lord, Cormac. I cannot remember the exact words that I used. I remember saying that I thought the child had a great respect for the mass. I seem to remember saying something about the Church needing priests and that those who enter the seminary as young boys become the best priests."

"So the specific idea of Mack becoming a priest was never mentioned?"

"No, it was simply a conversation about God needing priests in general."

"Beth says different Father. She’s quite sure that you said that God sometimes needs a wee helping hand."

"Then she’s mistaken. She has probably read something into the conversation that was not there."

"Beth’s not stupid Father. She may be easy influenced when it comes to God, religion and the church, but she’s not daft. Beth knows what was said the other Sunday."

"I repeat," the priest said in an irritated tone. "I never used those words. Beth’s mistaken."

"Father Boyle, you can remember perfectly what you didn’t say, but you can’t remember what you did say. Beth’s neither daft not forgetful. She has an excellent memory in fact. Now I don’t want to have a row about this. That’s not why I came here. But I do want to make it clear that this should not happen again; who-ever said what or misunderstood the other.

"Mr. Sleanagh, do you realise that I am your spiritual advisor, and that you cannot talk to your priest in such a fashion?" The priest lost his composure.

"Father Boyle, I am your parishioner. That means that you are put here to serve me. Not the other way round. That means that if you do anything that has any kind of bad effect on me or mine, I will talk to you in any fashion I see fit. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Mr. Sleanagh. I think you had better leave now."

"Thank you Father. Good evening."

*****

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