Molly's Story

Molly yawned as the sunlight filtered thought the thin curtains. Immediately a smile crept over her face. "A sunny day in Ireland? Grand!" she thought with a huge yawn. She shifted her night-gowned body to get into a sitting position, twisting the fleece material further as she sat up and rubbed her face with her liver spotted hands. The movement woke up her beloved, Joe, who mumbled something she couldn't understand and proceeded to snore gently. In a moment Molly was out of bed and nosing out of the window. She couldn't help herself; she wanted to see if anything was happening in the lovely street in Rush, Co. Dublin where she'd lived with her husband for the past fifty four years.

The sun was gleaming down on her new rosebush in the garden and it was with a happy grin she pulled on her dressing gown and quietly slid her feet into her slippers. She turned to head towards the kitchen and saw that Joe was now also awake. Cuppa tea darlin'? she said gently as he smiled tiredly at her. "Yeah, go on then, me love" he replied fondly as he did every morning. Ten minutes later Molly was back. She knew her husband liked his tea brewed properly. In a tea cup with a saucer with a spoon on the side (that he never used). "The Queen of England drinks tea like that", he always said. It amused Molly and she shuffled her old red slippered feet into the room with a happy smile. Joe was silent. He was sitting up now but his eyes were closed. Molly put the little tea tray down on the battered red leather chair that they tended to use as a bedside table and approached her husband. "Joe?" she whispered, shaking his thin, tobacco yellowed hand. "Joe.....darlin'?" she shook him frantically... "please.....?" Confusion clouded Molly's face as she sat with Joe. By the time she'd realised he was dead, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and the tea balanced on the chair was cold. Molly sat perched on the edge of the bed, shaking her head slowly from side to side. The only thought in her head was one word. "No". It seemed to go on forever. "No, no, no, no,no........."

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Who knows how long she would have sat there if old Maggie Conner hadn't have chosen to knock on the door for her daily chat with her neighbour. From that moment on, Molly had no idea what was going on. She heard words. Saw faces. But it was like watching her old black and white telly - only even more blurred. Being an Irish Catholic family the burial was held quickly, indeed the next day, but Molly was unaware of this. She was there, wearing her best black frock, but the shock had driven deeply and poor Molly was not herself. Not at all.

Her family and friends flocked and the church in Rush was full of sad faces for the lovely Joe who had been born only three doors away from the very graveyard they put him to rest. Molly nodded politely at the faces behind the dark veils and wished she'd worn one herself to hide. She didn't cry. She didn't believe he was gone. She went home and put the kettle on. Two cups. Two saucers, two dainty little spoons.

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In a week, Molly remembered seeing a girl in the house. She wasn't quite sure who she was but was aware of the fair hair, the soft skin, the gentle Irish accent and felt a mixture of comfort and annoyance. Who was this young girl who seemed to have moved in with her and Joe? They'd been alone for years, since all the children had left. Her brow furrowed for a moment..."all the children HAD left hadn't they?"

Time passed as normal and Molly talked to Joe more and more. That girl kept coming in and disturbing their little chats in bed with plates of food. First big, hearty Irish dinners of stew, boxties, boiled potatoes. And only one plate. Was the stupid girl trying to starve them? Didn't she not know that she and Joe needed a plate each? Then as the food was ignored in defiance, a plate of sandwiches were produced, always with that gentle coaxing voice. "Why won't she just feck off?" Molly said angrily to Joe.

The years passed and Molly got used to the girl. She never could remember her name. She was just 'the girl'. Molly had begun to trust her a little and had let the young girl brush her hair, which she did every morning, singing softly as she worked, always ending with a kiss on the top of her head. And a cup of tea. Just the one, with sugar. What was the matter with her? Didn't she know Joe hated his tea flavoured with sugar? She loved sugar, had a sweet tooth since she was a girl, but not her Joe. She chattered away to him for a while before the girl came and gently led her to the bathroom for her nightly bath. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up one morning feeling unusually alive. She turned to the empty side of the bed beside her and told Joe to get up! The sun was shining! She was smiling as her hair was brushed an hour later and told the girl that she and Joe needed a lie down with the curtains open so they could see the sun. Within ten minutes she was curled up warm against the worn pillows with her eyes closed; the sun warming her papery cheeks. She dozed briefly and in her dream, she saw Joe. He was wearing his brown suit that he hadn't worn for.....well....about twenty years! He was smiling at her and he looked lovely. He took her hand and held her tightly. "Molly.... my Molly... lets get the kettle on for a nice cuppa tea....my love". They walked off together as 'the girl' slept quietly. Curled up in the worn, red leather chair by the bed that her Granny & Grandpa had often used as a bedside table.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Molly Plunkett died in 1984 of natural causes. Finally happy with her Joe.

Merlina has the old, worn, red leather chair in her house to this day.