Half Price Designer Alliums
Alliums are still top of any garden designers list, so why not join the experts and add them to your own garden! Now is the time to plan your spring garden and our exciting varieties provide a fabulous combination of size and colours. Alliums are ideal for growing in pots, containers or within a creative border display. The unusual and often striking flower heads complement the modern cottage garden perfectly and are ideal for adding a touch of elegance to any display with flowers from May to June each year. Alliums left undisturbed in welldrained soil will naturalise and give years of pleasure. 10/12cm bulbs supplied. Delivery late August and through September, when ready to plant in the garden.
Joe was BRIGHT but he STRUGGLED to contain his BOISTEROUS nature
thought of teaching. He outlined ideas he had, and he spoke with enthusiasm.
They paused when tea was brought in by Mrs Stephens’ maid.
“It’s not just the teaching, though, is it, Owen?” Sister Benedict’s prompt now was gentle. “There’s Gráinne, too.”
“Gráinne Boyle?” Mrs Stephens enquired.
“Yes,” Owen replied, hesitantly. “She’s my sweetheart. But Ma doesn’t know. She’d have my guts for gaiters, Mrs Stephens.” His voice was pleading. “I won’t be the one to tell her, Owen. Your secret is safe with me. And I understand your dilemma. Myself and Captain Stephens were sweethearts against my own mother’s wishes.”
Sister Benedict watched Owen’s face as Mrs Stephens gave a brief outline of her romance and subsequent marriage. She herself had known of this. There was little she and Ellen hadn’t discussed. Which is why she felt so guilty at not revealing to her great friend what was troubling her. “You eloped?” Now Owen was unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
“Yes, Owen, I know it’s probably not easy to believe that the Captain and I ran away together. But we were young once.” She smiled.
Owen regained his composure and the subject was changed to how and when he would start working for her. It would be a true baptism of fire. He would be in the classroom from his first day onwards.
He left looking visibly more comfortable than when he arrived, as though at least part of the weight that burdened him had been lifted.
“And you, Benedict? Do you also have something to discuss with me?” Ellen held Sister Benedict’s gaze. “Me? No, I was just here to discuss the new children starting and talk with you about Owen. That’s all.”
She broke away from her friend’s gaze, watching Owen and Joe playing on the long drive leading away from the house. She smiled. Owen was definitely good with boisterous lads.
“I fear there is something more, my friend,” Ellen added. “Something that is troubling you greatly. Owen’s decision not to go ahead with the vocation, it’s not something like that, my dear, is it? You aren’t questioning your faith? I have seen doubt flit across your face more than once recently.”
Sister Benedict was shocked at her friend’s words. Her faith? Did she really think she was questioning her faith?
“No, Ellen, it’s not that. My faith is strong. Owen’s faith is, too, it’s just taking a different direction. I must go now. You’d think I had all the time in the world, sitting here talking with you.”
“Another time, when there are no interruptions.” Ellen touched Sister Benedict’s hand as she got up. “Perhaps you will trust me with your secret.”
“Yes, Ellen,” Sister Benedict replied. “Another time.” B oys, sit down. We’re beginning the day with spellings.” Owen stood to the side of the classroom, feeling very much like the new boy himself. Since he had told his ma of his decision, things had been more than uncomfortable at home. She had first gone into a rage.
“Owen, you will not start working at that school, indeed you will not. You will be going to Maynooth and you will train to be a priest. I will not argue with you about the matter,” she’d shouted.
“Ma, I know that’s what you want for me. But I’m old enough now to know what is right, and it wouldn’t be right for me to become a priest.”
Her rage didn’t abate immediately and when it did it was replaced by tears, and, finally, silence.
Owen was under no illusion that the silence meant his ma was agreeing with his decision. He dreaded the thought of going home at the end of the day. At the back of the classroom Sister Benedict sat, sewing in her lap. Her presence offered him some comfort; he suspected she was there to offer silent but unequivocal support.
There was a groan from one boy as Mrs Stephens issued instructions. That boy was Joe. Although very bright and capable, he struggled to contain his boisterous nature in the classroom.
“Shush now, Joe,” Mrs Stephens insisted. “Spelling it is. And from your work last week I can tell you need the practice. Today, also, I will introduce you all to Mr Walsh. I expect you to show him respect and to listen to his instructions. He will in time take over from me and become your teacher. Now he will read out today’s spellings.”
The classroom door flew open as Owen began with impertinent, smiling at Mrs Stephens’ choice of words.
His smile didn’t last long. O wen Walsh! Get yourself out of this place and back home. You have packing to do. You have no right being here. You are defying me, your own mother. How dare you.”
“Ma, we’ve discussed this. My place is here. I’m going to prove myself to you, and then…”
“And then what?” his mother interrupted. Her face was ablaze, her hands on her hips, her hair falling to her shoulders and her hat awry. He knew by the state of her that was she truly angry. “And then you’ll marry that slut, Gráinne Boyle?
“Over my dead body will ya. I am going to shame her. Yes, shame her, and she will be hounded from this place and never darken any door here again. And you, Sister Benedict –” she turned to the nun – “I’m surprised at you condoning this situation. I’m sure Mother Superior will have things to say.” Owen’s ma swept from the room. The boys, some of whom had strayed from their seats during the commotion, were silent.
“Return to your seats please, boys.” Mrs Stephens’ voice was surprisingly strong and unwavering. Owen
rested his hands on the teacher’s desk to steady himself. Once all the boys were seated he noticed one place empty. “Joe? Where’s Joe gone?” he said. Mrs Stephens looked around, panic written across her face.
“Joe?” Her voice quavered. “If he’s gone, I’m to blame.”
“Take a seat, will you, Mrs Stephens. If you settle yourself I’ll go after him. He can’t have gone far now, can he?” Owen was calm. Dealing with Joe’s disappearance, although clearly a shock to Mrs Stephens, felt nothing like dealing with his ma’s rage.
Owen had an idea where Joe might have gone from his conversation with the lad the other day. He’d been sworn to secrecy, and he’d honoured that, but wondered should he have given Mrs Stephens a hint of what Joe was feeling.
“Gráinne!” Owen, deep in thought, had nearly knocked the basket of eggs from her hands.
“Owen,” she replied. Just that, his name. The pair had barely seen one another in recent days with Owen’s ma keeping a hawk’s eye on his every movement. He’d been lucky to make it out of the house this morning unnoticed.
“It’s Joe, Gráinne. He’s disappeared from the schoolhouse. We must find him.” His voice was breathless. “Mrs Stephens blames herself for his disappearance. I’m sure she is worrying more than is necessary. He can’t be gone for good, or gone too far.
“I think he’ll have gone back to his family, from something he was telling me the other day. He loves living with Captain and Mrs Stephens, but he misses his sisters and his da terribly.
“Mrs Stephens has been so busy with the Industrial School she has been making promises for him to visit, but the promises have been broken. He fears if his family end up in the workhouse, he won’t see them again.”
“I’ll come with you,” Gráinne said, hitching up her skirts as she would have done when chasing her brothers years ago, and clutching the basket of eggs close to her chest. “Leaving them a few of these too, once we’ve found Joe, won’t go amiss.”
Owen smiled at Gráinne, knowing why he loved her so much.
Joe’s da answered the door, clutching a young, fretful child.
“He’s not been past here,” he said, looking concerned. “We haven’t seen Joe in a long while.”
Owen glanced at Gráinne. If he wasn’t to be found here, where was he? He didn’t want to worry his da. The poor man had enough on his plate without having to worry about the son he no doubt thought was in safe hands.
“Is there anywhere else he could be hiding?” Gráinne asked.
“I can’t think of anywhere.” He shook his head, soothing the crying child.
“Wait,” Gráinne whispered as they left the tiny stone cottage. “The hen house.” She nodded towards a derelict building in the corner of the yard. It was a while since Joe’s family had kept hens. That had been his mother’s preserve.
The door was ajar, falling from its hinges. They crept towards it, hearing rustling sounds from inside.
“Joe,” Owen called, keeping his voice calm and gentle. “People are worried for you. Mrs Stephens, your da. Everyone.” The boy emerged slowly. “I want to be with my family and Mrs Stephens too,” he said as they took him back to the schoolhouse, following a reprimand and a hug from his da and littlest sister.
Mrs Stephens was waiting in the doorway, looking out for any signs of them returning.
“I’m sorry.” Joe kicked the ground, not sounding as sorry as he might do.
“I’m sorry too,” Ellen replied, hugging the lad and kissing his cheek, a kiss he swiftly wiped away. “We must make time for you to see your family. I’ve been so busy, I’ve neglected your wishes.” A tear trickled down Joe’s face. Sister Benedict watched as Ellen led him away. Once they were gone, her attention was drawn towards Gráinne and Owen in the corner of the room. She was leaning against him and he kissed her head, whispering to her.
Sister Benedict had high hopes things would go well for Ellen and Joe. She only hoped they would for Owen and Gráinne too, although that was less certain. Far less certain. I t had been quite a day, Sister Benedict thought as she readied herself for bed. The classroom shenanigans, Joe’s disappearance and subsequent reappearance with the help of Owen and Gráinne. And there was still the matter she must discuss with Mother Superior.
She was ready for sleep. What she wasn’t ready for was the frantic tapping on her door. “Sister, I have a message for you.” Sister Gabrielle was talking in a fierce whisper. Sister Benedict had no choice but to open the door to her.
“Thank you,” she said as she took the note, closing the door firmly, denying the excited nun the opportunity to see the contents. It was rare to get a communication hand delivered at night.
She hadn’t expected to read that Owen was telling her he was eloping with Gráinne and that by the time she read the note they would be far away.
Sister Benedict sat on her bed, astonished, doubting that her night would now be spent in a peaceful and deep sleep as she had hoped.
What on earth were the rash young pair thinking of? And how was she going to break the news in the morning?
“He fears if his FAMILY end up in the WORKHOUSEHEWON’TSEETHEMAGAIN”