Miriam's Talisman by Elenor Gill Page A

everyone lived like that?’
    â€˜They were all incredibly poor, the whole country. We must have seemed rich to most of the village people, but that only made it worse. They hated us for it, you see.’
    â€˜I always imagined the Irish were so friendly.’
    â€˜The adults were, I suppose, at least on the surface. But we were different, outsiders. The people lived in tight, enclosed groups, huddled together. They would never really let us in. And of course the very nature of Miriam’s writing would make them suspicious. She was humoured and tolerated, but I don’t think she was ever liked.’
    â€˜But didn’t you make friends? Surely there were children of your own age?’
    â€˜Ah, yes, there were children. That was the worst part, I think, the other children. At first it was just that we were American. It was my accent. They’d gather around me in the playground, tormenting me, calling me the Yankeegirl. “Thinks she’s a film star,” they’d say. “Thinks she’s Betty Grable.” That was only the start of it. Miriam said to take no notice. They’d soon forget. It would all settle down. But they didn’t forget. Then they found other things to use against me.’
    â€˜What sort of things?’
    Hannah drew hard on her cigarette till it glowed red, holding her breath for what seemed a long time, her eyes closed. Then smoke rushed from her mouth.
    â€˜We never went to church, you see. The place thrived on religion and religious hatred—it was their lifeblood, whichever church they went to—and everyone went to church. Everyone except us, that is. We were godless! Pagans, they used to call us. They would follow me home from school, hordes of them, chanting “Pagan” and “Devil worshipper”. And they would throw stones and mud. Once someone wrote “Witch’s daughter” all over my schoolbook. The nuns blamed me. One of them caned my hand, even though I’m sure she knew I didn’t do it. She seemed to take pleasure in it, as if she’d been waiting for an excuse. Nasty, spiteful women, they were, with pinching fingers. So many times I ran away from school. But there would always be someone to catch you and drag you back.’
    â€˜But what about Miriam? You told her, didn’t you? She would have done something, surely?’
    â€˜My mother was busy. She had her work. That was all she had and all she wanted. I spent most of my time alone, dreaming about escape. I used to imagine what it would be like living back in America. There was a church hall in the village, and they had films on every Friday evening and Saturday afternoon. I would be allowed to go. Miriam would take me at first, later I would sneak off on my own.It was the only time I was happy, there in the darkness, watching the people on the screen. They were the real people! For a while I could pretend that I was one of them, wearing nice clothes and living in a proper house, like the one we used to have.’
    â€˜What about your father? Did he never come to see you? Surely you could have joined him in America?’
    â€˜No, no. I was far too young. He left and I never saw him again.’
    â€˜Miriam would never speak about him. When did he die? He couldn’t have been very old.’
    â€˜I don’t know. She never said.’ Hannah stubbed out the last of her cigarette. ‘Anyway, that’s all gone and forgotten now. Eventually she did see sense and we moved here.’
    She began to collect up the coffee mugs. I was losing her. I scrambled to my feet, anxious to keep her focused on the past.
    â€˜What was that like, moving here, I mean?’
    â€˜I’ve never been so glad to leave anywhere as I was to leave Ireland. I know it wasn’t America, but I thought Cambridge was heaven. Real houses, and shops that sold fashionable clothes like I’d seen in the magazines. Somewhere to live that wasn’t