Sunday, May 12, 1901

Sunday, May 12, 1901

         It has been almost a full year since I last had my hands on my beloved diary.  I will try to keep it up from now on.  First I will try to tell the story of the last year. 

         Father Campbell was right – the nuns were very strict, but kind at the same time.  They kept us in two dormitories, all thirty of us, fifteen to a room.  I was too miserable at first to mix with the other girls.  Nobody talked much, we were all in our own sad states.  It seemed everyone was in a different stage – some girls seemed ready to give birth, the rest of us some ways off.  The nuns gave us all the material we needed to sew clothes, nappies and blankets, whether we intended to keep our babies or not.  When those were finished we were put to work sewing clothes for the children in the orphanage.

          I told the receiving sister I was engaged to my soldier, and we would marry as soon as he returned.  Most of the girls planned to give up their babies to be adopted or raised in the orphanage attached to the home.  I would never do that, even if Angus never returned. 

The sewing kept us very busy, from morning to night, except for the hour we were required to go out and walk around the grounds.

We also had to say our rosaries three times a day and go to Mass every morning.  We got very tired of hearing the priest go on about how we had sinned and had to pay, pay, pay.  If that wasn’t enough we had to listen to the screams of the girls in the infirmary who were giving birth. 

         The nuns also sent us out into service to households willing to take fallen women, who would work for room and board only.  At the end of the year we would be out on our own.  The nuns warned the few of us who were keeping our babies we would be hard to place, but there were some charitable souls who might take us.

         There was one girl, Annie, who I made friends with.  She planned to give her baby up and go to Australia as an indentured servant where no one would know about her past.   Shortly before mine was to be born the sister in charge of placement let me know a place was waiting for me right in Motherwell, a Catholic widow who needed a housekeeper/cook.  She would allow me to bring my baby with me, and we could live at her home.  She gave me a card with the name and address on it, to go to as soon as I recovered from giving birth.  That was when I had an idea.  I knew where my cousin Heather’s intended lived in Thurso, and so I wrote a letter to Heather.  I told her where I would be working, and pleaded with her to send my diary to my employer’s address.  I had no fear my new mistress would get her hands on it, for I would be answering the door.  Annie agreed to mail the letter to Heather. 

         One of my duties was to clean the office of the sister in charge of the infirmary, so I had no trouble finding paper, envelope and stamp in her desk.  As soon as the letter was written and sealed my labour pains started.  I only had time to slip it to Annie before going into deliver my baby.

         The birth was surprisingly quick, maybe because I’ve worked so hard all my life.  I named my daughter Mary, and was praised by the sisters for naming her after the Queen of Heaven.  To tell you the truth I am so tired of their pious claptrap I am ready to renounce any loyalty to the Church.  I will never be a good Catholic again.  To tell you the truth I named my daughter Mary after my mother, who will never see her grandchild, in all probability.

         Now I am settled in at Mrs. Adams, who is kind enough to me, allowing me to use her second-hand tea leaves to make my tea with, but makes no allowances for my baby.  She hates the smell of wet laundry, and so I have to dry Mary’s wet nappies on a rung in the little room we share in the attic.  Sometimes I must drape them on my back to dry them.  She is a good wee thing, seldom cries, and is easily comforted to go to sleep after feeding.

         I was so happy to get a letter from Heather, along with the diary delivered to me soon after we arrived at Mrs. Adams.  She is now married to her lad and living happily in Thurso.  She told me she would always help me whenever I had need.  With her letter Heather told me the sad news that Angus was confirmed dead in battle, shortly after I left Abbott House.  Now I am a widow, at least in the eyes of God.  My daughter will never know her father.  Will my sad state ever end?