The 'Mary Lou'

As he woke on the morning that would change the rest of his life, he washed himself and put on his best clothes. He had packed his small, brown suitcase the night before and as he was about to grab it when he saw his father’s signature hat sitting on the old rickety rocking chair by the fire.

‘I want the best for you sweet boy!’ his mother said as she handed him his ticket to the boat that would change his life, his one opportunity to make something of himself.

When he was eventually ready to make the journey, he kissed his mother on the cheek and told her, ‘I will send for you as soon as I get my bearings!’

His mother coughed a cough that would forever be engrained in his mind and picked up the suitcase to make the journey to Rosslare harbour without looking back. He was aware that he would probably never see her again and as he walked down the poverty-stricken alley, he wiped a tear from his eye, stood up straight and prepared himself for the treacherous journey ahead.

As he got to the port, he saw the biggest ship he had ever seen, bigger than even his mind could imagine. People were bumping into him from all angles, all desperate to board the ‘Mary Lou’. With his ticket in hand, and donning his father's hat with pride, he inhaled deeply and began to push himself towards the ladder to the ship. He had heard, from friends before him, that the Atlantic is a dangerous ocean to cross, with choppy seas and people getting sea sick over the side. Everyone there was after hope of a better life than Ireland could provide.

As the boat was filling up quickly, and he being a tall and strong lad, he made his way to the booth at the foot of the ladder, the one where they clipped his ticket. Before they did so, however, they asked him his name, to make sure it corresponded to that on the ticket. ‘Seamus Clarke’, he answered the middle-aged man with white hair and a widow's peak with as much confidence he could muster. He was certain he was about to be challenged on that as it was actually his father’s name. He himself was Thomas Clarke. It was his late father’s ticket.

His father had died of the consumption three weeks before. The ticket was bought with whatever money the family could scramble together, in the hope of Seamus going to the US to get a job and then send for Thomas and his mother.

Thomas was an only child, but not from a want of trying. His mother had suffered several miscarriages before Thomas was welcomed into the family with open arms. They called him their ‘miracle baby!’

When he was finally on the boat, he climbed stairs to the upper deck and pushed himself towards the railing. The boat, full to the gills of Irish and European immigrants, was set to leave by the time he reached thick intertwined rope separating him with the deck floor.

It was hard saying goodbye to Ireland, to the place he had spent the last seventeen years of his life. When the ship began to move, so did his father’s hat! Thankfully he caught it in time and it didn’t blow away. After all, he was Seamus Clarke now, and Seamus never went anywhere without the stain ridden hat. Thomas, the youngster who once was, stayed put, Seamus going towards a new land with lots of supposed opportunities that would make his life more comfortable than the one he was leaving behind!

Maybe it was the fresh salty air, or maybe it was sadness that, realistically, he was never going to see his mother ever again, but Seamus stood at the rope, wiping the tears from his eyes with one hand, holding his signature hat with the other and said farewell to the only place he had ever known.