Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes by Martha Long

gone te the four corners of the earth, she said. Her husband, God rest him, was gone te his reward. He’d worked fer Guinness an drove the horses pullin the barges up an down the canal. She had nine childre livin an lost four young. She turned te me ma an said Charlie, our babby, was not thrivin. Me ma ought te be givin him solid food offa the table. She said the ma should start him on rusks mashed in boiled milk. Me ma told her she can’t get out te get the bit of shoppin, tha the shops were too far down in Thomas Street. An Mrs Enright said me ma could give me the bag wit a note an put me on the bus next te the conductor an tell me where te get off in Thomas Street. It was only two stops down, an I was six years old, an I’d manage. I listened carefully an began te work out in me own mind the problems I might come up against an how I would work them out. But me ma wasn’t interested.
    Me ma didn’t bother te send me back te school after me Communion. I wasn’t there long anyway. There’s nothin much te do, cos me ma just sits starin inta nothin. If I try te say somethin, then she’ll notice I’m there an start askin me te look fer lice in her hair. So I just take the babby out onta the street in his go-car. There’s nobody aroun, cos all the childre are in school. So we sit outside the shop on the corner an watch the people goin in an out.
    The babby’s cryin in me ear, an rockin him up an down doesn’t do much good. So I stick me finger in his mouth, an after a few sucks he gets inta a rage an bites me, cos it’s not his bottle. It hurt me, so I roared at him, ‘Ye’re bold.’ An he went red in his face an got inta an even worser rage. A woman comin outa the shop ate the head off me an looked at the babby an said he was starvin. ‘Get him up an take him home an feed him,’ she said. I brought him home an asked me ma te boil him a bottle, but she said we’d no shillin fer the gas. The babby was hysterical now, so I looked aroun fer somethin te appease him. I dipped a bit a bread in water an gave it te him an put him in the cot the St Vincents man gave us. He smelled terrible, an when I looked, his rompers was covered in shit. I told me ma, an she said, ‘Ah, just leave me alone an clean it up.’ An she went on chewin her lip an starin an runnin her fingers through her hair, lookin fer lice.
    I went back te the cot an pulled the bars down. I tried te hold him while I got the rompers off, but he kicked an bucked, an the shit was flyin everywhere. I was destroyed, I needn’t tell ye. I wiped the biggest bits offa his arse wit the rompers an got his vest off. I put him on the floor naked, an he sat lookin up at me an then lookin at himself, an I was glad of the peace te get on an clean the blankets. I’d nothin te wipe them wit, so I used his vest an looked aroun fer somethin else. The best I could find was an aul pair of me ma’s knickers. They did grand. So when I had the cot cleaned, I tried te put the babby back in, but he was ragin an wouldn’t let me lift him. I was in an awful sweat by the time I got him back in the cot.
    There was nothin te put on him. So I found an old frock belongin te me, an I put tha on him. It was miles too short fer me an miles too big fer him. He kept losin his arms an tryin te strangle himself. So I took it off him an took off me jumper tha I hadn’t had off fer months. It was too small fer me an was so hard an tight I was cryin from the strain of tryin te get outa it. At last it was off, an I put it on the babby. It nearly fitted him, an he sat there lookin at himself. I felt very draughty now, cos I had no knickers an no vest or socks – only the frock tha was too short fer me, an it was very light an torn under the arm. Ye could see I was naked, but there was nothin else I could wear.
    The other childre won’t play wit me. They laugh an call me names, cos me frock was torn an I had