Donna goes to England (working title)

Donna stands at the railings on the promenade looking across the sandy beach. 

    ‘Hold on,’ the photographer says, ‘now look at me. Smile! Flirt with the camera.’ 

     Donna hears the shutters clicking away. She smiles this way and that, creases her eyes when the reflector shines light on her face. She is cold. The shoot seems to go on for ages. 

    ‘Right, that’s it, folks,’ the photographer finally says. ‘That’s fine, everybody. Thanks.’ 

    The assistants are tidying up the equipment and Donna darts into the tiny yellow caravan set on the promenade. She has brought a flask with hot tea and needs a cuppa. It is only April; the wind has been blowing a hoolie and, being in front of the camera, she has to look as if she enjoys herself. Her smile is frozen on her face and the crocheted jumper which looks so good in the photos does little to keep her warm. 

     The caravan is cluttered with clothes and make-up; it smells of perfume and tangerines. It has become a little home-from-home; following her to each location for the photo shoot: Cork, Galway, the Cliffs of Moher, the Killarney Lakes and more castles Donna cares to remember. This will be the last time she uses it for now, so Donna gathers her possessions in a big Clerys bag. She takes down a photo: her Ma – eight years a widow- and her younger sister Mairead. The tea is strong and sweet. 

    She flicks on the small transistor radio. ‘Bye, Bye Baby’ by the Bay City Rollers is number one single in the charts. Donna sings along. Later, she has a date with Henry. 

Donna is the new face of Irish tourism. Bórd Fáilte wants a modern outlook, presenting the country full of friendly folk, happy to pass the time of day and play a reel or two, stunning scenery and modern city-life in Dublin and Cork. Never mind that up North there is a war going on, that scenery is usually only accessible over a muddy path strewn with cow dung and that on the Friday before Easter the whole country is dry – not even a drop of rum in your Rum Baba. For the discerning segment of the European and American market, Bórd Fáilte needs a new, fresh face and that face is Donna. 

    Donna is tall, with a freckled, pale skin and masses of curly strawberry-red hair dangling around her face. She has been scouted in Moore Street, just like that, while getting some fruit from a barrow.                Donna’s modelling career is unexpected; she has been happy to be on a secretary course. Her aim in life has been to travel, fall in love, get married, and have loads of freckle-faced red-haired children. Fate intervenes: the marketing director of Bórd Fáilte sees her in the street and there and then decides that Donna is the woman he wants. 

    The job-interview is a laugh. Her new job will require her to travel and would she have any difficulties with that, they ask. Not wanting to sound too eager, Donna waits a beat, before grudgingly admitting she is fine with travelling. The marketing director tells her to call him Henry and says that he will be happy to travel with her. Henry is thirteen years older than Donna. He loves the good things in life and his body reflects that. He takes Donna under his wing and teaches her many things you don’t learn in school. Soon, too soon, they are a couple. 

    It is no surprise that Donna’s career takes off. She is an easy-going person. During the presentations which take her all over Ireland and then overseas for the launch of the campaign she is much admired. It helps that the marketing director of Bórd Fáilte supports her. But like a kite that loses its string, her career comes plummeting to the ground. 

After three mornings of depositing her breakfast in the toilet, her mother sits her down. 

    ‘Are you in trouble, so?’ 

    At first, Donna isn’t saying anything, but the facts are obvious. 

    ‘Will he marry you?’ She runs upstairs and flings herself on the bed. Her mother follows her. 

    Donna’s bedroom is predominantly pink, with posters of Rolf Harris, Cliff Richard and the Beatles on the walls. Teddy bears sit on the windowsill. 

    ‘So what will you do? Will you have it in a mother-and-baby home? The nuns at St Patrick’s are lovely, they say. Unlike some of them.’ 

    Donna takes a long, shuddering breath. Her eyes are red. 

    ‘This is 1975, Ma. I am not going to go in one of those homes where they look at you like you are the lowest of the low. I am going to England. Henry gave me money – at least he was half-way decent about that.’ 

    ‘I don’t agree with that, mo ghrá. And what an example for Mairead. Won’t you change your mind? I am happy to help if you want to keep it.’ 

Donna’s mind is set. A week later she says her tearful goodbyes to Ma and Mairead, takes a taxi to Dun Laoghaire with a small suitcase and boards the ferry to Holyhead. Like many before her, and many who will come after her, she takes the boat to England.