Novel Chp. 10

Chapter 10

The Ballad of Carmel and Pat: 2

After the first meeting outside Clerys, in O'Connell Street, it seemed to be a good place to meet in future – under the clock.

For the first few times, Patrick would go into the store to find the galoot who owed the money.

The form with selling advertising space is, the order is placed, in person at Clerys, then Patrick would take it to whichever newspaper the client wanted it placed, he would pay the newspaper the price of the advertisement then collect the money from the client. This was usually a simple process as people would pay up quickly.

When entering Clerys, Patrick would see him disappear and chase after him at a quick walking pace. He would ask various members of the staff, and the impression he received from them were negative.

Sometimes the fella just wasn't at work and then Patrick would ask if anybody knew where he lived, but hardly anybody knew him at all.

The relationship between Carmel and Patrick was developing slowly, he hadn't been to Dalkey, where she lived, and hadn't seen her mother since that first time.

Carmel laughed when he asked her how 'the nest of vipers' was.

“Who? She said.

“Who do you think?”

They would usually meet and go to Bewley's but this day he suggested McDaid's.

“I've never been in a pub” was the response from her.

“What? Never?”

“Never” she said.

“oh” and he was shocked “Did your father ever go to the pub?”

“Never – no”

He took her by the hand and they walked around to Grafton Street to McDaid's.

The hand holding was quite new in their relationship. Each time they went to Bewley's their hands would be close together but never touching. They were both aware of it, but neither would make that tiny move of a few inches.

As they walked along O'Connell Street, he would keep the hands at that distance, even when it was awkward. If someone would come between them, as they walked, he would make it back to her side without losing a stride.

One of the times he reached out and, as if by magic, their hands met.

When they got to McDaid's, Carmel was very nervous. She'd never been in such a place. The place was lovely and warm, which was a welcome feeling after the ice cold wind outside. The sun was out, of course which prompted her to leave her heavy coat at home, but as soon as she stepped outside, she had to pop back in and put her big coat on.

Patrick, as usual, was in his shirt sleeves as he treated the cold weather like he was on some kind of obstacle course.

Looking around, he saw his father, Joe, sitting in the corner by the big fire.

“Come and meet my father” he said.

Carmel looked around and saw a friendly looking old man in the corner with a full white beard who, as soon as he saw her, flashed a big smile. It really was a big pleasant and attractive smile, which showed his stained, but very strong teeth. He'd been a pipe smoker all his life and, in fact, took the pipe out of his mouth to give her that smile.

“How 'I' yeh?” said Patrick.

“I'm grand. Come and sit down and give us a look a yer mot.”

Of course Carmel had never heard the word mot before, especially referring to her but it was, and is, a common word in Dublin for a girl friend.

The other thing about her name was the pronunciation. In Dublin Carmel is pronounced with the first syllable rhyming with car and the second rhyming with Mull. Carmel pronounced it with the stress on the last syllable CarMEL - rhyming with TELL.

She was as forthright as her mother when meeting people, and put her hand out to Joe and said “How do you do?” and when their hands met she said “Carmel Wilde: pleased to meet you.”

“Hoh?” said Joe “Car . . . do you mean Carmel?”

“ . . er . . yes” she said.

“Carmel!! I like that: there's beauiful smell, when you meet Carmel.” pronouncing it her way.

Patrick was almost curling up with embarrassment, but Carmel laughed.

“What can I get you?” he asked Carmel.

“I don't really know” she said “a glass of red wine.”

They both looked at her.

“Jasus” said Joe “a glass of red biddy?”

Carmel didn't know how to react, at home it was quite normal to drink wine, which she had done with her meals from the age of twelve.

“Is that all right?” she said.

“Maybe you'd like a glass of Jameson's?”

“If it's a problem, yes.”

So Patrick went up to the bar for a couple of pints of Guinness and a Jameson's for Carmel.

“Sit down, love” he said “pull yourself up to the fire?”

Carmel sat down “I'm pleased to meet you, mister Callahan.”

“Ah, mister Callahan, my shite – call me Joe.”

“I will, Joe” she said, and stretched her hand out again.

He took her hand and kissed it. She was very impressed.

“Have you had a busy morning” she said.

“. .er . No, not really. I woke up at nine-o-clock and struggled out of . . . well what can we say: a night. . . no it wasn't a nightmare.”

“A bad dream?”

“That's right – a bad dream: I was back in the house where our cat died, and I came down the stairs, in the still of night, and when I looked through the window, in the moonlight I saw his tent. I didn't see him but knew somehow that it was his; the tent was the size of a small dogs' kennel and at the head of it were two or three large, very black crows; on each side of the tent three or four more and at the other end, another two or three others.

A Murder of Crows.

They seemed to be sniffing out the cat's tent as that's where I'd buried him; he was called Graymalkin.”

“From Macbeth? She said.

“That's it” he said “one of the witches has to go back to her cat” he quoted “I come, Graymalkin”

“Paddock calls” said Carmel.

“That's right” he said “Graymalkin is the witch that comes as a cat and the other witch is Paddock who comes as a toad.”

“I didn't know that bit” said Carmel.

“My one fear, when Graymalkin died, was that I might not bury him deep enough as I was nervous about the foxes and crows eating him.

So maybe that was somewhere in my subconscious as I looked through the window; I carefully went out into the garden, in my slippers and pyjamas and who would be at the far end of the tent?

Biddy; our tortoiseshell cat who died long ago and the mother of them all!”

Patrick arrived at the table and put the drinks down and joined them by the fire.

“Sláinte” said Joe, and they each took a drink.

Chapter 11

Novel 9

 

Chapter 9

Irene and Sydney

One of the days, when Finbar was sitting in his little sheriff's office, reading his favourite comic, The Eagle, he heard a tapping from outside.

Tap . .tap . .tap . . tap . . getting closer by the second.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . tap . . TAP  . . . . TAP even closer, now.

When it was almost outside, the lavatory door opened: then after a few mini seconds, it closed.

He stood up and made sure his holster was tightly strapped to his thigh, then he opened the door and passed by the lavatory – he knew who was in there - so he hid in the wash room.

Eventually the door opened and out came their next door neighbour, Sydney; a blind man.

“Hold it there hombre -  or I'll let you have it” said Finbar.

Sydney turned around to face him.

“Too late, hombre” cried Finbar, and he pulled the trigger.

Sydney made a move and fell almost to his knees – very very gently; he was a very old man.

He almost reached as far as he could, then lifted his white stick, pointed it at Finbar, and said: “Take that La Rue – BANG!!”

Finbar fell to the floor with great exaggeration.

“How are you, little fella” said Sydney “no harmonica today?”

Finbar jumped up, pulled the harmonica from his pocket and started playing 'The Man from Laramie,' a popular song of the time.

“That's it” said Sydney “I like that.”

It was a miracle that he could hear at all, because as well as only having one fifth of the sight in his right eye, and his left eye with no sight at all, he needed a hearing aid.

He loved young Finbar and would listen out for Finbar's harmonica playing.

His favourite programme on the radio was ‘The Archers’ which he would listen at full blast; he had been an avid fan of the soap opera, since the radio serial first started. Finbar knew this and started playing the theme to The Archers and as soon as he started, Sydney gave him a little clap.

Once in a while, Finbar's parents would go out, so Sydney and his wife, Irene, would come around and baby sit. They didn't have a television of their own and they loved watching Finbar's set.

Sydney would have to sit next to the TV and watch from a distance of two or three inches, just to the side so as not to block the view; the sound had to be on maximum volume too.

Irene would sit on the sofa, with Finbar, and there was a little stool for Sydney, for his close up position.

If there was a singer, or even a round of applause from the audience, Irene and Sydney would clap their hands as if they were at the theatre themselves.

“Did you like that one Syd' she would say, but Syd – Sydney – would never hear her. Finbar liked to have them around as they were amusing, especially when Irene would go into the little kitchen and Finbar would hear her rooting around in the cupboards.

Sydney's hearing aid was the old fashioned type which had a device with wires.

He was a very good conjurer: one trick, involved a handkerchief and a match: he would take a match, wrap his dirty handkerchief around it, break it, and when he opened the handkerchief again, “lo and behold” he would say, the match was still in one piece.

His handkerchief was usually dirty because he would shine the brass door knocker every time he went in and came out of his front door; even though he could hardly see it.

Another thing he used to do was throw a coin into the air, make it disappear then find it behind Finbar’s ear.

Finbar would hear Sydney every morning when he would rise, very early, and clean out the fire place; after that he would put the ashes in to a special metal bin and go back in to the house and light the fire.

He did this the old fashioned way with loads of newspaper, a few fire lighters, bits of wood and coal.

Sometimes, when the fire was burning in the grate, he would throw on a few chopped logs.

Chapter 10

The Ballad of Carmel and Pat: 2

Novel 8.

Chapter Eight

The Ballad of Carmel and Pat: I.

Patrick walked back out of Clerys and crossed over O'Connell Street, on his way to meet his father. As he did so, he looked back towards Clerys, and saw Carmel coming out, carrying a bag.

O'Connell Street is one of the widest streets in Europe, maybe a hundred and fifty feet wide – one hundred yards – and he whistled her. Of course she took no notice, probably not hearing the whistle at all. He sprinted across the road, and a vehicle, which he ran in front of, blew the horn very loudly and long, which Carmel heard and turned around to see him approaching her.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, or what?” she said as he arrived.

“Something like that.”

He stood, catching his breath, for a moment.

“I just wondered if you . . I didn't mean to . .”

“Well, I'm fine, if you're worried about me” she said “just fine.”

He couldn't think of what to say and they looked at each other. 

She saw a big fine lump of an agricultural Irish man, wearing a big pair of boots, dark trousers with a cap on the back of his head,

He took his cap off and bowed slightly to her.

“Patrick Callahan at your service” he said.

She smiled.

“And what does Patrick Callahan want on this fine sunny day?”

“I don't know,“ he said “maybe a pint, or a small one, back in Clerys?”

“And what would that have to do with me?”

“well I erm . .”

“. . . you'd like me to join you?”

He looked at her wondering if she was pulling his leg, or what.

“I have to go” she said “I have to meet my mother.”

“Okay”

“But it was lovely of you to ask.”

He didn't say anything.

“You did ask, didn't you?” she said.

“ I . . I suppose I did. I'll be here tomorrow – about this time?”

She looked up at Clerys clock.

“Quarter past two?” she said.

He looked up.

“Jasus” he said “it's nearly the holy hour.”

The holy hour in a Dublin pub is between 2:30 and 3:30 and in none of the vast number of pubs and hotels in Dublin – and Cork – will you be served a drink.

Carmel's mother approached, walking along O'Connell Street. 

When she saw Carmel looking into Patrick's eyes, she stopped and said “Carmel.”

They both looked around at her – not a word.

“Everything okay?” said the mother.

“Yes, yes – er, this is my mother and this is er . . Patrick Callahan.”

The mother looked Patrick up and down “um, yes. Nora Wilde” she said.

“Hello.” said Patrick.

Then she abruptly turned to Carmel “Come along Carmel, we'll be late.”

With that she grabbed Carmel's arm and they walked away.

Patrick watched them go, then looked up quickly at Clerys' clock – 2.22 - and he dashed off to meet Joe, before the Holy Hour.

Patrick stood over the street from Clierys, the next day, at the same time, or thereabouts, from the day before, wondering if Carmel would be there.

He could see by Clerys' clock that it was 2.15, but there was no Carmel; yet.

He lit up a smoke, took it down and blew smoke rings which sailed up as he looked for her: oh well.

After a few minutes he turned around, giving up the ghost and was about to call it a day and head off, when he saw that she was on the same side of the street as he and she, too, was looking over at Clerys.

He sidled up to her “do you have a light, missus?”

She turned: and a puzzled look turned into a beautiful smile.

“Or would you like a cigarette?” he said.

“I think I will” she said.

He took out his pack and held them out for her.

“Sweet Afton.” he said.

She took the cigarette.

“Flow gently Sweet Afton, among thy green braes” he said, as he struck the match.

As she leaned forward to meet the light, he lowered it so she had to bend slightly, and came closer. As she leaned in she laughed and so did he.

“Who's the poet?” she said, taking a big drag.

“Well the poet is Rabbie Burns - but I got that from my da.”

“A poet is he?”

“A bit of a one.” said Patrick “he would really suit your mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her cold shoulder, he'd have a craic with that.”

She took another drag of her smoke “She's not as bad as you might think – she thought you looked like a tinker.”

“Maybe that's a compliment?”

“Maybe it is.”

“Shall we go for a drink/”

“It's the holy hour.”

He looked up at Clerys clock “So it is” he said “Bewleys, it is.”

 

Novel 7

 

Chapter 7

Bob-a-job.

In the early days of television – back in the day, as they say – but in actual fact the early fifties, there was only one channel on television, the BBC. And because there was only one channel, all kinds of programmes would be shown, so if you liked television, which Finbar did, you could learn a lot.

For instance there was a series of programmes called 'The Brain's Trust', where the intellectuals of the day, would discuss everything from philosophy, to sociology, religion, the theatre – you name it.

Some of the people featured were the novelist William Golding, the philosopher Bertrand Russell, the novelist Rebecca West and Jacob Bronowski, the Polish mathematician and philosopher, to name but a few.

There were full orchestral concerts, and as Finbar would never be without his harmonica, he would join in as he got to know some of the pieces. He loved the music of Bach but couldn't do the counterpoint as he would need two instruments for that – maybe on a piano he could do that.

He knew Bach's 'Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring' and could play the main theme then he would follow it with the counterpoint.

He became quite proficient; he didn't have to use the button on his harmonica as it didn't seem to require sharps and flats.

There was a piano in the house, which his mother played, but she wouldn't accompany the concerts, like Finbar.

As he was a bit bigger he could sit on the pillion of his dad's motor bike, and could be taken to where his pals from school lived.

One place was what they called a yard. It was a group of small terraced houses, quite common in Birmingham, in a concrete area where there would be a clothes line and a communal group of lavatories.

Neighbours would leave their front doors open which meant if they were playing music, everyone could hear it. The first day he was there, he heard the song 'High Noon' sung by Tex Ritter and then Frankie Laine blaring out from one of the houses.

A bit of a change for Finbar, as he was used to hearing Irish music, jigs and reels and Josef Locke the Irish tenor.

“What station is that?” came a voice from one of the doors.

“My records.” came the answer.

“I was trying to tune in – sounds great.”

And the music carried on.

Finbar didn't really like to be hemmed in, when playing, and some of the games the kids seemed to be playing were not for him.

Back home he would go into his little sheriff's office, sit with his feet on the desk, his cowboy hat on the back of the door, or on the back of his head, and go through the wanted posters to see which bandits, or banditos, would be in town.

The fact that none of them existed didn't deter him one little bit. The music from 'High Noon' would be in his head, and once in a while, he would shut up shop, strap his revolver to his belt and leave the office - after leaving strict instructions of what to do if he was shot-down.

At the top of the lane was a music shop, and displayed in the window was the sheet music to 'High Noon' – Do Not forsake me oh my darling – bump buppa bump buppa bump.

One of the times when he went back in the house his mother, Carmel, told him to sit down on the sofa; he did.

Then she opened the gramophone and put a record on. Finbar's face lit up when he heard - bump buppa bump buppa bump: High Noon.

That really set him off. His mother had bought the 78rpm slate record from Barratt's shop on the main road. He knew they had it in stock as he saw it on his way to school every morning.

The house, where they lived and loved - the cottage - was two up and two down. The living room, which the front door opened to, was about sixteen feet by about ten feet; maybe a bit more – maybe a it less – but who knows?

There was a big black fire place which you could boil a kettle on when the coal fire was lit, and there was a piano, a television and a gramophone.

Finbar didn't know how to work the gramophone so had to wait for either his mammy or daddy to do it.

The kitchen was so tiny it was unbelievable how Mrs Carmel Callahan could get so much stuff in to it, and Patrick had to extend a bit around by the window to get the hoover twin tub in.

No refrigerator, in those days and no telephone; that was only for the rich, and nobody would have one as they would say they didn't want the bills running up.

At the back of the living room was a wall. A plain wall and behind that wall, was a mystery. It was actually the back garden of the first big house on the main road. Maybe not the teacher's, who lived in one of them, but a garden none the less, and that garden too, faced the railway embankment.

But Finbar didn't know this, and wouldn't till he climbed into it one day.

Upstairs two bedrooms, a little box room for Finbar and the bigger room for his parents. No bathroom or lavatory, and that's what they'd call it. The word toilet wasn't used till a lot later. The middle class thought that lavatory was a bit vulgar when, in fact, as it turned out socially, toilet was the crude one.

Children only heard the word toilet when they went to the dentist. As they were called in for their appointment the dental nurse would say “Finbar: do you want to go to the toilet?”

He hated the dentist and for such a gentle fair headed little fella, with no hate in him, he also hated school.

What was the use of school when he could be at home fantasising his life on the range? In fact he hated school all the time till the day he left.

His parents entered him for the eleven plus – 11+ - which was the entrance exam for a place in a grammar school. This was a better education than the secondary modern choice, but he knew he wouldn't pass. This was not because he might not be clever enough, it was that he didn't work at school.

In the mathematics paper, for instance, he noticed a certain pattern of how they set the page out for multiplication – a number on one line, then an ex (x) next to that a double figure, e.g. eleven to ninety nine.

He remembered seeing the page like that, in a lesson, but couldn't figure what came next. He could see the two sets of figures, and knew the answer, but not how to put it down on paper.

So he failed the eleven plus. Later when he went to the secondary modern boys' school, he sat the twelve plus and the thirteen plus and noticed when he returned back to school that some boys passed and would leave at the end of the term.

He sat every examination to other schools too, which were available at that time: Arts School, Commercial School, Technical School and, of course, re sits for the grammar school.

He treated them like a day off from regular school, and he thought he would just paint all day at the Art examination, but he didn't care when he found out there was also maths and English for the Art School too.

But he never stayed at school till the end for a very good reason.

All those exams would be in the future as he had only sat the first grammar school examination after he reached the age of eleven.

At that age, not only could he play Bach on the harmonica, but Vivaldi and Mozart. He didn't know the names of the pieces, but could play them quite well.

This was because of the concerts he had been watching on television.

He also listened to The Billy Cotton Band Show on the radio and Life with the Lyons.

One day he was listening to the radio and a knock came on the door.

He answered it to a boy scout in uniform who said “bob a job.”

Finbar didn't understand.

“you give me a bob, and I do a job for you”

“My mam and dad are out”

“Oh, okay” said the boy scout “shall I come back later.”

In the days a bob, was a shilling, and the scout movement would have 'bob a job week' and would do little jobs for people who would pay them one shilling. The theory was they would do little jobs like shopping or the dishes.

Some people would take advantage and have them doing heavy jobs.

His parents returned later, the boy scout went to the co-op, across the main road, for a few pounds of potatoes and Finbar asked his dad if he could join the Boy Scouts.

“Yes” said his dad, “when you are eleven.

Chapter 8

The Ballad of Carmel and Pat: I.