The Callaghans: Chapter 6.

Chapter 6

Carmel had her two friends from school, to confide in, Hazel and Aisling, and she wondered if she should bring it up when she met them. But they noticed in any case when Carmel brought along a bottle of Guinness as opposed to the red biddy the girls drank.

'It'll start showing soon.' said Hazel.

Aisling laughed.

'I don't know what yiz are talking about? Said Carmel.

'Yiz are – where did you get yiz are from?'

'When?'

'Just now.' said Aisling 'Yiz are talking like a Dub.'

They all laughed. They drank their drinks. They quietened down.

Then Aisling 'What are you going to do?'

And Hazel 'What about your mother?'

'Her mother?' said Aisling 'What about the Reverend?'

'Does he have a shot gun?' said Hazel.

It was early so Carmel didn't show even though her pals told her she did. Things carried on as usual but the couple were worried. She knew friends who became pregnant without being married and Patrick worried about the Magdalene laundries where the catholic church literally kidnapped girls who were pregnant and had them working in their laundries and when they gave birth their babies disappeared. Adopted or worse but Carmel said she wasn't a catholic so it wouldn't apply. The fact that she would have to tell her parents was worrying her to the high heavens.

She also talked to Calista who, even though she had no children, was the eldest of eight and knew all there was to know about it. They didn't know what hospital to use, what doctor or anything. She had a doctor in Dún Laoghaire but didn't know if they could trust him but Patrick's father, Joe, said he knew a few of his wife, Mary's work colleagues from way back and he set out to find one.

Theresa O'Brien was a midwife who worked with Mary at The Coombe Maternity Hospital and Joe knew that she lived in Annesley Avenue in Ballybough but he didn't know which number, if she was still alive or if she remembered him or even Mary. He knew if he went down Poplar Row from Ballybough Road it was there somewhere and the first thing he saw as he walked down there was the street he wanted. Everything down there was as usual for a Sunday afternoon: teenage boys playing cards on the steps of houses and men tossing. As usual too, was the shout that went up when they tossed two coins into the air and a big reaction when they landed as all looked to see if they'd won.

He asked one of the fellas if they knew Theresa and a house was pointed out.

He went to the front door and a voice from the men shouted 'Round the back.'

He did as he was told and entered a big yard which was surrounded by the back doors of the houses in Annesley Avenue and Poplar Row, and sitting outside on a small chair was Theresa O'Brien. He hadn't seen her for twenty odd years, but recognised her straight away even though her hair was now white.

' 'lo Joe' she said, in her rich Galway accent, as if she'd only seen him a week or so ago.

'How wi' ye'?' said Joe.

'I'm grand, and yerself.'

'Game Ball' said Joe 'What are you reading?'

He looked at the book.

'The Razor's Edge – where'd you get that?'

'Eddie McGrath brought it over from London.'

'Any good?'

'I like it.' she said.

'Will you give us a look when you've finished?'

'I might' said she 'but Charlie Farrell wants it first.'

'Oh is that who's been calling round to see ye?'

'I see him in Meagher's – your son was in there a few weeks ago.'

'That's who I've come to see you about.'

'I knew it has to be something, you can't be after your hole after all these years.'

'You don't change much, do you Terry?'

'Neither do you by the looks of ye.'

'My son – Pat – he has, well er . . '

'And you wanna get rid of it?'

'Not at all – she needs to see - his mot - she needs a bit of feminine help – somebody medical, a doctor. Just wondered if you might see her?'

'Jaze I'm not a bleedn' nurse any more. Retired and now I'm a lady of leisure – maybe I could get a colleague to take a look; what's the problem, trying to steer clear of the laundries?'

'No it won't come to that – she's not a catholic.'

'Wouldn't make any difference if they found out.' she said 'it was the Protestants who started it years ago.'

'The Protestants?'

'Yes. The bleedin' Church of Ireland.'

'I think they want to get married.'

'Who's going to carry out a mixed marriage?'

And that would be a problem.

The mere mention of Meagher's pub triggered reactions in Joe's head. Patrick had mentioned the place recently, and Joe realised it was the day he wandered around the pubs of Ballybough, trying to get ideas about starting the piggery. The mention of him meeting Jimmy Nugent in McDaid's was too much of a coincidental meeting to even be a coincidence. Patrick was looking for help and advice about starting a piggery, with Nugent in the guise of a guardian angel showing up with a plan. A plan for Nugent himself, bleedin' Needle Nugent, 'as he doesn't like to be called any more', to make a few bob for himself, and it was only a few bleedin' bob that he made.

The day after he met Theresa, he gave her details to Carmel when she came out of the college, and bade her and Patrick goodbye.

'I have to meet a man about a horse' he said, and headed off.

'A horse?' said Carmel.

'That's what he always says' said Patrick 'what does your note say?'

'It's the name and address of a doctor.' she said.

Joe headed over to Richmond Road and walked into Meagher's bar and ordered a pint. He looked around and there was Nugent with a half drunk pint in front of him, picking out the horses from the Independent newspaper strewn under the pint. He didn't seem to care if the drips of stout might mess up the paper. The paper was always in the pub and the clientel looked after it when they were finished with it. It was usually folded and placed back on the bar. Joe looked at the mess it was in and it made him quite clear that Nugent had the empathy of a snake.

Joe turned back to the bar and waited for his pint to settle and as soon as he took the first gulp, he wandered over to where Nugent was sitting and put his pint down next to the same paper.

Nugent looked up.

'Hello Needle' said Joe.

Nothing from Nugent. Needle didn't like to be called Needle and Needle was the nick name Joe gave him years earlier.

'And you will give me the needle if you don't give Patrick the ten bob you pilfered from him.'

'What do you mean?'

'And the five pound I paid for the bleedin' wheelbarrow in the first place.'

'Five pounds?'

'Yes – and you were the shite who sold it for a pound.'

'Who told you this?'

'Never you mind' said Joe 'you sold it to that fecker Cassedy; you got a neck like a Jockey's bollix.'

'What do you mean?'

'The bleedin' cheek of ya – what are you doing here, working out the odds?'

'Well – yeh.'

'I tell you what to work out:' said Joe 'my five pounds, Patrick's ten bob, and ten bob for your nose. How much is that?'

'What do you mean my nose?'

'To stop it getting broken.'

'Who's gonna break it?'

'You know who!'

Joe finished his pint with one gulp and put the glass back onto the table by the newspaper.

'Tomorrow – all right?'

'Tomorrow?' said Nugent.

'Six pounds!' said Joe 'Or else.'

And left the pub.

Ever since Carmel confirmed her pregnancy to Patrick, she had slept in her room at the college instead of going back to her parents in Dún Laoghaire. They were away, in any case, in England on a kind of Protestant missionary trip to advocate more critical Biblical teaching.

The Second World War triggered her father who was a firm believer in Pacifism.

So the fact that Carmel was getting bigger around the nether regions was only noticed by her fellow students and not to anybody in Dún Laoghaire. In the note that Joe gave Carmel, Theresa O'Brien introduced her to a doctor, who saw her privately, with no charge, and noted that even though she was in the finest of health, she was bigger than other pregnant women in the same stage of pregnancy, and wondered if she and Patrick had their dates wrong.

Outside the college, the following day, she told Patrick the news about the doctor when he saw Jimmy Nugent approaching; not knowing what he wanted he squared up to him, in case he was being nasty, as Nugent looked as if he was moving in for the kill. Nugent put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small wad of notes and said 'Stick that up your arse.' and walked away.

Nick Armstrong noticed this and he too thought Nugent had a gun and dashed up to them but kind of stopped and turned his dash into a jog and carried on when he was sure what was going on. Patrick, himself, was non-plussed and was more surprised at the behaviour of Nick Armstrong.

'What's that all about?' said Carmel.

Patrick turned to her, more in confusion than anything else, then he opened his hand and realised it was money.

'What was Nick doing?' said Carmel.

Patrick looked into the distance and saw that Nick Armstrong had slowed down and was watching Nugent walking up the street.

'I don't know.' he said.

He counted the money, five one pound notes and two ten bob ones – six pounds in all. Joe hadn't said a word to him about his meeting with Nugent, so it came as a surprise. Now Patrick didn't know whether to tell his father, which was something to do with his age and not wanting to be treated like a child. He wouldn't have threatened or coerced Nugent to get the money back – he'd only lost ten shillings; would Joe want the five pounds?

He had no choice and they went to see him in McDaids having his early evening pint. As usual he was 'in the jax,' according to Oliver, so they ordered drinks, a pint for himself, one for his da and a bottle of Guinness for Carmel.

The bar, which was usually very noisy later in the evening with spunkers, hangers on and bar room poets, with their acolytes, was quiet even for that time of day. It so happened that they were in the sculptor's next door looking at his latest masterpiece, and wondering what it might represent only to find, by some of them, that they were looking at something only half finished.

Joe usually went with them and was surprised to see Carmel and Patrick at the bar when he came out. He hadn't gone to look at the masterpiece as he didn't want to get involved in a night's drinking and shouting with some of the bowsies who came in to join the revellers in the hope of a free drink. The credit behind that bar might be as much as the national debt by the state of the place.

'How wi' ye'?' said Patrick.

'Been for a read and a write' he said.

A shite.

'I have something for you' said Patrick, and he handed Joe the money.

'What's this?' said Joe.

'You know.' said Patrick.

'I do not' said Joe, and he gave the money back to his son.

There was something about Joe's past that Patrick knew very little about. He was demobbed in 1917, he and a few others, who had been invalided out with him, had the same lung disease, and they looked after each other which lasted well into their fifties and it would last a life time. Nobody messed with them and Joe didn't have to be specific with Nugent which is why the money was paid.

McDaid's wasn't a pub where ladies frequented and Carmel would be gone long before the place filled up.

 

The Callaghans Chapter 5.

Chapter 5

At twenty years of age Patrick was still trying to sell bits of advertising, so Joe suggested they start making money from what they did when Patrick was a boy. He still had contacts with the livestock market, they still had the pig sty in the yard and they still had a wheel barrow for Patrick to circulate the neighbourhood for slops. But when Patrick decided he wanted to have a go at it he said 'Slops? I think we should get waste products from Guinnesses – it's only a walk away.'

'What'll you be getting from Guinnesses?' said Joe.

'Have you seen what stuff that gets delivered there – all the stuff they put into the Guinness - food waste – waste apples, left over fruits, waste potatoes from distilling processes; loads of stuff. I'll pop around and see them. See what they can do.'

'Good luck to that.'

Patrick, over the weekend went wandering to Mulligans, McDaids, Madigan's on O'Connell Street and even as far as Meagher's pub on Richmond Road.

Joe did not go with him, he was busy cleaning out the pig sty and the yard. He took Finn MacCool for a walk, as if he was a dog. He stopped off for a quick pint in The Brazen Head on Merchant's Quay, which turned into a couple and one for the road. Upon Joe's return Patrick was still out wandering the streets and pubs, so Joe settled the horse in Nancy's Hutch with some straw, and set about his little potato patch near where Graymalkin was buried. Nothing signified his cat's grave, but he always knew where it was and where to stop digging. There were no potatoes in there, at that time of year, but he liked to dig it over once in a while, just to keep the soil alive, not that it needed it but he always found it good exercise.

Patrick knew a lot of pig men, which is why he was meeting them in the pubs, Joe knew this and when he had a look at the sty he thought again about getting stuck in that day. It had seen better days and it would take more than an hour or two to do, especially the bits of stuff that had been dumped in there.

He started thinking about his son and the business and thought about getting some chickens for the eggs, but even though the yard was quite secure, as long as the gates were closed, the foxes would probably find a way in.

They came up, Joe reckoned, from The Grand Canal so he put that thought out of his head.

When Patrick returned he could remember one word, sorghum: that, he was told, was good for the pigs.

He managed a meeting with Guinnesses and they didn't know what he was talking about and on the way back dropped in to McDaid's and found a fella who knew somebody who worked at the Gunness brewery, and said he could get 'plenty of the shite you're after' as he put it, but 'you'll have to come around after dark with your wheel barrow.'

'Wheeling a wheel barrow, like Molly Malone, after dark with the Guard walking about – how does that work out​​?'

'I tell you what' said the fella 'I am that fella.'

'What fella? What in the name of Jasus are you talking about?'

'I'm the fella' said the fella 'I'm the fella who works at Guinness.'

'You're the fella are you?'

'Yes – I'm the fella.' said the fella again.

'What bleedin' fella – what in the name of Jasus are you talking about?'

'What I am saying is this: I work there, on the night shift, and I can bring the shite to you every morning, but you'll have to buy a wheel barrow.'

'We have a wheel barrow.'

'You'll need another one, so.'

'What for?'

'I'll bring the shite around in a wheel barrow.'

'Through the streets broad and narrow?'

'Don't be a gob shite now, I'm talking to you, trying to make a deal, to help you out.'

'Why do I need to buy another wheel barrow?'

'What you do, you leave your barrow . . '

'In the streets broad and . . .' Patrick interrupted again.

'I'm not talking to you any more till you stop acting the shite.'

'Okay, carry on.' said Patrick.

'In the little bit of a lane, you have, outside your gate, leave your barrow there. Then I'll come along, before yous all get up, with another barrow with the shite in, take your empty one back for the following day.'

'Okay, so far, so what's the snag?'

'No snag' said the fella. 'I'm the fella who gets rid of the stuff during my shift, and I can bring a barrow full, around to you instead of dumping it in the Guinness yard to be picked up.'

'That sounds good.'

'A pound a week.'

'What?? a pound a week?'

'I'm risking it.'

'Not for a pound a week.' said Patrick.

'Okay,' said the fella 'fifteen shillings.'

'Ten bob and it's a deal' said Patrick.

'Okay' said the fella and they shook on it.

'Ten bob a week' said Joe when Patrick told him 'when you can go around the neighbours picking up the slops costing nothing?'

'We need to feed them properly, da, so we can get good prices.' said Patrick 'so no messing. I told the bloke it would be okay. Now you need to buy a wheel barrow.'

'What's the matter with the one we got?'

'Nothing – but we need two or he'll just dump the shite, as he calls it, outside the gate.'

'Okay' said Joe 'Who was this bloke?'

'I met him in McDaid's.'

'Did any money change hands?'

'No.'

'What's his name?'

'Jimmy Nugent.'

'Jimmy Nugent? I know that name.'

'How?' said Patrick.

'He did a stretch in the joy'

'Mountjoy prison! What for?'

'I don't know, gun running or something like that – got off with it. People said he was a Maide bréagach.'

'A what?'

'Maide bréagach. Stool pigeon, grass, whatever you want to call it.'

'I have to meet him tomorrow' said Patrick 'do you think I should go.'

'You may as well – it might be all right.'

The next day Patrick met Nugent, but this time in Madigan's, next to the Gresham Hotel in O'Connell Street.

In fact as Patrick walked north on O'Connell Street he saw Nugent coming out of the Gresham. He thought nothing of it and didn't mention it when he met him at the bar.

'Did you get the other barrow yet?' he said.

'Not yet, Jimmy – what are you having?'

'A small one then I must be off.'

'A small one' said Patrick to the bar maid.

'And for yourself?' she said.

'Pint' said Patrick.

She started to pull the Guinness up to one third of a pint then put it on the bar at the back to settle. Then she took a glass and poured a Jameson's whiskey into it.

'Can you make that a large one, darling' said Jimmy Nugent.

Patrick killed him with a look.

'That's okay is it?' he said.

'Yes that's okay' and and he handed a pound note over.

'My father says he knows you - Needle Nugent he said.'

'He would' said Nugent. 'it's a character in one of the O'Casey plays – I'm not called that any more.'

'I talked with my da and he said it's okay. He's getting the wheelbarrow tomorrow and as soon as he gets it, I'll let you know.'

'And the ten bob for this week?'

'When you deliver the first load' said Patrick 'I'll be up and I'll pay you then.'

'I don't know about that.'

'Take it or leave it' said Patrick 'if you tell me where to bring it, I'll drop the wheelbarrow around tomorrow.'

'The new one?'

'Yes – the new one.'

'I'll see you outside The Brazen Head at nine tomorrow night.' said Nugent 'but don't be late.'

'All right.'

'I'm supposed to be clocking in at half eight, and don't forget the ten bob note.'

'Er no – I didn't agree to that.'

'You'll need to bring the ten bob note tomorrow – I have to give a few bob out of it to my contact.'

'Contact? I thought you worked there – you said you were the fella.'

'I am the fella, but I have to give the fella a few bob – the look out fella.'

'Okay okay' said Patrick 'but I'll be after you if you don't turn up.'

'You won't need to, I'm a man of my word.'

'Shall I come before you clock in.'

'Nine will do – I don't work on my time.'

He drank the whiskey straight down, patted Patrick on the shoulder and walked out.

Patrick's pint was ready so he took a huge gulp – first of the day.

The following evening, at nine sharp, Patrick went to The Brazen Head pub, met Nugent outside and gave him the new wheelbarrow and the ten shilling note. When he got home, he got his original wheel barrow from the shed and put it outside the gate.

They were due to expect their first intake of piglets, that week, and he was looking forward to the start of their business, but when he opened the gate the following morning no wheel barrow was there. And no Jimmy Nugent.

Patrick looked out by the gate for a few days and it was the same. He went to McDaid's, where he had first met Nugent, he asked about but nobody knew where he was or any other information. He asked Oliver:

'Oh yes' he said 'he was in here today, had to meet your friend, Don Cassidy.'

'He's no friend of mine' said Patrick.

'He was here the other day, when you were in.'

'I didn't see him' said Patrick 'didn't I tell you what he did to my horse?'

'It seems, he managed to get a wheel barrow for Don Cassidy– he brought it for him today.'

'What?' Said Patrick 'what are you saying.'

'Nothing – he picked up a wheel barrow: a good looking wheelbarrow, I might say, somewhere, for a pound – for Don Cassidy.'

Patrick was stunned by the whole business but Joe told him to bear it in mind for the future: he said 'If somebody comes up to you and offers you a pair of water wings for a shilling, rest assured, you'll be drowned before the first stroke.'

He cancelled the idea of keeping pigs. By one-o-clock Patrick was going around the shops trying to sell advertising to newcomer shopkeepers.

Extra income would have been useful as prospects for work in Ireland, at the time, was terrible. A lot of men went to live in England to rebuild that country back into a decent place to live, but poor old Ireland had to suffer. Men went and left their wives at home sending money by postal order every week. This went on for many years in lots of households and a lot of men never came back, leaving their wives to find other companions from the men who remained.

Some of the men moved in with the grass widows. Divorce didn't happen in Ireland at the time and the separation was nick named an Irish divorce.

Joe still received his pension from Óglaigh na hÉireann which was The Defence Forces of Ireland pension for serving in the First World War, and he really wasn't the most fit of men with breathing difficulties after the gassing at The Somme, which he was lucky to survive and come home, in any case.

His health was the main reason he stopped keeping the piggery when Brendan and Conor left home. His pension meant they could just about manage and anything Patrick earned was extra.

He took Carmel to see Calista and Mateus now and then and they both developed a taste for Indian food. Patrick didn't really have the makings of a chef, even though his Mulligatawny soup was something to die for.

They learned to like the light coloured beer Mateus served for them, and after that Patrick usually walked Carmel back to her room, then he walked home sometimes straight away and sometimes after a little while.

Carmel always knew which days he waited outside Trinity College for her, nodding his head to Nick Armstrong now and then and then off to Bewleys, or maybe a walk to Fairview Park. Carmel once said that Fairview Park was the most dangerous place on earth as young, and not so young, hurdlers stood fifty yards or so, from each other with a hurling ball, which they called a Sliotar, and a hurley. Then one of them would smack that ball right up into the air to his companion standing a fair distance away, who trapped it, and it was always a man in those days, who hit it back.

'It's a wonder we're still alive' Carmel said more than once.

They were laying with the sun on their faces, looking up at the it, if you can call it looking with their eyes closed, when she said, 'I have something to tell you.'

'I hope it's that you still love me' said Patrick.

'You know I do but . . .' she stopped. There was a tear in her voice; he could hear it.

Patrick turned over to face her. He could see one emitting from her closed eye – 'what is it?' he said.

'I'm pregnant.'

Not a word between them; not a word for quite some time.

All kinds of thoughts went through Patrick's mind. He would be a father – we're not marred – what will his father say? - what will HER father say?

He was on his elbows; she opened her eyes and looked at him, looked at his none committed face as he slowly smiled at her which turned into a big grin.

'What'll we do?' she said.

'That's for later' said he 'but now is the time to enjoy it; time to enjoy the miracle we are about to do – or you are about to . . not do; achieve.'

She smiled back, reached up and pulled his head down towards her and they snuggled and hugged for a long time.

Dodging the attack of the Sliotars, which might sound like an bombing raid from Sweden, if you didn't know that that's what a hurley ball is, the couple left Fairview Park and headed to McDaid's to meet Joe who was there for his evening pint, on the way home from his day. His day, that particular day, started at Moore Street Market. He didn't go there to buy anything, but to listen to the rich voices of the city and the wonderful extended Dublinese of the accent: Odengeeez, he heard which was a word for oranges - odengeeez. He hadn't heard the word for some time as they were rare and there were questions in the British Parliament as to why the oranges were sent to Eire, as the British called it in those days. They wondered why they had been imported from Spain to make marmalade for the Brits and ended up at Moore Street Market. Not that many of them over there even knew there was a place called Moore Street Market.

But Joe did hear Odengeeez, he heard as he wandered through the traders that day.

As he sat down, to rest his weary legs in McDaid's, three oranges were in his pockets: 'one for him, one for Carmel and one for . . . . ah here they are now' as they walked in.

Looking very serious, he thought, when Patrick asked him what he wanted to drink, and when he suggested a pint, Patrick said 'I'll get you a small one.'

Dear oh dear, he thought to himself, she must be pregnant. There wasn't a great deal of knowledge about in those days concerning pregnancy and alcohol, apart from Patrick ordering bottled Guinness for Carmel.

As they sat down Joe could see the face Carmel pulled at her first gulp of her drink. He held up his glass of Jameson's and said 'Congratulations!'

'Sláinte' said Patrick.

They put their glasses together and drank.

'When's the happy day?' said Joe.

'What happy day?' said Patrick.

'Do you think I was born yesterday – the baby?'

Carmel and Patrick lifted their glasses to hide behind.

'I'm not going after my own son with a shot gun, you know.'

He took Carmel's hand and kissed it 'Welcome to the Callaghans' he said, and to Patrick, 'When I had to get married to your mother there was a black eye.'

'Who?'

'Your Uncle Jerry and me – he got the black eye.'

They laughed. It wasn't the most respectable thing to happen in a catholic country, let alone in McDaid's, so they kept it quiet and when asked what they were drinking to, they announced that they were getting married.

Most of them knew Carmel wasn't a catholic and they wondered if indeed anybody would marry them.

And then there was the Reverend and Mrs Nora Wilde.