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 usual 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 Dún Laoghaire, 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?”

“Is it a problem?”

“no. It's whiskey; Irish whiskey.

“I'll give it a try” she said.

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 Callaghan.”

“Ah, mister Callaghan, 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

Klaatu barada nikto klaatu barada nikto.

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; he heard lavatory door open: 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 listened out, every day for Finbar's harmonica playing.

Finbar knew Sydney listened to The Archers on the radio and played its signature tune and, as soon as he started, Sydney gave him a little clap.

Once in a while, Finbar's parents went out for the evening, so Sydney and his wife, Irene, came around to baby sit. They didn't have a television of their own and they loved watching Finbar's set.

He had 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 from Irene on the sofa.

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

'Did you like that one Syd' but Syd – Sydney – would never hear her. Finbar liked to have them around as they were amusing, especially when Irene went into the little kitchen to see what food was in the pantry.

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 took a match, wrapped his dirty handkerchief around it, break it, and when he opened the handkerchief again, 'lo and behold' the match was still in one piece.

His handkerchief was dirty because he shone 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 did, was throw a coin into the air, make it disappear, then find it behind Finbar’s ear.

Finbar heard Sydney every morning when he rose, very early, it has to be said, to clean out the fire place; after that he put the ashes in to a special metal bin then went back into the house and lit 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 threw on a few chopped logs.

When the fire was blazing, Sydney gathered the newspaper and spread it across the table. Next to the newspaper was a freshly poured cup of tea and next to the tea was a metal tea pot which only had room for two cups.

Irene was a late riser so Sydney had the house to himself till she got up at around ten. If Sydney raised the subject of her laying in bed she said, each time 'I rise, mister, at ten-o-clock. I don't rise sooner because 'tis the worst thing in the world for the complexion' - she had heard this in a play at The Birmingham Rep and never forgot it.

However, it had to be at ten-o-clock, if she rose sooner or later, he didn't say anything.

Saturday meant Finbar going to the convent for eleven-o-clock, which meant he had to leave his house around ten thirty or so and one Saturday Sydney made sure to leave his house at least ten minutes before Finbar was due to leave. His newspaper was set aside, his tea cup empty and his dark glasses placed on the end of his nose. Then he went to the cupboard and pulled out a white sheet and put it over his head, taking the dark glasses off and trying to put them onto his head around the sheet.

'What are you doing?' said Irene.

'I'm trying to put these glasses back on.'

She looked around and could see the mess he was in.

'Come here' she said and took the sheet and pressed it close to Sydney's face, then put the dark glasses on the outside so he looked like a ghost wearing glasses.

Irene went to the front window to see Sydney going up the garden, turning right out of the gate to the little alley way behind the bottom of Murdoch's garden.

She kind of knew what Sydney was up to kneeling on the sofa which was in the bay window.

She heard the door close next door and Finbar came out and walked up the lane. When he reached the alley way where Sydney was hiding he jumped out in front of Finbar. Finbar acted scared and fell back as Sydney gave a loud roar. Then they both laughed.

Sydney removed the sheet and put his hand behind Finbar's ear 'what's this' he heard Sydney say and she saw him take a coin and he gave it to Finbar.

'For the plate.' he said.

'There's no plate' said Finbar.

'Sweeties then' said Sydney.

When he came in through the door he said 'Off to the brain washing.'

Irene laughed.

The first time Finbar went to St. John's Convent his mother took him as they were not sure of exactly where the convent to Saint John's Church was. Once found, Carmel went shopping in Gooch Street, which wasn't far away and arranged to pick him up on the way back.

There were seven other children all around the same age, ready to take religious instructions to make their first Holy Communion.

It was a mystery to Carmel as she was a protestant and Patrick had to work on his busiest day of the week when he collected the milk money from his customers. Finbar was nonplussed when he came out as he was ambivalent about the whole religious things. Who are in heaven, to Which art in Heaven, to deliver us from evil, amen to for thine is the kingdom the power and the glory. All those emotive words like 'power' and 'glory' when it was about peace and love – he never pondered on it again but carried on going each Saturday morning till he made his first communion and then his confirmation which was something else.

Novel 8.

                                            Chapter 8

                        The Ballad of Carmel and Pat.

Patrick walked 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 – a 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.

The vehicle, which didn't look as if if had any brakes must have missed him by an inch and as it veered passed he could see a kid scutting on the back. This gave Patrick a smile and he missed his step and landed in the gutter. He looked up at 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, brushing the non-existent dust from his clothes. Then he tried to clean his hands on his trousers.

“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 Callaghan at your service” he said.

She smiled.

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

“I don't know,“ he said “maybe a pint, or a small one, 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.

“Ready?” said the mother.

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

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 – two twenty two - and he dashed off to meet Joe, before the Holy Hour.

Patrick stood over the street from Clerys, the next day, at the same time, or thereabouts, 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, 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.

“Smoke?” 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.

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” she said “Bewleys?”

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.

That is in The United Kingdom, of course.

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.

Once in a while, Finbar played with school pals at or near where they lived. If it was too far from home one of his parents walked there with him, and gave him a time when they came back for him.

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.

These were called back houses and their addresses were, for example four back of one hundred and twenty Highgate Road, which was written as 4/120 Highgate Road. The post office was aware of how the back houses were addressed.

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.

It was around this time, that his parents took him to the Imperial Picture House to see the film 'High Noon' and as soon as the film started he recognised the music. It was Tex Ritter, whom he had heard singing when he played with the boys in the yard.

And then Gary Cooper!

He sat throughout that film and never said a word, he didn't move, or turn away and his mammy and daddy could see that he was smitten. When it got to a part where the crooks are waiting at the railway Station, one of the crooks took out a harmonica and started playing. Finbar took his from his pocket. He didn't play just kept it in his hand. Patrick saw this and it amused him.

When he got home he went to the bottom of the garden, turned left, out of the gate and went towards the lavatories. To the right, and facing the lane and out to the main road, was a little tool shed, attached to the lavatories. He knew it was not in use so, over the next few days, he had put a school type desk in there, facing the back wall. After that he put various things on the desk, pens, paper and on the back wall some wanted posters he had made from comics if they featured some male faces. He used the faces in the posters and he used one of a woman, who he called 'Big Nose Kate.'

He knew it was a real person who had something to do with Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday.

He would often go into his little sheriff's office, sit with his feet on the desk, his cowboy hat on the back of the door, or 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 in the street.

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 in to 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 bit less – but who knows?

There was a big black fire place which could boil a kettle 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 came in.

The kitchen was so tiny it was unbelievable how Carmel 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 washing machone in.

No refrigerator, in those days, so they had to buy sterilized milk, that Patrick got to know with his job, which the locals would call sterra, 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.

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 called it; the lavatory.

Finbar 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 examination 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 to school that some boys passed the exam and would leave at the end of the term.

He sat every exam 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 were maths and English for the Art School too.

All those exams would be in the future as he would only sit the first grammar school examination after he reached the age of eleven, and that wasn't yet.

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 mammy and daddy 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, and all the money went to charity.

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.

On the top of his little office was an 'almost' flat roof and he found it easy to climb onto the roof. He opened the door, propped it against the wall with the broom, then used the door handle to hoosh himself to the top of the door, using his wrists to swing him onto the roof.

The other side, the embankment, was easy. He jumped out and landed near the bottom of the slope to the embankment.

He was determined to see what was at the back of his house: what was behind the wall of their living room?

Ha walked along, and it was quiet with no trains approaching, till he came to a fence – maybe about six feet high. As he got closer to it he heard a train in the distance and knew it was approaching from the right; this meant the train was coming from London, heading towards Moor Street Station.

He ducked down and hid in the grass as the noisy locomotive sped passed.

Suddenly out of the dark it came, A little Red Engine, And a train, Came roaring and snorting along the main.

“I made up a poem.” he said to himself. He didn't know where it came from.

He sidled up to the fence, and it was held together with a concrete stump; he stood on the stump and could hear glasses tinkling and voices murmuring; he looked over. In the garden were a few people: the school teacher, who offered a half-a-crown, that day and a few boys. The teacher was dressed as a boy scout and so were the boys. A camp fire was burning and he saw another man come out of the house with a tray of drinks, which he put onto a little table and they gathered around whilst the school teacher poured tea, for him and the other man, and glasses of ribena was there for the boys.

They were older than Finbar and and all wore boy scout uniforms.

The way home was a little harder as he had to get over the wall to the roof at the rear of his sheriff's office. Again it would take a big hoosh so he could drag himself up and on to the top. He had to be careful nobody saw him, but he was satisfied. He had seen a glimpse of the mystery at the back of his house.

The end of term school magazine was being prepared by Mister Hennessey and he gave him the poem he had written.

“Where did you get this, Finbar?”

“I made it up, sir.”

“You wrote it out” said Hennessey, “and not very neatly. All your writing is sloping backwards – like a girl.”

“Oh, I . . . “

“One of the girls, wrote it out for you?”

“No sir.”

The teacher tore it up.

“No thank you” he said.

Finbar's face dropped and showed his disappointment.

“Bit of Irish, was it Finbar?”

What kind of a man is this, thought Finbar: No Blacks, no Irish and no Dogs, he remembered.

Chapter 8

The Ballad of Carmel and Pat.