Novel Chapter 16

 

Chapter 16

A Day Out

Carmel and Patrick decided to give Finbar a treat, and take him on the train to London. It meant a bus ride to New Street Station, which was in the city centre, and Finbar took with him a little bag which had a drink, a meat paste sandwich and his harmonica.

They walked down the hill to the station and his daddy found the platform they needed. They had been there before a number of times, which was usually late in the day, as they travelled over night on the boat to Dún Laoghaire and the Irish train into Dublin.

To Finbar, Dublin was a green place: green post boxes, green telephone boxes and a kind of seafaring feel about the place.

He had been taught about London at school: the Festival of Britain and the Festival Dome, but he was disappointed when Patrick told him the 'Dome' was no longer there. This wasn't too long after the coronation and his last year at the junior school which had a few weeks to go till the end of term.

He remembered the coronation as he went to a party, on the day, which the woman in the fish'n'chip shop on the main road threw for the children of the neighbourhood; maybe twenty kids turned up of both sexes. That was where he was introduced to meat paste sandwiches for the first time. He told Carmel, who had never heard of them, that he liked them.

He played his harmonica at the party which went down well. One of the organisers got the children to sit down, as an audience, and asked if there was a 'Johnnie Ray' in the house. He was a well known pop singer crooner at the time, and one boy rushed up onto the 'stage.' He obviously sang at home or pretended to be Johnnie Ray, but as soon as he got onto the platform his face dropped. Everybody was looking at him: “what are you going to sing for us?” said the organiser.

Silence.

“I don't know.” said the boy eventually.

He was in a terrible state. Finbar didn't know any Johnnie Ray songs but started to play, very gently High Noon, and suddenly the little plaintive voice of the boy started to sing “Do not forsake me oh my darlin' - it was all on the one note - and when he got to the part where the lyric is 'oh to be drawn twixt love and beauty, sposing I'd lose my fair haired beauty, look at that big hand move along, nearing High Noon' both Finbar, vamping, and the kids clapping along, gave the boy confidence and everybody sang 'what will I do if you leave me?'

Then the boy found the tune.

It ended well and there was a big applause and cheering at the end, and the organiser whispered to Finbar “Thank you.”

It was the first time Finbar had stood up in a crowd and played. Other times he would walk along playing and when people were interested in his playing, it encouraged him: when the boy at the party suddenly got stage fright, Finbar understood immediately.

As the train pulled out of New Street, someone had left a window open and smoke from the engine came through; Patrick jumped up and closed it.

Little Finbar looked up at that huge train, standing at the platform and said to Patrick “will this train pass our house on the embankment?”

“No, son, the trains leave from Moor Street which pass us.”

As the green fields flew by he thought about that party, and about the two different railway lines going to London, and what a waste of time that might be and he thought, again, about the party and how he liked playing his mouth organ in front of an audience.

Patrick was sitting by the window, with his back to the front of the train seeing where he'd been, and Finbar was opposite seeing where they were going, Carmel was in the seat next to him.

As he looked up, there were some cables, wires or something, which were telegraph cables, and as they travelled, the cables seemed to be going up and down and it reminded him of a musical stave, with no crotchets and quavers, minims or semibreves. The cables hypnotized Finbar and with the sound of the train, jiggerty can, jiggerty can, jiggerty can, jiggerty can, he could feel his eye lids getting heavy and, sure enough, he fell asleep.

“Look at him.” said Patrick.

Carmel made him comfortable. He had recently started wearing long trousers – longers, his father called them – and looked like a little man dozing there. He cuddled up to his mother and soon the three of them were away.

Big place, London, Finbar thought as they entered the tube station. He noticed the red circle of the tube and the blue word Railways across it. Finbar knew the letters LMS which were on some of the trains he had seen on the embankment at home.

Everybody on the tube train, seemed to be smoking, and when the train went into the dark tunnel he found it exciting. A bit of a difference from going through the tunnel at New Street Station as the tube was a continual tunnel. It had the same circle on the windows with 'railways' replaced by 'Piccadilly Circus' at that station.

They saw a beggar who said “any spare change, mate?” when they came up the steps to Piccadilly Circus, itself,

Patrick shook his head, then another man, in a railway uniform said “get a job, like I have to.”

Finbar noticed they had a strange way of speaking; the beggar said 'mate' with no 't' at the end. The man who said, get a job, spoke funny too.

“Are we going to Buckingham Palace?” said Finbar.

“We may do” said Carmel.

They actually did. They had a nice walk through Green Park, which was just up the street from Piccadilly Circus, saw the guards at the Palace, and took a tube to the East End for a 'pie and mash shop' where they ate the traditional East End meal. Finbar said the green stuff, which he thought were peas, tasted funny.

Then off to number 10 Downing Street and Finbar stood on the step of the Prime Minister's residence.

He was most impressed with the number of theatres they found back at Piccadilly Circus. They walked down The Haymarket and a theatre was on either side of the street; one had 'Paint Your Wagon' playing, which was a musical and on the other side of the street was 'The Apple Cart.'

There was a queue outside each theatre, waiting go in, and entertaining the queue were two men: one playing an accordian and the other, wearing a long fur coat, was singing. When the queue had gone in they crossed over the street and played to the other one.

Finbar sneaked his harmonica out and started to play quietly, nothing much just vamping; some of the crowd heard him and when the song finished the entertainers gave Finbar a round of applause. The entertainers, or the buskers, which is what they are called, asked Finbar to come closer when without warning he started playing Genevieve. It was a couple of years old, the music, but the three of them played to great applause, and as the singer wasn't needed, he took his flat cap off and tap danced along the line, passing his hat with each shuffle and - change-weight, as the taps echoed along with the music.

“Here you are son.” said the singer as he handed a coin from the hat to Finbar.

Half a crown!! “thank you” said Finbar.

“Shame you can't come every night, my son” said the singer as he patted Finbar on the head.

That was the second half-a-crown Finbar had been offered and, this time, he took it.

It was a great Saturday, in London, and when he woke the next morning for mass, his legs were stiff, after all the walking, and his father said “Stay there if you want – we'll go to Saint Anne's at noon.”

“High Noon.” said Finbar.

He was still a little stiff the next day, but hurried to school as there was an orchestra coming. The fourth year, ten and eleven year olds, gathered in the hall and the headmistress told the children to sit down. Already there were various members of The City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra (CBSO), tuning their instruments, Finbar was so excited, it was as if something was going to happen - and it did.

The headmistress, Miss Hatt, addressed the children, “Good morning, children.” and the children replied “Good morning Miss Hatt,” the orchestra, especially when they heard the odd 'Good morning Miss Cat' laughed – and she went on “I want you to give a wonderful school welcome to The City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra” and with that the school children erupted in loud applause.

“Good morning, boys an girls” said the conductor, “and thank you for that wonderful welcome. This is not the full orchestra, you understand: if the full orchestra was here today, you would all have to leave – or 'leave the room', as your teachers might say” the children laughed.

“Along with us today is Mister Barry Smyth of the Birmingham Repertory Theatre who is going to help us with our programme – Mister Barry Smyth . .”

Barry Smyth, who had been sitting on a chair near the percussion stood up and gave a wonderful entrance to the front. Teachers, sitting near the wall, started to clap. Finbar looked toward the teachers and the children gave a muted applause. For some reason Mister Hennessey, who was sitting with the teachers, didn't clap.

“Good morning, boys and girls: this morning the orchestra will play Peter and the Wolf by Sergei Prokofiev . .” as soon as the name was announced – the Russian name – Mister Hennessey started clapping loudly.

Nobody else did, and everybody looked at him.

“As I was saying. .” he looked at Hennessey, but the little man didn't know “we will commence with Peter and the Wolf.”

Barry Smyth moved to the microphone, the conductor to his place in front of the orchestra, lifted up his baton and . . .

Barry Smyth, spoke into the microphone “I'm going to tell you the story of Peter and the Wolf: in the tale you are about to hear, each character is represented by a different instrument of the orchestra – the bird by a flute . .” at this the flute player played high notes “the duck, by the oboe . .” two or three lower and slower phrases from the oboe. “The cat, by the clarinet . ” which he pronounced as a clarianet, and it was at the same tempo as the oboe but longer notes – minims (half a semibreve on each) - “the grandfather, by the bassoon . ” of course the bassoon was a lower melody getting near to the bass – crotchets (quarter of a semibreve) “the wolf, by the horns . ” this time more than one horn, which sounded like a fanfare and were minims and finished with semibreves (four crotchets) - Finbar knew the names of the beats from his piano lessons with Mister Ferris. Barry Smyth went on “The gunshots by the timpani and the bass drum . ” this time the bass drum and the timpani went mad at the back and the children cheered! As soon as they stopped, Barry Smyth gave a strange look and they all laughed.

He cleared his throat – “Peter, by the strings in the orchestra.” Beautiful violins, violas and cellos enveloped the school hall in what could only be called, music.

“Early one morning, Peter opened the gate” Barry Smyth, continued “and went in to the big green meadow.” The strings played for a while and when they finished Barry Smyth carried on. Every time the orchestra stopped he would tell more of the story.

There was one little part which made Finbar laugh it was when the little bird said to the duck “What kind of bird are you, that doesn't fly?” and the duck replied “what kind of bird are you, that doesn't swim?”

Poor Mister Ferris, Finbar thought as the school hall emptied.

Chapter 17

The Ballad of Carmel and Pat.

Novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Chickenpox and Shingles.

Ever since Finbar had his harmonica, it was with him all the time, so when he was taken to hospital he felt naked without it.

The day after he was taken out by the ambulance drivers, Patrick wasn't feeling too well, said his back was very stiff and tingly, he had a terrible head ache and was really under the weather and thought it must be the flu; so Carmel insisted he stay home whilst she went to see Finbar.

She went along the main road to where the number eight inner circle bus route crossed the main road, which took her all the way to Ladywood and The Children's Hospital.

She knew he would be missing his harmonica so brought it with her, but when she got to the enquiry desk, she was told that Finbar was in some kind of isolation.

It turned out that he didn't have pneumonia at all but chickenpox.

“I don't remember any signs of chickenpox” said Carmel, but they were assured that there was no mistake. She had chickenpox as a child but she didn't know about Patrick.

Finbar was delighted to see his mother and all Carmel could see were loads of spots all over his lovely face. The hospital suggested they keep him in till the spots crusted over.

When she returned home she found Patrick in terrible pain on the side of his back, which turned into spots; she knew straight away that it was shingles; Patrick had infected Finbar with the virus.

When Finbar came home, Carmel decided it would be better if he shared the double bed with his da and she take Finbar's room, with the wanted posters all over the wall, pictures of Gary Cooper and Gort from 'The Day the Earth Stood Still.'

It would mean Patrick would have to take a few days off work, which they couldn't really afford, but it had to be.

She called the dairy, from her friend Phyllis' phone, to let them know.

Irene and Sydney offered to help all they could as Carmel was working full time too in New Street, down town.

Finbar and Patrick had the time of their lives; Patrick made egg dip, which was white bread, dipped into a few whisked raw eggs and fried in the pan. Sometimes they had sausages and sometimes they had egg dip and sausages together, but whatever meal they had was covered in ketchup.

In fact they were like two naughty little boys.

The music from the records played so loud that deaf Sydney next door could hear the music, with Tex Ritter, invariably singing High Noon.

One day Finbar went to the bottom of the garden, wearing his cowboy outfit – hat, guns and marshal's badge – and stood behind the gate. Patrick put High Noon on at full blast and as soon as Finbar heard the first part with the drums - bum bup bup bum bup bup bum, bum bup bup bum - bum bup bup bum – he walked down the path towards the front door. He was walking like Gary Cooper and stealthily crossed the grass to the bay window. As soon a he could see his reflection in the window, he turned quickly and fired at it, throwing himself to the ground - bum bup bup bum – 'Do not forsake me oh my darling' bum bup bup bum bum bup bup bum. Loud clapping from Irene and Sydney echoed around the little terrace.

As soon as he heard the applause he leaned back on his elbows and shot Sydney, who fell behind the fence – silence; nothing.

All was silent; birds twittered and a train sped by on the embankment; on its way to London.

Finbar wondered if Sydney had hurt himself as he was almost blind and might have hit something.

Elsie looked worried and went to him, “oh dear” she said as she moved towards him. Finbar couldn't see where Sydney was and looked over the fence.

There was Sydney laying there, not a move. “Are you okay?”

Sydney looked up and faintly cried “You got me La Rue” and he fell back – then “Eat Lead” and he shot Finbar with his finger.

Patrick came out into garden, carrying a tray of drinks; mugs of tea for the three grown ups and a glass of Ribena for Finbar.

“How are you, Pat?” said Irene.

“I think I'll live.”

“We're going to the Horse Show next week,” said Sydney.

“Oh! Where's that?”

“In Kings' Heath.”

Kings' Heath was a couple of miles further south on the main road; a fifteen minute bus ride away.

“Can we go, da?” said Finbar.

“Sounding very Irish, there!” said Irene.

“Ah it comes and goes with him” said Patrick “I suppose it'll be gone forever, one of the days”

“Carmel told me it disappears at school.” she said.

“Can we, go da?”

“I don't see why not – ask your mammy when she comes in.”

Of course Carmel said they could go and they went with Irene and Sydney on the number 50 bus. Finbar loved it as it had show-horse ponies, jumping and as he had his cowboy stuff on they let him sit on a pony and it was a lot of fun. Elsie and Sydney went every year but they hadn't mentioned it before. It was particularly impressive to Patrick as he missed his life in Dublin with the horses, the craic with the boys down 'the lane' and standing on a two wheeler.

When they got home he was very quiet.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said Carmel.

“Ah not much. It reminded me of Finn Macooill looking at the horses today. Not a horse there who could touch him, I bet, and nobody riding bareback; soft arsed English, or what?”

Chapter 16

London

Chapter 14.

 

Was it love? How did Patrick know? Maybe he didn't know what love was; the only love he had was for his horse and the rest went to Joe, his father. He thought about Carmel all the time, and the funny little way she pronounced her name with the stress on the second syllable – made it sound mysteriously foreign. An American tourist once asked him where Parnell Street was and pronounced it as Par-null Street, but that was the way some of the English called it too.

Every time he walked along O'Connell Street he would check the time with Clerys' clock, then bring his eyes down to where they stood that first time he talked to her, and at the spot where her mother snatched her away.

Nora Wilde, she called herself, not Mrs. Wilde as anybody with a bit of sense would say.

As he walked on, the old song 'Nora Malone' came into his mind and he banished it before it took hold, and started to sing 'Molly Malone, in his head, and then whistled it as he walked.

He had been to the shop, where he saw Martin Kennedy ogling into a window of ladies' hats. It had been a good day, as the shop owner wanted to place an advertisement into a newspaper. His father had all the connections with the actual newspapers and would sort out which newspaper to try and place it.

A sudden thought hit him like a clanger: Carmel had mentioned to him that they had an account with Clerys – Martin Kennedy might know her address.

Instead of going to Joe in McDaid's, he went into Clerys to sort that it out. He was the first person he saw when he went into the shop. He was talking to a couple of young girls and he nearly turned and walked away when he saw Patrick, but Patrick caught his eye and signalled him to stop.

“What is it now?' said Kennedy.

“What is it now!!!! - why are you in a hurry to get away?'

Kennedy stopped in his tracks.

The girls he was talking to, used the excuse of the interruption to walk away from him.

“I didn't mean . . I was . .'

“Being a bleed'n' nuisance again – chasing the mots!'

He either didn't know Carmel's address or wouldn't tell him, but it was worth a try.

Patrick and Joe used McDaid's as a kind of meeting place as it was handy for the newspapers, the bookies and, most importantly – it had tick; credit.

After giving Joe the news about the hat shop wanting to place an advertisement, Patrick told Joe he was going to Dún Laoghaire to find out what was going on.

“Looking for your mot, are ye?'

“Well, something must have happened. She was as right as rain one day and the next, she's gone.'

He sat back in his chair and took a drink out of his pint.

“I'll go out there tomorrow – Finn Macooill will take me – if he's fit?'

“He's fit' said Joe “I'll get him from the lane, in the morning - but can you not get a bus?'

“I don't think so.'

“Or the train – millions come in every day to Westland Row, there are plenty of trains to Dún Laoghaire.'

Next morning Patrick was up and out before it was light.

His father was right – he'd get the train. For some reason he thought he could show up on a horse like Tom Mix and ride off with Carmel into the sunset.

Finn Macooill, his piebald horse, stood there ready to go, but Patrick wasn't taking him.

The horse was saddened at this and did he have a long face?

He might have, even, galloped out, like Captain Gallagher, fleeing the Red Coats, or a gentle little trot, searching for water troughs along the route. Patrick could ride a horse without a saddle as his father bought and sold them during his childhood. He would mess with the other lads of the lane, where they all rode bareback. But in reality he'd be flying down Cork Street with Finn Macooill pulling a 2-wheeler dodging buses and cars: even though he could ride a horse, standing on a two wheeler was his usual mode of horse travel. So after he left, Joe took Finn Macooill back to Molyneux Yard, which they called 'The Lane.'

He was a rare thing in 1940s Ireland, an only child: his brothers had all fled the nest to various parts of the world, and as the mother is the main stay of the family in The Liberties, his brothers must have felt no need to keep in touch as she was gone; their philosophy must have been, when the mother's gone the family are gone.

Maybe they would come back for a funeral with the wake and the drink, and the getting together with their new suits, bought especially for the funeral, to show they were doing well in their part of the Irish diaspora no matter to which country.

There were two brothers in America – Chicago and Montana, a brother in Australia and one in Canada. Patrick wouldn't expect any of those galoots to be at Joe's, on his demise, and even if they did he would hardly recognise them. The youngest, Jeremiah, was over ten years older that Patrick.

The family wasn't on his mind that morning as he walked to the station. He'll ask Carmel if . . . but then he thought something might have happened to her. She seemed to like the Jameson's the last time, although she only had the one and . . . oh hold it!! He gave her a little kiss on the cheek. She didn't seem to mind but it might have put her off him. He wasn't a fella for the girls, he'd always liked them but . . ah, but but but – let's get on with it.

He walked passed Dublin Castle and Trinity College, the college where Carmel said she was going to attend, and he saw a few couples, even at that time of the morning, strolling around St Stephen's Green: he was half tempted to go in there, before going to the station.

The half hour walk made him think about things. He was only a young fella, twenty one, so he wondered if his love, and he wasn't sure it was love, was a bit premature – and then he wondered how Carmel felt.

He remembered that the one time he was late meeting her – quite late, maybe half an hour - she was still waiting under the clock. She was in a terrible panic and worried, so she said, that she might never see him again.

'Ah stop worrying' he thought 'let's go' and he got on the train.

Not a habit, of his, taking the train. Others had suitcases and trunks, as they were getting the boat to Holyhead and to England. 'Goan'tingland' they'd say. Goan't make a killun dayor.'

Thoughts were roaming and meandering inside his head as the train moved on. Smoke coming from the steam engine, sounds of the train whistling, banging and clanging at each stop; jiggerty can, jiggerty can and, eventually, he looked through the window, as the smoke and steam cleared to see that the train had stopped; Dún Laoghaire. That's where he was Dún Laoghaire, and it was out the window.

He didn't know where Carmel lived, of course, all he knew was her name.

If her mother Nora Wilde was so confident about her name - Nora Wilde this, and Nora Wilde that, instead of, Mrs Wilde, lovely to meet you – people might know the family - it got up his back the way she looked at him that day as if Carmel had dragged him up out of the gutter – well maybe she did pull him out of the gutter and so what?

There it was in front of him Dún Bleedin' Laoghaire.

There were loads of people about so who should he ask?

They were all off on the diaspora to crowd the whole wide world with the Irish, then the Irish-ness and not all of them would stay in England – he bet none of them would stay in Holyhead – and he'd be right about that, not that he'd ever been there, or England or anywhere else apart from Ireland.

His Da didn't deal much with the horses any more, he was feeling his age. In the old days they had pigs, a goat and even a donkey and cart. This was Nancy, the old ass, they never called her a donkey, didn't like the word. Poor old Nancy; she'd pull that cart up hill and down dale with never a moan on her. One time Joe gave someone a lift to the station – Westland Row, as it happened, and the poor old ass collapsed pulling all that weight: collapsed at the traffic lights with two or three suit cases and a trunk on board – no guesses as to where they were going!!

Without missing a step, Joe hopped down, stood by Nancy and lifted her up by putting his shoulder to hers, and the fella to whom he was giving a lift, Tommy Devine, on the other side.

Now - who should he ask in Dún Laoghaire?

Her father had never been in a pub – never been in a pub - and then he saw a paper boy. The paper boy would know. “You don't know a Mr. Wilde do you?' he asked.

“You're right!' said the paper boy “I don't' and he walked off.

'That's a great start' he thought 'nice and friendly too.'

Actually it gave him an idea and he walked around till be saw a newspaper shop and went in. A big baldy headed fella was behind the counter giving someone a package of Sweet Afton and giving him change.

Patrick stopped for a moment - Flow gently Sweet Afton, among thy green braes. That's what he had said to Carmel, that day.

“Thank you very much, yes, thank you ta.' the fella said to every customer.

Then a next customer saw the lift of the eye brow and 'Thank you very much, yes, thank you ta.' The next - Thank you very much.'

Patrick got the eyebrow look:

He went to the counter “Thank you very much, yes, thank you ta.'

“er . . no I wanted to know if you know the Wildes?'

“The Oscar Wildes? Ha ha ha.'

“ . . no no -The family Wilde; do you know a family called Wilde?'

“I don't - Thank you very much. Next?

The paper boy, he had encountered earlier came through the door.

“Still looking for Wilde?'

“Yes'

“I was thinking about it.'

“You were?'
“Yes I was – I gave it a thought and there is a Reverend Wilde.'

“A wild reverend' laughed the big baldy headed fella behind the counter.

“No.' said Patrick.

“Okay' said the same man “Thank you very much, yes, thank you ta.'

The paper boy said “I know a Reverend Wilde.'

“Oh . . and where will I find him?'

“Up at the church. Where else do you think you'd find him?'

“I thought you could have put two two together, when I asked you before?'

“Why would I be putting two and two together?'

“Which church?'

“The protestant church.'

“Is he the priest there?'

“No – er I don't know – but his name is on the door.'

“How will I find it?' asked Patrick.

“Find what?'

“The church.'

“I tell you what' said the paper boy “If you walk towards the bay you should see something that looks like a Church – try that.'

“Ah funny wonder' said Patrick “a bleedin' comedian delivering the papers. I bet you're gas at a funeral.'

And he went out.

He enjoyed the craic in the paper shop – 'are people all like this in Dún Laoghaire?'

He knew which way was east, and he wandered into a place where, eventually he saw a church steeple. It was on the left hand side as you looked at it and the church, itself, was on the right. He went to the front door and there was a note on it – All enquiries to the Reverend Henry Wilde and it gave the house number in Haigh Avenue.

'All enquiries' he thought 'that'll be me.'

He walked down to the number, knocked the door and Nora Wilde opened it; neither of them said a word; just looked at each other.

Eventually “What can I do for you, Mr. Callaghan.'

“Is Carmel at home?'

“And why would you want Carmėl?' and before he could answer “but what is it to do with you whether she is home or not?'

“We had a date to meet, a few weeks ago, and I was worried about her.'

“Not that it has anything to do with you, but she is fine.'

The Reverend Wilde appeared from somewhere in the house.

“Everything all right, Nora?' then he saw Patrick “oh! Patrick Callaghan, who has been seeing my – (clearing is throat) - our daughter?'

“Yes sir, yes.'

“Well, Mr. Callaghan, my daughter is seventeen years of age.'

Patrick didn't say anything.

“How do you like that, Mr. Callaghan? Too young to be served alcohol anywhere in this country and you supplied her with the same?'

“The same? The same what?'

'Mr. Callaghan, I'm warning you to keep away from Carmèl' He pronounced it his way, which annoyed Patrick.

Wilde carried on “She is not here at the moment and in any case if you bother her again, I will have the guard on you – did you hear that? You introduced her to whiskey which is breaking the law.'

“I'm sorry but . .'

“No ifs or buts, Mr. Callaghan; keep away.' And he closed the door.