This Man's Wee Boy Read online

  Mrs Radcliffe came down from the top of the class again and looked at the two jotters. Both of us had got it right again. ‘Well done, Tony and Ciarán,’ she said, almost with a smile, and she turned and walked back to write the word ‘aeroplane’ under the growing list of words on the blackboard. When she turned round again she said, ‘Both Tony Doherty and Ciarán McLaughlin are joint winners of the spelling competition and will get their special prize before they go home today.’

  As three o’clock approached, the whole class had their eyes on Mrs Radcliffe to see from where the prizes were going to come. There was no sign of an obvious prize anywhere. When the bell eventually rang, Mrs Radcliffe lifted her shiny black handbag from under her table and took out her purse. Even though the bell had gone no one was allowed to move in Mrs Radcliffe’s class until she said so. That was the rule. Everyone sat and watched her opening her purse and, when she closed it, you could hear coins rattling in her hand. ‘Tony Doherty and Ciarán McLaughlin, can you come up here, please?’ she said, and both of us went up to the front beside her table. ‘Here you are, one for you and one for you,’ she said as she pressed a shilling coin in our hands, ‘and congratulations. Give Tony and Ciarán a round of applause, boys,’ and the whole class clapped.

  When I got outside, Karen and Patrick were waiting for me. ‘What was all that clapping about?’ asked Karen.

  ‘I won a shilling for me spelling,’ I said, holding the shilling out for them to see.

  ‘A whole shilling! God, that Mrs Radcliffe must be rich!’ said Karen.

  ‘Can we go to Wee Johnny’s for something?’ I asked my older sister.

  ‘Aye, surely,’ she replied and we dandered out through the archway onto Bishop Street. Wee Johnny’s shop was a house in a short terraced row just up from the archway on the same side of Bishop Street. When we went in the shop was full of wains all shouting their orders at the one time and holding pennies up for Wee Johnny. Wee Johnny repeated every order as he went.

  ‘A bag of Tayto cheese ’n’ onion, Johnny.’

  ‘A bag of Tayto cheese ’n’ onion, surely,’ said Johnny, his hand out for the money first. ‘Now, who’s next?’ he said, as if he had to ask.

  ‘A bottle of cream soda and two Whoppers.’

  ‘A bottle of cream soda and two Whoppers, surely,’ he replied, with the hand out.

  ‘Two treacle dainties and a Bubbly.’

  ‘Two treacle dainties and a Bubbly, surely,’ said Wee Johnny, taking the money and handing over the sweets.

  It was my turn.

  ‘A bottle of Sarsparilla and the rest in Fruit Salads and Black Jacks,’ I said, holding the shilling up for him at the counter.

  ‘A bottle of Sarsparilla and the rest in Fruit Salads and Black Jacks, surely,’ he repeated, taking the shilling coin off my hand. He lifted the wee bottle of Sarsparilla off the shelf behind him, opened it with the opener attached to the counter and handed it over. I grabbed the bottle and our Patrick took a handful of Fruit Salads and Black Jacks from him. As I turned to leave I noticed a huge bluebottle floating in the neck of the bottle of the Sarsparilla.

  ‘Hi, Johnny,’ I called out, ‘there’s a dirty big bluebottle in this bottle of Sarsparilla!’ and held the bottle up for him. ‘I want another wan.’

  ‘A dirty big bluebottle in the bottle of Sarsparilla, another wan surely, son,’ repeated Johnny and took the bottle from me. ‘Here ye go,’ he said as he handed me another one. We left the crowded shop and headed down Bishop Street towards home. As we walked down the hill towards the Brandywell we ate our way through the Black Jacks and the Fruit Salads. Black Jacks were small, black, liquorice-flavoured toffee sweets, and Fruit Salads were small pink and orange fruit-flavoured toffee sweets.

  As I chewed happily on a mouthful of the Fruit Salads, I struggled to get control of the softening block in my mouth, and felt a sharp pain shoot up from my jaw to my eye. I let a yelp out of me and put my hand up to my mouth to soothe the pain.

  ‘God, what the hell’s that?’ I asked. ‘I’ve a wile sore pain in my mouth!’ and started to cry with the pain.

  ‘It must be a toothache,’ Karen said, adding, ‘everybody gets them.’

  ‘God, it’s really wile sore,’ I cried, holding my mouth, while still trying to suck on the remains of the lump of Fruit Salads in my mouth.

  ‘Me ma or da’ll put something on it when they come home from work,’ said Karen.

  After an agonising hour on the chaise longue holding my sore mouth, me ma came in through the sitting room door.

  ‘God, son, what happened ye?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve got a toothache. I ate too many oul Fruit Salads and they made a hole in me tooth. It’s wile sore, Ma. Is there anything you can put on it for me?’

  ‘Aye. I’ll get ye something. Houl on a minute,’ and with that she went out the door. She came back a few minutes later with a wee brown bottle and cotton wool in her hands.

  ‘Right, sit you back on the sofa so we can see,’ she said, which I did.

  ‘Put your head back a bit over the arm,’ she said, which I did as well.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she said, as she dabbed at my gums with the cotton wool, ‘we’ll have to get you to the dentist. That’ll need to come out.’

  The pain eased as the smell of Clove Rock invaded my mouth.

  ‘What’ll need to come out, Ma?’ I asked.

  ‘That tooth. It’ll need to come out. Here, houl you that up to your gum,’ she said, giving me the clove-soaked cotton wool as she got up and went to the kitchen.

  The next afternoon Mrs Radcliffe said to me that me ma was waiting for me in the corridor to take me to the dentist, and we walked from the school down to Riverview House, where the dentist was. We went to the same building where I’d had my hearing test, but went in through a different door. Another nurse wearing a navy-blue uniform came out to where we were waiting, spoke to me ma on her own and after a few minutes the nurse brought us into the dentist’s room. The dentist was a young, short-haired man wearing a white coat.

  ‘Hello, Tony,’ he said. ‘You’re here to get a tooth out?’

  ‘Aye,’ I said, looking around me at the trays and tools and the dentist’s chair.

  ‘You eating too many sweeties?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye, them oul Fruit Salads,’ I answered, wondering how he knew.

  ‘Well, let’s see. Up you get on my chair and put your head back,’ said the dentist, as he moved over me.

  ‘Open your mouth wide,’ which I did, and he poked inside my mouth with a few metal tools, mmming and ahhing to himself.

  Up he got, said a few things to the nurse that I couldn’t hear, and then the nurse came towards me, still lying back on the dentist’s chair.

  ‘Well, Tony,’ said the nurse, ‘I’m just going to put this over your face and you have to breathe deeply for a few seconds. Okay?’ she asked and I nodded back to her the best I could. She placed what looked like a black mask over my face. ‘Now, breathe in Tony,’ said the nurse, and I breathed the rust-smelling gas for a few seconds.

  I woke up from my deep sleep and the nurse and me ma were smiling down at me as I lay still on the dentist’s chair. They were saying ‘Wake up, Tony’ right into my face. I could hear myself babbling something back and me ma and the nurse went into fits of giggling as they lifted me, an arm each, from the chair. My tongue was dry in my mouth and the nurse, still giggling away, put a clear plastic glass of red coloured water up to my mouth and told me to take a sip and spit it out in the wee white bowl beside the chair. The inside of my mouth felt like somebody else’s; I could nearly put my whole tongue in the crater left by my tooth. I got to my feet after a minute or so and me ma asked me was I okay to go. I said ‘Aye’ and we headed unsteadily towards the door and out into Riverview Park. As we walked through the park, I asked me ma why they were laughing at me in the dentist’s.

  ‘Aw, don’t talk,’ she laughed. ‘You woke up ranting and raving “I’m not deef Ma, amn’t I not?
”’

  * * *

  Brian McCool lived round the corner in Townsend Street, one street up from Moore Street. He was a nephew of Barry and Paddy, who owned Peggy the horse. I went into their sitting room with him one Saturday morning and he went upstairs. His big brother, Jake, was sitting on one end of the sofa and another big brother, Alec (known as Elec), was at the other end. Jake was reading a paper.

  ‘Sit you down over there on the chair,’ said Mrs McCool, pointing to a chair opposite. She was in the kitchen making tea.

  I sat down opposite the sofa with Brian’s big brothers on it. There was a coffee table in between us with a plate of tarts on it – yellow and pink iced tarts. My eyes locked on them.

  I saw Jake catching me gawking at the tarts and I looked away. He lifted the paper up in front of his face and Elec looked at him. They knew. I looked away to the kitchen, wondering what was keeping Brian. But the tarts drew me back; I couldn’t help gawking. I heard a noise from behind the paper.

  Elec looked over at Jake again and smiled, first at him and then at me.

  ‘Do you want one?’ he asked, nodding at the tarts.

  ‘One what?’ I replied. I could feel my cheeks redden.

  ‘A tart,’ he said. ‘Do you want one?’

  He looked over at Jake, still hidden behind the paper, which was shaking by now.

  ‘Naw, I’m all right,’ I lied, quickly glancing from Elec back to the tarts.

  ‘Here, take a wee tart. D’ye want a yellow one?’ He lifted the plate from the table and held it out towards me.

  ‘Naw, I’m all right, Elec. We’re goin’ out, me and Brian. I’m just waiting on him.’

  Jake brought the newspaper down. His face was red and he looked happy.

  ‘Take a wee tart, Tony,’ he said, ‘there’s too many for us.’ He looked at the tarts and then looked at me to give me the go-ahead.

  ‘Here’s the tea, boys,’ said Mrs McCool, coming in from the kitchen. ‘D’ye want a wee tart, Tony?’ she said as she placed the mugs in front of her big sons.

  ‘Aye, okay,’ I replied and looked at Jake and Elec before reaching for a pink one.

  We all smiled at one another as we ate the tarts.

  * * *

  We were going to Mass on a Sunday morning. We were outside the house in our good clothes when me da came out last. Becky and Mary Gallagher, who lived in the last house at the top end of the street, opposite Barry and Paddy McCool, were coming out to go to Mass as well. You only ever saw them when they were going to Mass. We didn’t know which of them was Becky and which was Mary, so we called them Oul Doll and New Doll. Oul Doll was the tallest. Paddy Stewart said they were from out the road in Killea, but they lived in our street.

  Out they came dressed in black shawls with black skirts and black boots. Oul Doll went first, up and out of Moore Street towards Hamilton Street. New Doll followed right behind her, keeping step with her sister. We were going in the same direction. We followed in silence at a safe distance. Patrick and Paul started giggling into their hands. Me da knew we were watching, but all he said was ‘Cut that cackle’. The two women stopped at the Grotto, turned briefly to bless themselves in perfect sync, and continued on their journey, one behind the other, up towards Hogg’s Folly to Mass in the Long Tower Chapel. We all blessed ourselves as we passed the Grotto.

  As they entered the chapel they stopped to dip their hands for holy water. Oul Doll waited for New Doll to dip and the two of them blessed themselves in unison before going inside. At Mass we sat a few rows behind them. At Holy Communion they manoeuvred from the pew as one and walked up to the altar, Oul Doll first, with New Doll in tow. After Communion down they came, Oul Doll followed by New Doll.

  * * *

  Our Karen was a witch. Me da called her Biddy Top Boot. She was in the bath one Saturday night. Me da called us in to see her hair held up with shampoo and brought up to a sharp point like a witch’s hat.

  When her front teeth fell out me da sent her to the shop for two sachets of Supersoft shampoo. When she came back she told me da that the man in the shop didn’t know what she was asking for.

  ‘So what did you ask for?’ he asked her.

  ‘Two thatheys of thuperthoft thampoo,’ she replied.

  ‘Two what?’ he asked.

  ‘Two thatheys of thuperthoft thampoo,’ she repeated.

  ‘But I didn’t send you for two thatheys of thuperthoft thampoo, I sent you for two sachets of Supersoft shampoo.’ He was laughing now.

  ‘He didn’t underthtand what I was thaying,’ she said, not sure what the laughing was about. ‘I had to point them out on the thelf above hith head,’ she added, holding the two sachets of Supersoft shampoo out in the palm of her hand.

  Me da bawled with laughter. So did we. Karen laughed too. Me da loved Karen. You could tell.

  * * *

  Paul hated water, especially the bath. He spoiled it for me; I loved the warm water on my skin and making waves. Our bath was a long, grey, tin one that was kept on a hook on the wall in the yard and brought in on a Saturday night. Me ma and da had to drag Paul in from the street. He stayed calm when he came in and while he took his clothes off. But when it was time to get into the water he struggled, writhed and kicked for all he was worth. Me ma had him by the arms and me da by the feet. One foot was in and then it was out again; two feet in and then one out over the side. When he got wet they couldn’t hold on to him and he escaped, ran out of the room, slipped on the oilcloth and slid down the hall on his bare arse. Me da had to run after him and slide him back again. Both me ma and da were in stitches laughing by this stage. Both of them were wringing wet. The oilcloth was covered in water. Paul was crying, but they got hold of him again and carried him to the bath where he was stood up straight and he let me ma wet him with a warm facecloth. When he turned around his arse and legs were black from the oilcloth and it ran down in streaks like watery liquorice. He calmed down, the tears stopped and eventually he got into the water and enjoyed the bath.

  * * *

  ‘Me da’s friend was in our bedroom last night,’ said Karen as we sat on the black plastic sofa and chairs. ‘Yous were all sleeping.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘Toby,’ she said. ‘I was the only one awake and he came into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He had sweets with him. He gave me some and I ate them.’

  ‘What kind of sweets did you get?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘Wine gums,’ she said. ‘I ate them but I didn’t like him sitting there on the bed.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘I don’t know. Yous were all sleeping and I wanted yous to wake up but yous didn’t,’ she replied.

  ‘What happened then?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘He left and went downstairs. He didn’t go in to say churrio to me ma and da. He just went out the front door,’ she said. ‘When me ma and da came up to get into bed, I told them that Toby was in the room and that he’d sat down on the bed and gave me sweets.’

  ‘What did me da say?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘He whispered something to me ma, then went downstairs again and out the front door. Me ma followed him down but didn’t go out. Me ma told me this morning that me da went round to Toby’s house, said to Toby’s ma what he did, and took him out to the street and battered him with his fists.’

  ‘He must’ve stole something on the way out,’ said Patrick. ‘That’s why he battered him.’

  * * *

  Me ma and da brought a baby girl back from the hospital. She slept in our bedroom in a drawer balanced on two chairs from the scullery. There was seven of us now in the bedroom. When we woke in the morning we would crowd round the drawer to look to see if she was awake before we got dressed for school. Me ma said to give her some air, so we stood back to give her air and then crowded round again. The baby’s name was Colleen.

  The bedroom ceiling fell in when we were at school. You could see the attic when you looked up through the wooden beams.
It was like a cave. The bedroom light looked odd as it dangled from a piece of bare wood in the attic. The ceiling didn’t fall on Colleen; she was downstairs with me ma.

  * * *

  ‘Hi mister, d’ye call you John Hume?’ I shouted from across the street to a dark-haired man in a suit as he passed by. We were playing tig on Hamilton Street near Paddy Melaugh’s shop.

  ‘Aye, that’s right, son,’ he called back, laughing.

  ‘Are you getting us a new house?’ I asked, following him as he walked along the street.

  ‘Do they call you Doherty?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Yous are getting a new house. I’m going up to see your mammy and daddy now. You live in number six?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye, wi’ the green door,’ I said, adding, ‘Our ceiling fell in ye know?’

  He laughed and said, ‘I do. Your mammy told me all about it,’ and headed to our door and knocked.

  I went back to playing tig.

  4

  An Army Sangar on

  Hamilton Street

  We moved house when I was six. A procession of children, only some of them Dohertys, came down the lane from Moore Street to 15 Hamilton Street bearing boxes, lampshades and bundles of bedclothes. We were moving again. It didn’t take long. Paddy Stewart wasn’t coming with us to Hamilton Street. He wanted to stay where he was. To get more peace, me ma said. The new house was a dull cream colour with a dull brown door and dull brown windowsills. Coffee and cream, it was called.

  We brought our black plastic sofa and beds. We got a new bed as well from me granny Sally’s house. Me ma and da got their own bedroom. Colleen stayed in with them in her drawer. Me and Paul had a bed of our own, and Karen and Patrick had a bed of their own. But the four of us were still in the one room. Their bed was over near the brown-tiled fireplace with their headboard facing the door, and me and Paul’s bed faced out the window towards the front street. Downstairs, there was a room beyond the scullery called the bathroom. It had a white bath in it and a toilet. We must’ve left the tin bath in Moore Street. We had a new front room with orange carpet and a long brown press with brass handles. A brown plastic farm-horse stood on the floor beside the fireplace.