smiling to himself.
We’re boy scouts, said Ben Gaffney.
Boy scouts, be God. Are yous in the band?
We are, I said.
Very good. Very good. He shook a stone out of his Wellington. I have a gammy leg, he explained. Then he studied us. Are you not afraid of auld Lavell? he asked. He pointed at the beam. That’s the very place he hung himself. See that lake? He pointed over the rushes. A nun astray in the head came down the hill and walked into it. A Sister Concepta. I dragged that water for her myself. And she came up black as peat. Then there was the jockey. But that was before my time. There was a race-course here, if you can believe it, and bedad he fell in and drowned.
He stood.
And that was the end of the racing. He studied us. Would you be young Smith?
No, said Ollie Smith.
You have the head of your father, he said. Well I’ll be off. Boy scouts, be God.
Goodbye, mister, said Matti.
He touched his nose with his index finger. And if anyone asks, I didn’t see ye. Right? He tipped his forehead. Take care now.
He headed off on his bad leg through the orchard striking nettles with a stick as he went. We talked of the nun, the jockey and old Lavell. We dropped lines into the lake for pike and walked through the swishing reeds. On the way back from there Ollie Smith let up a kite on the Gallows Hill. It whooshed into the air with a bark and drifted over the town. That was the signal to say we were mitching. The boys saw it from the Brotherss school.
Then we headed down the Cock Hill, round the Pound Archway and along River Street. At a signal we darted across Bridge Street, up Abbey Street and into the Market yard by the monastery where Owen Roe O’Neill was buried. We studied the broad brown bones under the collapsed tombs. Shoulder blades, said Matt Donnelly, that’s what they are. We climbed over the gate into the back of the Town Hall. We waited there till the lads came streaming down from the Brothers’. Then we took our bags and headed home, ducking pellets Paddy Ronaghan was shooting with a pellet gun from his bedroom window. Ping! Ping! The pellets flew like sparks across the Market Square.
Chapter 16
I heard my father had fallen ill in Brighton. He had suffered a blood ulcer. Una and Miriam stood for long hours on the phone outside the post office trying to get through to the hospital. Telegrams went over and back. Bridgie wrote to say he had collapsed in the hotel after the wedding.
I wrote him a letter telling all about school. By now the lads I used mitch with had all been caught so most mornings I headed off alone. Sometimes I’d go ahead of Una and slip up Con Reilly’s archway, through Burke’s yard and over the fence back into our garden. Then go on my hunkers under the windows of the bakery, and shoot into the old shed and up into the attic. Once I made my way down the entry, in the lower door and went upstairs back to bed. But mostly I headed into the country. Up by Billis and out by Behy Lake. Through the rocks at Shantemon, where the Reilly clan once had their main castle in the territory of Breifne. Sitting in a ditch I listened for the angelus bell before I made my way home for dinner.
Always afraid of being caught, and yet going further.
Then one day a woman in the shop reported me. I’d been seen walking the edge of the woods along St Patrick’s College. When I came in at four that afternoon with my bag Maisie shrieked. She chased me up the entry. I stayed above in the nun’s graveyard till night fell. I slipped the latch of the kitchen door and listened. Stepped into the dark dining room. There was no one there. I took ham out of the fridge and ate four slices.
There he is, said Maisie.
Don’t you know that Daddy is sick? said Una.
Go straight away to your bed, shouted Maisie.
They took the radio away so I couldn’t listen to Luxembourg. The room was full of reprimanding voices. Next morning Una walked me to the gate of the school.
I won’t go, I said.
You’ll have
We’re boy scouts, said Ben Gaffney.
Boy scouts, be God. Are yous in the band?
We are, I said.
Very good. Very good. He shook a stone out of his Wellington. I have a gammy leg, he explained. Then he studied us. Are you not afraid of auld Lavell? he asked. He pointed at the beam. That’s the very place he hung himself. See that lake? He pointed over the rushes. A nun astray in the head came down the hill and walked into it. A Sister Concepta. I dragged that water for her myself. And she came up black as peat. Then there was the jockey. But that was before my time. There was a race-course here, if you can believe it, and bedad he fell in and drowned.
He stood.
And that was the end of the racing. He studied us. Would you be young Smith?
No, said Ollie Smith.
You have the head of your father, he said. Well I’ll be off. Boy scouts, be God.
Goodbye, mister, said Matti.
He touched his nose with his index finger. And if anyone asks, I didn’t see ye. Right? He tipped his forehead. Take care now.
He headed off on his bad leg through the orchard striking nettles with a stick as he went. We talked of the nun, the jockey and old Lavell. We dropped lines into the lake for pike and walked through the swishing reeds. On the way back from there Ollie Smith let up a kite on the Gallows Hill. It whooshed into the air with a bark and drifted over the town. That was the signal to say we were mitching. The boys saw it from the Brotherss school.
Then we headed down the Cock Hill, round the Pound Archway and along River Street. At a signal we darted across Bridge Street, up Abbey Street and into the Market yard by the monastery where Owen Roe O’Neill was buried. We studied the broad brown bones under the collapsed tombs. Shoulder blades, said Matt Donnelly, that’s what they are. We climbed over the gate into the back of the Town Hall. We waited there till the lads came streaming down from the Brothers’. Then we took our bags and headed home, ducking pellets Paddy Ronaghan was shooting with a pellet gun from his bedroom window. Ping! Ping! The pellets flew like sparks across the Market Square.
Chapter 16
I heard my father had fallen ill in Brighton. He had suffered a blood ulcer. Una and Miriam stood for long hours on the phone outside the post office trying to get through to the hospital. Telegrams went over and back. Bridgie wrote to say he had collapsed in the hotel after the wedding.
I wrote him a letter telling all about school. By now the lads I used mitch with had all been caught so most mornings I headed off alone. Sometimes I’d go ahead of Una and slip up Con Reilly’s archway, through Burke’s yard and over the fence back into our garden. Then go on my hunkers under the windows of the bakery, and shoot into the old shed and up into the attic. Once I made my way down the entry, in the lower door and went upstairs back to bed. But mostly I headed into the country. Up by Billis and out by Behy Lake. Through the rocks at Shantemon, where the Reilly clan once had their main castle in the territory of Breifne. Sitting in a ditch I listened for the angelus bell before I made my way home for dinner.
Always afraid of being caught, and yet going further.
Then one day a woman in the shop reported me. I’d been seen walking the edge of the woods along St Patrick’s College. When I came in at four that afternoon with my bag Maisie shrieked. She chased me up the entry. I stayed above in the nun’s graveyard till night fell. I slipped the latch of the kitchen door and listened. Stepped into the dark dining room. There was no one there. I took ham out of the fridge and ate four slices.
There he is, said Maisie.
Don’t you know that Daddy is sick? said Una.
Go straight away to your bed, shouted Maisie.
They took the radio away so I couldn’t listen to Luxembourg. The room was full of reprimanding voices. Next morning Una walked me to the gate of the school.
I won’t go, I said.
You’ll have
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