Rory & Ita (32 page)

‘We brought him up to this nursing home in Howth. They were very kind there but, while he was pretty poor physically, mentally he was very bright. He’d read forever – he was like my father in that. We went up each day to him, but it wasn’t right to see him sitting there. So we decided to ask him would he like to come and live with us. He was delighted.

‘There wasn’t much room, so we set up the sitting-room as a bedroom for him, until we decided what to do. We enquired about getting a bedsit built, a building in the form of a bedsit or motel room, out the back, and that was what we did; Rory designed it. It didn’t take too long to build. And he settled into that.

‘When he came home from America, he was allowed to bring as much furniture as he wanted to, and anything else; the Department paid for everything. The Customs people intervened, and all his stuff had to be put into our garage, and the garage sealed. And Joe had bottles of perfume here and bottles of liquor there, stuck to the legs of tables and chairs, and everything.
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Our boys were little lads at the time, and they were able to nip in and out – the seals weren’t touched – and crawl between the legs of chairs and tables; the furnishings were full of the bottles. Between them, they took out quite a sizeable amount of the bottles.
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But, even at that, when the Customs men arrived, they found what was left of it, and he still had quite a bill.

‘I think Joe was as content as he could have been, under the circumstances. He had his bad days and he had good days.
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He did his best to hide the pain; he
was having piles of tablets. Then his hands went very bad, so much so that I had to feed him. It was Dr O’Leary who got him into Cappagh.
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They were marvellous. I don’t know what they did with his hands, but when he came back he was able to use his knife and fork, and even write again. But there was one episode while he was there. He smoked; he wasn’t supposed to. But he used to sneak the smokes, and he smoked in bed one night. And the bed caught fire, while he was asleep. It burnt down one side, across the bottom, and up the other side. Somebody noticed, and put it out. And he was unscathed. We went in to visit him the day after it happened, and he was sitting in his wheelchair with a grin on his face. He told us about it. “D’you know what?” he said. “They’re coming in to touch the hem of my garment.” The nuns really were very impressed with it. He had no religion; he often said he wished he had. He was afraid of nuns. But the nuns in Cappagh he really liked. I think they recognised that he had a great brain and it was too good to waste. He used to go for physiotherapy. He was supposed to hold things in his hands, like soft rubber balls, and roll them around; I suppose, to try to keep his hands supple. But he just wouldn’t do it.
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So, one of the nuns – I can’t remember her name now, but she came over here a few times when Joe was at home and she rode a motor bike; she had a helmet on. She was a great little woman. Joe had the greatest admiration for her. Anyway she decided that it would be a good idea to set up a little newspaper. She really did it for him, but he accepted that it was for the
good of the other patients in the wards, and it kept him busy for the months that he was there. He’d go around to various patients and get bits of news from them. I can’t remember whether it was weekly or fortnightly or monthly, just a few pages, but he really got dug into it, and enjoyed doing it.

‘Sunday afternoons, we’d all go out to visit Joe. And there was this unfortunate man – I always felt he was a very lonely man – but he had been a patient there. And he really haunted the house; he was forever there. He obviously thought that he was doing great good. First of all, he used to direct the traffic in the car park. He drove Rory mad and, once or twice, he threatened to run over him. However, he didn’t. Then, he had this accordion, and he went up and down the wards with it. It drove Joe insane. I’d say, “Ah sure, the poor man; he’s lonely, it’s his big day.” But Joe would say, “I wish he’d fuck off. He has a captive audience here.”

‘The nuns were so nice to him, and they never forced religion on him. They knew; he was what he was. There was, I think, a Sister Rachel; she was a tall nun. There were two particular nuns – I should never have forgotten their names but I’m afraid I have. But they decided that he should go to Lourdes.
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He was very loath to go, but he’d have done anything to please the nuns, and the nuns felt that he should go. So, off he went, to Lourdes. And he came back quite content, with all kinds of presents for us, the usual leather wallets and relics, medals and rosary beads, and delighted with life. That
summer, we were down visiting Aunt Katie in Coolnaboy, and Katie was telling us about a man from Oilgate who went out every year, to help with the invalids in Lourdes. She’d asked how he’d got on, and he told her he’d met a small man, and “your own name, Bolger was his name. And we lifted him out of the wheelchair, to put him into the baths, and,” he said, “the language out of him! I never heard it before.” So, Katie said to me, “I knew it was Joe, but I never said a word.” But the thing about it is: I remember the nuns telling me that Joe’s spine was like the bones in a tin of salmon; move them in any way unusual, and they’d snap. If you even touched him – once or twice we tried to get him into the car – it was agony to him. So, I can just imagine what happened when they lifted him out of the wheelchair.’

‘Maeve Brennan wrote and said she was coming to Ireland. Now, I wasn’t very close to Maeve. I’d seen very little of her, because she was that bit older than me and she’d gone to America when she was quite young. We were in the Brennan house in Cherryfield Avenue, in Ranelagh, when I was very young, and there were girls there, but it didn’t register that they were cousins. I met Maeve when her father and mother came back to live here after the War. Bob was Director of Broadcasting, and they bought a house on Dodder Road. And, three or four times, Una invited me to dinner. I remember going over once, and Maeve answered the door, and I thought, “My God. Sophistication.” She looked absolutely smashing. She was wearing a twin-set – but there are twin-sets and twin-sets; this was the finest of fine. And a beautiful pearl necklace. And her hair piled up
on top. I thought she was gorgeous. She was smiling and friendly, and I liked her straight away. I met her twice there, before I was married. But, other than that, I didn’t really know her.

‘So, she wrote, and she came over; she was staying with her sister. Then she phoned me to know would I have room for her. I said I would. And she arrived. As always, she looked most elegant.
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She had her typewriter with her, and she stayed a few months, if not longer. A lot of her time was spent reviewing books for the
New Yorker
. Large parcels of books used to arrive. Mostly books of Irish interest.
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She used to go up to the shopping centre, which was quite new – Kilbarrack Shopping Centre. She’d walk up, buy
Ireland’s Own
, go into the café there, buy apple tart and tea, and read
Ireland’s Own
from cover to cover. I think she was terribly sentimental about Ireland and Irish things. She was able to cocoon herself at her table, with her tea and her tart. She’d come home and she’d tell me about this one she’d seen, or that one; maybe some peculiar thing had happened, or some odd-looking person. But those trips to the shopping centre were for
Ireland’s Own
.

‘Another time, herself and my daughter Pamela went off, up to the Marine Hotel in Sutton, for a drink. When they came out again, it was raining. There was no sign of a bus, and they decided to walk home. So, they were walking along the seafront, and Pamela had an umbrella and she said to Maeve to get in under the umbrella. And
Maeve said, “No. I always said I loved walking in the rain, so now I’m going to test it.” So, they got home and Maeve was like a drowned rat. And Pamela said, “Well, did you like walking in the rain?” And Maeve said, “No, I didn’t. I’m drenched.”

‘I remember another time, we were all talking and, for some reason, there was mention of prawns. Prawn cocktails were a fashionable starter at the time. And Rory mentioned that prawns were lovely. Now, with Maeve, you dared not mention that you liked something because, the next day, you’d have it. I got very wary of it; she really was overgenerous. Anyway, she decided that myself and Shane – he was the only one at home that day – we were going to town and we were going to buy prawns. We went to Smith’s On The Green.
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She bought a bottle of wine; at that time wine was strictly for special occasions. She bought a bottle of Tabasco sauce, and some kind of a sauce for making prawn cocktail – I think it was called Marie Rose. At that time there was a fish shop in Grafton Street, a very exclusive place; they had the best of smoked salmon, the best of prawns, and other fish, all beautifully laid out. She bought a pound of prawns, which was an enormous amount of prawns. And then, another thing: coffee was still a luxury in those days, and Maeve had mentioned this particular type of pot; you put the coffee in, screwed on the top, and put it on the stove. I realise now that it was an espresso pot, but at the time I didn’t know what it was. So we went into Bewley’s, and they had about ten different types of coffee pot there. And the ten different
types of coffee pot were taken down, and put along the counter. And we were told how each of them worked, and Maeve listened intently – all different, filters, this make, that make – and thanked everyone politely, and sailed out. She then decided that we were going for lunch. We went to a hotel, in Wicklow Street – I can’t remember the name. They had a very nice dining-room, and we were handed these huge menus. I’ve no recollection of what we ate; I do know I enjoyed it thoroughly, because it was a real treat. Maeve asked if she could keep one of the menus. And the waiter – slightly reluctantly, I thought – but, with her slight hint of an American accent, let her have it. Whether it was a souvenir or not, I don’t know. Then we went back to Bewley’s and we bought an almond ring – because I’d mentioned that I liked almond rings; I was lucky she didn’t buy half a dozen almond rings. Then we got a cab home. And, when we came home, Maeve made the prawn cocktail, a great big bowl of prawn cocktail, and then decided that she wasn’t that keen on prawns. But Rory liked them and that was all that mattered. So, we dined on prawns for days.
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‘She ate like a bird. I often wondered what she lived on. Now and again, she’d eat a good Sunday dinner; she’d tuck in. But, other than that, she wouldn’t eat with us. She’d pick at bits and pieces. I think she was afraid that she might be intruding. She had a separate place here – out where Joe lived; Joe was in Cappagh at that time. Sometimes, at night, you’d hear the typewriter
hopping away. But she was always in good humour. I don’t think I ever heard a cross word or a derogatory word, or a glum word from her. She visited Joe a few times. She was very close to him; they were great friends. They shared the same birthday, as did my father – the sixth of January.

‘She smoked endlessly but, as Rory smoked the pipe, I was used to the smoke hovering around my head. Every now and again, she mentioned Mac; Mac said this, or myself and Mac went here or there. Out of the blue one day, Shane said, “Maeve, you’re always talking about Mac. Who’s Mac?” He was a very small fellow at this stage. And she said, “Mac was my husband. I was his third wife.” And that was it.
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Apparently, he was quite a well-known writer in America,
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and he’d been over here once. I must have been in Wexford at the time, but Maeve and Mac visited Máire, and she thought he was a very nice man. Maeve did tell me that she often wondered why his family had welcomed her with open arms when it was announced that she was going to marry him, and she realised afterwards that it was because he was an alcoholic and she was going to take their troubles on her shoulders. But, other than that, she didn’t slag him off in any way.

‘She departed as suddenly as she came. I went up to Raheny for something, and when I came back she had
her coat on, and I said, “Are you going to town?” And she said, “No, I’m leaving. I’ve decided, I’ve stayed long enough. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.” And away she went. She was going to stay in the old Moira Hotel, at the back of Andrew’s Street.
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I think she had sentimental feelings for that place, because she’d stayed there with her father when she was young.
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I heard afterwards she’d rented a flat somewhere. But she only phoned me one more time after that. And we had a phone call from Store Street police station, to say that there was a lady there called Maeve and that she seemed to be somewhat upset; she’d given my number, as somebody they could contact – to check up on who she was. I said, “That’s right; she’s a cousin of mine.” And the Garda asked would I speak to her, that she seemed to be upset about something. So Maeve came on the phone, and she sounded quite natural to me. But she said she was worried about her niece, worried that something was going to happen to her – some little thing had got into her mind and she was very upset about it. I spoke to her for a while. I said, “I’m sure she’s alright,” and not to be worrying about her. I asked her would she like to come out to us, and she said, No, she’d be fine. The Garda thanked me, and that was the last I heard.

‘When Joe died, I got a very nice letter from Maeve; she was back in America. She told me how sad she was that Joe was dead, but also glad, because of the way he had suffered. And again, she thanked us for the time
she’d stayed, and how fond she’d been of us. That, really, was the last I heard from her. I read on the flyleaf of one of her books that she had died in poverty. That is only partially true. She may have haunted the offices of the
New Yorker
at one stage but she died quite comfortably. Her brother, Pat – his name was Robert but he was always called Pat – he told me that she died in a nursing home. She seemed to have lost her memory and could not remember any name that Pat mentioned to her.
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