The Real Mrs. Brown: The Authorised Biography of Brendan O'Carroll (13 page)

‘“Oh God, almighty. He is the spit of you. Did you know that children grow in the spirit world?”

‘“No I didn’t.”

‘“Well, he has. And he said to tell you that he’ll be ten shortly.”

‘Now, I was riveted. Brendan would have been four days short of his tenth birthday on 23 February.

‘“Brendan, he said to tell you that you should have no regrets. No guilty consciences. He is meant to be exactly where he should be.”

‘“Jaysus.”

‘“But I’m getting more, Brendan. You’re here in London for something to do with music. I’m getting a recording studio. A band . . . Something to do with a cannon?”

‘This was amazing. The reason I was in London was indeed to promote a local band; I had a meeting scheduled with Bruce White at Creole Records. And the name of the song we were going to try and sell was “Jump The Gun”.

‘“That’s what you’re here for, Brendan. But that’s not what is going to happen. I can see a studio and a microphone. Oh, and you love that microphone.”

‘“That won’t be me in the studio. It’s the band.”

‘“No, Brendan. It’s you.”

‘“But I’m not in the entertainment world.”

‘“I don’t care what you say. That’s where your future lies.”

‘“Right.”

‘“And I want you to remember something. Glasgow. Glasgow is going to be so important. And it’s you in the studio.”

‘So I wrote all this down. I was actually frightened by this point. Not visibly, but she took me in the kitchen, made me a cup of tea and then called a cab.

‘I went back to the hotel. Still shaken. And I went over the six pages of notes. Was it waffle? I was worrying that some of this stuff would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

‘Anyway, the thing with the band didn’t work out. But I ended up taking Joyce back to Ireland to read fortunes. And did they come true?

‘During the stint, I watched as she made the hardest of men weep. But – and there was indeed a very large but, which I didn’t pick up on till some time later – a pattern began to emerge. I think she knew how to get the genie out of the bottle, but not to get it back in. Ninety per cent of the people who took sittings with her had the most amazingly good news. And then had the most horrible five years that followed. Some went into bankruptcy, suffered serious illness. It was a terrible time for so many.’

What did it all mean? Was Brendan headed for a showbiz career? Was he destined to suffer incredibly bad fortune?

Has he formed this theory retrospectively because of the horrendous events that were to follow in his own life, looking back at the world with black-tinted glasses?

Brendan never saw Joyce after that trip. Nor has he since visited a spiritualist.

‘I don’t believe in them. I don’t,’ he says, not entirely convincingly. ‘But I admit she stunned me. I just don’t know how she could have told me what she did.’

In the meantime, he wouldn’t worry about predestination. He would follow his gut instinct. Wherever that would take him.

Pub Bombs

BACK in Dublin, The Abbot’s Castle was ticking over nicely (Brendan was now driving a purple Jaguar XJ6) and Doreen, a mother-of-two, found time to work the door (the logic – correct, as it happens – being that tough guys would accept rejection from a slight female before they’d back down to a man). And Brendan and Kevin were easily making the payment terms.

In September 1989, Brendan reckoned he was due a holiday. His Toronto-based sister Fiona was getting married and he could take off and relax and enjoy himself in the knowledge that all was well back in his Dublin bar.

Kevin had had his problems in the past, mostly substance-abuse-related, and had spent some time in rehab. But he reassured his partner he could leave the bar in safe hands.

‘Brendan, this is the biggest vote of confidence anyone could give me. I’ll do you proud.’

Brendan and Doreen had a great two weeks in Canada and, returning to Ireland refreshed and invigorated, he felt ready to take the business up to the next level.

But it didn’t happen. When Brendan walked into The Abbot’s Castle on 12 September, he was frozen to the spot. All the fixtures had been removed, the furniture, the lampshades, the stock. Everything.

‘Kevin was gone and he’d even sold the plates and light bulbs.’

There was worse to come. When Brendan had a look at the bank account, he saw it had been wiped out. Clean. Desperately, Brendan made phone calls, spoke to friends to try to figure out what had happened. No one knew where Kevin had disappeared to, but acquaintances revealed they’d bought the furniture, the bits and pieces. Legitimately, they said.

Brendan was furious. A few months later, when he heard Kevin had come home for Christmas, Brendan was so angry he drove his car to Kevin’s mother’s house and sat outside waiting for him.

He sat there for hours, until common sense descended. Brendan realised he had a wife and kids at home, and it was Christmas Eve.

 ‘Later on I thanked God I couldn’t find him. I went back to my family and we focused on celebrating the day as best we could.’

The pub was closed. The dream was over. Brendan was disconsolate. He owed £96,000 on the business and it might as well have been £96 million for all the chance he had of paying it back. And with two young kids to look after.

Brendan had to face the New Year believing he had lost his one chance.

‘It was gone. I was finished. Or so I thought. I’ve learned since in life that you get lots of chances. You’ve just got to be able to spot them. For example, if you have a massive debt with the bank, you need something to happen to pay it back. And say that thing doesn’t happen, you think you’re in trouble. But then you realise you’re not in trouble. It’s the bank that’s in trouble. So you say to the bank, “How can I help you get out of this trouble?” And you make a suggestion, to trade out, to borrow more money, whatever . . .’

But he hadn’t yet learned that Zen-like approach to dealing with angry creditors. Brendan spent the next year in court, losing case after case after case against suppliers and finance companies.

‘At that stage, if you’d put my name into the computer, you’d have sworn that I’d murdered the bank manager’s wife, the credit rating was so bad.

‘I owed so much money that I had no means of paying it back. What destroyed me was knowing we both could have come out of the pub experience as seriously rich men. But he sold us out for about ninety-odd grand. It was nothing.

‘But then it’s easy for me to say that.’

Three years later, Brendan discovered Kevin had been involved in the drugs scene, was gay and had contracted AIDS. Those days he’d disappeared now made sense.

When Kevin had realised he was dying, he’d taken all the money, everything, and headed off to Brisbane for a last hurrah.

But he came back. And he went to his mother’s house. And the night after he arrived back at his mother’s, he hanged himself.

Brendan was arrested the following day. Which wasn’t surprising, since he’d made it clear to everyone how furious he was with Kevin.

‘But the enquiries didn’t last long. It was soon established Kevin had killed himself. ‘Yet, I often reflect on it. One thing I think about is that I have no idea what it’s like to be dying of AIDS. To be totally afraid. And even to be gay. Being gay can be a very lonely life.

‘And then I have to think, “What does it take to hang yourself? How much desperation must you feel?” But you can’t let it affect your faith in human nature. If you carry grudges, they weigh you down.’

He adds, ruefully, ‘And anyway, it’s one of those ironic twists. If he hadn’t fecked off to Australia with the money, I might still be running a pub.’

Yet, he now had no job and a wife and two kids to support. What would he do?

Standing Up

ONE afternoon, a gypsy woman came to the door of Brendan’s four-bedroom terraced house selling clothes pegs.

‘This woman had made lots of stuff to sell, so I would buy something from her like a comb and give her a fiver, and I’d normally give her daughter a tenner for her Holy Communion.

‘And she said nice things, like I was the most generous person in the street. And then she said she had some really good news to tell me.

‘“Great. What is it?”

‘“Look, somebody put a curse on you a few years ago but it’s nearly over. It’s just about over. I just wanted to tell you that.”

‘Now, was it true what she was saying? Well, I reckon there’s as much chance of it being true as not.’

Brendan didn’t believe that Joyce had placed the curse on him. But part of him at least worried that those who had had their fortune told were in for some bad luck.

Meanwhile, Brendan knew that going back to waiting jobs alone wouldn’t begin to pay off the debts. He needed to earn more. He tried all the usual outlets for temporary work but these were recessionary times. Brendan was desperate.

As for his luck changing, there was no sign of a leprechaun appearing in the corner of the living room of his Ashbourne home. In fact one would later appear. But in an unexpected form.

Meantime, Brendan saw another possibility, an idea that would have a major impact on his fortunes further down the line. He spied an ad in the
Evening Herald
with the catchy headline
How To Earn A Thousand A Week
. And he was curious. So he called up the company that had placed the ad, and he learned they were selling accident insurance.

‘But the intriguing part was that they were offering this training course in Positive Mental Attitude, which lasted a week and took place in a hotel in Athlone.

‘And so I went down there, was introduced to the main man whose name escapes me, and there were eight of us on the course. On that first morning, I took my place at the head of the horseshoe-shaped table, and the bloke in charge was full of energy. Right from the start he had us all up on our feet, and then the music struck up and he had us dancing to “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary”.

‘I thought, “This is interesting. He’s off to a great start, getting us all up and jigging around.” And then he turned and looked at me, caught sight of the earring in my left ear and said, “Love the earring, Brendan. Not sure it’s right for this course, but love it anyway.”’

That night, almost subconsciously, Brendan took the earring out.

‘Looking back, it was so clever how he’d managed to flatter me and have me do what he wanted me to do.’

The next few days involved training in Positive Mental Attitude, psyching the team up to believe that they could sell policies to just about anyone. Brendan loved learning how to get inside people’s minds.

‘The first thing this involves is the mantra, “Get up in the morning and look in the mirror.” So effectively they use your mirror image to give you the PMA course every morning. You are taught to recite the Three Rs: Recognise something in somebody that’s beneficial, Relate it to yourself and then Reuse it for your own benefit.

‘Now, the irony was that those who learned PMA often became so good they left the company, moving on to big sales jobs. But the course does change people’s lives. It gives them the sense that they can conquer the world.’

And, for a boy brought up to believe he could fly, the possibilities were limitless.

Brendan did very well selling medical insurance. And those who opened their doors to Brendan liked the cheery banter. They bought into his oh-so-positive sales pitch.

However, Brendan didn’t stay with it. He was uncomfortable that he was milking friends and acquaintances. And the PMA had given him the confidence to walk away.

‘It certainly focused my mental attitude,’ he says, smiling. ‘I thought I could do more.’

But what? The leprechaun arrived at his door one afternoon, in the form of Gerry Browne. Gerry took Brendan by surprise when he said he was delighted at the news of the pub’s demise.

‘I’m actually thrilled,’ he told Brendan.

‘Why?’

‘Because now you’ll be able to do what you should have been doing all your life.’

‘And what’s that, Gerry?’

‘You’ll go on the stage.’

Brendan’s mind had already flirted with the notion of a career as a performer. He’d won the talent competition. He’d worked with Brendan Grace. And hadn’t the spiritualist implied he would one day stand in front of a microphone?

Now, Gerry’s declaration, combined with Brendan’s PMA thinking, opened the gates of possibility in his head.

What if he
could
make a living at this game?

Outrageous Comedy

COULD Brendan make it as a comedian?

‘I’d loved my little Sunday morning stints at The Abbot’s Castle, informing the punters of upcoming events, doing it in the form of a little comedy routine. And now, with Gerry’s thought in my head, I figured maybe I’d do a little stand-up, get seventy-eighty quid that the taxman wouldn’t see. And I could start to pay off a few debts.’

Gerry Browne invited Brendan to appear with Tinker’s Fancy – Jimmy (Dicey) Riley, Brendan Harrington, Paul Leech and Gerry Browne – in their regular gig at Slattery’s Bar in Cable Street. (All had day jobs, working as chefs, mechanics, and so on; Gerry Browne was a milkman and Brendan was back working as a waiter.) And the extra money certainly came in handy.