Two Walls and a Roof (26 page)

We were going to see a band called Chapter Five in Fermoy. I had been having no luck with the women for some time and I concluded it was my scruffy image that was causing it. Our idea
of fashion then was non fashion:
tie dye shir
ts, dirty torn jeans and a head
band if you felt like it
. T
he closer we looked to tramps the better we felt, and we all liked the look
;
after all we were Buttevant’s brand of hippies.  This was not the regular attire of the time though, espe
cially for those who went to hear the unspeakable country music
which we despised, but there lay the problem, as most women then went for that kind of music. We had to conform or stay inexperienced as regards the ways of women
,
so we compromised and dressed
like tramps while listening to c
ountry music.

The night in question I had a master plan
.
I was going to go to this rock group dressed in a ‘suit’.  This meant I would stand out so much that I had to be noticed, and the ‘innocent’ girls there would be fooled into
thinking I was a real nice guy
because of the way I dressed.  That was the plan at least. When
the lads arrived to collect me
they collapsed laughing at first, and they simply refused to be even seen near me, as the suit
was a dark wine coloured affair
with some kind of alien material whose origin I could never determine, but it was definitely not Irish. Hayes immediately christened it my ‘pink su
it’ which only added to the lad
s
’
laughter. The Nan had bought it from the ‘Jew Man’ on tick, and that could possibly be one explanation for its odd texture and colour, as it was a cross between an Egyptian cotton and a Chinese silk. I never seen the like of it, and that night was my first time getting into it as well.

Hayes said that he couldn’t soil his reputation by being seen with someone in a suit, let alone someone in a pink suit. He said it was just too much for him to bear. I refused all their threats and wouldn’t take it off because I knew they would not go without me.  In the end they capitulated with the compromise that I was not to queue up with them at the club, and off we went
,
late as usual.

Hayes was picking up a girl in Mallow, yet another poor victim, and I and Fowler and Joe Moloney were relegated to the back of the van acting as the usual ballast. Fowler was feeling s
ick from his grandmother’s stew
and kept moaning all through the journey to Mallow.  Hayes was by then ve
ry late because of my arguments
and him starting out late as usual, and he began driving even faster than ever. He picked up his victim and sped off at really high speed. He tore around the first corner and the victim started to protest loudly, but by then it was too late, and we were going to Fermoy on wings. I really became scared myself as Hayes was roaring the banking commands with a different frenzy. Soon the poor victim was beside herself with terror, and Joe was drumming away to himself
,
oblivious of the danger and banking automatically as usual.  Fowler was roaring that he’d be sick if Hayes didn’t slow down because he was being thrown from side to side. It was as if a kind of madness had gripped us all that night
,
starting with the laughter over my pink suit.  After about fourteen miles of excitement, screams of terror, sick moans, and drum sounds, Hayes
suddenly went flying into a zig
zag bend.  It was at a place where the road crossed a railway line almost at right angles. He shouted the commands, “Left, right, fuck
,
” but we couldn’t change sides fast enough and he lost control of the bloody van.  It hit the ditch and sped across to the other ditch
,
going up on two wheels, where it also
hit the kerb and began wobbling.
T
hen
,
with Hayes fighting for control
,
Fowler was thrown right up in the air
and
land
ed
on top of me. Moloney had sud
denly stopped
drumming with the
realization
of his death
’
s proximity and he too started screaming
, “F
uck, fuck, fuck Hayes
,
” then he too fell on top of me.

Simultaneously Fowler puked his
grandmother’s stew all over me
and my psychedelic shirt and pink suit.  I was covered in vomit and not sure if I was still alive or not.  There was a total panic for a short time, and it only took seconds before Hayes finally got the van slowed down
,
but not stopped. He was shaken but pretended it was our fault, and again speeded up as if to prove that he was not scared at all.  The girl
,
who was by then crying and shaking uncontrollably
,
just got ignored. We all began to laugh our heads off except the poor victim who seemed to be in a state of shock. My suit was ruined and I was now pissed off at this disaster.  Hayes said he had the answer
:
we would drive down t
o the river somewhere nearby so
I could wash it off, and it would dry in the heat of the van.  He was not seemingly worried that it was October and freezing cold
,
and neit
her was I if the truth be known.
I just wanted rid of the stinking stew. Somehow he found some road to the river and down we went. In the moonlight we all fell out the back of the van and headed for the water. I believe Fowler actually drank some of the river water to feel better. 
The girl finally stopped crying.
Moloney told some kind of a joke and we all laughed again.  I washed my suit in the river
,
com
pletely unperturbed by the girl
who looked on in horror as I togged off. There
,
standing in my underpants, I
wrung it out as best I could, then
I dressed again in my pink suit which had by then turned completely black
. O
ff we went again.

We got to the club and at the front door I got a lot of really strange looks, but we were well known there, and felt sure they would let us in. Hayes, who was feeling guilty for almost killing us, overcame his revulsion at being seen with me now in a black suit, and we all stood together. I smirked at my image,
as I looked like a small priest
with long hair, and a tie dye multicoloured shirt
. A
pink suit surely was better than that
. A
fter paying, in we went to the deafening music of the club.

The victim had disappeared, and we didn’t know where she went
.
Hayes said she had no stamina anyways.  As the night wore on
,
the heat dried out my suit slowly and
in patches. P
retty soon I was wearing a psychedelic suit as the red was coming back into it, and my success at getting dances became extraordinary. The lads were fuming at this, as they were
reduced to looking at the band
while I careered all around the hall almost like a celeb
rity. Where I would always fail
was when the girl leaned onto my shoulder to roar some comment ove
r the music. When this happened
she would suddenly feel the water squish out from some part of my clothes
,
usually my shoulders. This usually meant there would be a shriek of
,
“Ohh uckkk
,
” and my girl would beat a speedy retreat
saying, “
I’ll see you around creep”. Then in defeat I would return to the friends, but in the end it did dry out, and later I did score with a nice innocent girl who let me take her home. The lads were so mad at this that they decided to sabotage my chances
,
and Hayes drove the van along beside us
,
taunting us all the time. The girl was not impressed and soon left after Fowler throws open the back doors and roars out loud, “Come on you old bollix, we’re heading for the Majestic”. The
trip that had almost killed us
had been a complete waste of time
, but the night was still young
and we were soon on our way back to Mallow’s famous dance hall
;
the Majestic Ballroom
,
where we arrived just as the dance was ending.

While I was having the fun with Hayes and co, Kyrle had gone working to Dublin and was having his own adventures there. He would be gone for months at a time, and as mother never had a telephone in her life, she would be relying on me to pass on any news of her second son. By then I too had started working and I was not good at the visiting. Besides
,
Kyrle would only phone me at work now and again, so mother might go weeks
without hearing any news of him. O
ften six months went by without her ever actually seeing him, and this used to drive her to distraction with worry.

Kyrle thought
nothing of it though, nor did I. W
e all knew that we were alive, and that seemed to be enough for us when you
’
r
e
young. Eventually he would get lonesome and make a journey home, and it would be a cause for major rejoicing by mother
. F
ather saw it as a reason for
a different kind of celebration;
an in
creased number of visits to Kit’
s bar. I remember one time in particular when the rejoicing turned sour. It was a Friday night and Kyrle arrived in home drunk as a skunk unexpectedly.  He was wearing a black
,
heavy top coat that was covered in mud and he looked quite the worst for wear. Mother was both delighted and disgusted with him, while father saw h
im as his
savior
and provider of many extra pints of Guinness. By a pure fluke, I happened to arrive home for a visit shortly after Kyrle and father had retired to Kit
’
s pub. Mother began bitterly complaining Kyrle to me saying
,
“Jesus Mary and Holy Saint Joseph, he looks like a tramp John, and he’s paralytic drunk as well
.
I think he got fire
d from his good job in the Post
Office today”. I ignored her worries and told her that she should have sense, that he was probably always drunk on a Friday night. I was wondering about his bedraggled state of dress though, and seeing the mud caked all over his coat, I felt that he had been in a fight that he lost. The curiosity was killing me and I wormed the answer out of him later that night after he and father fell
in the door singing,
drunker than ever. Mother had gone to bed in disgust
,
followed soon by my father. Then the two of us chatted on for hours while Kyrle sobered up
,
as usual
,
as the night wore on.

Contrary to being fired
,
he had actually been promoted that day and decided to celebrate by coming home for the weekend by train. The problem was that he took to celebrating ear
ly on the train and got sozzled
drunk
, then
missed getting off in Buttevant. The train was pulling out of the station when he took decisive action and jumped from it as it left Buttevant. He fell into a mud ditch and that’s what saved him from being killed. I couldn’t believe it, but it was confirmed years later when one of his friends told me that he was with him on the train, and had tried to stop him from jumping.

On the Saturday we went walking down the castle and met old friends
. T
he day passed uneventful
ly
. Mother had gone mad getting food on
tic and made our favourite dish;
chips and an egg, as well as ordering a ‘round of Galtee bacon’. This was the ultimate treat for us, reserved for very special occasions
. O
f course the prodigal son returning was as
good as it gets. During the day
she had cooked this ‘roundel’ as we called it, and had left it in her ‘fridge’ on the window sill. Mother’s fridge was made from a large stone inverted pudding bowl sitting on a saucer, where the meat would be placed inside it and left overnight to cool. On the Saturday night we again chatted for hours and hours
,
with Kyrle then back to ‘normal’
. W
e discussed every
possible topic and argued over quantum p
hysics till we ran out of insults and
ego running.  Then about six a.m.
the hunger took over and we raided the back kitchen for food, with no success. Then we both remembered ‘the fridge’ and the inevitable roundel of beautiful bacon sitting so lonely on the front window.  This roundel of bacon had just one flaw
: i
f you cut it, it always left a tell tale sign of
the cut, and we knew full well
that this bacon was for the ‘Sunday Surprise’ at teatime. It was like the turkey at Christmas and was almost as rare too. Kyrle felt that we should be able to cut a full circle off it and convince the mother that it had ‘shrunk’ in the night air. So we got at it and cut a ring off it, and ate it down
. I
t was so delicious. However
,
we could not hide our theft, so we felt that if we cut a second thinner ring it might work better the next time. That just made it worse
. T
hen while we were wondering what to do next, our nine year old brother Hugh arrived down the stairs to see what his heroes were up to. Here we found the perfect scapegoat. I offered him a chunk of the bacon, because by then all attempts at hiding our crime were in vain. “Here Hugh, have some baco
n, tis lovely”. He froze in mid-step half-
way down the stairs, realizing the setup by instinct. “Ohh no way, I’m not being blamed for ye eating that bacon
. N
o way, ye can shag off, and I’m telling”. Then he hightailed it back up the stairs to his bed, so we ate the rest of the roundel and left some money in the fridge to soften the blow
. T
hen
,
with my belly full
,
I went home to Nannie
’
s and forgot all about our crime.