Unspoken

by Gerard Stembridge

  ‘Actually, I’m just the carpet that everyone sweeps their dirt under.’

  Francis didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded funny the way Gavin said it as he turned and walked away. He walked fast, talking all the time.

  ‘Why don’t we dip our lips in cuisine de canteen before starting the tour. The place is in a lather of excitement today on account of the election. The rumour mill grinding away even more mercilessly than usual.’

  Francis began to think that Gavin had a way of making everything he said sound funny. It was partly the words he used, and partly the way he made a face or a gesture as he spoke. And he said things that meant one thing but seemed to mean something else as well. Francis thought he was like an actor. He said funny things about the food in the canteen and when the boys spotted people they recognised from television – Brendan O’Reilly, the sports presenter and Brian Farrell, who was on 7 Days and Thelma Mansfield, who introduced all the programmes – Gavin had something funny to say about them all. Soon, the boys were giggling every time he even raised an eyebrow. When they finished eating their sausages and chips he said, ‘Let the grand tour commence, gentlemen.’

  First, they went to the news studio, or the broom cupboard as Gavin told them everyone called it. He allowed them to sit where Charles Mitchell sat every night. He told them to look straight at the camera, counted them down from five and gave them a cue. Giggling, they said. ‘Good evening, here is the news read by Ian Barry and Francis Strong.’

  Then they went to Studio Three which was a bit bigger, but they were only allowed take a quick peek in because Buntús Cainte was being recorded. Gavin asked them if they spoke any Irish and they told him that in school they did every subject through Irish. Gavin gave Mr Barry a look and said, ‘Oh, we’re not dealing with muck here are we? So you don’t need a programme like Buntús Cainte to teach you, then. It’s probably a bit low-grade for geniuses like you.’ ‘Yeah, a bit,’ said Ian cheekily. ‘Oh, I’m getting the lash already. His father’s son, I see.’ said Gavin, winking at Mr Barry. ‘So tell me this, what are your favourite television programmes?’

  ‘Mission Impossible,’ Francis said, straight away.

  ‘Yeah, I like that too,’ said Ian, ‘And Ironside.’

  ‘And The Avengers.’

  ‘And The Saint.’

  ‘And Mannix.’

  ‘And Marty Feldman.’

  ‘And I Dream of Jeannie.’

  ‘And Green Acres.’

  ‘And Get Smart.’

  Gavin, laughing, said, ‘All British and American programmes. RTE not up to your high standards, is that it?’

  Francis said, ‘Well, my mam and dad always watch The Riordans. I like it too.’

  ‘Oh, don’t feel you have to reassure me, especially as I’m off to America myself very soon.’

  ‘Gavin is going to live in New York,’ Mr Barry said. ‘He’s got a TV job there. How about that?’

  The boys looked at each other, very impressed. Francis said, ‘My brother Gussie wanted to go to America but my mam wouldn’t let him.’

  Gavin winked. ‘Ah, that’s mothers for you, Francis. I’m hoping to get away before mine finds out about me.’

  ‘And what about your wife?’ said Ian.

  Mr Barry said quickly, ‘Ian, that’s none of your business.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ian.

  Gavin just laughed. ‘Well, the way it is with me – how can I put it? – I’m a free agent. The world is my oyster.’ Francis liked the sound of that.

  They were now outside another studio. ‘OK, my fine feathered friends, this is Studio Two. There was a programme on here last night and the set is still there. What I want to know is, can you tell me the name of the programme?’ They went in and even though the set wasn’t lit up properly both Francis and Ian knew straight away what show it was. ‘Like Now!’ they both shouted. It looked weird without the flashing lights and the dancers and the bands.

  ‘So, what do you think of Like Now!?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s kinda good.’ Francis could tell Ian was making that up. So could Mr Barry, because he was smiling when he said, ‘Ian isn’t really into rock music, hasn’t hit that age yet.’

  Francis was thinking that Martin was going to be so jealous. He never missed Like Now! Francis had only ever watched bits of it. Some of the bands on it were really freaky – ‘Far out,’ Martin would say, which meant he thought they were fab.

  ‘My brother loves it, and my sister watches it too. My brother likes Deep Purple and my sister likes the Mamas and the Papas.’

  ‘Well, everyone to their own taste, no matter how zany or peculiar. Isn’t that the way it should be, Brendan?’ said Gavin, and whatever way he said it, and the way Mr Barry grinned, Francis thought he must mean something else as well.

  Finally Gavin showed them the biggest studio. Studio One. It was ginormous, bigger than the green in front of Francis’ house. Because there were loads of people buzzing about, getting ready for the election programme, they had to stay out of everyone’s way, so Gavin led them behind the set, along the studio wall, to a narrow steel stairs and pointed up. He started to climb the stairs and the others followed. It was dark and steep so Mr Barry stayed behind the boys in case one of them slipped or stumbled. The stairs went up, way up, until they were above the lights, and the ceiling was just over their heads. There was a steel walkway along the wall on two sides. They could lean against the railing and look down on the whole studio floor. Everything seemed small now, even the huge sign on the set.

  GENERAL ELECTION ’69

  Gavin whispered, ‘Studio One is where we do all the big shows like the Late Late, which of course you won’t have seen but you probably –’

  ‘Sometimes I’m let stay up to see the first few minutes.’

  ‘I’m never allowed see it. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Don’t look at me, Ian. Talk to your mummy about that.’

  Gavin said, ‘Well, if you ask me, no child should ever be let anywhere near the Late Late Show. There’s terrible things happen on that show. Oh yes! Sinful things. Not fit for the eyes of a good Catholic boy. I’d keep well away if I were you.’

  Francis knew he was being funny again. Listening to him made him wish even more that he was old enough to see a whole Late Late Show.

  ‘Do you ever work on it?’

  ‘Now and then. But most of the time I work on dramas. It’s what I suppose you’d call my area of expertise. I’ve done dozens and dozens of dramas. In fact, I have a particularly happy memory of one we made right here in this studio –’

  Francis noticed a change in Gavin’s voice. He wished he had the right word to describe it exactly. Definitely, he sounded more serious.

  ‘– It’s still the biggest and most expensive drama we’ve ever done. It was called Insurrection. Brendan, do you remember Insurrection?’

  Francis was so excited he couldn’t stop himself speaking.

  ‘I remember it! I saw it!’

  Gavin had been smiling at Mr Barry, but now he looked at Francis, genuinely surprised.

  ‘Really? No you couldn’t have. It was three years ago. You’re probably thinking of something else.’

  ‘No, I remember it. It was about the 1916 Rising. I watched it every night for a whole week.’

  ‘That’s right, it was on every night. You really saw it?’

  ‘Yeah, it was brilliant. And were you the floor manager?’

  ‘For my sins. We nearly set this studio on fire making it.’

  ‘Was that the part when the GPO burned down?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Francis was amazed. He could tell Gavin was amazed too.

  ‘That was here? You did that here?’

  ‘The magic of television, Francis. We turned the whole studio into the GPO and set it on fire.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Yeah, I remember standing right here on the last day of the production, looking down on the set with a friend of mine�
� It was a very special moment.’

  *

  When the tour finished, Brendan gave Ian the car keys and told him not to drive away without him. He and Gavin watched the boys race each other to the car, all excited, already involved in some imaginary adventure.

  ‘Thanks a million for doing that. They’ll be talking about it for ever.’

  ‘Not at all. Sure, you know me, any excuse for a performance. They’re really nice kids.’

  ‘I enjoyed it too.’

  ‘Of course. You love the bit of glam.’

  ‘So, listen. I’m bringing the lads to the Coffee Dock for a bite of dinner later. Why don’t you come along? They’d love it if you did.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Enough of children for one day?’

  ‘No, not at all, they’re bright kids and I love an adoring audience. But ah… no, it’s probably best not to –’

  ‘Come on, Gav. It’d be a laugh.’

  ‘No… No, Brendan.’

  ‘I think you want to. And I mean… It could be the last time I’ll ever see you.’

  ‘Oh don’t be such a drama queen, dearheart. There’s fellahs off to the moon in a few weeks’ time. A bit of transatlantic travel is nothing these days.’

  ‘But you know what I mean?’

  ‘Of course I know what you mean. I always know exactly what you mean.’

  ‘So… how about it?’

  ‘I might… I’ll see how I feel.’

  ‘Do.’

  ‘I might.’

  *

  Francis was delighted when he saw Gavin arrive into the Coffee Dock and look around. He tapped Ian’s foot and nodded towards him. Mr Barry said, ‘What’s up?’

  ‘There’s Gavin, Daddy.’

  ‘Hm? Oh yeah, he said he might drop by if he had a chance.’

  Mr Barry waved. Gavin waved back and came over. Francis watched him as he – what was the best word? Not swaggered, or swept – as he paraded over. Along the way he recognised someone and gave them a big smile and salute. His long hair danced as he moved and the way he dressed, with his flowery shirt open at the neck and his bell-bottom jeans, it was like he owned the world. A free agent. That was what he said.

  ‘Not too late, I hope?’

  ‘No, we’ve just ordered. Burgers and chips and French-fried onions and mushrooms and all the trimmings.

  Gavin ordered the same. Mr Barry asked what was the latest word on the election.

  ‘Well, you’ll be happy. It’s looking like Fianna Fáil again. Same old, same old.’

  ‘Oh well. Does that mean the seventies won’t be Socialist?’

  ‘Ha ha. Definitely time for me to spread my wings and fly.’

  Even with their mouths full of burger Francis and Ian still managed to bombard Gavin with questions about television. He had amusing answers for everything and told lots of stories about mistakes that happened while they were making programmes. ‘Cock-ups’ he called them. Francis had heard loads of new words today. He hoped he would remember them all. As Gavin was telling a story about a bull running loose in the farmyard where they were shooting a scene for The Riordans, Francis remembered something his mam had told him to find out.

  ‘Gavin, you know the way in The Riordans, Tom Riordan is married to Mary Riordan and Batty Brennan is married to Minnie Brennan.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well my mam said that she was told that, in real life, Tom Riordan is married to Minnie Brennan and Mary Riordan is married to Batty Brennan.’

  ‘Well, you can tell your mam that she’s absolutely right.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. I know, it’s all upside down, isn’t it? You see, that’s the weird and wonderful thing about real life, Francis. It’s never the way you expect it to be. That’s the big secret they never tell you.’

  Francis wasn’t sure exactly what Gavin meant, but he believed him. He knew there were things adults knew that they didn’t want children to know. Sometimes his mam would be talking to his dad, or his godmother Mary Storan or his Auntie Mona and suddenly their voices would go into a whisper and then get louder again, ‘Ah but you see what happened there was… whishwhishwhishwhishwhish… you see now? Anyway, say nothing for the moment, there’s big ears in the room…’ and he knew the whispered bit was some secret thing he wasn’t supposed to know. Was that what Gavin was talking about?

  ‘Will you stop messing with the kid’s head!’ said Mr Barry. But he was smiling and Francis could tell that he really liked Gavin. He wondered how long had they been pals and for a second he thought it would be brilliant if Gavin was his dad, like Mr Barry was Ian’s dad. But then wouldn’t he miss his own mam and dad? What if Gavin was his big brother and Mr Barry was his best pal and they took him and Ian everywhere? That would be just stupendous.

  Mr Barry ordered more wine, and told the boys they had to have a Knickerbocker Glory. No meal in the Coffee Dock was complete without the Knickerbocker Glory experience. It was scrumptious, with ice cream and fruit cocktail and cream and raspberry sauce and chocolate on top, all in a tall glass. It was so huge that Ian couldn’t finish his and Francis had to force himself. He thought he was going to burst. While they were struggling with their desserts, Mr Barry and Gavin had two more bottles of wine. Mr Barry looked at his watch and said, ‘Look at the time. Ten o’clock. Come on, bedtime.’

  He told Gavin to order more wine and he’d be back in a few minutes. In the lift he was smiling and he asked the boys if they had enjoyed their day out, as if he didn’t know that already.

  While they were getting into their pyjamas Mr Barry gave them their orders, ‘Now you can watch a bit of telly. You can have a laugh, I’m no fool, I know you won’t go to sleep straight away, but don’t wreck the place and when I come to bed in half an hour – see the clock? Quarter to eleven, all right? – if there’s a peep out of you at that stage then we won’t have a very happy end to the day. Now, you won’t let me down, will you?’

  The boys, sitting on their beds, promised solemnly. Mr Barry left and they looked at each other. Francis knew that Ian wouldn’t have ordinary striped pyjamas, the kind that everyone had, the kind they sold in Moran’s. He was wearing Martin’s old pyjamas, and he knew Martin was in bed now wearing Gussie’s and Gussie and Ritchie had the same kind, too. Francis could tell that Ian’s mother had made his. They were only one colour, dark red, and made out of a shiny cloth. On the pocket ‘IAN’ was stitched in blue thread.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Francis realised that he was staring and Ian had noticed. A few times in class Mr Wade had said, ‘There’s Francis Strong staring off into space again,’ when he had been staring over at Ian. Now he turned away quickly, jumped off the bed and switched on the television.

  ‘Let’s see if they have more than one channel.’

  He twisted the round switch on the side. Each time he did it a different programme came on. The first thing they saw was a shot of New York from way above. A man with a very hoity-toity English accent was speaking. He said New York was made by men. Then Francis twisted again and the next channel was definitely RTE because it was the election programme. The boys recognised the set even though it looked completely different on the telly. The next channel had an ad for Cadbury’s Flake with a girl looking like she was in heaven as she slowly put the Flake into her mouth. The boys stared. Francis waited until the ad was over before changing channel. The next one had an American programme. It was funny. There were men and women all wearing judges’ wigs and dancing. They were all chanting, ‘Here come de news, here come de news.’ When Francis twisted again there was only hissy snow on the screen.

  ‘Four channels,’ said Ian ‘Go back to the funny one.’

  Now there was a girl with blonde hair and she was trying to say something but she kept giggling and mixing up her words and then a man came up to her and said, ‘That’s easy for you to say.’ Then other funny-looking people popped up and said things really fast that made the boys la
ugh. Francis thought they were a bit like Gavin. Sometimes he didn’t know what they were saying but it sounded funny. Francis liked this show but he couldn’t help wondering what was happening on the other channels, so he suddenly jumped up and twisted. The hoity-toity Englishman was still talking, saying that cathedrals were built for the glory of God but New York was built to the glory of Mammon, Money, Greed. Then Ian twisted and it was the election programme again and a politician was saying that the voters had obviously decided they did not want change, then Francis twisted and the English news was on. Then Ian twisted and it was the funny programme again, with a really small man holding a big flower who said his name was Henry Gibson. He said a funny little poem about a fly, which made the boys laugh again. Then Ian jumped up to twist again but this time Francis pulled him back. Ian escaped and a chase around the room started. Francis couldn’t catch him and then they stopped suddenly because they both noticed the freakiest-looking man on the funny programme. He had very long hair and a very white face. He was playing a tiny guitar, the tiniest guitar anyone could imagine, and singing in a high voice, sort of like a girl, except no girl would really sing like that. The words sounded like ‘Tiptoe through the tulips with me’. A normal-looking man with a jacket and tie was standing next to him, listening. He kept looking at the camera as if he was puzzled. The two boys started laughing. It was the funniest thing, but at the same time Francis wished he knew what was really going on. Who was this freaky man? Why was he singing like that?

  Then the boys started a pillow fight. They turned it into a game where they had to protect their own bed and at the same time invade the other’s bed. The winner had to get onto the other bed fully and jump on his opponent to stop him from escaping. The funny programme was still on and now there was fast music. They were all dancing and every few seconds the music stopped and someone would say something funny, but the boys weren’t really listening any more. They were too wrapped up in their battle. Francis was better at attack, but even when he got onto Ian’s bed, Ian always wriggled away and invaded Francis’ unprotected bed. Because of all the food he had eaten and because he was laughing so much, Francis thought he was going to get sick. The boys didn’t notice how loud the game had got until they heard the phone ringing. Ian, looking guilty, picked it up.