‘St Michael the Archangel, Liam, he’s the one you want if you are ever in trouble or worried or scared. Sure, didn’t he take on the devil himself and won? He’s not scared of anything or anyone so he’s a great one to have in your corner. And the Little Flower, oh she’s lovely. They say that when people who had devotion to her die, the room smells of the sweetest roses.’ Mammy would stare off into the distance then and sigh with contentment at the thought of such a lovely death.
‘But we’d be lost entirely without St Anthony, wouldn’t we, Mammy?’ Liam grinned.
‘We would indeed, pet, because he’s the only saint who can find lost things and we’re forever losing things in this house, aren’t we?’
Liam nodded enthusiastically. ‘Like, remember last week when Daddy couldn’t find the key for his bicycle lock and I ran over to the church to the statue of St Anthony and said a prayer and then Con found it in Daddy’s old donkey jacket?’
‘That’s right. Aren’t you the smart lad to think of that?’
Liam didn’t say that Daddy had given Con a bulls eye for finding the key, but it was Liam’s prayers that did it. Con had to put the lovely black and white sweet away till after Lent since nobody ate sweets in Lent. Sure, Con would probably let Liam have it anyway once Easter came. Con pretended to be grumpy and mean to Liam in front of people but he was nice under it all.
‘Lost entirely without St Anthony is right,’ Mammy laughed, and when she did, it sounded to him like little bells ringing. Mammy was always laughing at funny things Liam and his siblings said or did, but especially she laughed at Daddy. He loved to lie in bed at night, hearing them chatting quietly downstairs, having a cup of tea before bed, or if things were good, and Daddy got overtime, cocoa. One time, he crept downstairs because he’d had a scary dream and he saw Mammy sitting on Daddy’s lap. They were just looking into the fire together, lost in thought. Daddy had his big arms around her and was rubbing her hair. Liam watched for a minute but went back upstairs rather than disturb them. Every night she waited up for Daddy, even if it was really late when he finished work, and Liam was relieved when he heard the door open—everything was fine, Daddy was home. And every so often, lying in bed, he’d hear Mammy laugh and Daddy shushing her so as not to wake the children. He knew some of the boys in school had Mammies and Daddies that used to fight, and even sometimes the Daddies would drink too much porter and get very scary and be shouting. Just across the road, Patrick Lynch’s Daddy was forever roaring around the street. When he’d wake the whole place up singing and shouting in the middle of the night on his way back from The Glue Pot, Mammy used to say to them, ‘Just say a little prayer for Mrs Lynch that he’ll fall asleep.’
Last weekend, there was really bad shouting, and Liam got a fright when it woke him up, and Daddy had to go out to try to make Mr Lynch quiet and Mrs Lynch had to go to the hospital because she fell down the stairs. Liam was really glad he had his Daddy who never shouted or drank too much porter or made people fall.
The next morning was Sunday, and Daddy was at home so Liam asked him, ‘Why was Mr Lynch making so much noise last night?’
Liam saw his parents exchange a look and then Daddy said, ‘Mr Lynch drinks too much porter and then it makes him do stupid things.’
‘But why does he?’ Liam was confused.
Daddy pulled Liam onto his lap then, ‘Ah Liam, Joe Lynch has had a hard life, you know? His Mammy died when he was small, and there wasn’t anyone to mind him so was raised in an industrial school up the country and maybe they weren’t as kind to him as they could have been. And then he got married to Mrs Lynch and she’s a lovely woman, and he was working below in the butter exchange, but they had to let people go when they got the new churning machines so he lost his job. I know he can be a bit scary and all of that, but he’s not had it easy either. I’ll tell you what, when we were younger you’d dread it if Joe Lynch was marking you in a hurling match. He was the quickest centre forward I ever saw, and he could score from anywhere. One time, I remember he doubled the sliotar over his shoulder and scored a point from about sixty yards out. Even the mighty Christy Ring was beaten by Joe a few times. Sure, I see it now with young Patrick, he’s what? A year older than you? And I’ll tell you he’ll be one to watch. Patrick Lynch is nearly as good a hurler as his father was, and in time, he might even be better. I’ve watched him when I go to see Con playing, he thinks three moves ahead. Did you ever notice that? Other fellas are tackling in the box but young Lynch is nowhere near, then one of his teammates makes a bit of space and there’s Patrick, in exactly the right spot to score. He has it all, speed, skill, accuracy, and most importantly, intelligence. He got that from Joe.’
Liam’s eyes were wide as saucers, amazed to be party to such detail of an adult’s life. It was true, Patrick Lynch was the best player in the school, and he seemed nice too, though he was ahead of Liam so they just said hello mostly. Liam was anxious to get back to the racket of last night though.
‘Did you have to hit him to quieten him last night, Daddy?’ Liam liked the idea that his Daddy was the hero of the story.
‘Indeed, then I did not, Liam Tobin, what kind of a question is that? I don’t go round hitting people and neither does anyone in my family, do you hear me? Joe just had a bit too much to drink and I helped him to get to bed, that’s all.’
‘Did he push Mrs Lynch down the stairs by accident, is that what happened? Is that why she is in the hospital?’
Liam caught the warning glance his mother threw his father.
‘Ah no, I think she just tripped on a loose bit of carpet or something.’ Daddy said quickly.
‘But the Lynches don’t have carpet on the stairs...’ Liam began.
‘Now then,’ Mammy interrupted, ‘who wants a sausage?’
The family yelled with delight at the weekly breakfast treat and the Lynches and their stairs were forgotten.
Chapter 2
He was panicking. It wouldn’t go down. It was only the practice host, the real ones were the body of Christ, but these were just the ones the nuns made before the priest consecrated them. They were using them for practice but though Liam tried as hard as he could to swallow, the wafer disc felt like it was actually blowing up like a balloon inside in his mouth. He struggled again to swallow, aware now how red his face must be as beads of sweat prickled his neck. Father Aquinas was explaining how you must never touch the host with your hands, only a priest was allowed to do that. You had to open your mouth wide when the time came to go up to receive the body of Christ and stick out your tongue to make it easier for the priest.
Liam tried to focus on the priest’s boomy voice.
‘Under no circumstances must you touch the body of Christ with your teeth. Would you bite the Lord Jesus Christ if he walked up to you here in this holy place? Would you?’ His bright blue eyes, almost covered by long hairy eyebrows bore down on Timmy O’Shea whose jaw was moving.
Timmy shook his head quickly, ‘No, Father, I would not,’ he mumbled.
‘Indeed, you wouldn’t if you knew what was good for you. Then why would you think, Mr O’Shea, that chewing the body of the Lord your God, with your big yellow teeth like a donkey, the Lord that died on the cross for you, gave up everything for you, would be acceptable?’ He roared the last bit, poor Timmy shivered.
Timmy swallowed with an audible gulp and squeaked, ‘It isn’t ac...ac…acceptable, Father.’
With a heavy sigh and a cuff across the back of the head for Timmy, the priest turned his attention to the next part of the Holy Communion Mass.
The monastery chapel was cold and smelled of beeswax polish. The dappled coloured sunlight through the high, narrow stained glass windows played and danced on the ornate brass altar rails. There were only about ten pews either side of the aisle, enough for the brothers, since no members of the public ever attended Mass here. It was much smaller than St Teresa’s but it was just as lovely.
One or two of the really good f
ellas got to put beeswax on old socks and polish the floors of the chapel on a Friday afternoon while everyone else sat listening to the readings and the Gospel for the following Sunday in the draughty high-ceiling classrooms, but they would never tell what it was like. Those lads would probably turn out to be priests themselves.
The class were so excited, being brought into the private chapel as a group was the most talked about event of the school year. Holy Communion practice went on for months in the classroom but to get inside the priests’ private house was thrilling. It was hard to imagine them sleeping or eating or doing normal things, they seemed so far removed from ordinary people. Normally, everything behind the big oak door that linked the school and the monastery was off limits and the boys never dared to take a peek at the place where the brothers slept and ate, but in the week before the sacrament, the first Communion class were allowed in and it gave them legend status with the smaller fellas. Even the older lads were kind of envious because it was years ago they were allowed into the private area of the monastery and they were always asking what changes had happened.
Liam tried to take in as much as possible as the priest opened the big door and the whole class trooped through. The smell was the first thing that hit you, not like anyone’s house or even like school, it smelled warm and sweet and just like what Liam imagined rich people’s houses to smell like. Their feet squeaked on the polished parquet floor as they waited in the hall. There were statues of saints on little tables in every corner and loads of holy pictures on the walls. The silence felt heavy. As they followed the priest past a room that had lots of fancy looking furniture and bookshelves from floor to ceiling, Liam spotted the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. A big brown television stood in one corner of the room, between the huge marble fireplace and the window. There was a television in the window of Fitzgerald’s Electrical Shop on the Grand Parade, which the people of Cork marvelled at. There was a cartoon called Dathaí Lacha about a duck every Saturday morning and sometimes Con would take Liam into town to watch it through the shop window. No one they knew had one, they were much too dear for anyone living on Chapel Street and yet there was a really big one, bigger even than the one in Fitzy’s right there in the monastery.
Mammy and Daddy had laughed when he told the family about his day and the sounds and smells of the monastery over dinner.
‘How can someplace smell rich, you clown?’ Con laughed, but Daddy gave him a disapproving look.
‘I know exactly what you mean, Liam, don’t mind him. I did some work in there a few years back, they needed some pipes replaced and it did smell rich, and there was a great smell of cooking too, I remember. They weren’t supposed to, I think, but the nuns that ran the kitchen used to bring me a cup of tea and currant cake with butter and jam. ‘Twas lovely altogether.’
‘Oh I see, Seán Tobin, you prefer the nuns’ sweet cake to the stuff your wife makes for you with her own bare hands. Is that the way of it? Maybe you should have been a priest yourself and you’d have a clatter of nuns traipsing after you day in day out feeding you cake!’ Mammy sounded cross but when Liam looked at her properly he could see she was only joking with Daddy.
‘Ah, but I’d have no lovely wife to be cuddling and kissing then, would I? And sure that would be a fright to God now, wouldn’t it?’ He winked at the children, who giggled. They loved hearing this story though they’d heard it a thousand times. ‘Oh no, I could never have taken Holy Orders because I fell in love with Mary Clancy and even the Lord himself couldn’t stop it. He must have said to himself, and he sitting around on a big fluffy cloud one day, with a small little angel beside him playing tunes on the harp, “Sure I don’t need that many priests and poor old Seán Tobin down there in Cork is stone mad about Mary Clancy and if they got married they’d have a fine brood of lovely children so I’ll leave him off.”’
‘Seán! Will you stop with all that auld talk, and our Liam about to make his First Holy Communion, isn’t that nice chat for him to be listening to over the dinner table. What if Father Aquinas heard that, did you ever think of that?’
Mammy was blushing and trying not to smile, but Daddy was still smirking.
‘Sure, maybe he’s above kissing the nuns,’ Con quipped.
Liam started with the fright he got as his mother’s quick temper emerged.
‘Con Tobin,’ Mammy was not joking cross now, this was real cross. ‘How dare you say such a thing about a man of the cloth, a holy, saintly priest like Father Aquinas! And I might add, a priest who was willing to let you serve on the altar even though you can’t turn up in time or ever wear two shoes, and you making a show of the whole family in front of the entire parish? ‘Tis lucky for you that Father Mac is half blind, God love him, or he’d be onto the school above demanding a new altar boy!’
Mammy was glaring at Con and then at Daddy urging him to get involved. Con wasn’t going to be allowed to forget the one-shoed altar boy fiasco in a hurry.
‘Your mother is right, Con. Father Aquinas is an ordained priest, and you shouldn’t be making a mockery of him.’
Mammy seemed satisfied and it was only when her back was turned, Liam noticed Daddy kicking Con under the table to get his attention and giving him an almost imperceptible wink. Con smiled, and Liam felt himself relax.
He wanted to restore the good humour of earlier so decided to share his latest discovery.
‘The brothers have a television, too, in the sitting room.’
Annie and Molly suddenly sat up and took notice of what was going on. A girl in their class had come from England to live in Cork with her granny and she was full of what television they had over there and how much she missed it. The twins thought she was the most glamorous thing they ever clapped eyes on.
‘Have they really, Liam?’ Annie’s eyes were round in amazement. ‘What do they want a television for?’
‘Ah, go way outta that, Liam! You’re joking! Sure there are only old news programmes and fellas going on about farming on it, anyway,’ Kate laughed, looking up from the newspaper. She was always looking for a new job; she hated working in the hospital. ‘Sure, what business would the brothers have with a television?’
‘They do have one, I saw it. It’s even bigger than the one in Fitzy’s window.’ Liam wanted them to believe him, but the twins trusted Kate and if she said it wasn’t true, then they believed her. They went back to testing each other on their spellings; they were very swotty at school and always won medals and things for being the best in the class. Liam was fine at school; he didn’t get the strap that often for getting things wrong in his lessons, but that was only because Daddy checked it for him and told him if he made a mistake. Con launched into a story, telling Daddy how he scored the winning point in the game against St Michael’s. Kate was busy circling things with a pen in the paper. He’d lost everyone’s attention except his mother’s.
‘They really do have one, Mammy,’ he said.
‘I bet they do, pet, maybe they’ll need to know what people are looking at in case it’s not suitable,’ she replied as she cleared the table. Daddy turned from Con’s graphic description of a tackle and gently put his hand on her arm, stopping her from continuing.
‘Now, Mary, my love, let you sit there by the stove. Myself and these fine sons and daughters of ours, who you go to such trouble to feed and clothe and educate, are going to wash up and get the place straight, and you are going to have a cup of tea. Now, ladies,’ he announced, grabbing the paper from Kate and putting it up on the high shelf, ‘tea towels at the ready. Con, scrape the plates for the hens and get coal. Annie and Molly, ye sweep the floor and bring in the washing from the yard and fold it, then ye can hang out the next lot. Liam, you put away, Kate will dry, and I’ll wash.’
Groaning only a little bit, everyone went about their jobs. Daddy was not to be argued with, when he told you to do a job, you just did it. Not because he’d slap you or anything, he never slapped them, and he got all quiet whenever he
heard any of his children got hit at school. One time, when the nun had really beat Kate for daydreaming, he went down to the convent. Mammy begged him not to, but he said that he wasn’t going to have anyone attacking his children. Nobody knew exactly what happened that night, but everyone saw him march up to the front door of the convent and ring the bell, and none of the Tobin girls ever got a slap again. Con was forever getting the strap from the brothers in school, but then Con was forever doing bold things so he never told Daddy about it. The night he went down to the nuns, Liam was only two so he didn’t remember it, but Con told him that everyone looked at Daddy a bit different after.
He was a gentle giant really, but people usually did what he said, and he didn’t care one bit what people thought of him. Liam knew that none of the other fellas in school would believe that his daddy did the wash up every night, while Mammy had a cup of tea. None of the other fathers would do anything like that, but big, handsome Seán Tobin wasn’t like others, Liam knew that. He was taller than most of the men, and he had loads of hurling medals from when he was younger. He always wore a collar and tie and changed into his overalls when he got down to the dockyard. He never walked home covered in dirt like the other men, he always washed up after work, even though he told them that the water was icy cold. For as long as Liam could remember, he would watch him every morning, standing in his white vest, braces hanging from his trousers as he shaved with a cut-throat razor at the kitchen sink, and sometimes in the evening too if they were going out somewhere. One time, when Con was about three, he got the razor and nearly cut his head off trying to copy Daddy, so now the razor was kept on the very high shelf. Mammy and Daddy always insisted that the family were well turned-out. He pushed the pram when they were small, he even cooked dinners and made brown cake when Mammy had to go and stay with Granny that time last year. Though it wasn’t as nice as when Mammy made it, they all ate it without complaining. He didn’t really drink, which made him a bit unusual too, and after Mass on Sundays he would always take them to the little huckster shop up Murray’s Lane and buy them an ice cream or a few sweets. Liam knew he was lucky and other fellas watched with envy as they walked home after Mass licking ice creams and he holding his daddy’s hand.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 77
