Country Boys

by J. P. Diamond

  Kevin took out the contents of the envelope. It was a pair of underpants decorated in small red hearts. There were hoots of laughter all around. “I’m surprised ye’re not wearin’ them Kevin. They’re so fresh and clean,” laughed Patsy. “Any idea who sent them?” asked Noel. “Damn the one – there was no writin’ or card or anythin’. Somebody’s messin’ with me mind big-time. The address on the front is written in capitals.”

  The bell for the end of break-time sounded and the boys went back to their class. At dinner-break the boys were in the table-tennis hall. They were discussing what to do with Kevin’s Valentine “present”. “What about puttin’ them onto that dummy that they use to display the school-uniform for the open night tonight,” suggested Noel. “That’s an idea,” replied Patsy. “Will we put it on over the trousers or take the trousers off it?” “Aye – we’ll take the trousers off it and put on these things instead just before we leave school. Some of us ’ll have to keep an eye out for the teachers though,” replied Kevin. “I’ll keep dick,” offered Noel. At 3.30 the four boys went down to the small storeroom at the back of the assembly hall. The room had a back-exit, which could be used as an escape route in case a teacher came into the hall to access the store-room. Sean checked the back-exit door to ensure it wasn’t locked. Noel kept an eye on the assembly hall exit and Patsy and Kevin set about removing the trousers of the display dummy. “These things won’t come off past the feet,” spoke Patsy in a hushed tone. “Hurry up for God’s sake!” urged Noel. “This thing’s on tonight. Somebody might come down any minute to move it into the hall!” Noel’s thought-provoking comment caused a collective adrenalin surge on the part of the practical-joke conspirators. “Here - use my pen-knife to cut the trouser-legs off at the bottom,” whispered Sean. Patsy took the knife and cut the bottom of each leg of the trousers while Kevin ripped them from the dummy as Sean held it. “McCanny – put them trousers in that plastic bag there – we’ll dump them on the way home,” instructed Kevin. “No trousers – no crime,” whispered Patsy as he sniggered.

  “Now for phase two,” laughed Kevin as he took the decorated underpants from his schoolbag. “Jesus – quick boys! The Goat and Jimmy Blink are after comin’ thru the door –they’re headin’ down this way. Hurry up fer God’s sake!” whispered an agitated Noel. The four knew there would be Hell to pay if they were caught: not only from the headmaster, but also from their own parents. “That’s them on now boys,” whispered Kevin triumphantly. “Come on – let’s get out of here!” The four grabbed their schoolbags and made their way to the bus-station via the back-exit door just seconds before the two elderly teachers entered the room. As it turned out, Mr Mc’Closkey and Mr Mc’Donald had both been asked by the vice-principal to assist with getting the assembly-hall ready for Open-Night. The former had been given the moniker “The Goat” because of his thin face and unkempt facial hair. The latter had developed a habit of constantly shutting his eyelids, hence his nickname. As Mr Mc’Donald entered the storeroom, Mr Mc’Cluskey bent down to tie his shoelaces. “Edward – come in here and take a look at this!” exclaimed Mr Mc’Donald. “God Almighty – someone’s removed the trousers off the display dummy.” “And replaced them with something else. A pair of spotty knickers no less.” “Maybe they were on it already – underneath the trousers I mean.” “I doubt it Edward. We’re going to have to find a replacement pair of trousers before half-seven!” “I think we better let the head know about this. I get the feeling he won’t be terribly happy.” “You do that. I’ll get a measuring tape and get the size. The uniform-shop in the town shuts about five. We’ve got time to get a replacement set.” Five minutes later there was a knock on the headmasters office door. “Yes – come in,” spoke a small, dark, bespectacled priest. “Fr McGuigan – I ah – think ye better take a look at this.” “What is it Edward – I’m busy trying to get the loose ends tied up before tonight’s function.” “Somebody has removed the trousers off the uniform display dummy.” “WHAT – DID YOU SEE WHO IT WAS?” The headmaster – a wiry, intense, hyperactive man, was up on his feet immediately. “There’ll be hell to pay for this Edward if I catch the perpetrators!” “That’s not all Father – they’ve replaced them with something else.” “My Goodness – we do have some sick minds at this school. What have they replaced the trousers with?” “A pair of red, spotty underpants, Father.” “RED, SPOTTY UNDERPANTS – I REALLY DO NOT BELIEVE I AM HEARING THIS!” “I think ye better come and have a look Father – Jimmy has gone into town to get a replacement pair in the shop before it closes.” The irate headmaster left his office and proceeded in the direction of the storeroom at a speed which would have done justice to an Olympic 50km walking champion. Mr Mc-Closkey struggled to keep up with him before deciding it was pointless. Thus the headmaster’s initial reaction upon seeing the bizarrely dressed dummy was not noted by any of his underlings.

  The next day at assembly hall – an agitated Fr Mc’Guigan gave a stern lecture to all the boys who stood before him. A few little glances were exchanged between some boys in the third form near the back of the hall. Needless to say – the perpetrators did not suffer from any pangs of conscience, and no subsequent admissions of guilt were forthcoming.

  CHAPTER 12

  April 1973.

  It was the week after Easter. The weather was warm, the sun was shining and the dark, wet days of January and February seemed a distant memory. Sean was on holidays from school that week and in no hurry to get back. Peter and a couple of his colleagues were doing some maintenance work in the area that week and he and his two co-workers had been taking their lunchbreak at the Daly’s home. One of the workers was a young, long-haired fellow called Mickey Donaghy. He was twenty-one years old. Sean was busy learning some chords on his guitar in the adjoining room, the door to which was open. Mickey walked in and sat on the seat next to him as he was practising.“Your da was tellin’ me you’re teachin’ yerself to play, Sean” said Mickey. “Well – I’m tryin’. It’s takin’ me ages to get from one chord to the next,” replied Sean.“I can show ye a couple of things if ye want,” said Mickey. Sean handed Mickey the guitar. “This is the wee lick at the start of the rock’n’roll tune ‘Shakin’ all Over’.”“Ye pull off the top string with the 3rd finger at the 3 rd fret. Nearly the same on the 2nd string, except ye don’t pull off. Go from A to G on the 3rd string with the big finger and then E-D-E on the 4 th string. I’ll play it for ye a couple of times slow and you can try it.” Mickey played the lick three times slowly then a few times at normal speed. “This is the wee lick on the bottom strings just after it. Ye need to use the fleshy bit at the side of yer hand to damp the strings for the right effect.” Sean was mightily impressed by the way Mickey had played the lick. “Now – try it to see if ye can get it.” “I’d love to learn that – it sounds better than ploddin’ away at chords all the time.” “If ye want to improve – it’s important to play stuff that ye like. Otherwise ye’ll eventually get bored.” Sean tried the lick as Mickey had taught him. “Don’t forget to damp the bottom strings with the heel of the hand,” reminded Mickey. “Hi Mickey – time to go back to work,” reminded Peter. If ye get that lick right by Friday – I’ll lend ye some records to listen to,” said Mickey, as he put on his coat.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Sean rarely put the guitar down. The tips of his fingers became red and raw. But he willingly absorbed the pain. More than anything he wanted to impress Mickey and pass the test which had been set for him. The next day Mickey showed him how to play the opening chords of the song “All Right Now” by the rock-band Free. “It’s just two chords – A and D. Ye just have to make yer change quick and clean.” “I’ll never be able to get from A to D that quick. It’ll take me years.” “Ye’ll be surprised y’know.” “Do you play in a band?” inquired Sean “I play lead guitar in a wee country band at weekends. It’s not really the music I want to play but it’s not a bad way of makin’ a few extra bob”, answered Mickey. “Would ye not like to play in a band fu
ll-time?” asked Sean.“Aye – but me da’s not well and me ma needs me about to help her look after him. Me older brother’s married ’n livin’ in England. I’m the breadwinner.” “What sort of guitar d’ye play?” asked Sean “It’s a Fender Telecaster. Me brother’s a guitar-player too and he gave it to me before he went over the water.” “What sort of amp do ye play it through?” “A Fender Twin Reverb – it’s a heavy brute, but it’s got that clean twangy sound that ye need to get the right tone for country-style lead guitar.” “Some day I’m goin’ to get an electric guitar like the one Marc Bolan has,” remarked Sean. “That’s a Gibson Les Paul. They’re a great guitar for playin’ blues because they have a thick, woody tone but they’re very dear. Ye’d be better buyin’ a Japanese copy of a Les Paul.” “What’s blues Mickey?” asked Sean. “Ye’ll find out about the blues come Friday. If I start talkin’ about the blues – they’ll never get me back to work,” said Mickey as he reached for his donkey-jacket. As Mickey left, Sean pondered upon what he had just said. Obviously this “blues” was something which Mickey felt passionate about. Although he had only known Mickey a couple of days – he could see that, despite the age difference, they were in a way kindred spirits. He knew already that Friday was going to be an important day in his life. On Thursday Sean practised everything that Mickey had taught him. Mickey and Peter weren’t there that day, but on Friday Mickey arrived for lunchbreak at Daly’s with a plastic bag under his arm. Sean knew that these were the records Mickey had been talking about but thought that he had better let him eat his lunch first before peppering him with questions. Fifteen minutes later Mickey walked into the room where Sean was practising away. “I see ye’ve been puttin’ the work in so I brought ye these to listen to,” said Mickey. He took the three records out of the bag. “I take it ye have a record-player.” “Aye – it’s in the girls room.” “Be careful and don’t scratch these Sean. This one is Jimi Hendrix’s first album – Are You Experienced. This one is a live album by the Rolling Stones called Get yer YaYa’s Out and this one is Bluesbreakers by John Mayall.” “I’ve heard of the Rolling Stones allright and I think I’ve heard of Jimi Hendrix. The other fella I haven’t heard of,” replied Sean. “He’s the leader of an English blues band. Eric Clapton played on this album.” “Aye – that name’s familiar.” “This album was made back in 1966. Clapton played a Les Paul through a Marshall amp. His playin’ is so clean and fluid. You won’t believe the sound he gets.” “What about the other two records?” “The announcer at the start of this Stones album calls them the greatest rock’n’roll band in the world and you only have to listen to this to see that he’s right. Every song is a classic. The styles of the two guitar-players mesh so well as they play so differently. Keith Richards with his rugged, tight rhythm playin’ and Mick Taylor, who only joined the band three months before this was recorded., plays every bit as good as Clapton. I spend a lotta time playin’ guitar with this album – listenin’ for licks and chord-changes and tryin’ to copy them.” “Is that not hard to do?” inquired Sean. “At the start it is. But once ye get the chords of the song – ye can work out the licks. Ye have to know yer blues and pentatonic scales.” “Sounds like I have a lot to learn. What about this fella Hendrix?” “Well Hendrix died back in 1970 – but he’s the greatest electric guitar-player that ever was and ever will be. He’s a bit of a hero of mine. This was his first album – made in 1967 when everythin’ was psychedelic. He wrote and sang all the songs as well as doin’ all the guitar work on them. My favourite song on this is the one called Red House – on side 1.” “Why is it your favourite?” “Because it must be the greatest four minutes of electric blues guitar that’s ever been put on record. Hendrix learned from listenin’ to old Chicago blues records before he took the blues in his own direction. But this is him returnin’ to his roots. I think that’s the only song on the album that he didn’t use a Fender Strat..” “Can you play any of it?” “I can play the lick at the start and some bits in the middle, but nobody could play it as well as he does. The man was a bloody genius. It’s a shame he died so young. That fella on the front – Noel Redding. He’s a Corkman – believe it or not. He’s the bass-player.”

  “Hey Mickey - are ye comin’. Payday’s this afternoon,” called Peter from the next room. “Aww God – back to dreary reality,” sighed Mickey. “Thanks a lot for these albums. I’ll take good care of them,” retorted Sean. In his haste to catch up with the two older men, Mickey bumped into Mary on the way out, nearly knocking her down. “Sorry love,” he apologised. “I didn’t see ye.” Sean, who saw it happen, expected his sister to be angry. But instead she was blushing – something he had never seen her do before. “I’m all right. Ye better hurry or ye’ll miss yer lift,” she replied.

  CHAPTER 13

  Friday 4th May 1973.

  It was a sunny Friday evening. Patsy, Kevin and Sean; who all played for the Tir-na-Nog Under-sixteen Gaelic football team; were getting ready to run to the pitch. Their opponents were Cuchullains and the match was for a place in the final of the Under -16 Championship.

  The two teams were pretty evenly matched. The year before they had played each other to a draw. That match had been a keenly contested affair and in his pre-match pep-talk, the team manager was reminding his charges how the opposition on that occasion had come close to winning the game.“Don’t let that big bastard in the middle of the field run the show the way he did the last time boys. Mc’Peake – you try and catch him with one of yer wee left hooks to the back of the kidneys when the ref. isn’t lookin”. Pat “Jabber” Mc’Peake nodded silently. Jabber wasn’t the quickest or most skilful player on the Tir-Na-Nog team. But he had advanced through puberty, was sporting a black moustache and had a certain ruthless quality that, combined with his heavy build, tended to create an aura of fear among his opponents. In underage football some players still had to go through the stages of puberty and it was hard not to be intimidated by someone from the opposing team who looked mature enough to be your daddy’s drinking partner. “Jabber” hadn’t played in the drawn match and the look on his face implied that he knew he had a job to do and he had every intention of doing it. Sean was playing at right half-forward. Patsy was playing at left half-forward and Kevin was playing at full-forward. Kevin wasn’t the best catcher of a ball but his speed and eye for a goal combined with his soccer skills made him a handful for opponents to mark. “Hi Sean – play it in for me low,” said Kevin as they ran out onto the pitch. “I’m crap at catchin’ the high ball.”

  The ref. threw in the ball and the match was underway. Sean knew a couple of the Cuchullains players. Their centre half-forward was Fergus Quinn – one of the best footballers in their school. Quinn had a left foot which was incredible in its accuracy. He could find players in space with pinpoint passes and make it look easy. He was also a superb dead-ball kicker and their manager had warned them not to give away too many soft frees as Quinn would punish them. Sean hoped that Quinn was going to have an off-night. He also recognised the big midfielder who had given his team a hard time in the previous encounter. His team-mates called him P.J. Another top Cuchullains player, their full-forward Phonsie Kelly had been off school all week and wasn’t playing tonight. His place had been taken by a pudgy, overweight youth, who Sean didn’t recognise. At least the Tir-Na-Nog full- back was going to have an easier time tonight, he thought. Suddenly a miskicked ball came Seans way. He managed to grab it. Sean lacked the pace necessary to outsprint defenders and his policy was to pass as soon as possible to a better-placed team-mate. He followed Kevin’s pre-match instruction and shot in a low ball. As Kevin sprinted out to meet it, his marker, who was a burly fellow with ginger hair, vigorously pursued him. As Kevin grabbed the ball, the defender shoulder-charged him with all his might and knocked him to the ground.“Well played, Shuggy,” shouted the Cuchullains manager from the sidelines. “Don’t give him any space.” Sean recalled the name from the Hallowee’n disco the year before. He wondered if his sister was still rom
antically linked to the ape-like defender. The referee ruled that the charge was fair. Kevin, obviously affected by the force of the challenge, got to his feet after a few seconds but didn’t complain. Five minutes later a high ball from midfield by PJ was caught cleanly by the fat youth in the Cuchullains forward line. Demonstrating a nimbleness of foot beyond anyone’s expectations, he neatly sidestepped his marker, before chipping the ball delicately in the roof of the Tir-Na-Nog net. There were roars and cheers from the Cuchullains supporters. “WAYYE BOY PORKER – BRILLIANT!” shouted the Cuchullains manager, as he waved his clenched fist in passionate approval. Despite his team being on the receiving end, Sean thought it was one of the best goals he had ever seen. Perhaps he had underestimated “Porker”. Even Phonsie Kelly would have been proud of that goal. Stung by the fact that they were three points down so early on in the game, the Tir-Na-Nog players came back strongly but the Cuchullains backline defended resolutely. It was nearly ten minutes later before Patsy, with a surging run from his own half laid on a perfectly placed pass to the left corner-forward who sent the ball over the bar from a sharp angle. Shortly after that, in what was nearly a carbon-copy of the earlier goal, PJ sent another high ball in the direction of “Porker”. It was a little too high to catch but Porker still managed to jump and thump it with his fist. The Cuchullains defenders looked on as the ball sailed over the bar for a point. The Cuchullains manager was ecstatic, an emotion not shared by his counterpart. “PAT!” shouted the Tir-Na-Nog manager, pointing at P.J. “PAT!” he shouted again, gesticulating with his forehead to “Jabber”. A couple more points were exchanged on either side. Both were frees. Fergus Quinn scored one from thirty yards out and Kevin kept Tir-Na-Nog in touch with a free at the other end, the referee judging on that occasion that Shuggy had fouled him. About five minutes from half-time another high ball came into the midfield. Four or five players went up for it – among them PJ, who was taller then everybody else. Sean, who was about ten yards away from the action, heard a high-pitched squeal as the ball went through P.J.’s hands to be picked up by one of Sean’s team-mates who kicked the ball back up the field. PJ was on the ground, holding his back. As nobody had saw anything, play was waved on. Jabber was running backwards, keeping his eye on the game. Fergus Quinn went over to PJ and signalled for the referee to blow the whistle. As the ball had gone out of play, he did just that. PJ was helped off the field and shortly after the whistle blew again for half-time.