The Tir-Na-Nog players gathered around their manager for the half-time pep-talk. “Right boys – things aren’t goin’ our way – but it could be worse. Two things we need to do. Tighten up the markin’ on the fat full-forward. Ye’re givin’ him too much space Padraig. Second thing we need to do is get a goal. Jabber – when you win the ball don’t boot it up the field. Pass it to Patsy and let him pick out the forwards in space. And for God’s sake don’t give away too many frees. Quinn hardly ever misses.”
When the players came out for the second–half, Sean noted that PJ still looked a little the worse for wear after his “accident” in the first-half. Tir-Na-Nog were three points behind however and the Cuchullains defence was proving a hard nut to crack. Still, if Jabber did as he was told and gave the ball to Patsy, whose passing skills were almost as good as Fergus Quinn’s, things might open up for them. As the referee threw in the ball for the second-half, Jabber palmed the ball down to Patsy who played a quick fisted pass to a team-mate before running into space. He received the ball back and went on a solo run up the left-hand side of the pitch. One of the Cuchullains defenders shoulder-charged him but bounced off him. He was looking for Kevin, who came running out to meet him to receive a short, fisted pass. Kevin played it right back to Patsy as Shuggy was just behind him. He received the pass and sent in a low hard shot with his favoured left foot. The goalkeeper dived in vain as the ball sailed into the back of the net. The Tir-Na-Nog Supporters, including Gerry and Peter, were delirious with joy. Patsy shook his fist in the air. Sean was delighted, as much for the fact that it was Patsy who scored the equaliser as anything else. Fergus Quinn might be some player, but he wasn’t half the player his cousin was. How could they lose with a player like that in their team? The Tir-Na-Nog manager was shouting, “That’s it boys – keep goin’ at them. Keep the momentum.” And Tir-Na-Nog did keep the momentum. Encouraged by the superb score taken by their best player, the mediocre players in the team, including Sean, raised their game. Within the next 15 minutes they were three points up. Noel McCanny, playing on top of the right, scored the point which put them in front. Kevin scored a second from a free and Jabber even got in on the act by scoring a point. Cuchullains didn’t give up easily, but their first-half tactic of pumping the ball in high to the full-forward was no longer proving effective. P.J. was no longer dominating the midfield, with the consequence that the game was slipping away from them. The Tir-Na-Nog manager kept exhorting his players to greater effort, well aware that the tide of the game could turn in an instant.
But in truth the game was won ten minutes before the final whistle. Jabber fisted another ball to Patsy about forty yards out. He took careful aim with his left foot. The ball rose high in the air before curving down sweetly between the posts. Nobody had expected Patsy to try for a score so far out. But Patsy was no ordinary player. Cuchullains scored another point before the final whistle. When the referee blew to signal the end of the game – the Tir-Na-Nog supporters ran onto the field. The final score on the scoreboard read Tir-Na-Nog 1-6 - Cuchullains 1-3. They had made it to the final! The players on both sides shook hands after a hard, tight game. Fergus Quinn shook hands with Patsy and congratulated him. The two players had a great mutual respect for each other’s ability and played together on the school team. “I prefer playin’ with ye than agin ye,” said Quinn. “Me too”, said Patsy. “Who’s the fat fella?” “Oh ye mean Porker. He can play a bit – can’t he.”The Tir-Na-Nog manager came over to shake Patsy’s hand and the two players bade their farewell. “Boy did ye turn it on for us in the second-half! That’s one of the best games I’ve ever seen ye play!” Patsy smiled. As the sun set over the hills of Co Tyrone and the smell of freshly mown grass lingered in the air, Patsy savoured the moment. This was what he lived for – and it really couldn’t get any better.
CHAPTER 14
Saturday 5th May 1973.
Sean awoke the next morning a little later than usual. He was a bit stiff and was suffering from a “dead leg”, having taken a knock late in the game. But Tir-Na-Nog were in the final and the discomfort was a small price to pay. His mother and father had already gone into town to do the shopping. “Do ye want scrambled egg on toast Sean?” inquired Siobhan from the kitchen. |”Aye – I’d love some. I’m takin’ a quick bath here t’ease me aches and pains. We won last night y’know.” “Aye – we heard. This’ll be ready for ye in 15 minutes.” Twenty minutes later Sean hobbled into the kitchen and took his seat at the table. “Did ye get any scores last night Sean?” asked Mary. “Naw I didn’t. Patsy scored a goal and a point.” “Good for him. What about Kevin – did he score?” “Only one point from a free. That big boyfriend of yours was markin’ him.” “Who – aw ye mean Shuggy. He’s me ex-boyfriend. We finished at Easter.” “If he’d come to the fancy-dress last Hallowe’en as one of the Flintstones, wearin’ a goatskin and carryin’ a club – Kevin would have been in second place” remarked Sean. Siobhan giggled, but Mary was angry. “That’s not fair Sean.-comparin’ Shuggy to a caveman. He bought me a ring when we finished.” “Did he finish with you?” “No – I finished with him.” “If he was so nice – why did ye finish with him?” “Well – I sort’ve got bored. Ye can only talk so much about Gaelic football and snooker and Shuggy didn’t talk about anything else,” explained Mary. “Us girls need a wee bit of intellectual stimulation, Sean” interjected Siobhan. “Did he talk about any of the players on our team?” “Well – I used to switch off when he started talkin’ about Gaelic. The only one I remember him talkin’ about was Patsy. He said Patsy was a class player.” “He won the game for us last night. Ye should have seen that point he scored at the end.” “Well – I hope ye’s win the final,” replied Mary.
“Sean – Mary wants t’know somethin’”, said Siobhan. “About what?” replied Sean. “Shut up Siobhan!” Siobhan was enjoying the effect her teasing was having on her older sister. Sean was puzzled. “What do ye want t’know, Mary?” “Nothin’.” “She wants to know if that fella that works with daddy is comin’ back to show ye any more guitar tricks.” “I was not!” responded Mary angrily. “Don’t listen to her.” Sean remembered how Mary had blushed when Mickey had accidentally bumped into her. On second thoughts, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Perhaps Mary had got herself in his way on purpose. But his big sister had always helped him out and lent him money when he needed it. He wasn’t going to tease her. “Why don’t ye listen to those three records he lent me. And ask him some intellectually stimulatin’ questions. Oh- don’t forget te tell him you’re a big Jimi Hendrix fan,” advised Sean. Siobhan giggled. “God Mary – did ye know that men are capable of being intellectually stimulated. I didn’t think that was possible.” “Funny enough – I’ve already been listenin’ to them. The Hendrix one’s my favorite of the three.” “Well – I don’t know when he’ll be back. But he’ll be lookin’ the records back and I’ll tell him you’ve been listenin’ t’them.” “Aw look – she’s all pleased Sean.” Siobhan gave her sister a hug. “Time to head over to Patsys for a chat about the match. Are ye’s watchin’ Leeds and Sunderland in the FA Cup final today?” inquired Sean. “Ah no – we have to go shoppin’,” replied Mary. “No intellectual stimulation today then,” answered Sean.
CHAPTER 15
Wednesday 9th May 1973
Mary heard the telephone ring around 7pm and took the call. Occasionally some of her classmates would ring and they would discuss homework questions. This time it was a male voice at the other end of the line. “Could I speak to Sean please?” “He’s actually over at his cousins at the minute. Can I leave a message for him?” “Aye well – its Mickey Donaghy here. I left three records with him a few weeks ago -could ye ask him if it’s all right to collect them again this weekend?” Mary’s heartbeat quickened a little. “Oh aye you’re the fella …….” She cleared her throat. “Aye I’ll tell him. Actually, I’ve been listenin’ to them meself the last week or two. Ye don’t have any more Hendrix albums – that was the one of the thr
ee I liked the best.” “I can lend ye Axis Bold As Love if ye want.” Mickey spoke the album title so quickly it sounded like one word. “Axes-boldas? What’s it again?” asked Mary. Mickey laughed. “ I’ll just bring it down to ye on Saturday. Are you the sister I bumped inta that last day I was down?” “That’s me.” “Spose I owe ye a favour then. Night.” “Night now,” uttered Mary as she put the telephone back on the receiver. Her heart was fluttering and it was a few seconds before she regained her composure.
“Who was that?” inquired Siobhan. “It was Mickey, the fella that works with daddy – he’s comin’ down this Saturday to lift his records and he’s bringin’ me down another one.” “Well you’re obviously excited about this. I’ll have ta get a proper look at this fella,” replied Siobhan.“He’s got lovely brown eyes and sort of tanned skin,” said Mary blissfully. “What age is he?” “I don’t know – I’d say about twenty.” “Well if he’s twenty and good-lookin’ he might have a girlfriend y’know. Just be cool until ye find out the score,” advised Siobhan.
On Saturday afternoon a battered yellow Ford Escort pulled up at the front door of the Daly household. The driver got out, switched off the engine and rang the doorbell. Mary, who had been anticipating the visit and had spent some time in front of the mirror making herself look nice, answered the door. “Hello”, said Mickey. “I forgot t’ask ye yer name on the phone the other night.” “Mary - you’re Mickey,” she replied. “Y’must be the only female Hendrix fan I know,” he said, handing her a copy of Axis Bold As Love. “Thanks. He’s not me No1 favorite – but I liked that record y’lent me brother.” “Who’s yer No1 favorite.” “Marc Bolan.” “He all right, but he’s not a patch on Jimi. That album; if y’liked the first one – ye’ll like it too.” “What’s the best song on it?” “I think the best one is Little Wing. It’s a slower tune but there’s beautiful guitarplayin’ on it.” “Well – I’ll listen t’that one first,” replied Mary. Peter, who had recognised Mickey’s car, spoke in a loud voice. “Mary – are ye bringin’ that man in for a cup of tea. He’s been workin’ hard all week y’know.” The pair smiled at each other as Mary opened the door into the living-room, letting Mickey in first.”
“How are ye Peter – not often I see you sittin’ in a chair takin’ it easy.” “Just rechargin’ the batteries. I see the wee motor is still goin’.” “Just about. She was in the garage gettin’ the clutch fixed this week. What about the Beetle – is she still goin’ allright?” “Goin’ well,” replied Peter.
Mickey and Peter chatted, while Brigid and the two girls made the tea. Mary put the three records in a plastic bag and handed them to Mickey.“Where’s the guitarplayer at the day?” inquired Mickey. “He’s over at his cousins house. The two of them have a big football match comin’ up soon and they’re out every weekend practisin’. He told me t’thank ye very much for the records though,” replied Mary. “I didn’t know Sean played Gaelic. Is he any good?” “He OK and he tries hard,” replied Peter. “His cousin Patsy would be better than him though.” “Ah well – ye can’t be good at everything.”“ Did you play football Mickey?” inquired a starry-eyed Siobhan. “I think me and Sean have a lot in common. I tried but I just didn’t have the right build or that real will-to-win thing.” “That’s probably the thing ye need more than anythin’,” said Peter. “That young nephew of mine - Patsy. He’s an easy goin’ boy - but when he goes onto the pitch - he’s like a different person.” “Like Dr Jekyll – Mr Hyde,” remarked Mickey. “Sort of. Mind ye – he’s not a dirty player. It’s just a real determination that ye’re either born with or not. He’s got no fear and even if the team are getting’ beat – he never gives up. Yet when he’s off the field – he’s so laid back nothin’ bothers him.” “Except the British Army,” noted Siobhan. “Are ye playin’ out anywhere tonight Mickey?” asked Brigid. “Aye - we’ve a gig at a pub near Stuartston. After that we’re takin’ a few weeks off. The other two boys in the band are farmers and they’ll be busy.” “What do ye do on yer time off?” inquired Mary. “Well fixin’ the car is one thing. Mind ye – there’s a rock-band comin’ to Ardhoe dancehall next week. The Dirty Harries – they play the heavy stuff. I’ll want to see them.” “What’s that name again?” asked Brigid. Everybody laughed - especially Peter. “The Dirty Harries Brigid. I’m surprised ye haven’t heard of them.” “Would ye take me t’see them?” said Mary excitedly. Before Mickey could answer, her mother interjected, “You’re only sixteen dear – you’re too young t’be goin’ to dances!” “But I’ll be seventeen in a few weeks mammy - my friends are allowed t’go te dances. Why can’t I go?” Peter, spotting that Mickey was uncomfortable at being the unwitting cause of a family argument, diffused the situation. “Mary love - yer mammy and me ‘ll have a wee chat later. Mickey might already have plans to take somebody else y’know.” “Naw – I haven’t Peter. I’ll give her a lift surely. But only with your permission.” Mickey glanced at his watch. “Hi – I’d better be on me way. Tonight’s my turn for doin’ the drivin’. Thanks very much for the tea Mrs Daly.” “Anytime son – you’re always welcome here.” Mickey lifted the plastic bag and made his way to the door.
When Mickey had left – an emotional Mary made her way out of the sitting room. Before she left she said to her mother, “Mammy – why do ye make me look like a wee silly girl all the time!” Her sister Siobhan followed her. Brigid looked at her husband with tears in her eyes. “I’m not tryin’ to spoil her fun Peter – I worry about her.” “I know love. But she’ll be seventeen soon and she’s a sensible girl for her age. And I know young Mickey well from work. He’s a good lad and responsible as well. I think we’ll let her go.” “D’ye think so? Maybe you’re right.” “You’ll alienate her if ye keep treatin’ her like a kid. At least with Mickey she’ll be safe. He dosen’t drink y’know.” Brigid, who was a member of the Pioneer and Total Abstinence Association, was relieved to hear this. “Well – he is a likeable young fella.” “Right – I’ll let you tell her she can go.” “I s’pose Id better tell her right away,” retorted Brigid.
CHAPTER 16
Saturday 19th May 1973.
Mickey arrived at Daly’s house around half past eight in the evening, Peter having told him during the week that it was O.K. for Mary to go to the dance with him. Mary, who was dressed in denims with a white blouse, answered the door. “Mary – you’re dressed to kill t’night.” “So are you – are ye comin’ in a minute t’say hello. I have t’get me bag and jacket.” Peter and Brigid greeted Mickey as Mary hugged both her parents and said good bye to Sean, Siobhan and Granda. “Ah Mickey – try not t’be too late”, requested Peter. “We’ll leave right after it’s over,” replied Mickey. As the car pulled out of the driveway, Brigid was unable to resist looking out of the window as the tail-lights of the Ford Escort disappeared into the distance. “There goes my wee girl,” she muttered to herself.
Mary wasn’t looking out of the back window however. She knew that the days of going to youth-club discos were now a thing of the past, as she looked forward to a new and exciting phase of her life. “I had to tidy up the car a bit for ye,”said Mickey. “Well – you done a good job. I hope we don’t get any flat wheels tonight. Daddy had one last week.” “Can I ask ye a question?” “What is it?” replied Mary. “Do ye have a boyfriend?” “No – I’m a single girl. I was going out with a fella for a few months, but we finished at Easter.” “Ye look older than seventeen. Or ye seem more mature than seventeen.” “Well – I won’t be seventeen until June. What age are you?” “I was twenty-one in April.” “And do ye have a girlfriend?” “Naw – I was goin’out with a girl when I was nineteen. She was killed in a bomb.” “Oh God – I didn’t know. Jesus – that must have been terrible for you.” “Well – I admit I still think about her but I haven’t been to see her family for a year now. I’m still young – I have te move on with me life.” Mary – not wishing to intrude on Mickey’s private feelings or wishing to trivialise the matter by changing the subject,
felt unsure of what to say. After a moment, Mickey said to her “Give me your hand.” She reached her hand to him. “Like I said – what’s past is past - we’re goin’ to enjoy ourselves tonight.” He squeezed her hand gently. She squeezed his hand gently. They held hands for a few seconds. “Time for a gearchange,” said Mickey jokingly as they broke hand contact. The journey took over an hour, during which time Mary and Mickey talked about school, parents, relationships and music. Mickey wasn’t particularly interested in football but Mary didn’t mind that. She found him interesting to talk to. He had left school at sixteen, but was obviously intelligent. Conversation ebbed and flowed naturally between them and even having to queue at an Army checkpoint did not cause either of them undue annoyance as they found it so easy to be in each other’s company.
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