I had been reading all the James Bond books at that time and I saw a few films too. I noticed that he always got the best looking women with no problems, so I’d model myself on James. From that bit of research I noticed that he had square shoulders and spoke with a real deep Scottish accent. This had to be the edge I needed. I dismissed the fact that he was a real good-looking Scotsman well over six foot tall as just a minor detail. Therefore all I needed was his accent and broad shoulders. I practiced my accent each day in Larry’s shop, always pulling back my shoulders for better effect and doing my best to lower my tone of voice. Over a time I had dropped my voice an octave or so, and as my voice was always naturally deep, after weeks of this effort, it had turned out to be almost cavernous. I had deliberately kept away from her shop for a few weeks so as to get my voice perfected, and also to make it look like I wasn’t interested in her at all.
I returned for a cone, asking the magic words in my now deep voice, “Can I have a ninety nine please,” while squaring up my shoulders and smiling in Bond style at the same time. I tried to imagine that I was James with the girl already under my spell. The shop was crowded and Etta made a quick cone and seemed to be very anxious to be rid of me. I took it that she was busy and left, quite a bit deflated but willing to return the next day for another go at her. This I did, and again she got rid of me far too quickly I felt, so I tried to get my voice down even lower still the next day. I couldn’t figure it out. The lower I got the faster she got rid of me. This was not the way it went for James Bond and I was in a quandry by then, as none of his charm was working for me.
Around that time I happened to be hitching home with a friend of mine known as ‘The King’ and I was telling him all about her, so we decided to buy some cones together. He had no money, and as I was not much better off, I bought one cone to share with The King every second lick. Etta served us as usual with a smile, but she went on to the next customer rather too quickly again with not a sign of her wanting to chat to either of us. Outside the shop The King wanted his lick of the cone, and when I gave it to him he took a large tongueful and immediately started spitting it out all over the street, saying, “That’s gone off, that’s gone off, you can’t eat that, it’s sour”. I took a cautious lick and it seemed to taste the same as all the other cones had done, so I ate away. It took years before I realized that he had been right, and the cones she had made were often sour. As Etta never ate them herself, she didn’t even know if they were okay or not, and customers were not going to complain to such a pleasant, happy girl in those days. After that failure I decided she was not for me. Some time later she left the shop and I forgot about her and her cones. Months later I met her in another shop and she told me she was a trainee nurse working in Dublin. Little did I know it, but she was actually working with my sister Lill in the same hospital, and Lill was about to set up a blind date between her friend Etta and her brother John. Life would then take on a whole new turn for me.
We began dating after our initial blind date, which took place on a St Stephen’s Night in the Majestic ballroom, home to many of my earlier escapades. We got along great after a shaky start, and I suppose Lill painted me in such a good light that Etta was expecting a saint and found herself attached to a devil, or a madman at the very least. I wasn’t long going out with her when her parents decided they were going to Youghal for a week on vacation. Youghal is a lovely seaside town, and in those days country people who could afford it would rent a caravan in Redbarn beside the sea, just outside the town. I was invited to join them because Etta would be made go there as well. I really did not want to do this as I didn’t know them well, and the idea of being trapped in a mobile home for a week with strangers really scared me. In the end I agreed and we arrived in Redbarn. The only good thing about the place was that it had a big dance hall and it was close to the cinema in Youghal town, so we would be able to escape for some of the time at least. The other down side was that her brother, Anthony, was also there and he was only thirteen. He seemed quite wild to me and always wanted to hang out with us, which we didn’t want at all.
When we arrived at the site, it was lashing rain as usual. This was a bad start off and I was already thinking this holiday was a very bad idea indeed. The caravan was a five-berth affair, and Anthony and I were given the inner bunks in the front, with Etta on the outermost side of the caravan. To ensure that no funny business happened, the parents shared the central part of the caravan, separating me and their precious daughter from any temptation. The real downside of all of this was that, if Anthony or I wanted to go out to the toilet, we had to pass through the parents’ bedroom and Etta’s room before you got to the door. I’m sure Anthony would be forgiven for passing on through, but I most definitely would have a devil of a job explaining my reasons for ending in the daughter’s room. Her parents were very strict and left me in no doubt about their moral code, especially her father, who was particularly detailed in his objections to the funny business. From the first day I became petrified about having to go to the toilet in the middle of the night. So that a toilet trip didn’t happen, I went to all kinds of lengths to ensure that I didn’t need to go out at night. I would stop drinking tea after six o’clock in the evening, and refused all minerals as well. This, I’m sure, led them to the belief that I was a secret alcoholic and also very impolite when I flatly refused their constant offers of tea. I tried my best to counter these ideas, as I suspected they were getting wary of me after a few nights of this carry on because, before bedtime, I would be in and out like a man with a secret desire for drink. Etta of course knew all about my fears and saw the funny side of my predicament, but she did nothing to ease my fears. As the days wore on I got braver though, and settled into believing that her parents were nice after all, which they were, but it took many more years to find that out. Soon I was drinking tea, but no orange, as it always made me want to go all night long. Then one night the inevitable happened. We had been at a dance in the hall. I was drinking orange like a mad man due to the heat, and throwing caution to the wind, I continued drinking till the dance ended. We had a great night as we were all alone; no Anthony, no parents and great music. When the dance ended I went to the bathroom and made a real long piss and felt that that was it for the night - a wrong conclusion as it happened. By then it was way past bedtime and at the caravan I tried hard to go piss again one last time to be sure, but nothing was doing so I went to bed. I had to pass in through the parents’ bedroom, and seeing them both asleep or pretending to be so embarrassed me to death, but I made it to our inner sanctum and got ready for bed.
Anthony wasn’t asleep and was all up for chatting to me. I wanted to just collapse into bed, so I told him eventually to shut up or I’d throw him out the bloody window or I might just kill him and bury him in the sand. He took this rather too seriously I thought, and he started to threaten to tell his mother about what Etta and I got up to. I figured that he must have been out slinking around the campsite as we walked home and he had seen us snogging in the dunes. Eventually I fell asleep, ignoring his threats. It seemed only like an hour or so before the need to go to the toilet began. I am certain it was my imagination at first, but more and more it got worse. I was in a terrible state in a short time. I was clutching my mickey and tossing and turning all over the place, buy nothing did any good. Soon I resorted to pissing out my window. This was a window that opened out on a spring hinge, but it seemed to be stuck or the spring was jammed. Again and again I almost had it open, but it would spring shut again almost catching my mickey in this vice more than once.
Pretty soon I was so desperate that I had to wake up Anthony for help. He refused, telling me that he was no friend of mine. I offered him money though I had no notion of giving it to him. He must have suspected that, as he demanded it first. I actually hadn't got much cash, and in trying to find my trousers I felt the first drops of wee squirt out. Now it was time for real action. I told him if he didn’t hold open the window I would actually piss on his bed
and he would be blamed. That was a master stroke on my part and came from my Nannie’s days of threats to kill me if I wet her bed. The new threat had the desired effect and he rushed to help. Between us we managed to get this big window open, where he held it for me to climb through. I actually fell out the window in the end and pissed all over the place; myself included. The relief was so wonderful I almost cried. Then I heard the window click shut.
Anthony, the little bastard, now had his revenge. He locked the bloody window and leered out at me. Here I was, outside in a caravan park, stark naked, and a foot from the window where his parents were asleep. I knew I was then in a fix for sure. I thought if I go around to Etta’s window and I am caught I will be in real big trouble, as being naked outside the girlfriend’s window could lead to only one conclusion. I started tapping the glass and calling to Anthony as quietly as I could, but he ignored me, having gone under the blankets pretending to be asleep, but I kept it up. I was nice at first, definitely guaranteeing money and friendship for life. When this didn’t work I resorted to threats. I said I would actually kill him, that I was not joking, and I’d throw his body into the sea where the sharks would eat him. Then I said I might just half kill him so he would be alive when they ate into him. All this had no effect on him whatsoever. I threatened to put snakes in his bed, thinking of Lill and the eel, and how I would really do it first chance I got, as there must be eels in a sea port. This got him and he opens his window slightly and says, “You can’t do that, there are no snakes here”. Well it was a start. At least I had got his attention. I laid on a good story full of flaws, telling him how I planned to get a snake to bite him, but he was always countering my plans with real good arguments, so I knew he was biting, no pun intended. I was freezing by then, so I begged to be let in. He wouldn’t let me in until I said I was sorry for threatening to kill him. Jesus, I says to myself, is that all he wants. Then I swear I’ll be his friend for life. With that he gives in and helps me in the window. This was very difficult for me as I am small and I had to get a bucket to help me up to the right height. Then I half jumped and half pulled myself up and tumbled into the room, hurting my mickey on the catch as I did so. Only for the pain of that I would have strangled the little rat in his bed. I was clutching myself with the pain and swearing I was leaving the next day, thinking to Hell with Etta, her parents, and their son, I had had enough. Then sleep overcame me.
Next morning Etta’s mother says to us all, but looking directly at me, “What was the racket going on last night between you two?” I tell her it’s a long story, and at that stage I didn’t give a damn if she found out or not as I was sick of the place by then. She didn’t ask further and it was just as well. When I told Etta what had happened, she wouldn’t believe me at first. Anthony denied it all saying I had imagined it all, but the bruise on my mickey was no imagination and the pain certainly wasn’t either. We hitched back to Mallow and home the next day as I had had enough of the place. It was to be the only time I went away on holidays with her family, and it took some years and a lot of work on my part to convince them that their daughter wasn’t dating a lunatic. How wrong they were on that one though.
As happens to most people who date, we had a big falling out and broke up. We went our separate ways, but I was missing her and heard she was due back in Mallow on a Saturday night, so I planned a visit to the town on the off chance that we might meet up again. Uncle Michael was reading meters for the Electricity Supply Board and he had bought himself a small Honda 50 motorbike as a means of transport. I had ‘borrowed’ this machine some months earlier to take Nannie for a spin to Kanturk, and I never had any luck with it. On that occasion we got punctured and walked ten miles home. Michael was gone to a meeting and I again ‘borrowed’ his Honda for the trip to Mallow. I met Fowler, who was dating his girlfriend in Mallow, and told him I’d give him a spin home when he was finished with his date. I never saw Etta that night even though I called to her house, so I decided to go pick Fowler up early and head back home. I drove around the town looking for talent and trying to look real cool on my Honda 50, not caring a damn that it was taken without permission, or that I had neither license nor insurance. I cruised around numerous times, making frequent sorties to St. Joseph’s Convent where I knew Fowler was hanging out, but I had no luck on the talent front. It was time for food and after that I decided that if Fowler wasn’t ready, I was going home without him. So back again to St. Joseph’s I went, and he was there in a bicycle shed snogging with the girlfriend.
While I was waiting for him I started to chat up one of the girls from the convent and we were getting along fine. Every so often I’d roar in at Fowler to come on as it was getting real late, and always the same reply came back, “Fuck off will you, I’ll be on in a minute”. To be honest I wasn’t too pushed as I was making progress with ‘your wan’ and I began to think of new possibilities with this girl.
So we chatted on for a little while longer. It was then getting really late and I wondered if there was enough petrol in the bike, as Michael was always running out of it, not wanting to overfill it in case it ‘ever goes on fire’ as he used to say to me often. He wasn’t to be disappointed on that score, as I was about to prove shortly.
We were in the driveway of the convent. I was sitting on the bike and the girl was standing near to me chatting away, when I decided to check the fuel. The stupid thing for me was that there was a pole with a light literally six feet away from us and it would have been directly over me and the petrol tank if I had just moved that distance. But no, not me, I had to look into the tank in the dark. I couldn’t see any petrol, so I stuck in my finger and I couldn’t feel any petrol either. Now convinced that there wasn’t even enough petrol to get me to a pump, I decided to see just how little I had. To this day it will remain the most stupid thing I ever did in my life; I asked the girl for ‘a light’. All I had to do was move the bike six feet. She gave me her matches, I lit one and held the flame over the petrol tank. To my surprise initially, immediately followed by shock, a flame erupted from the tank. It wasn’t a huge flame, but I was awe-struck. If I had put the cover back on quickly it might have gone out, but it wasn’t to be. My potential new girlfriend started to scream and roar, and I became paralyzed. I am convinced that somehow I was sitting on the bike when all this happened, but I don’t know how that could be. She ran screaming into the shed for Fowler, who was by then running out to meet her. When he saw his friend about to become a human torch, he dragged me away from the bike, and in so doing it fell over. This caused all the petrol to spill out. In seconds there was a real blaze going on with Michael’s bike bursting into orange and red flames mixed with black acrid smoke from his tyres. I ran across the road to a house for some water and they called the fire service, but it was all too late to save the bike. In a matter of minutes it was all over; the bike was a smouldering black wreck and the road had actually been burned from the heat. For years afterwards I’d see that patch of melted tar and remind myself of the stupidity of my act. I’ll not forget the feeling of loss that welled up inside me as I looked on at the black mangled skeleton that once was a shiny new Honda 50. I was also black from the smoke and in a state of shock. Fowler was trying to console me, but I was thinking of poor Michael’s mode of transport now gone, and how was he going to earn a living again. I had taken it without his permission and I felt so guilty that night. I knew he would not give out to me as he was not at all like that, but I felt so ashamed that I had robbed him of the comfort of a bike that he loved so much.
We got to hitching a lift home, all the time Fowler saying, “It’s an accident Cac,” his nickname for me. But I knew it wasn’t an accident, it was utter stupidity on my part, and I was supposed to be the one who understood physics: physics my arse. It was the act of a lunatic and no two ways about it. When I did get home eventually, I had a terrible sinking feeling in my heart. Michael was writing away in Nannie’s kitchen when I went in home. He saw me black-faced, covered in dirt and without hi
s bike. He quickly realized disaster had struck and I blurted out that it was burned and gone beyond repair. His only reproach to me was that I shouldn’t have taken it without asking him, as he might have needed it that night. I asked him with sadness, “What will you do now for the meter reading Mike?” and all he said was, “Ahh tis all right Chicken, sure I’ll just go back to me ould push bike”. Those words were like a knife going through me, as he was no longer a young man, and cycling miles and miles was going to be very hard on him. Michael went back to the push bike, and in later years I bought my motorbike and he used to use it, but he never recovered from the loss of his Honda 50. I have become convinced that it was all just destiny and it had its place in the story of all our lives, though its one event I’d prefer to have missed. It made me again question Nannie’s constant song that ‘fire follows them Cahills’.
After some years, Etta qualified in the nursing business and she began working in Cork. After a major row at her home she left and got a little flat in the city. This was the first time I believe she was ever truly free to live her own life, as her parents were still terribly strict on her, even after she was qualified and obviously an adult. We began to date seriously then, and it became a very happy time for both of us. Even though we had little money, we seemed to be falling in love more and more as the months went by.
Bobo
One Easter weekend Etta and I decided to go to Tralee in county Kerry for the long weekend. I had my motorbike by then and I was still working in Mallow with Larry Andersen. We had decided to meet at Mallow Railway Station and take the train to Tralee, with my bike travelling along with us in the goods wagon. Why we didn’t just drive the bike to Tralee beats me to this day, but that was the plan. I was also to book a bed and breakfast for an amorous weekend, and I was all set up for this as well. Before I got to do the booking however, Kyrle rang me from Dublin for a chat. I, like a fool, told him what we were planning to do, and he says to me, ”Don’t you do another thing, I’ll arrange it all, I got good friends in Kerry”. I knew he had, as he worked with some wild guys from ‘The Kingdom’ as it’s known. I took him on his word and forgot all about booking any place. After some hours he rang back to say it was all arranged. I was to go to Howlins' Hotel where a room was arranged by a ‘Bobo Boyle’. Being an innocent type, I never questioned this name as Kyrle always had crazies as friends, so I assumed Bobo was a genuine guy with an odd kind of name. Nothing could be further from the truth as Bobo did not exist.
Two Walls and a Roof Page 28
