It Happens Between Stops

by Mattie Lennon

  But it wasn’t always like that. As he mulled over a mug of tea, he got a tap on the shoulder. “Swervo you old devil you, welcome back” It was Toucher Grimes and he was heading in the opposite direction waiting on the next sailing.

  “It was only last week that a group of us were talking about you, Swervo and the great three in a row run? The likes of your display in those days hasn’t been seen since you left”. Swervo was holding a smile for longer than he had done in years. “They’ve won nothing, truly nothing since you left.”

  From pressing all the right buttons, Toucher veered over to touching a few wrong ones. “What made you leave so suddenly back then -- why no contact with anyone on our side since then -- what brings you back now-- what’s with the limp?” He really capped it all with the line, “Any chance of a score for just a few weeks as the funeral might go on for a few days?” In the old days, Swervo would simply have assaulted him and it was his stock and trade solution to so many problems but he was supposed to be turning over a new leaf and so opted for a less dramatic course of reply, saying his train was due in a few minutes and he regretted he had to dash.

  The walk down Main Street from the train station was uneventful till Sniffer Whelan dodged out of a cafe in front of him. “Ah, if it isn’t the bold Swervo himself in the flesh, I do declare.”

  “Good evening Sniffer.”

  “And a lovely evening it is surely too bright enough, I grant you that, but they don’t call me Sniffer for nothing and I’d nearly wager that you didn’t travel all those miles, after all those years, just to wish your old centre forward buddy a good evening.”

  Swervo, since he had only the price of a few drinks, was prepared to take a little more ribbing but how much more he wasn’t quite sure. “Ah, let me think now--perhaps, just perhaps, you have been made aware that Mrs. Jane O’Donnell has recently and tragically become the widow O’Donnell.” Swervo could feel his face redden and his fists clench.

  “As I recall ye were very great before John Joe stuck his beak in and of course when all papers were signed what could an honest God-fearing gentlemen do since dueling is no longer legal.” Luckily for all concerned, a group had come out of the cinema, some of whom spotted Swervo and after shaking his hand and slapping his back, this time told him what he wanted to hear.

  “Back where you belong” was one of most pleasing comments he heard. “Come in to Sean’s for I’ll have to stand you a drink or maybe two” was even better.

  But there was a few in the company that expressed surprise at how Swervo and Sniffer appeared to be on good terms. After all, hadn’t Swervo broken the window of Sniffer’s bargain shop all those years ago and hadn’t the guards found the goods at his place afterwards and only for Sniffer doing a deal for him to high-tail it, charges would have been pressed and he was looking at doing a long stretch, since he had been bound to the peace for assault many times.

  How long would this pally stuff last they wondered, especially since it was said that Swervo knew all along that Sniffer had gone out of his way to introduce John Joe to Jane?

  About two in the morning, Sniffer awoke to the sound of crashing glass. As quickly as he jumped out of bed to peer out the window, he saw the guards’ car outside on the road and two guards leading a staggering man out from underneath the window’s sill out of his shop to the sound of crunching glass. This man had a limp and yes, stubble - yes, it was him, surely. But how were they on the scene so quickly--did the cinema group standing across the road dare him to do it--did the guards know he was in town and likely to revisit the past - only in town a few hours? Or were they watching Sniffer himself?. By now his wife had joined him at the window.

  “Isn’t that the bloke that they were all talking about, being handcuffed? Why did those across not stop him. Why did he pick on our shop?” But Sniffer was stuck in every sense of the word. “Are they going to drive off with him, without first speaking to us? Here the window’ now open. For God’s sake man, do something-- say something?” But the best response Sniffer could muster out the open window was “Back where you belong surely.”

  FREEDOM TO WIN

  Tom Ramone

  ‘Frankie! You coming?’ asked Nicholas as they headed for the No. 18 bus. ‘Be with you in a minute Nick. Just throwing a few DVD’s in my bag’, said Frankie as he rummaged through his crowded locker. He put Rocky 1 and 2, plus Raging Bull into his big worn Umbro sports bag. Other youngsters were filing in and out of Al’s Boxing Club. It was 6.15 PM and Frankie would have to run if he and Nick wanted to catch the bus which was due at 6.18 PM. ‘What are you like? You’re always rooting for those boxing films when we’re trying to catch a bus. We’ve missed a lot of buses because of you’, Nick said as he and Frankie raced down the road towards the bus stop. Nick rummaged in his pockets for money for the bus fare. Like always he’d pay for Frankie. Not just because Frankie was his best friend but because Frankie was a superior boxer who taught Nick how to really fight. They both watched boxing DVDs of all the great movies and the real fights of Muhammad Ali. Frankie would have to watch the films at Nick’s parents’ house because his family didn’t have a video or DVD player. Anyway Frankie’s parents would not have approved of their only son watching such violence. There was enough of that mayhem all around them in the deprived area at which they lived. Drug abuse was rampant and local gang lords controlled the innocent young people who had little or no facilities. If Frankie’s family could live somewhere else they would, but the cost of housing did not allow this possibility. Maybe one day their son, if educated properly, would help them to aspire to live in a better location.

  “Wow! That was some punch Stallone gave to the other fella”, Frankie said as he and Nick watched Rocky 1 for the umpteenth time. The Italian stallion was raining punches on his tough opponent. A lot of blood was being spilled. But it was a fight that was pure magic for the two boys. For them Rocky was the epitome of a real fighter; from a poor area and with all the odds stacked against him. Yet Rocky keeps training and fighting – he wants to win at all costs. Something inside the boys answers the call of this magic that is boxing. “One day I’m goin’ to fight just like Rocky. I’m goin’ to win and be heavy weight champion of the world”, Frankie said, as Nick froze the screen showing Rocky bloodied and battered lifting the WBO Heavy Weight Champion of the world title belt. “That’s a long way off. You’re only fourteen. You got a lot of fightin’ to do before you ever get to be a contender for the World Boxing Organisation. And how do you know you’ll be able to fight at heavy weight level?” Nick said in a challenging tone of voice.

  “It’s my dream and I’m sticking with it. I have to believe in it. It’s my only way out of this place. I don’t want to wind up like my folks livin’ out their lives surrounded by gurrier drug dealers and punishment shootings. I want a better life Nick and I’m gonna get there no matter what”, Frankie said staring straight at his friend. Nick saw in Frankie’s eyes a determination that he only saw once before – in the eyes of Muhammad Ali, the greatest boxer who ever lived.

  Nick had all the posters of the great fighters from Rocky Marciano to Sugar Ray Leonard to Muhammad Ali and to the current greats of the heavy-weight boxing world. He also had all the DVD’s and videos of the great fights. The one thing he saw in all those faces was the will to go beyond the pain, the blood, the closed swollen eye and the broken ribs to another level of being; a level which made winners stand out from the losers. A winner is someone who goes the extra mile that a loser won’t those were the words that Nick remembered from the film Million Dollar Baby, if a woman could keep trying against the odds then why couldn’t a boy keep trying? “I want to go with you Frankie”, Nick said as he poured them both two glasses of lemonade.

  “I don’t want to finish up working at some job that I hate for the rest of my life. I want a better life Frankie”, said Nick as he stared into his friend’s eyes.

  “Boxing is our passport out of here. Frankie do you know that Rocky Marciano holds the distinct
ion of being the only Heavyweight Champion of the World to retire undefeated. Like Rocky and Ali we can do it. I know we can! We will rock you and together we’re goin’ to rock the boxing world!” said Frankie in a loud booming voice that echoed through the thin walls of the house. A next door neighbour pounded on the bedroom wall and shouted, “Hey! Will you lot ever shut up in there; I’m tryin’ to sleep”

  But the two boys paid no heed to the next door neighbour and pounded down the stairs to put on another boxing film; this time Ali, the story of Muhammad Ali and his life of boxing which resulted in the freedom to win not just for Black America but for people with a goal and a vision no matter where they lived. As Nick and Frankie watched Ali dodge punches and jump around the ring they knew that one day they too would have the freedom to win.

  RONNIE

  Angela Macari

  Being the daughter of a successful band leader and multi musician, has its advantages along with its disadvantages. For one thing, I spent my childhood surrounded by odd shaped cases containing various musical instruments, music stands, orchestrations, tapes and records, both vinyl and seventy eights that were heavy to hold and crackled loudly while being played on my Dad’s beloved record player.

  Emilio Macari, my late father could play Piano- Accordion, keyboards, Sax, Clarinet, drums; the list is endless!

  He also gave music lessons which could be quite tedious for us in such a tiny house, where we’d have to regularly endure squeaks or bum notes from the efforts of students over and over. On top of which the hours that a musician’s life involved, meant that we seldom saw him in the evenings or early mornings. Even in the afternoon, during his short break between gigs, he would go for a stroll around Dublin, or take in a matinee in the Savoy or Carlton Cinemas. This was the irregular and unpredictable life of a Band leader and his family!

  However, there was an upside to the hectic and demanding lifestyle he chose, which was that we had regular visits from very high profile figures in the business, who’d invariably call for the loan of a musical arrangement, a record or simply to discuss a forthcoming gig. Well-known celebrities were an everyday occur-rence for us kids. There was always a few of my Ma’s scones, ham sandwiches or a Gateaux Swiss Roll kept handy for such events.

  My first memory of the late Ronnie Drew was on one of these occasions, when he called in unexpectedly for a chat. I was sitting on our hall table with my friend playing with dolls, when the knocker on the big hall door of our house rapped loudly. I jumped down, running to open it. Outside was a cheerful man with a beard and a grin, who simply said in a deep voice ‘Is Emilio there?’

  My Dad came out and they went inside, talked and played records. When he was leaving, Ronnie pinched both my cheeks, laughed and said ‘Ah me oul’ Sagotia!’ affectionately.

  Over the years I realised through T.V., the radio and parents of friends how famous this gentleman, who to us was just Da’s friend actually was!

  Life is so funny! I joined Dublin Bus in 1982 and conducted the number 48A route for three years. My driver, a German called Bernt was a well known figure in the job, but he also had once been the Coach driver who took ‘The Dubliners’ on tour around Europe. What a coincidence!

  I told him about my Dad’s long standing friendship with Ronnie and how we had had lots of visits from the bowld Mr.Drew when I was but a young lass!

  My mother Maureen often told us of the many plays that my Dad took her to, when Ronnie was an actor, which was before his Dubliner days. One such play was ‘Richard’s Cork Leg’ and her anecdote about her reaction to the flowery language in it i.e. threatening to walk out, always makes me laugh!

  Anyway, Bernt and I often swapped tales since he had many enjoyable drinking escapades, funny events and singing sessions to tell of. He also told me about the many beautiful places they toured in the good old days!

  I became a bus driver in 1988 and Bernt and I parted company. But we kept in touch and some years later, he asked me if I’d like to go as his guest, to Ronnie Drew’s house for Christmas Dinner. I was honoured and although it meant driving over snow covered Wicklow hills to get there, I will always remember the event as one of the nicest days of my life!

  The Drew house was surprisingly similar to the house I grew up in, which sadly met a tragic fiery fate! It had a big hall door and an airy hallway just like the one where I first met Ronnie. Inside, there were many people along with Deirdre his wife, his children and grandchild. At the table, I was given a choice of a traditional Christmas Dinner, or Salmon En croute. In the end I had a taste of both. Deirdre was a tremendously talented cook.

  After the meal everyone gathered around a table in the sitting room where Ronnie took out his acoustic guitar. We sang and some who didn’t have to drive had a few drinks. I sipped a Coca Cola and just languished in the great man’s company as he sang lots of old favourite Dubliner numbers. I even got a chance to perform my humble rendition of Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘The Boxer’ on the beautiful guitar. Bernt was miffed at how I had so much to discuss with Ronnie about my late father, my mother and my brother Eugene, whom he admired as one of the finest guitarist in the land.

  Bernt, who never went far without a camera took photographs. I put one on the wall in my little house in Saggart, where I lived until I got married in 2003 and moved to Rathcoole. Somewhere among my photo albums it hides and occasionally pops out and I admire the lovely guitar in my hand, Ronnie Drew sitting beside me and the both of us singing away. I have another of him lifting his grandchild high in that way that granddads do.

  On leaving the party that night, Ronnie asked if there were any recordings of my Dad that he could have. We only had a cassette at the time, with my Dad performing a few of his favourites on piano. My Mother wouldn’t part with it, but later on for her 80th birthday, my brother had it made into a C.D. There are only a few copies of which I have none alas!

  The shock and disbelief I experienced last August on hearing of his passing, was overwhelming. Only a short time beforehand his beloved wife Deirdre had gone. Ronnie was ill for a while and he fought bravely. He appeared on a special tribute R.T.E. Late Late Show with lots of celebrities speaking of their claims to his friendship and inspiration. Proudly I told my husband of the happy memories I’m fortunate to have had, of this entertaining and unique man.

  My mother and I were on a pilgrimage in Lourdes France when the news came, of the death of our good friend. We shed tears and lit him a candle at the Grotto. I hope one day to see my dad Emilio and Ronnie gigging in that great big theatre in the sky!

  R.I.P. me oul’ Sagotia!

  BROWES PUCKAN

  Mattie Lennon

  THE COUNTRY FINAL

  John Cassidy

  Pat Kennedy felt bad. He lit another Cigarette and swore he’d cut them down to twenty a day. A hacking cough racked his well-built frame as the acrid smoke cut into his throat. He threw back the bed covers and thought about getting up.

  His bloodshot eyes focussed on the coloured print which dominated the wall at the end of the bed- the smiling face, black hair and the sweat soaked green and gold jersey, the Sam Maguire Cup held high above his head in gripping fists, and the autograph, ‘’To Pat from Anthony, Croke Park 1992.’’

  His idols, Molloy, McMullin, McHugh’s, Reid, Walsh, the Boyles, Rambo, Walsh and all the rest of that history making squad, heroes all. His own short glory- days on the county. No diet then, no hangovers. A few weeks training, a few practice sessions, a few games and he was match fit.

  He thought about last night. The selection meeting. The Captain’s proposal that the team remained unchanged for the final. The sole dissenting voice- young Liam should be picked. As Chairman he could have vetoed it, but it seemed more diplomatic to hold his whist, it worked, they plumped for his experience rather than the fitness of the younger man. Afterwards, the Session in the bar. Half the team in the corner with the diet coke and glasses of orange. Big Jim helping out behind the counter.

  The announcement of the team b
rought a buzz of excitement and kindled the fire of discussion. From every corner could be heard “if we get the first score...if midfield can....if big Jim” ...The talk flowed on, the fever of pre-final night grew. The pint tumblers mounted before him. It was on the way home that the doubts began. What did they really think of him?

  Would he have held his place had he not been Chairman? The last few matches were agony; he was not fit and had played badly. After twelve years at mid-field and two at half back he dropped back to full back and was now in the corner.

  There was good talent available from last year’s minors. If he had hung up his boots last year young Sean would now be an automatic choice. He looked distastefully around the untidy room and rolled out of bed.

  The match started quickly for him. The concentration and physical effort raised his spirits. The roar of the crowd got his adrenalin flowing. He wondered how they had managed before adrenalin was thought of. They had started well and knocked over a few points. He had played competently and his lack of pace had not been exposed. His opponent was young and very inexperienced. Initially the boy had stayed wide of the square waiting on the loose ball. A few digs in the ribs had soon sorted him out and he stayed well outfield after that.

  By half time he felt better, he got his second wind and they were leading by four points. He had only been beaten once. The youngster had picked up a loose ball about forty yards out and had slipped by him on the outside. As he cut back diagonally towards goal, the boy shot hurriedly and the ball curled wide.

  He began to feel his age in the second half. The opposition began to feed their left corner. The boy knocked over a great point from fifty yards out. On three occasions he had to bring down the youngster. He got away with it once, but points had been taken from the two frees. He thought about going off. So far they had only used one sub, sound lungs and fresh legs would keep the corner forward in check. Still they were a point in front and his experience would see him through.