The Mammy

by Brendan O'Carroll

  Agnes was perturbed, But only for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what. Give me yer Ma’s stuff and I’ll drop it in to her on the way back from the school. Please, Annie, I have to go up there.’

  Fat Annie thought for a couple of seconds. ‘All right.’ She handed Agnes a bag. ‘There’s corned beef, ham, sala’, onions and two cucumbers in there, tell her. And if that’s not good enough for Father Egan he should get himself a parish on the southside!‘

  The two women laughed. Agnes took the bag and headed for the Mother of Divine Providence School.

  There are certain smells you remember all of your life. The hospital, a confession box, a pub first thing in the morning. These are all recognisable smells. They cannot be confused with anything else. And you never forget the smell of school, Agnes thought, as she walked the corridor, the echo of her footsteps her only company. She glanced from side to side at each door. She stopped outside room four. Agnes had no idea what she was going to say or do, she just knew she had to come here. Her handbag was in her left hand and the bag Fat Annie had given her was in her right, so to knock on the door Agnes put both bags into her left hand. She rapped on the door. It was opened by a tall nun. Taller than Agnes. For a moment Agnes could picture this big lump of a woman holding down her tiny ten-year-old daughter.

  ‘Yes, Madam?’ She sounded like a man.

  Agnes just stared at her. She could feel her heart beat louder. Over the nun’s shoulder she could see the children looking at her. She couldn’t see Cathy. Maybe this was the wrong class.

  ‘Can I help you, Madam?’ The nun’s tone was now a little irritated.

  ‘I’m looking for Sister Magdalen,’ Agnes said flatly.

  ‘I am Sister Magdalen.’

  ‘Well, I am Mrs Browne. Cathy Browne’s mother.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Who gave you permission to cut her hair?’

  ‘Permission? Permission? Mrs Browne, I do not need permission to keep discipline in my school. Is there anything else?’

  Agnes cannot remember putting her hand in the bag - the thing seemed to have just grown out of her palm. One second her hand was empty, next she was wielding a bright green cucumber! She swung it in an arc, catching the nun square across the cheek with it.

  Unfortunately for Sister Magdalen the cucumber wasn’t quite ripe. Agnes remembers seeing something shoot out of the nun’s mouth at the same time as the slap sounded. It was a palate. On which were seven false teeth. The palate clicked across the classroom floor like seven little white tap dancers. Agnes turned on her heel and left the nun lying in the doorway. Half-way down the hallway and without looking back, Agnes shouted: ‘Put that in your fuckin’ pipe and smoke it!’

  The Gardaí were waiting for Agnes at her stall when she returned. She had time only to ask Smelly Nelly to call in and check that the kids would be okay. The two Guards then arrested her and took her to Store Street Garda Station, where she was put into a holding cell to await her court appearance the next day. Looking back, Agnes was thankful for that twenty hours alone in a cell with just her thoughts. For, after mulling over Marion’s illness for a long time and thinking about how she should react to it, she came to a decision. She would not refer to it at all. Agnes decided she would spend whatever time she had left with Marion just enjoying her, making her laugh, and above all making the most of every second they had left together. That was one problem solved. Now for the court case.

  Agnes was escorted from the ‘Paddy wagon’ to the court’s underground cells. They searched her - probably looking for dangerous fruit or vegetables. When she emerged from the basement cells to the dock there was a cheer from the gallery. Agnes looked up - there was Fat Annie, Smelly Nelly, Winnie the Mackerel, Liam the Sweeper, Sweaty Betty, Doreen, Catherine, Sandra, Jacko, Splish and Splash, Buddha, her children - and Marion! She waved, and they waved and cheered. The Justice banged his gavel.

  ‘Quiet, up there, or I’ll have you all thrown out. This is a court of law, not a circus!’

  The room went quiet. The Justice peered over his glasses, and, satisfied with the quiet, turned to Mrs Browne: ‘Agnes Loretta Browne, you are charged with assault with a ... I’m sorry,’ he now addressed the clerk, ‘this looks like ... cucumber.’

  The clerk reddened and nodded. ‘Yes, Justice, it is indeed a ... er ... cucumber.’

  The Justice looked puzzled at first, then he smiled and continued, ‘... with a cucumber, causing actual bodily harm. How do you plead?’

  ‘How do I what?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘How do you plead, woman?’ the Justice snapped.

  ‘Well, I kinda’ squash me face up like this ...’ Agnes squashed up her face and turned the sides of her mouth downwards, ‘... and I say ab go on, please ... go on.’

  The Justice stared at Agnes, then looked at the clerk who simply shrugged his shoulders. He then looked back at Agnes. She was still in her pleading pose.

  ‘Stop that!’ he yelled. She did. He tried again. ‘Madam are you trying to mock this court?’

  ‘No, mister.’

  ‘Justice.’

  ‘Mr justice.’

  ‘No Mister ... just Justice.’

  ‘No Mister Just Justice.’

  Again the Justice stared.

  The clerk stood up and walked over to Agnes. ‘When you talk to him you call him Justice,’ he whispered.

  Agnes was relieved: ‘Oh thank God, ’cause his full name is real long - I’d never remember it. Tell him he can call me Aggie.‘ The clerk returned to his seat, on the way nodding to the Justice that all was now explained.

  ‘Now, Mrs Browne,’ the Jusdce said, ‘can we begin again?’

  ‘Yes ... Justice.’

  ‘Good girl. Now, did you or did you not assault Sister ... eh ... Magdalen, with a cucumber causing her bodily harm? Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Justice nodded, but Agnes wasn’t finished,‘... and no!’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? It’s either yes or no.’

  ‘Well I did hit her, but all that happened was her false teeth fell out. Sure, there’s no harm in that!’

  The Justice instructed the clerk to enter a plea of ‘guilty’ to assault, and ’not guilt‘y to bodily harm. As this exchange was taking place, Agnes interrupted the Justice.

  ‘She cut me daughter’s fringe off.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked the Justice.

  ‘I said, she cut me daughter’s fringe off - the nun, she cut it off.’

  ‘Why did the nun, eh, sister, cut your daughter’s fringe?’

  ‘Cause she went home to change her knickers.’

  ‘What? Whose knickers? This is all very confusing!’ The Justice turned and addressed the arresting Garda. ‘Is this, em, Sister Magdalen in the court?’

  The Garda stood. ‘No, Justice, but I do have a sworn statement here.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, but I cannot question a statement, and I want the whole story.’

  Agnes put her hand up, as if in school, and the Justice spotted her. ‘You wish to speak, Mrs Browne?’

  ‘Yes. Me daughter is here. She’ll tell you the whole story.’

  ‘Right, bring her up.’

  Cathy was brought to the witness box by Marion. She sat on the chair with her skinny little legs dangling like a frill on a curtain. To a silent courtroom she told her story. Her tale was punctuated from time to time by ‘ooh’s and ’aah’s from the gallery. At one point in the story even the Justice let out a ‘Tut, tut!’. When she had finished, the courtroom was a picture to be seen: the Justice with his hand over his eyes, the arresting Garda, red-faced with embarrassment, turning left and right to those around him, saying, ‘I knew none of this, I swear.’

  And in the gallery, Smelly Nelly and Winnie the Mackerel were trying to raise a lynching party.

  The Justice slowly took his hand from his eyes. He spoke to the arresting Garda. ‘Do you wish to question this witness, Garda?’

  ‘Absolutely no
t, Justice.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned to Mrs Browne. ‘Mrs Browne, I am dismissing all charges against you. However, I do not wish to see you here again. I can and do understand your anger, but you must act within the law. You should have reported this to the police.’

  Agnes laughed. ‘Ha! What policeman would arrest a nun on my word as quick as I was arrested on hers?’

  There were over twenty Gardaí in the courtroom. All of them blushed. The Justice was lost for a response. Instead he again addressed the arresting Garda. ‘Garda ... eh ...’

  ‘Dunne, Justice.’

  ‘Garda Dunne. I would like you to call on this Sister Magdalen and inform her of what was said and done here today.’

  ‘I will, Justice.’

  ‘I’m not finished. I also want you to tell her from me and on behalf of the Gardaí that any and all complaints received from parents concerning the ill treatment of children in her care will be fully investigated!’

  ‘I’ll do that, Justice!’

  ‘Mrs Browne.’

  ‘Yes, Justice?’

  ‘Take your family home.’

  ‘Oh thank you, Justice.’ There followed a huge cheer from the gallery and a smattering of applause from the solicitors, barristers and assorted criminals awaiting their business with the court. In the midst of all of this nobody saw Cathy stand tippytoe at the Justice’s rostrum. The Justice saw only her big brown eyes and tattered fringe. He leaned forward and asked, ‘Yes, Cathy?’

  ‘Can I still make me Confirmation?’

  ‘Yes, Cathy, you can of course make your confirmation.’

  The eyes smiled. ‘Thanks, Mister!’ and off she ran to her mother.

  Chapter 13

  AS IT HAPPENED, CATHY’S CONFIRMATION DAY was a great success. By the time the hairdresser was finished with her, Cathy was more than pleased with the outcome. On the day she wore a pink two-piece suit decorated with tiny flowers around the edge of the lapel, a white high-collared blouse and white shoes. Archbishop McQuaid gave her the Sacrament of Confirmation, and to her relief Cathy was not even asked a question. The one-and-a-half hour ceremony was followed by lunch in Bewley’s Café which, as always, was sumptuous. Then began the obligatory visiting of friends and relations. Transport for the day was provided by Ned Brady, a local baker. Ned had an Austin Cambridge and supplied the car, himself as driver and the petrol for five pounds. By the end of the day Cathy had visited twelve aunts and uncles, seven of her mother’s friends, including Marion and Tommo, and finally Foley’s pub. Agnes and Cathy arrived home at nine o‘clock, exhausted. No sooner were they in the door than Cathy began emptying her pockets and handbag of half-crowns, ten-shilling notes, and the odd pound note. Agnes went to her bedroom and took off her ’good’ dress and with a huge sigh of relief peeled off the roll-on that had seemed to be shrinking as the day wore on. When she returned to the kitchen Cathy was sitting at the table with her Confirmation money all sorted.

  ‘Well, how’d you do?’ Agnes asked her.

  ‘Sixteen pounds and twelve shillings,’ Cathy answered with awe in her voice.

  ‘My God, you lucky thing! When I made my Confirmation I got all of eight shillings, and I was delighted.’ The battle-cry of all parents.

  Cathy just sat and surveyed her money. All this money, more than she had ever seen. Agnes sat down at the table opposite her.

  ‘So, have you decided what you’re going to do with it all, love?’

  ‘Yeh,’ Cathy answered, pleased with herself.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’

  ‘Well, I thought, two shillings each for Dermo, Rory, Simon and Frankie. Half-a-crown for Marko. That’s ... eh ... ten-and-six right? Then one-and-six to buy Trevor a ball. That leaves sixteen pounds, and I’m keeping a pound for meself!’ The child was glowing with the chance of being Santa Claus.

  ‘That still leaves you fifteen pounds, love. Do you want me to save it for you?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘No, Mammy - that’s for you!’

  ‘For me?’ Agnes was taken aback. Fifteen pounds was three weeks’ profit from the stall.

  ‘Yeh! for you, Ma! To buy anything you want.’

  ‘Oh you’re very good, love, but I couldn’t!‘

  ‘Mammy, please take it. I want you to have it. Buy some Cliff Richard records with it!’

  Agnes laughed. ‘With that kinda money I could buy all his records. No, I’ll tell you what I’ll do with it - I’ll put a carpet on the floor! A nice bit of exminister, none of that tintain stuff, real exminister with underfelt and all. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

  ‘Lovely, Mammy. Can I go with you when you’re buying it?’

  ‘Not only can yeh come, you can pick it!’

  Cathy was ecstatic. ‘Great!’ she screeched, and ran around the table for a hug.

  ‘Shh!’ Agnes whispered, ‘you’ll wake the boys. Go on off to bed, and hang that suit up. I might have to pawn it!’ Cathy had started to walk away but turned around, shocked with the mention of the word ‘pawn’.

  ‘Only jokin’, love,‘ Agnes laughed. And so did Cathy as she floated into her bedroom.

  Agnes was struggling with the go-car down the steps, followed by Cathy holding Trevor. The ‘baby’ was huge for his age, but unlike all of her other children who had been walking everywhere by their third birthday, Trevor insisted on being either carried or pushed in the go-car. Trevor was also slow to speak. At three Mark was reciting the alphabet, Dermot was telling lies and Cathy could sing you any song. But not Trevor. It wasn’t that he was slow, he was just bone lazy. His vocabulary consisted of about thirty words. Agnes suspected that he knew a lot more, but just did not want to use them. His most common phrases were of course the ones you didn’t want him to use - things like ’Fuck off, ‘Oh shit!’ or ‘Ask me arse’ came out clear as day. He also had, for some reason, decided on obscure names for things and no matter how Agnes tried to teach him the proper names, he stuck steadfastly to his own choices. For instance, ’breakfast’ was ‘ragga, ragga’. This sounded nothing like breakfast but when Trevor said ‘ragga, ragga’ he got a cereal. His penis was ’moo moo‘! Agnes tried to get him to say ’willy‘, but no way would he change. At this moment in time Trevor was shouting ’Go day‘, which meant he knew he was going to be pushed around Dublin in his go-car.

  When Agnes reached the bottom of the stairs she took Trevor from Cathy and placed him in the go-car. She fixed the straps around him and then asked Cathy, ‘Where’s the rope?’ The rope was used along with the straps. Because Trevor had mastered the art of unclipping the straps, Agnes now also tied him into the go-car. The rope was tied around one ankle, brought around the side bar, across his chest, around the back of the go-car, back across his chest, around the side bar on the opposite side and finally tied to the other ankle. The neighbours called the child ‘Houdini’.

  Just as Agnes, Cathy and go-car were about to exit onto the street in walked Mrs Ward. She beamed at the trio.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Browne,’ she said.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Ward.’

  ‘Hello, Cathy.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Ward.’

  ‘Ah ... and hello, little Trevor!’

  ‘Fuck off,’ answered Trevor with a smile, and with that the trio were out in the street.

  Today was the day that the new carpet was to be chosen. Agnes headed down James Larkin Street towards the city. About one-third of the way down the street she noticed that there were builders working on a shopfront across the road from Foley’s pub.

  ‘What’s that goin’ on?’ she asked Cathy.

  ‘It’s a new chipper.’

  ‘A chipper? Sure we already have Macari’s! What do we want with another one?‘

  ‘No, it’s not that kinda one, Ma! It’s goin’ to sell pizzas.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘I dunno, but Cathy Dowdall says they’re lovely.’

  ‘Are they foreign?’

  ‘Must be.’

  ‘Well, the Brownes won’t b
e eatin’ anythin’ foreign, so they can keep it!’

  They were now abreast of the new shop and Agnes glanced in the window. What made her stop was the carpet. She had never seen carpet in a chipper, for a start, and on top of this, the carpet on the floor was exactly what she had in mind for the flat. She backed up to look at it properly. A man came out of the shop. He was tanned and handsome and very attractive. He looked at Agnes standing there, her face pressed up against the shop window and at the same time trying to shield the reflection with her hand. He was French, had just arrived in Ireland to help set up his father’s pizza parlour and this was his first contact with an Irish woman.

  ‘Whee h’air nut h‘open yit, lady,’ he tried.

  Agnes turned and stared at him. He was really handsome.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I say ... de place es anot h’open!‘

  The place is not open, is that what you’re tryin’ to say?‘

  ‘Yes ... dis ees it!’

  ‘Do I look like I give a shite?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, we h’open tonight.‘

  ‘No, I said shite ... sh ... ah it doesn’t matter! Look, where did you get that carpet?’

  ‘Sorry, you spik too fast.’

  ‘Too fast? Right. Where ... did ... you ...’ Agnes pointed,

  ‘getto ... that ... carpet ... eh ... carpeto?’ Agnes now was on one knee slapping the ground. Another man joined the first one and both looked at Agnes as if she were mad. Agnes tried again, this time to the second man. ‘Scuso meo ... the carpeto ... which shoppo did you get it in ... o?’

  The second man wrinkled his forehead, turned his head toward the shop door and yelled, ‘Hey, lads! Come out an’ look at this wan! She’s a looney.’

  ‘You speak English!’ Agnes exclaimed.

  ‘I’m from Sheriff Street, love, we nearly all d up there.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t.’ Agnes pointed at the foreigner.

  ‘Ah, he’s French, but he’s all right. They got the carpet in McHugh’s of Capel Street, love.’

  ‘Ah thanks. It’s nice isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeh, it is. It’s nice, all right.’