Scars that Run Deep

by Patrick Touher

  I laughed at poor Bill. It was part of my nature to behave in that way.

  I didn’t realise then that Bill had his own problems. He never got around to finishing the conversation on life with me. It was some time after that that he told me he had to go away, but he never explained the reasons why. When I realised he was gone I wept, for I knew it was too short a while that I knew him. In that short time I loved him, and I realised that no one could ever replace him. To me he was a special man.

  The Mooneys treated me as one of their own. May was a lovely person, as was Lorcan. I got on famously with him, even though I often disturbed his sleep. We never had a lot of money, but what we had we got great value for. I loved Dublin as a city. Being an ex-Artaner I suppose it was like being part of a great fair; it was smashing to walk home from the ballrooms without any fear of trouble. Dublin was a lovely place then. I hated going home too early in case I’d miss out on something, as I found the city at night to be a terrific place to be in.

  9

  IN THE YEAR since I had left Artane, I hadn’t changed much, as far as I could tell. It was about this time that I qualified with my old dance partner for the grand final of the Micheal O’Hehir Cup, to be held in the Irish Club in Parnell Square. I recall Lorcan Mooney asking me what I did when I was with girls. ‘Well,’ I responded, ‘I love their company. I enjoy dancing and talking to them.’

  Lorcan was quick off the mark. ‘Is that all you do, Pat?’

  I looked at him with some amusement and replied, ‘That’s all. What else is there?’

  Minnie came to visit me at the bakery one day. I was very surprised to see him. He had grown taller; he looked like a real gentleman! We walked into the city, to the Palm Grove in O’Connell Street. The stories Minnie told me filled me with sadness. He too was a trained cook and baker. In Artane when I worked in the boys’ refectory with him we were known as the kitcheners. Later I worked with him in the bakery, and he had moved on to work in the Brothers’ refectory. Minnie was sent away to Salthill in Galway to a hotel, and then on to some farm as a houseboy. There he was very badly treated and abused, like so many other Artane boys, who were naive and had no one to turn to for help. I was lucky in that way: I was well treated by Mick and Pauline Bradley.

  By the end of March a new baker had joined us. He was a rare one. His name was Mark, but he was known to us as Mando. He was tall, very dark in complexion, with deep dark-blue eyes and a round, handsome face. He was a slick talker and an elegant ballroom dancer. At that time we had a midnight start in the bakery, and I often came from a dance and went straight in to work.

  I had got to know the people around Fairview and I was known in most if not all of the shops, especially those along Fairview Strand. The fruit and vegetable shop was run by Mr Warren, and next door to him were Jim and Peggy Behan, who had just moved in. Beside them was, and still is, Hogan’s pharmacy. All these people lived on their premises, at the rear or upstairs. The snooker hall, which stands as good as ever, still backs on to the side of the bakery grounds and old house. Little has changed since, except that people have passed on.

  In April 1959 I was in the old-time waltz final. My partner and I were quietly confident of bringing home the cup. On the night of the final the Irish Club was packed to capacity and the atmosphere was electric. My partner, who was training to be a nurse in the Mater Hospital, brought fifty screaming nurses with her. I believed we were going to win as the adjudicators moved about, casually eliminating couples. Finally it was down to the last six. I looked at my partner, who I had been dating just for the pleasure of dancing with her. In fact, at that time I had never actually dated a girl. I don’t recall having that kind of interest, and I never had the urge to go any further than taking one step forward or two steps sideways. Yet I loved being in the company of girls, just for their companionship.

  For the second-last heat of the final there was much more room to dance, so with the crowd cheering wildly I decided to take the floor by storm and walk away with the cup. My partner commented, ‘It’s between just a few of us now. It’s in our grasp, Pat. My friends from the Mater will cheer us on.’ I had never kissed a girl, but how I wanted to kiss her now!

  To the cheers of her friends from the Mater, I put in some fancy footwork that Mando had taught me during our breaks. My partner and I were being cheered on by a chorus shouting our names, and I was about to say ‘well done’ to her when the music stopped. The hall fell silent on the completion of ‘The Northern Lights of Old Aberdeen’. As my number was called out by the MC, the excited crowd cheered.

  I moved forward when suddenly the MC announced that number seven was eliminated, to the sound of fierce booing and catcalls. I stood there silently watching another couple collect the cup. Before I could gather my thoughts I realised that not only had I not won the coveted cup but I had also lost my fabulous dance partner. She slipped away into the crowd. I can only imagine how the poor girl felt.

  The night to follow was to be a long and famous one. I had to dash straight to work. It was Eddie’s night off, which never seemed to work out for us. Everything would go wrong.

  One of the special virtues I learnt in school was always to be on time, that it was far better to arrive half an hour early for work or for an appointment than to come a few minutes late. I have followed that code all my life, and I’m not at all happy with people who turn up late for engagements.

  I got off the bus in Fairview at Edge’s Corner and I hurried up Windsor Avenue towards the bakery. As I entered the yard the church bell sounded. I noticed that the bakery lights were on as I entered, but I found myself alone. It was midnight. My instinct told me to check the ovens to see if Mando had forgotten to light them. There were two gas ovens, each of them with five decks. One of them the boss bought from Woolworth’s bakery in Henry Street in 1957. I noticed that the taps were full on. I could see the light, so I decided to go and get changed.

  As I was going, Mando walked in, his whites on and ready for work, but he said we’d be late starting because the ovens had only just been put on. Mando checked the ovens once more and asked me to go and get the supper.

  I began to leave when he shouted, ‘Paddy, get me the usual,’ which was a one-and-one. When I came back and Mando had the tea brewing on the open gas ring on the floor. I could smell the hot plates heating up, but wondered about the ovens. I got the impression that something was wrong, and so did Mando. As he opened up the fish supper he shouted at me to check the ovens. I knelt down to check the lower deck, as from there I could see the jets and it was there I always put the light in. I shouted to Mando, ‘They’re out.’

  After getting the box of matches, I glanced towards Mando, who was now sitting up at the table enjoying his chips. I bent down. I wasn’t thinking of anything other than lighting the jets to get on with the work. I don’t recall getting a strong smell of gas as I bent down and struck the match.

  What an explosion! As I lifted my head up, the top metal door of the first deck blew over my head, and a ball of fire swept across the ceiling and scorched my hair. As I stooped down to get out of the fire the lower deck blew its door off, bashing my right hand. I ran out, screaming for help. I couldn’t see Mando, but I remember the final explosion as I stood or sat behind an evergreen bush in the front garden. A huge flame rose from the roof, and the windows blew out. As the ovens went up I could see a cloud of dust rise in Mr Warren’s back yard. I’ll never forget Mando’s words as he stood in the front yard facing me. ‘Me shaggin’ supper! I was havin’ me feckin’ fish and chips, Paddy!’

  I tried to laugh but I couldn’t force it out, as my hand was too painful and I was in shock. I remember saying to him, ‘Go and do something to put out the fire.’ He looked at me with a grin on his handsome face and remarked dryly, ‘I could do with a week or two off, Paddy.’

  I staggered round to Mr Warren’s shop. A crowd had gathered, wanting to see what had blown up. I was surrounded now. I could hear the bells of the approaching fire engine
s and was aware of flashing lights.

  A man came out holding a glass. I heard his voice and recognised it as that of Mr Brennan, the friendly grocer. ‘Drink this, me lad, quickly.’ I was in another world, never thinking at all what was in the glass. Mr Brennan shouted again, as though I had been deafened by the explosion. I put the glass to my lips. I saw the golden glitter of the liquid as I gulped it down. ‘It’ll do yeh good,’ a man shouted. ‘Sure it’ll do yeh no harm anyway,’ said another. My eyes popped. The last thing I remember was Mr Warren asking, ‘What yeh give him, Bill?’ ‘Glass o’ brandy.’ I was on my back on the pavement, looking up at the starry sky. The world was going round and round as I was lifted on to a stretcher and driven away at speed to Jervis Street Hospital.

  The next day I was back in business, my forehead bandaged and right hand strapped up. I was standing in the bakery and looking out at the posse of policemen in the garden, searching for clues. I looked at Mando and we suddenly burst into laughter. The only clues I could see them finding were what Mando and I were to have had for our supper.

  I was given a few days off. It was Friday and the men had hoped to get the bakery back in shape by Monday, to the dismay and annoyance of poor Mando. We began to move away from the bakery, to get out of the way of the gas workers – who had been blamed for causing the explosion, as they had been working on the mains up Windsor Avenue at the time. Suddenly Mando surprised me by saying, ‘I need new lodgings in a hurry, Paddy. I believe you’re well got in Fairview.’ I smiled at him, not realising what sort of chap he really was, hiding behind his dark and handsome features.

  I had left the Mooneys with much regret soon after Bill Mooney had gone away never to return again – I missed him dearly. I found Mando lodgings with my new landlady, Miss Cashin, who ran a small grocery shop beside the butcher’s in Fairview.

  She lived with her brothers, and their home was a real throwback to a time more suited to a country village where Grace before and after meals was said aloud. The music was country and old-time Irish. Songs our Fathers Loved was played every night on the gramophone that was wound up by hand. The records were always seventy-eights. Each night after tea with the four lodgers, I sat by the open fire while they played cards and I embraced the emotional songs of Erin. I loved it. At times I grew so fond of Bridie Cashin, I often went to bed thinking she that loved me. I was accepted and it was a good feeling.

  The Cashins’ was like an open house, so many came to stay for dinner and remain on after a long night playing cards. Most of the men who came were famous Gaelic footballers who all played for their respective county teams. The old Irish songs that filled the smoky room often brought tears to my eyes of a longing for my Ireland. An Ireland free, an Ireland united north and south, an Ireland with four green fields, each one a jewel, each one free of British rule, just as the Christian Brothers had fostered into me. Yet I longed to be free, free to afford to travel to the land I was taught to hate.

  England was evil, England was Satan’s Island, even the English game of soccer was evil. The Christian Brothers sowed the seeds of fear of England into us as kids and yet I, even being very naive and gullible, was determined to travel and see the sights of London, Liverpool and Manchester.

  Oxo, my old pal, had often talked about escaping to Liverpool to stay with his aunt. Often as I sat by the fire, as sparks flew from the logs, as the music filled and thrilled my heart, I thought of Oxo, the Burner, Jamjar, Stewie and my dear old pal Nick. They were all in England. My mind was on England. And ’tis there I must go, I thought.

  I discovered I would need all my papers and a passport if I was to travel. I went to the custom house, and it was there I learned who my mother was. The details were bare:

  Date of birth: 7/3/42

  Name: Patrick Twoher

  Place: Dublin

  Mother’s name: Helen Twoher

  Father’s name: Unknown

  I was gobsmacked. But I was never to trace my routes for fear of what I’d find. My fear was I’d only find graves of the unknown.

  10

  WHEN I LOOK back on my past, 1959 brings happy memories. It was an eventful year.

  I was settling into my new lodgings in 3 Fairview Strand with the Cashin family, who made me feel very welcome. This gave me a smashing feeling; I was really in my element with them. I was one of at least four lodgers in the house, which was fronted by a small grocer’s shop, and beside it was Mulvey’s butchers. Bridie Cashin ran the grocery shop. Sometimes I was asked to help out; the only problem was that I could never look straight at a customer, as I would get into fits of laughter at the size, shape or appearance of them – a throwback to my Artane days, when a new Brother was given a nickname within his first half-hour of duty. This was a real problem I had, and I was trying to change, as Mick Bradley had advised.

  There was no shortage of things to do after work or at the weekends. Though there was no such thing as television or videos, I was never at a loss. Whatever was there we made terrific use of it. In one corner of the large sitting-room rested the old gramophone, which I fondly wound up by hand, and I sat back by the open turf fire at night listening to Songs Our Fathers Loved: ‘The Rocks of Bawn’, ‘The Bold Fenian Men’, ‘Boolavogue’, and ‘The Rising of the Moon’.

  I never felt alone in Bridie’s place: there was a warm welcome waiting for everyone. It wasn’t unusual for me to get into my single bed in the room I shared with two other lodgers only to waken up to find I was sharing my bed with some tall GAA county footballer, one of many such visitors to the Cashins’ place.

  I have fond memories of card games that went on into the night, while the seventy-eights on the gramophone kept the spirits high. I found great peace and joy just to sit and watch those men, all so contented together. There was no money to be won or lost, just good crack by the turf fire.

  One night I heard a loud tapping on the window, everyone else being preoccupied with the cards in their possession. I answered the door; and standing before me, almost breathless, was a very attractive young woman. ‘I’m Isabelle,’ she said. I stood staring at her, she was so beautiful. She was a few years older than me. She spoke again. ‘Could you tell Terry I’m here? I hope I can stay the night. Is Bridie at home by any chance?’ I could have fallen for her there and then. I smiled and said, ‘I’ll go and tell them you’re here. They’re playing cards.’

  For the first time I experienced a sensual feeling for the opposite sex, and I loved it. As I sat down by the fire I couldn’t take my eyes off Isabelle. What I’d give to have her take care of me! The more I studied Isabelle and Terry as they sat together by the fire facing me, the more I wanted to be in Terry’s place. As I watched them I began to realise there was something missing in my life. Though I had no idea how to go about it, I began to feel I was spending far too much time with ex-Artaners rather than with girls. I wanted to be with someone like Isabelle.

  I was over seventeen and – aside from my dancing partner – had never been out with a girl. Though I was really keen to try it out, I hadn’t a clue how to go about it.

  At the time of my first date I was earning £3 7s 6d a week and I was paying Bridie Cashin £1 15s for full board plus my laundry. I was in the happy position of being in the money, and I believed I could afford to chance going out with a girl, as Bridie often encouraged me to do.

  Dancing was still my favourite pastime, and I loved the old-time waltz. One evening, while glancing through the evening paper, I noticed a competition being run in the Irish Club. I decided at once I was going. When I arrived I noticed a young, slim, fair-haired girl standing chatting to her friend. The hall was quite empty, and as I approached her a chap got in ahead of me. I paused, and I was glad when I saw that he took her friend up to dance. The blonde turned to me with a really suggestive smile. That evening I danced in the arms of someone I longed for.

  The competition was going well; we reached the quarter-finals. I’ll never forget the great Gallowglass Ceili Band. They filled the a
ir with their wonderful sound. I waltzed that night into the arms of love. I didn’t have to ask her for a date, or if I could see her home. It was altogether different. We simply went together up the steps at the rear of the bandstand and had our Club Orange, eyeing each other, nice and easy. What amazed me about it was how simple it all was.

  Noeleen was at least five feet six and slim, with blue eyes. Her fair hair was short and permed. She was nearly two years older than me, and she came from Drumcondra. With a little hindsight I’m certain if I had known just a little about sexual matters it would have worked out, as Noeleen was a joy to be with.

  We left the ballroom together, though I felt I was following her, and wherever she chose to stop suited me fine. Whatever moves she made were new to me. I loved it, and was quite happy to go along with her, as I was on cloud nine.

  We went for a lemonade and a chocolate queen cake at the small grocery shop opposite the cinema at the corner of Dorset Street; it was a regular haunt for couples who went to the Teachers’ Club or Granby Hall and the Irish Club. She walked into the laneway between the two blocks. We were standing in an old doorway, and as I looked across I could see the fluorescent lighting over the ballroom further along in Granby Lane.

  But I couldn’t be with Noeleen in the way she expected. She without doubt took the lead. I was nervous, to say the least. My arm rested around her shoulders. My hands were sweaty. Eventually I asked her about her last bus home. She smiled at me. She was so desirable, and was clearly attracted to me, but I was so naive, and I didn’t wish to commit a mortal sin. I was constantly concerned about doing the right thing. ‘You mustn’t miss your bus,’ I said.