No Going Back

by Mick Moran

  Jimmy was still amused. “I think there will be a bit of fuss from Martin though.”

 

  John looked puzzled. “You keep saying that, but I don’t see why. A day’s work is a day’s work for Martin. I’ll make sure we don’t loose any bonus.”

 

  Jimmy winked at Andy. “I don’t think it’s the bonus.”

 

  Andy looked warily at Jimmy, before quickly turning to John. “But, aren’t we jumping the gun? It might not come to that at all.”

 

  “That’s right Andy. Let’s wait and see.”

 

 

  Chapter 4. Mary’s lodging house.

 

  Three weeks earlier it was a much more relaxed and cheerful Martin that welcomed Jimmy to his new digs. It was the first time they had met in the digs, although they knew each other from work. Martin must have been as aware as Jimmy was about the uncertainty of Jimmy’s future there. However Martin’s cheerfulness encouraged Jimmy to maintain, at least outwardly, his normal carefree attitude.

 

  “ What’s on the menu this evening?” asked Jimmy, jokingly, eyeing the table as he entered the room.

 

  Martin, who was sat nearest the table, removed the pipe from his mouth. “Hello Jimmy” he greeted. Then, with an almost mischievous motion of his head, Martin put his finger to his closed lips before continuing in a lower voice “I think it’s a tee-bone steak.”

 

  “I suppose you're well used to that here,” whispered Jimmy, warily glancing at the closed door, which Martin had drawn his attention to, behind which was the kitchen and probably Mary.

 

  Jimmy turned his attention back to the table. His more immediate concern, which his joviality masked, was not what food there was. Forewarning had kept his expectations low in that respect, and anyway such was his hunger that any food would be welcome that evening. Deep down he had doubts about whether he would be included in the meal at all. It was Monday evening. If included it would be Jimmy’s first evening meal at “Mary’s.” But Mary’s attitude that morning had left him in considerable doubt about whether she would allow him to continue as her lodger.

 

  Knives and forks were set for five places. That was promising he thought. Mary had told him there were four other lodgers. Relieved, he thought she was giving him another chance, although he could hardly blame her if she didn’t. Keeping up the facade, he turned to Martin.

 

  “Will I get my steak well done?”

 

  “Oh; you will, if that’s how you like it and will you look what’s over there.” With his thumb, Martin indicated towards the far side of the room. “That only came last week. Just in time for you.”

  Martin was referring to the television in the far corner of the room next to the fire. It was, however, the warm glow from the fire on that cold evening, that mainly attracted Jimmy and somewhat diverted his attention away from the clutter of mismatched, shabby furniture. Two men, Mick Hunt and Henry Kelly, who Jimmy recognised, were sat on an old settee in front of the television. So engrossed were they, that they weren’t even aware of Jimmy’s presence.

 

  “Will you look at them,” sneered Martin, “like zombies, not a word out of them.”

 

  A big brown cat, seemingly in agreement with Martin rose from the rug it was laying on in front of the fire, stretched itself, then, turning it’s back to the television, walked purposefully over and, apparently in a gesture of friendship, rubbed itself against Jimmy’s leg. Jimmy liked it. It was a good sign: such a rare occurrence. Lodging house cats, in his experience, kept well clear of the lodgers, often diving for cover when a lodger approached. He also liked the television. Having one in the digs would be another new experience. Up to then he had only seen them in pubs. Maybe it would help to keep him out of the pubs.

 

  However, Jimmy wished to keep with Martin. “I,” he agreed, “The television certainly kills the conversation.” But,” he added “it’s a pastime when a man’s on his own. Better than looking into the fire.”

 

  But Martin was having none of it “I don’t know. Sometimes you’d see better pictures in the fire.”

 

  “Aren’t you the dreamer? I’m going for a wash.”

 

  Unlike the previous evening this time Jimmy had little difficulty finding his room. The street light, directly across from the landing window shone, unimpeded by curtains, into the landing, and also partially lit the long corridor, which led to Jimmy’s room. That was fortunate, as there was no other light in the corridor. Mary had said something about a wiring problem. However, thanks to the streetlight, it wasn’t in total darkness.

 

  There was no lock on Jimmy’s door. Just as well, thought Jimmy, in that light he’d never find a keyhole, especially after a few pints. Security, he felt, wasn’t a problem. His few belongings would be safer there, even in an unlocked room, than in most places he’d stayed at. He knew, at least fairly well, all the other lodgers and Mary, by all accounts, if a bit tight, was well respected.

 

  She had a big house, with more rooms then than she had lodgers. Therefore every man had his own room, unlike in the past, when often three or four men slept in a room, sometimes just on mattresses on the floor. That was when Mary’s mother and father ran the place. Work was plentiful for Irishmen then and many were looking for the cheap lie-down. Or the rough lie-down as some said. Rough and ready it certainly was, but, to give them their due, it was also said that they made sure no Irishman stuck for a bed for the night was ever turned away.

 

  Jimmy switched the light on and closed the door. Having a room unshared was a wish fulfilled, especially as the price did not reflect that luxury. He could overlook its shortcoming’s. Pealing wallpaper and yellowing paint weren’t important, or so he’d told himself. Then, however, looking round the dimly lit room (Mary clearly didn’t believe in wasting electricity) in a more sober state, he thought it better not to dwell on such reasoning. At least the craic would be good. It better be.

 

  As well as two beds, the room contained a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, neither of which were yet used. His clothes, other than those he was wearing, were thrown on one of the beds or still in the suitcase on the floor. The other bed, the one he’d slept in the previous night, was still unmade: room service was minimal, he knew that, just a change of sheets once a week, or was it once a fortnight?

 

  After removing his donkey jacket, Jimmy shivered. The room was colder than he’d remembered. That’s being sober for you, he thought; best not hang about. At least it was warmer downstairs.

 

  The bathroom was just across the corridor. After a wash and change of clothes he felt better and warmer in his best thick Jumper. Jimmy sat on the bed. Going downstairs could wait a little while. He had things to think about. But, as often, other thoughts kept intruding. Going through his suitcase, he had come across again the unanswered letters from his mother. He had, again, pushed them to the bottom of the suitcase, burying, once more, the darker feelings, the letters had briefly aroused.

 

  Jimmy concentrated on the changes to his lifestyle that that day he’d resolved to make. The changes were partly prompted by Mary’s words from that morning, which were haunting him all day.

 

  “I’m not putting up with it. Are you listening? Are you listening?

 

  So bad was his hangover that he didn’t know whether she was throwing him out or not. He had just nodded. He had nothing to say in his defence. He had only spent two nights there and had caused disruption on both nights. He knew it couldn’t go on.

 

  The resolutions were s
imple: to cut down on his drinking and keep out of trouble. Neither was in keeping with his image, and therefore only he knew about them. Of course he’d made those resolutions before, on most Mondays in fact. This time, however, he was more determined, and was reasonably pleased with his success so far. That day, much to John’s surprise, he had refused the usual Monday “sub”. Although during his brief visit to “Nora’s”, on his way from work that evening, things could easily have gone disastrously wrong.

  ***

 

 

 

  Alone at the bar, Jimmy savoured his pint- it would be his last for a while- as he watched Nora stack the shelves. “Nora’s” was known as an Irishman’s pub, but that evening, unusually, no other Irishman was there. That suited Jimmy fine. After the weekend he had he was almost broke. He couldn’t afford to get involved in a round of drinks. He just called in for one pint to clear his head: hair of the dog, or something like that.

 

  He wasn’t the only customer though. Behind him, at a table, sat some men who had just finished work at a nearby factory. They often came in at that time, but they never mixed with the Irishmen: or maybe they were never invited to. That the Irishmen were missing, however, didn’t go unnoticed.

 

  “The Paddies must hit a rough seam today.”

 

  The comment was loud enough for Jimmy to hear. Maybe that was the intention. He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t look round, not sure if he was being taunted. He wasn’t one to dodge trouble. But, he thought about his resolution and held fire.

 

  Nora also heard the comment. Although she had her back to him, Jimmy noticed her stop what she was doing and appear to momentarily freeze. Jimmy continued staring at Nora’s back, who, without looking round, commenced stacking the shelves. If he was being taunted, Jimmy knew that to look back meant inevitable confrontation. The sound of suppressed laughter, however, was making it increasingly difficult to resist doing so.

 

  It was the sound of the door opening that caused Jimmy to turn. Suddenly the atmosphere changed. Concealing his relief, Jimmy casually remarked to Nora, “its big Paddy”, as he watched Paddy Foley squeeze past the door.

 

  Paddy cheerfully greeted all in the pub. “Good evening Nora,” “good evening Jimmy.” Then turning round, “Good evening Men”.

 

  The men at the table acknowledged the greeting with nods. Paddy’s cheerfulness brought a smile to Nora’s face. She also must have been relieved by the change of atmosphere. “The usual Paddy?” she asked.

 

  “I, and one in there”. Paddy pointed to Jimmy’s almost empty glass.

 

  “No, no, I have to go.” Jimmy placed his hand over his glass

 

  “Go! Where would you be going? Have a drink and tell me how you are settling in.”

 

  Jimmy had just become Paddy’s fellow lodger and was aware that soon Paddy would be more than that. Mary and Paddy were to be married in a week. Tempted as he was by the offer of a drink, Jimmy stuck to his guns.

 

  “That’s the reason I have to go, but we’ll have a drink soon.”

 

  Jimmy drained his glass. Then, as he watched a disappointed Paddy pay Nora, he noticed that, although he could hardly be described as well dressed, Paddy was not in his working clothes.

 

  “Not working today Paddy?” asked Jimmy as he moved to leave.

 

  “Oh, I was. But I was back and changed.” Then, Paddy grabbed Jimmy's arm. “You won’t be telling Mary you’ve seen me here, will you?”

 

  “Don’t worry” Jimmy gave him a knowing wink.

  ***

 

 

 

  When Jimmy returned to the dining room, Joe Frain, who was not one of Mary’s lodgers was chatting with Martin. Jimmy was aware that Mary kept an open house: people were free to drop in at any time. Nevertheless Joe was keen to explain his presence.

 

  “I just called in to have a word with Martin.”

 

  “I’ll leave you to it then.” Jimmy started to move towards the other side of the room, from where the fire was beckoning.

 

  “No, no, stay here.” Joe pulled a chair closer to himself, which he indicated was for Jimmy. “Aren’t you on the same Job as Martin? I was wondering if there were any jobs going out there. Martin was telling me that job is nearly finished, but the firm has a new job starting in a few weeks over near Burnley.”

 

  “I, they should be starting men then all right. But, didn’t you get the start with Casey? You seemed to be getting on well last night.”

 

  “Don’t talk to me to me about that man. Didn’t I think I was in last night and me buying him drinks, whiskeys and all? But, when I went out this morning you’d think he didn’t know me, the way he looked at me. He just said he was full up. The owl bastard wasn’t full up last night.”

 

  Jimmy succeeded in keeping his face straight. It was no joke for Joe. However, Joe’s outburst, louder than intended, interrupted Mick and Henry’s television viewing. As they turned around their obvious amusement angered Joe all the more. Jumping to his feet he approached them, his fingers clenched into fists.

 

  “I’m a laughing stock now am I?”

 

  “No one’s laughing at you Joe.” Martin stood up and placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder. But, Joe angrily turned away and rushed out of the house, followed by Martin who prevented him slamming the door.

 

  Mary appeared at the kitchen door looking suspiciously at Jimmy.

  “What was that all about?” she asked

 

  It was Henry that answered. “Joe Frain, he got a bit excited.”

 

  “The man’s out of work,” added Mick “He’s upset.”

 

  Mary just nodded. Then, giving Jimmy another wary glance, she returned to the kitchen.

  ***

 

 

 

  When Martin returned the meals were on the table.

 

  “A man didn’t value the bacon and cabbage when he had it every day” pronounced Henry checking that Mary was out of earshot.

 

  “You’re right there,” said Mick weighing up the plate of beans poured on top of a slice of toast. “She’s gone proper vegetarian now.”

 

  “Ah it’ll do us no harm,” said Jimmy, cutting into his toast.

 

  Henry turned to Martin. “Did you manage to calm Joe down?”

 

  “Oh, I did. I told him to come out with me in the morning. I’ll put in a word for him with John. If he doesn’t get the start then He’ll probably get his name taken to start in a few weeks at the Burnley job. He’s a good worker, but I don’t think he ever worked with John. Although John will know who he is.”

 

  “Don’t everyone know who he is, the pipe-layer Joe. I hope you don’t tell John he’s a pipe-layer.”

 

  “No. That ploy worked once. But, I don’t think he’ll try it again. He won’t even talk about it now.”

 

  “He didn’t mind at the time. He enjoyed talking about it then; every night in “Nora’s”. Nora knew the tale as well as anyone.”

  ***

 

 

 

  Nothing much got past Nora. She knew the craic. She knew Irishmen. Why wouldn’t she? Most of her customers were Irishmen. Her father and mother were Irish. Her husband, then dead a few years, (killed in an accident on a building site) was an Irishman. It was said she knew the building trade b
etter than a lot of men that worked in it, and was often a source of information not to be dismissed.

 

  Nora knew Joe was out of work, and could see how unhappy that made him. Therefore, that evening, his uncommunicative mood did not prevent her passing on information that may be helpful.

 

  “That job might suit you Joe,” she said

 

  “What job?”

 

  Joe seemed uninterested, sat on the high bar stool, hunched over the bar, and clutching his pint with both hands as if nothing else mattered. Nevertheless Nora continued although apparently talking to his cap.

 

  “Wimpey are after pipe-layers at their new site.”

 

  She understood his disillusionment. Work was slack in the area. All the building sites for miles around were full up: not taking on any more labourers. At least that’s what Joe was told when he inquired. He had confided in Nora. In fact, she was the only one that he could talk to. He hadn’t tried Wimpey, because he was led to believe that they had brought all their own men with them from Manchester. But, Nora’s information was not to be dismissed. Joe looked up.

 

  “How do you know?”

 

  “Jimmy Cassidy went out there for the start, but he was told they only wanted pipe-layers.”

 

  “I’ll give it a try in the morning.” Joe was interested at last.

 

  Joe finished his pint and left. His drinking habits had changed since loosing his job: just a pint or two an odd evening, and leave before any of his mates got in. He couldn’t afford to get involved in a big round he’d said.

 

  It was true Joe had to watch his money. The dole wasn’t much and his savings were few. But, Nora knew it was more than that. His pride was hurt. Without a job he felt less of a man. He couldn’t face his mates who were all working. She hoped he would be luckier in the morning.

 

  How things had changed, Nora thought. A few years earlier Joe would have got fixed up with a job right there in the pub. “The Irishman’s Labour Exchange,” it was known as then. A man wouldn’t be out of work for long. All the sub-contractors were in. Most of them were looking for men. Nora saw and heard it all.

 

  “How are you fixed for the start?”

  “Come out with me in the morning.”

  Nora saw many a man hired in her pub, and a few fired as well. She occasionally witnessed a man, after a few pints; give the 'subbie' a frank evaluation of the job, and sometimes of the pedigree of the 'subbie' as well.