by Mick Moran
“I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” Henry, angrily shook his fist at Jimmy, and then quickly turned back to Paddy who was hugging a lamppost.
One of Jimmy’s mates, who were relatively sober, got hold of Paddy’s arm and urged, “Come on let’s get him across while there’s no traffic.”
Getting hold of the other arm, Henry agreed. “You’re right. He never looked either way that time.” But, Jimmy wasn’t giving up.
“Sure he’s nothing to loose. Has he?”
There was no answer. Jimmy’s wit was wearing a bit thin.
***
Mary took it all in her stride. She wasn’t one to get very excited about anything. While there was no doubting her commitment, for her, the wedding was no big deal either. If left to herself, who knows what she would have looked like on her wedding day.
But, Mary had lots of friends and, although their initial reaction was to warn her against it, when they realised that nothing they said would stop her, they rallied round and gave her their full support.
Amongst her friends were a hairdresser and a dressmaker. Although she had previously given either of them very little business, with, not a little pressure from other friends, they rose to the challenge and, with perseverance overcome her aversion to their services.
She complained about all the fuss. Nevertheless, she was not put off by it. The remark “I wish I never bothered,” which she was heard to make while straightening her hat on the way to the Church, on her wedding day, was thought to refer to the enormous efforts made on her appearance, rather than any wavering in her determination to go ahead with the wedding.
***
Henry was up early on the wedding morning. He was feeling quite refreshed. He had slept well. The drink probably helped: he just had sufficient and no hangover. He congratulated himself for keeping his drinking in control. He felt a responsible man. He hadn’t let Mary down.
Mary was away that morning. She’d stayed at a friend’s house the previous night and wouldn’t be seen before the ceremony. Therefore Henry was in charge of the lodging house.
He liked being in charge. He felt a natural leader. He worked as a ganger whenever the opportunity arose. But, sadly, it rarely did. There was a surplus of gangers around there. His talent, therefore, as far as work was concerned, was largely unappreciated.
But, Mary appreciated him. She said he was the only one she could rely on to do the many duties that required doing that morning and Henry was determined to rise to the challenge. He checked his notebook. It was all planned and written down. He was leaving nothing to chance. He always carried a notebook. It was the sign of a good ganger: the notebook and pens (sometimes three or four pens) in the top pocket.
The wedding was not until one o clock in the afternoon. But, Henry was eager to start. On his list, tapping the barrel was underlined. It was underlined because he was a little concerned about it. He knew that if not done right, it could be disastrous. He heard of an occasion when most of the drink was lost through an inexperienced tapper not fitting the tap correctly.
Henry had assured Mary that he had the necessary expertise. However, that morning, weighing up the barrel on the table, which occupied a central position in the room, he felt a twinge of apprehension. He hadn’t been completely honest with Mary. Although he’d seen the job done he’d never actually done it himself.
The job was planned for later in the afternoon, when all returned from the wedding ceremony. That was what worried him. Although it seemed straightforward enough, doing it in front of the thirsty and impatient onlookers he would have in the afternoon might not be so easy and his inexperience may become obvious.
Henry decided to do the job then while he was alone and under no pressure. After all tapping the barrel early could do no harm.
He was wrong. Although the job itself went well, the timing proved problematic. No sooner had he fitted the tap and filled a mug with porter (just to satisfy himself that it was working O K) than a very sheepish looking Jimmy McCarthy appeared at the door, looking like death warmed up. “I’m very sorry,” said Jimmy holding out his hand. “I had a lot too much to drink last night.”
Jesus, thought Henry, he’s smelt the drink. Focusing on the morning’s duties, Henry had put the previous night’s episode to the back of his mind. Being reminded of it brought the anger back. Irritated, ignoring the hand, he placed the mug on the table, to let the froth settle.
“You can say that again.”
“I. You’re right.” Jimmy nodded in sorrowful agreement. “I was very stupid."
Henry turned to face Jimmy. He had no wish to prolong the friction, especially on that day, but the anger was too deep. The apology, he thought seemed genuine enough. But, was it motivated by the need for a livener? He didn’t fully trust Jimmy and suspected he was being taken for a fool. He no longer felt like drinking his mug of porter. But didn’t invite Jimmy to either.
“All right,” he grunted. Then added, “I have a lot to do.” Henry left the room.
Henry had a lot to do. In the hall he checked his list again. Most important, of course, was getting Paddy ready and to the church on time. But, that could wait. Paddy needed his rest. The women who were doing the food had to be visited in their various homes; he had a list of names and addresses. Much food was planned: sandwiches, pies, chicken pieces, cakes, etc. The rest of the drinks had to be sorted. Then there was getting Paddy and himself ready. There wouldn’t be a minute to spare.
***
Jimmy thought about what to do next. His throbbing head was making thinking difficult. He had to decide whether to go to the wedding or not. Mary said, “All in the digs were invited.” But, would Henry see it like that? And Henry was in charge. The grudging acceptance of his apology was the best Jimmy could have expected in the circumstances. However, in his befuddled mind he felt that Henry would prefer he stayed well clear of the wedding.
He looked at the mug of porter. The froth had settled. It was just right for drinking. He couldn’t let it go flat. Maybe it would make him feel better. It couldn’t make him any worse. He almost emptied the mug in one. Then he refilled it and sat down to have a quiet think.
That wasn’t to be.
“Is the barrel tapped already?” It was Mick Hunt at the door. The question required no answer. Jimmy, nevertheless, painfully, turned his head, only to hear another question. “Is the drink in good form?”
“Not bad. I’m just stopping one going flat.”
“And why wouldn’t you? Sure I’ll be doing the same myself. Just the
one, mind you.” Mick winked at Jimmy.
As Mick helped himself to a glass from the cupboard, he heard Joe Frain’s voice at he door. “I saw the front door open. I wondered if everything was all right.” Henry had so much on his mind that he forgot to shut the door.
Without replying Mick got a second glass from the cupboard and handed one to Joe. “Help yourself to a drink.” Unnecessarily, Mick pointed to the barrel.
“You’re a daysent man.”
They were a cosy few then, and they would have stayed that way, if they closed the front door. But, they didn’t, and soon after, Paddo Murphy looked in with a simil
ar concern. No glass could be found for him, but not wishing to be unsociable, he went home for one: he didn’t live far away. That was the big mistake they made. They could have got him a vessel from the kitchen. Any drinking vessel would have done: he’s not fussy. They should have known that if they let him out he wouldn’t come back alone.
On the way back the empty glass attracted the attention of a few of the neighbours. His explanation, “to drink to the health of Mary and Paddy,” was as good as an invitation. Word spread round the neighbourhood like wildfire.
Jimmy slid to a corner and observed the rapidly increasing gathering in the room. They were all wishing Paddy and Mary the best of health and hoping they’d be very happy in the future. It didn’t seem to matter that neither of them was there. Following Paddo’s example, all brought their own glasses and were queuing up to fill them. Mick was playing host and enjoying it.
As Jimmy’s head cleared somewhat, --the drink seemed to help—he became increasingly aware that more trouble was brewing. The way things were going the barrel of porter, which was meant for the reception, would soon be dry.
There would be ructions when Henry returned and there was no doubt in Jimmy’s mind about who would be blamed for it all. There was only one thing for it and there was no time to lose. He had to get out of the house before Henry returned. As for attending the wedding, it was on longer an option. A bus ride out of town was more appealing. He would decide later whether to join them in the club in the evening.
***
"Where’s Jimmy gone", asked Joe of no one in particular, as he looked around the room. Paddo shrugged, but didn’t give it much thought. He was enjoying himself too much to bother about Jimmy. A few others shook their heads. Jimmy had slipped away without anyone noticing. The craic was too good.
“You’ll never miss the beer ‘til the barrel’s dry.” Pronounced Paddo, as he refilled his glass.
Mick laughed. It was Paddo’s favourite saying when he had a few drinks and the craic was going strong. “I never heard that said so early in the day.” Remarked Mick. Little did he know how true Paddo’s statement would soon turn out to be?
It was shortly after, as he watched Joe Frain tip the barrel in order to fill his glass, that the seriousness of the situation he was in dawned on Mick. He was the only resident there. All the blame would be on him when there was no drink in the afternoon. In desperation he looked around the room for someone to share the problem with. But, he knew he was on his own. Jimmy was the sly one, he thought. Jesus, what will I do? Henry will be back any minute and there will be Hell-to-play.
Mick rapped on the table with his knuckles. When he got the revellers attention, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, he requested that they all leave. “We need the room tidy for the afternoon,” he informed them. “In any case” he added mournfully “the barrel’s dry.”
Maybe it was the last piece of information that did it. Anyhow, to Mick’s relief, they all left promptly, taking their glasses with them. Then, he made a desperate attempt to tidy the room, mopping up, as best he could, the spillage around the then empty barrel. Luckily for Mick, Henry was delayed, and didn’t return until the room was somewhat tidier. By that time Mick was safely back in his room, giving the appearance that he hadn’t left it all morning. In any case, Henry was too busy getting Paddy, who had slept through the morning’s events, ready for his big day, to notice anything wrong with the living room.
***
Martin Prendergast graciously declined the wedding invitation. “You won’t miss me,” he said. Mary disagreed and seemed genuinely disappointed. Nevertheless she told him she understood that his job was important. She was unaware of course that he’d unequivocally refused an offer of the day off.
For John Mountin, however, Martin opting to work was a godsend. Although he could ill afford it, he hadn’t felt he could refuse Martin the day off and had assumed he would be without him that day. But now, the drain laying, Martin’s speciality, could be completed. John was under pressure to complete the work on the site by the end of the following week. He couldn’t see that it was possible, considering the number of men he had and the time of the year. He was a good judge of work. In better weather and longer days, the problem could be solved with overtime. In February, however, there was no such option. They already worked all the daylight hours. And eight hours in the cold and damp was as much as he could expect from any man.
John also asked Andy to work that day. Andy was always glad of the overtime, and was extra pleased when told he would be working with Martin. It would be a chance to get to know him. Andy’s mother asked about Martin in every letter, but Andy rarely got a chance to talk to him.
It wasn’t that he expected a long conversation with Martin. He knew that for quiet a cheerful man (although he seemed far from it that morning) Martin was a man of very few words. Nevertheless Andy saw working together as an opportunity to get to know Martin a little better.
On that expectation he was disappointed. The weather of course was not conducive to much conversation. It was so cold. The overnight fog had not lifted and the bitter easterly wind made it difficult to think about anything other than the cold. Also, the task they had that morning was one of the worst for such conditions. It involved no digging (the trench was already dug) or much physical exercise of any kind that might help them to keep warm: just handling cold pipes and cold mortar.
In spite of everything they made a good team. Martin laid the pipes and Andy did the jointing. At first Martin seemed wary of Andy’s ability and watched him do the first joint. He needn’t have worried. Andy had a good trainer in Paddy Delaney. He was aware of the importance of pressing the mortar right into the collar of the pipe, especially at the bottom, where leakage is most likely. Martin clearly approved of Andy using his fingers, as Delaney had recommended, rather than a trowel. Using a trowel may look more professional and would certainly be easier on the hands that cold morning. But, with that method, it would not be possible to get mortar into the bottom of the collar and would fail the leak test. Before the trench is filled in the clerk of works must examine the pipeline. Only on rare occasions does he carry out a leak test. Therefore, the importance of doing the jointing correctly is not always appreciated.
Bent down in the trench they were sheltered from the cold wind. Wearing their donkey jackets and woolly jumpers the conditions were just bearable and steady progress was being made. After about an hour Andy saw that he gap between them was lengthening. He wasn’t keeping up. The cold seemed to be having little effect on Martin, except maybe to make him work faster. But, Andy’s fingers were so cold he’d lost the use of them altogether. He removed his rubber gloves. The gloves were necessary to prevent the mortar burning the skin of his fingers, but gave little protection from the cold. As he rubbed his hands together and breathed on his fingers he thought there must be a better way to make a living. Not for the first time he wondered if leaving the factory was such a good idea after all.
“It’s a cold job Andy”
Startled, Andy looked up to see John Mountin stood on the edge of the trench. “The kettle’s boiled,” he continued. “Come on Martin”.
Andy nodded. Any excuse for getting out of the cold for a while was welcome. Martin, however, was less enthusiastic. Remaining bent over his pipes, he half turned his head.
“Its not that time yet is it?”
“Never mind the time. You�
�ve been in the cold too long.”
Andy feared Martin would disagree. He was a hard man to understand. However, he did straighten himself up, albeit with some difficulty. The cold was, indeed, having its effect on Martin, thought Andy, as well as all the years of navvying.
“Did any of ye go to Paddy’s do last night?” Asked John as they sat down in the cabin.
They both shook their heads. John continued, “I thought you’d be there Martin. A fellow lodger.”
Martin remained silent as he lit his pipe.
“I thought it would be too crowded. That’s why I didn’t go myself,” continued John. I might go tonight for an hour. Take the wife.”
Michael O'Donnell entered the cabin. As he sat down he turned to Martin.
“Did ye have a good do last night?”
Martin, puffing on his pipe, seemed not to hear. Then John answered. “None of us were there.”
“Maybe I’ll go tonight,” said Michael. Then turned to John, “Aren’t the painters working today?”
“Kevin is finishing off the top house. Des should be working too, but the sent word with Kevin that he can’t make it. It seems his uncle was taken bad during the night.”
“Would that be Michael O’Malley?” asked Michael.
“I think so. He has no other uncle around here as far as I know.”
Martin, for the first time showed an interest. “What’s wrong with him,” he asked.
“I don’t know any more.”
Martin stood up. “I’m going to the toilet he said,” and left the cabin.
After he’d gone John expressed concern about him “I hope he’s all right,” he said. “He’s very quiet this morning.”
“Ah, he’s often like that.” Michael was dismissive.
Andy finished his mug of tea. Feeling somewhat warmer he stood up.
“I’ll be going out now.”
“No rush Andy,” said John.
Andy smiled “If I get back before Martin maybe I’ll catch up a bit. I’m a long way behind.”
“Don’t worry Andy,” said John reassuringly, “you’re doing a good job.”