The other wains were fluttering around all excited, doing this and that to both help and hinder.
‘What am I gettin’, Daddy?’ asked our Patrick, careful to address him correctly.
‘What about me, Daddy?’ said Paul, taking his cue from Patrick.
Me da, under a glare from me ma, just said, ‘Ach, yous’ll all see, if yous are good,’ and that was the end of the inquisition.
The tinsel Christmas tree was placed near the window beside the TV. We had to move a chair to the front room to make way for it. Once the bulbs were all screwed tight and the broken ones replaced, the lights were plugged in, instantly releasing the true magic of Christmas. We had two sets of lights, one bright white and the other coloured. Me da looped them around the tree from the bottom up until they tapered out near the angel at the top. The shiny balls, all fantastic colours of purple and red and orange, as well as gold and silver, were hung from their small wire hoops on the ends of the silver branches.
The final part of the sitting room’s transformation was the removal of the everyday ornaments from the fireplace to make way for Christmas cards and strips of tinsel.
Christmas was finally on its way to the Doherty house!
* * *
The whole family gathered after tea. Six wains (we now had another addition to the family, Glenn, who was still just a baby) and me ma and da. We were heading to the Rickety Wheel in the Lourdes Hall. Everybody in the street was going, it appeared – at least, all the families with wains were going – and so were the families from Quarry Street, Anne Street, Lecky Road, Brandywell Road and Southend Park, as well as Deanery Street and Donegall Place. At the front door there was a logjam of people, while prams, some of them huge, had to be carted up the stone steps.
The Lourdes Hall itself was a huge tin hut with a red-brick front, lodged between Quarry Street and the Grotto. We played indoor football in it sometimes with the school, when we’d walk down the Folly in a long line, hand-in-hand with another boy in the class and teachers – usually Mr O’Kane and Mr McCartney – at the front and the back to keep watch. Inside, the hall was teeming with people. Wains in prams were squealing or just sitting up looking out in wonder while older people sat in chairs in the middle and back of the hall. Everyone else stood round the stage up at the front where the Rickety Wheel was. A haze of smoke filled the hall, and people flashed around the fags – Embassy Red, Number Six, Sovereign and Park Drive – as they stood around in groups talking, waiting for the MC to come up on stage and get the whole thing going. Me da stood over to the side of the hall with a group of other men, all smoking their Park Drives. There was a stall beside them selling bottles of minerals and crisps.
The Rickety Wheel was a huge circular board painted white with numbers in black at regular intervals around the edge and a nail hammered into the outside edge of the board next to each number. A piece of flexible metal was attached to the top of the board, which made a ratcheting noise as it flipped past each numbered nail on its way round.
At the front of the stage, almost within touching distance on the other side of a low wooden picket fence with a gate in the middle, were the prizes: a green plastic American army tank still in its box that had a see-through plastic front; Gola football boots of various sizes; a Celtic rig and a Man United rig; a cowboy cap gun, still in its box, with a wee packet of caps taped to it; a number of 1971 Shoot annuals with a cover picture of Alan Ball and Bobby Moore; Selection Boxes and Christmas stockings bunged with sweets and chocolate; tins of Roses and Quality Street; tins of Rover biscuits; bottles of sherry; Christmas cakes with white icing and holly leaves; fruit cakes and cherry cakes. There were things for girls as well.
Paddy Melaugh, the MC, got up on the stage to take control. Before announcing the start of proceedings, he checked the Rickety Wheel from behind and, without a word, sent it spinning for a test run. Away it went, releasing its magical rickety-rickety clickety-clickety sound and brought the whole hall to attention. As the wheel slowed down he spun it again and the noise filled the smoky hall. Then Paddy lifted the microphone from a chair on the stage.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, good people of the Brandywell,’ he boomed out round the hall, ‘you’re all welcome to the Lourdes Hall. This is the moment all yous wains have been waiting for. Isn’t that right, wains?’
‘Aye!’ all the wains squealed up to him.
‘I didn’t hear ye’s. I said isn’t that right, wains?’ He cupped one ear with his hand.
‘Aye!’ we all shouted at the tops of our voices. The wains in the prams started crying and some of the mas had to go to them at the back of the hall.
‘Right now, everybody. Get your tickets here at the front. This run is a white ticket. Let’s go! The quicker you get your tickets, the quicker the show starts and the Rickety Wheel goes round!’
People queued with their money in clenched hands at the foot of the stage to buy their tickets – big people and children. Me ma gave each of us a shilling. A shilling was by then worth five pence in the new decimal money. I couldn’t make my mind up if I should spend some now or wait until later. I still had the two bob that Lena Carlin gave me when I was in her house. I’d stashed it behind a piece of loose wallpaper near the skirting board below our bed and hadn’t told anyone about it.
Paul and Patrick joined the queue. I stayed where I was and kept my hand round the two coins inside my trouser pocket. Once they’d bought their tickets they came back to where we all stood. We were together except for Glenn, our newest brother, who was sitting up at the back of the hall, his bald head protruding from the pram. We waved back at him every once in a while and he’d smile back at us through the haze.
‘What did you get?’ me ma asked them.
‘I got 25, 26 and 27,’ said Patrick. ‘Ye get three for a shilling.’
‘And I got 28, 29 and 30,’ said Paul, showing her the tickets in his hand.
When all the tickets were sold Paddy took the mic again. ‘Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Here we go for the first turn of the Rickety Wheel for 1971! After three, everybody.’
‘ONE! … TWO! … THREE!’ the hall shouted in unison and Paddy spun the wheel to start the rickety-clickety sound for real. Round and round it went, the noise filling the hall. All eyes were on the wheel as the sprung metal flipped past each nail, quickly at first and then slowing down until it drew to a breath-stopping halt.
‘Number twenty-five! Who has number twenty-five?’ called Paddy from the stage.
Patrick was dumbstruck. His mouth hung open and he just stood and gawked at me ma.
‘Number twenty-five. Who has it?’ Paddy boomed out.
‘Jesus, here Paddy!’ said me ma and, swooping the ticket from Patrick’s hands, went towards the wee gate to be let through by the man on the other side. Patrick followed after her, a big smile on his face.
‘Now, Eileen, what are you going to take with you? The choice is yours,’ said Paddy on the mic as she walked the length of the row of prizes. She lifted a tin of Rover biscuits and held them up for Paddy to see. ‘Oh, a tin of Rover! Well done, Eileen and wee Doherty. We’ll all be over on Christmas Day for a sup o’ tea!’
Everyone laughed, and me ma and Patrick came back out through the gate.
‘And now we’re going to do a freeeeeeee run! Hold on to your tickets as we’re doing a freeeeeeee run!’ announced Paddy.
The whole hall immediately looked at the floor, scrambling to find the tickets they’d rolled up and tossed away. Paddy spun the Rickety Wheel and round it went, all eyes glued to it. And it clicked round and round, slowed to an uncertain stop with the sprung metal balancing on a nail – and then it fell back.
‘Number sixty-three! Who has number sixty-three?’ Paddy called out.
‘Here, Paddy!’ cried a voice from behind us.
I knew the voice. It was Gutsy’s ma, and sure enough, up she came to the stage in her dark brown coat and orange headscarf with her ticket in her hand. She was let through the gate and emerged short
ly after with a large white iced cake with shiny green holly on it in a see-through box. She was smiling from ear to ear.
‘Okay, Mrs McGonagle. I’ll be over to you after visiting the Dohertys on Christmas Day. Hamilton Street is hacking up the night.’
Everyone from our street roared and laughed in approval; everyone else smiled and booed and shouted ‘Fix!’ and ‘Fraud!’
After a few more spins of the Rickety Wheel I took my chance and queued for tickets. I bought three with the shilling me ma had given me and kept the two bob coin in my pocket. I got numbers 45, 46 and 47. I stood with the rest of them waiting for the next spin of the wheel.
Round and round went the Rickety Wheel. It took ages to slow down and eventually stop.
‘Sixty-seven. Who has number sixty-seven?’ called Paddy from the stage and a woman from the back of the hall came forward to claim her prize.
I kept a grip on my three tickets in case there was a free run. But Paddy didn’t announce it after they let the woman back out through the wee gate. He just called on people to buy their tickets for the next spin of the wheel.
Towards the end of the first night of the Rickety Wheel I still had the two bob coin in my trouser pocket, wondering if I could sneak up and buy more tickets without anyone seeing me. As I fingered the coin in my pocket Paddy called out from the stage: ‘The next spin of the Rickety Wheel is for the special mystery prizes. Come on and get your tickets!’
The hall hummed with word of the special prizes, and women fumbled in their purses and headed for the ticket-seller. I took my hand out of my pocket for the fiftieth time that evening and the two bob coin came out with it and hit the wooden floor with a clatter. My heart sank as I watched it roll and fall over in surrender between me ma’s feet.
‘Where did you get that, Tony?’ she asked, bending down to pick it up.
‘Lena gave it to me one day when I was locked out,’ I replied.
‘They’ve called for the special prizes. Here – take you that and queue up for tickets,’ she said, handing the coin back to me.
‘What’s the special prizes?’ I asked her.
‘Ach, you don’t know until you get them,’ she said with a smile, and she looked away towards the stage. ‘Away you go!’
As I joined the back of the queue I imagined what the special prizes would be. The Shoot annual with the cowboy cap gun? The American army tank with the Gola football boots? I just didn’t know. For my two bob I got six pink tickets numbered 101, 102, 103, 104, 105 and 106 and walked back to where we were gathered in the hall. Me da was there as well now, fiddling with his black Mexican-style moustache and looking around him.
‘What did you get, Tony?’ he asked.
‘One-oh-one to one-oh-six,’ I said, holding the tickets up.
‘Your ma told me that Lena gave you two bob. What was that for?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, Da. She just gave it to me when I was locked out of the house one day a wee while ago.’
‘God, aren’t you the boy!’ he said with a smile, rubbing my head with his hand.
‘Okay, ladies and gentlemen of the Brandywell!’ said Paddy through the mic. ‘We’re goin’ to spin the Rickety Wheel for the special prizes! Let’s go! And hold on to your tickets after this spin for a freeeeeeeeee run!’
He turned and grabbed the edge of the wheel and gave it an almighty tug. Around it spun and spun and spun … and spun more slowly until it settled on a number.
‘One-oh-three! Who has a hundred and three?’
That was me! I’d won! Like Patrick I was stunned into silence and could only hold the tickets up for me ma and da to see.
‘Here, Paddy! We won!’ me ma called up.
‘Dear God, bless us and save us! It’s Eileen Doherty from Hamilton Street again! C’mon up, Eileen!’ called Paddy.
Yes! I said to myself as me ma took me by the ticket hand and led me towards the stage. The cowboy cap gun was still on the stage and the Gola boots were there as well. I hope they have my size! I thought as the gate was opened.
‘Hello, Eileen,’ said Paddy, bending down to speak to her. ‘It’s a turkey or a ham, as usual.’ He pushed his thick black-rimmed glasses up his nose. No one paid the least bit of attention to me, the winner with the winning ticket gripped in my hand. ‘Which do you want?’ he asked her.
‘Aw, I’ll take the turkey, Paddy,’ she replied with a satisfied grin.
‘That’s grand, Eileen. I’ll bring it over on Christmas Eve. Fresh as the day it was born!’
‘Dead on, Paddy. We’ll be stuffed the year!’ she said, and both of them gave a hearty laugh.
I wanted to cry. How could she do that to me? I asked myself in self-pity as we turned to go back out through the wee gate. I gave a last glance at the cowboy cap gun, the Gola football boots and the American army tank as I dragged my heels after me ma back towards my family gathered in the centre of the hall.
‘Hi, Paddy. Look at thon,’ said me ma to me da, presenting me by the hand. ‘He has a face on him.’
I looked up at them looking down at me and looked to the ground. I couldn’t hide my sadness and disappointment. My face said it all.
‘What’s wrong wi’ you, boy?’ asked me da.
As if you don’t effing know! I said in my head, still looking away from them.
‘Didn’t ye win us a turkey for the house at Christmas?’ he said, holding my chin up with his smoky fingers.
‘I know I did … but I wanted the cowboy cap gun and a pair of football boots. They’re Golas! All we got is an oul shite turkey!’
‘Sure aren’t we goin’ to get you …’ Me ma’s sentence stopped abruptly and her and me da looked at each other.
‘Sure ye never know what Santa’s goin’ to bring you, son,’ said me da, rubbing my head again as we headed for the door of the hall to go home. ‘Ye just never know.’
9
The Ray Gun
In the run-up to Christmas Day all the children in the street were beside themselves with excitement; some took sick with it. We were all Santa-believers as far as I was concerned. When me ma and da came back from the town late one afternoon shortly before Christmas, Karen ushered us all into the sitting room while ma and da went straight upstairs. You could hear the clatter and bang of bulky packages as they went up. We looked at each other in silence, wondering what they were at; they didn’t normally go upstairs when they got back from the town.
‘That’s Mammy with our new clothes for Christmas,’ said Karen, knowing what to say even though she was only eleven.
The next morning we were hanging around the house. Out of the blue, Patrick said, ‘C’mon upstairs till ye’s see somethin’.’
Paul and I followed him upstairs and into me ma and da’s room.
‘Look up there,’ he said, pointing.
On top of the big press in the corner of the room were a number of large brown-paper bags with boxes sticking out of them. It was obvious it was a selection of toys and games.
‘I know what you’re getting for Christmas,’ Patrick whispered to me.
‘What do you mean? Sure only Santa and my da know. They’re not for us,’ I replied.
‘Aye, they are. Paul, you’re getting a ray gun, and you’re getting cars,’ he said, pointing at me.
‘They’re not for us, ya pansy! I’m tellin’ on you when me ma and da come back from work!’ I shouted and ran out.
Patrick ran after me into our room, grabbed me and pinned me to the floor with his hands on my shoulders.
‘If you tell, I’m telling me da you called me a pansy and he’ll kill ye!’ he shouted into my face.
He was right, but he’d get killed as well for showing us the stuff.
‘Okay, but they’re not for us, aren’t they not?’
‘Naw, they’re not,’ he said, but I could tell by his smirk that he knew something I didn’t want to know. ‘But there’s a tin of Quality Street there as well. I dare you to open it!’
‘Naw, we’ll be
killed! I’m not opening it!’ I said.
Karen had heard the clatter from downstairs and came up to see what was going on. Karen was mammy when me ma was out – sort of.
‘What’s goin’ on in here?’ she demanded to know.
‘I told our Tony about the Quality Street, so I did,’ said Patrick.
She gave him a knowing look. ‘G’won down the stairs and get the Sellotape from the drawer,’ she said to me.
Away down to the kitchen I went and brought the Sellotape up. Patrick reached up and lifted the Quality Street tin down from the press and proceeded to unpick the Sellotape that sealed the lid to the tin. It came off in one long, loud strip. He made a ball with it in his hand.
‘It’ll be okay. Me ma and da’ll not know,’ said Karen, as she opened the lid to reveal all the shiny, colourful, wrapped sweets, like jewels in a chest. ‘We can tape it up when we’re finished. It’ll be okay!’
She handed me one. It was a toffee penny in a gold wrapper. It was rock-hard at first with the cold in the room, but it soon softened in the heat of my watery mouth. I took more toffee pennies and they took some sweets too. We put the wrappers back in the tin so as not to make a mess. Then Karen wrapped the Sellotape around the lid to re-seal it and placed it back up on top of the press.
On Christmas Eve we had our bath as if it was Saturday night. Us three boys had all been sent to the barbers that morning for short back and sides. Me and Paul always bathed together, usually after Patrick and Karen. Despite it being the season of goodwill and all, there was always time to taunt the life out of him. After spending some time doing the serious stuff in the bath, we ended up seeing who could keep their head under water the longest. I always won as Paul was too honest about keeping the time. By that time the water was getting tepid.
‘Oh, dear God, Paul, look at your hands!’ I said in horror.
Paul held up his hands to look. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘They’re covered in wrinkles. You’re turning into an old man!’
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