A Billy or a Dan, or an Old Tin Can

by Paul Kelly

  Mary felt strangely happy and more relaxed when John Havers had finished his report.

  “Yes,” she said “I do understand Mr. Havers and thank you for your genuine concern. I appreciate that.”

  She was about to leave the little room where they had been speaking when she noticed Wattie’s Mammy staring through the glass partitions. John Havers gathered his notes and tapped them into order on the table in front of him.

  “Oh! Mrs. Blair?”

  “Yes Mr. Havers?”

  “Mrs. Blair I have already said that Willie is a good boy and of course, we both know that, however, I would like to add that I think he is a leader and he’s certainly not one to simply follow on blindly. He has a very clear and lucid mind and academics don’t give this quality to a child. It is usually in the genes and from good parentage.”

  Tom turned to look at Mary and there was a proud look in his eye as Mr. Havers looked from Tom to Mary and decided he had said enough. He was about to elaborate on the importance of a young boy like Willie having the caring influence of a father, but he shut up. He realized it was time to conclude his advice as he tucked into a fresh cucumber sandwich, which sat neatly beside a large lump of salmon on his plate, although God only knew where the school had acquired such a delicacy and in such abundance, considering that the rationing was so strict on food of that nature. Willie even thought that Mr. Havers may well be a poacher in his spare time, of course.

  ***

  “Is your Willie doin’ alright. Mrs. Blair?”

  It was Mrs. Watts who spoke as she sidled up towards Mary and Tom, eyeing the latter with a suspicious glance.

  “Yes, I think so Mrs. oh! I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your Christian name,” said Mary as Mrs. Watts drew herself up to her full height and smiled.

  “Oh... call me Rita ...Watts is the name, but you already know that. I’m Rita Watts and I’m the Mammy of that big boy over there, see?” She pointed to Wattie who was standing nearby, looking very proud of himself as he waited for his report. “He’s goin’ to University, you see,” Rita Watts went on, “And your name is?”

  Rita already knew of Mary Blair from her son’s friendship with Willie but it would never do to let Mary know that she knew her Christian name, now that she had found out that Mary didn’t know hers.

  “Mary ... Mary Blair,” Mary answered and looked demurely at Rita with her well worn fox fur wrapped around her neck. Rita Watts was sure that was a sign of culture and class and she wore it for every occasion that she felt was important, regardless of the season..

  “Well Mary,” she gushed and fluttered her eyelashes at Tom. “James, my big boy there. He’s doin’ ever so well here at St. Bon’s ... Stands out in the class, he does ... as he did at St. Luke’s before, you know. The teachers can’t speak highly enough about him. That lad’s got a head on him they say all of them they all say it an’ I’m not at all surprised. Oh! No Not one wee bit, I’m not, since his Daddy was a clever man, you see. It runs in the family. James’ Daddy, God rest his soul, could turn his hand to anything and James takes after his Daddy, you see. I want him to go to University and make something of himself. He owes it to Mr. Watts, I say. A young man needs education these days, doesn’t he? What chance have you got without it? Well, I ask you all these bloody ...Oh begging your pardon, Sir ...All these strikes an’ everything ...Mr. Watts would turn in his grave if he could see the state of things now. He would, really. God rest his soul.”

  Rita Watts nodded her assertion to confirm every statement she made as her eyes widened and narrowed to suit the mood. She would have gone on talking and praising her prodigy, had she not had to scowl and hope that Mary hadn’t noticed that her offspring was intent in clearing out his right nostril with the index finger of his left hand.

  Willie strolled casually over to his mother, hoping that she wouldn’t kiss him well at least, not until they got home but she understood the situation, only too well and restrained her natural impulses .They left the classroom together and Mary introduced Tom Carey to her son. Willie was delighted to be driven home in a car and he could see Wattie and his Mammy giving him the eye as he waved them Good-bye, taking his time to ensure that they saw every inch of the gleaming Rover.

  “James Dear Come to your Mammy that’s a good boy.” Rita Watts called to her son as she cast an envious eye over the car, but Wattie was otherwise engaged. She called again but with the same results. Wattie didn’t hear her or if he did, he was not impressed and made his exit by a nearby door into the playground. Mrs.Watts followed, but her attitude by this time had changed somewhat. Perhaps the Rover car had something to do with that and the fact that Willie Blair had the audacity to wave to them as he went, but she lost her patience waiting for her son ... and the car drove past slowly.

  Mary raised her eyebrows and looked at Tom Carey, just as they were going through the school gates and a voice like thunder was heard to shout out.

  “Jimmy Watts, ya wee bugger. Get your bloody self home, NOW. D’ya hear what I say?” Rita screamed her command as she smiled at Miss Carson who seemed to appear from nowhere. “James will be back again in the morning, Miss Carson, in time, as usual,” she said in her best Sunday voice, but although she spoke softly . . . her mouth was tight.

  ***

  The following weekend brought on the ‘Big Fight’ where the boys from St. Bonaventure’s, the Catholic school, took on the students of Middleton High ... the Protestants, with Blackie as their leader. Blackie stood, with his staff in hand at the top of Castle Street, near St. Bon’s, surrounded by boys of all shapes and sizes, but all with the same wild look in their eyes. They were hungry; hungry to bash a Dan and as Wattie stood watching them, he licked his lips and wiped his nose on his sleeve, in that order.

  “Well ... What the hell are ye waiting for?” Someone shouted from behind the Protestant leader, “Let’s see the colour o’ yer breeks.”

  Wattie touched the edge of his glasses a protection, he thought, if the goings got too tough and he wished Willie was with him. Ackie had capitulated to the battle and had finally agreed to fight and he and several other lads stood around Wattie, like troops around their Captain. Only Craigie was absent. Wattie cleared his throat to shout, but all that came from his lips was the feeblest sound of a faint whisper. He tried again.

  “Up St. Bon’s,” he wheezed, gaining some confidence with the sound of his own voice, trilling through the brisk air.

  “God bless the Pope,” shouted someone behind him, but the reply that came back was anything but edifying.

  “Fuck the Pope Down with all Papists Down with all Dans.”

  The fight began and the skirmish that followed would have shamed Culloden according to some who were at the battle of Castle Street .Boys tore at each others jumpers and wool was stretched beyond any mother’s recognition. Trousers were ripped and bums were exposed. Blood flowed in the gutters some later remarked, dramatically as one young lad wiped his bleeding nose on his handkerchief but the young men of tomorrow battled on bravely and the battle cry could be heard for miles around again, according to some.

  “A Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can ...

  Up wi’ the Pope and’ down wi’ the Orange man.”

  Blackie was just about to wallop a young boy who had suddenly appeared from a street nearby, but the youth was startled as he knew nothing of the battle that was raging and was cowering lowly as the bully hit out.

  “Leave him alone ...”

  Blackie turned to the speaker of the voice behind him.

  “I said Leave him alone.” Willie repeated, having come round the corner as the incident was about to happen and the bully backed off a little as Willie grabbed the young boy by the shoulder and drew him away.

  “You’re Nathan, aren’t you? You’re Mrs. Harris’s wee grandson ... Is that right?” Willie asked and the boy nodded. �
�Get home quickly,” he added and the young Jewish lad shot off like a bullet from a gun.

  Blackie was surprised to see Willie. He knew him well, but he also knew that Willie, the handsome Blair boy, never came out to fight in the streets.

  “Got a special interest in that wee shit, have ye?” Blackie snarled, but Willie made no reply although his lips were tight and his nostrils widened with rage. “He doesn’t look like a Dan to me,” Blackie continued, sneering as he talked. “Could he be an Old Tin?” but before he could finish his sentence, Willie hit out and smashed his fist into Blackie’s chest.

  The bully staggered back in utter surprise, his hair falling down over his forehead as he spat on the street and took to his heels, shouting as he went.

  “I’ll get ye ... yea I’ll get ye another time ... another time, ya Papish bastard. You see if I don’t,” he shouted, but before Willie could respond, Blackie had disappeared with his gang following him hastily and he could hear the singing nearby as Wattie and his lot, shouted jubilantly in the air.

  ‘A Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can ...

  We don’t give a fuck for no Orange man.’

  They sang gleefully as they marched away in triumph, but Wattie stayed behind. He came up to Willie with a look of pure delight on his face. His nose was bleeding and he had a cut on his chin, but Willie was with him now so what more could he want?

  “I knew we’d show ‘em what we are made of them Billy’s,” he boasted proudly, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve .well, after all that’s what sleeves are for, aren’t they?

  “Where did that young lad come from?” Willie asked, ignoring Wattie’s congratulations to himself, but Wattie couldn’t give him an answer. He could only assume that Nathan had got lost, being new to the district and had got caught up in the fight.

  “Wipe your nose, Wattie ... “

  Willie started to walk home as the singing faded away into the distance, but he hadn’t gone far when he could feel something tugging at his trousers and a small face peered up at him and smiled.

  “Thank you mister ...Thank you.”

  Willie recognised the little boy immediately.

  “You shouldn’t get into trouble with that lot, you know. Those boys are much bigger than you are and they could be dangerous,” he said as he took Nathan’s hand and walked home with him. How could you tell a little Jewish boy that he shouldn’t be around at the Orange Walk fight, when they would only consider him, not as a Billy and certainly not a Dan, but an old Tin Can . . . How could you tell that to a Yiddish boy?

  “I didn’t realize what was going on. I just saw the crowd and heard the noise and went to have a look, that’s all. I didn’t mean any harm.”

  Willie grinned at his new companion and squeezed his warm hand.

  “If ever you see a fight like that again, keep well away. They bash anyone in sight and ask questions afterwards.”

  “What was that they were singing?” asked Nathan and he puckered his brow quizzically and narrowed his eyes, as Willie looked ahead with a certain sense of pride.

  “That was the battle song, that was,” he answered and he held his head erect.

  “What does that mean?”

  Willie looked down at the small face with the dark inquisitive eyes.

  “A Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can well, a Billy is a Protestant That comes from King William of Orange, of the old days, you see and a Dan is a Catholic because most Dans are Irish and .” He suddenly stopped talking and looked into his friend’s face, knowing that he could say no more, but Nathan was persistent.

  “Yes, Go on . . . what more?”

  Willie hesitated and bit his lip.

  “I’m not sure about the other thing,” he lied innocently, but the little Jewish boy stopped walking and took his hand from Willie’s grasp as he looked towards the ground.

  “I’m an old tin can, aren’t I?” he asked quietly and Willie put his arm around the boy’s shoulder as they continued walking.

  “Anyone who is not a Protestant or a Catholic could be, I suppose, but it doesn’t mean much. Not really. It’s what you are inside that counts Nathan” said Willie and the boy was pleased that Willie had called him by his name.

  “Thanks again anyway. You’re Willie Blair, aren’t you? I met you at my grandmother’s place, didn’t I? Can I call you Willie, please?”

  “Well that’s what God calls me and He seems to know what He’s doin’ if we don’t, eh?” said Willie and Nathan laughed.

  “I’m Nathan Harris, but you already knew that, didn’t you, Willie?”

  Willie looked up at the sky in his embarrassment.

  “I think we’d better hurry. It looks as though it might rain at any minute.”

  ***

  Charlie was fast asleep when Willie got into bed that night. He was always tired since he went to work on that building site and Willie undressed quietly and slid in beside him into the warmth as his brother moved and grunted. Willie put his hands behind his head, resting on the pillow and reflected on the events of the day. He thought of Wattie, with his ‘jewel’ and of young Nathan, but his longest and deepest thoughts were about Craigie, before he eventually fell into a deep sleep. Defending the meek is a powerfully tiring vocation isn’t it?

  ***

  The following day he set off to see Craig Daniells as he hadn’t seen him for over a week and he hadn’t been attending school. He knocked on the door when he came to the house.

  “Can I speak to Craig, please?” he asked the man who stood scowling in the doorway.

  “No He’s no’ here,” The man barked and was about to close the door, but Willie would not be deflected.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” he asked

  “Ah dinna ken.”

  Willie knew he was getting nowhere fast, but he was persistent.

  “He hasn’t been to school and I just wanted to see if he was alright. Are you Mr. Daniells?”

  The dour man rubbed his fingers round his unshaven chin.

  “He’s alright. He’ll be back at school soon. Cheerio,” he snapped and the door closed, leaving Willie standing on the pavement wondering. He was worried, but he couldn’t understand why. He wanted to knock again, but he knew he would get the same response and the man still didn’t say if he was Mr. Daniells or not. As he walked away and was about to turn the corner of the street, he looked back at the house and a quick movement of the upstairs curtain caught his eye. He glimpsed a face for just a fleeting moment. It was the face of a young boy and he was sure he had bruises on his forehead and his eye was discoloured. The curtain dropped quickly as he called out.

  “Craigie Craigie ...”

  But there was no answer and the curtain didn’t move any more.

  ***

  Willie couldn’t sleep that night for wondering and worrying about his friend. He couldn’t imagine what could have happened to him, but it was obvious now why he hadn’t come to school. His face would have caused some questions to be asked. He was sure of that as he lay awake for hours listening to Charlie snoring contentedly all through the night.

  Chapter Five

  “Your brother’s a dirty bugger, that’s what he is.”

  Willie was angered by the remark as he glared solemnly at Ackie.

  “What do ye mean by that?”

  Ackie shifted where he stood, moving away from Willie’s stare.

  “You must know what I mean, surely?”

  “No, I don’t and I’m sure you’re gonna tell me, whether I do or not, aren’t you?” he barked and his friend wet his lips and swallowed hard before he furthered his accusations.

  “You know Cathie Coutts, don’t you?” he said, looking under his eyelids at Willie.

  “Yes, I think so. That’s that wee lassie that lives in Carlton Street. Ye
s, I know her. Why? What has she got to do with oor Charlie?”

  Ackie looked apprehensive as he went on.

  “Well ... You know she does it with everybody, don’t you?” he said reluctantly and Willie didn’t have to enquire what it was that she administered so readily and so liberally. “Your Charlie gives her chips. Do you know that?”

  “Gives her chips?” Willie repeated, “What the hell has that got to do with her .doin’ it?”

  Ackie sniffed complacently.

  “Well ...he doesn’t give her chips for nothing Does he?”

  Willie had heard enough and he hit out at Ackie, knocking him to the ground and before long a large crowd of boys had gathered around, screaming and shouting, not knowing what the fight was about, but enjoying every minute of it, nevertheless.

  ***

  “That’s a nice young couple of bairns who are staying with Mrs. Harris.” Mary remarked as she shook the lettuce she was preparing for tea, free of water. Willie waited a few moments before he answered.

  “Yes Mammy. I think they’re very nice, from what I’ve seen of them.”

  “Especially the wee lassie, Willie don’t you think?”

  Willie coughed and his face went crimson ...

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really taken that much notice,” he said and Mary went on, shaking her lettuce with a mischievous smile on her face.

  Willie was worried about his conversation that morning with Ackie and he wondered if Ackie’s nose was still bleeding. Any suggestions of female company or association with his brother would worry him until he had the chance to talk to Charlie, but he spoke to Mary again, almost apologetically, on the subject of their new neighbours from London.

  “They’re Jews anyway,” he said abruptly. They’re Old Tin Cans, he thought, but he knew that Mary would be annoyed with that. if she wasn’t already by his off hand remark. It was Sadie who drew him up.