by Ben Ryan
‘Bedad, you got some bargain there,’ said Andy, ‘fifteen bob you say, I think I’ll invest meself.’
‘Well, I thought they charged me over the odds and that they were right tricksters. If it wasn’t for that other customer I was telling you about, ah a terrible quiet poor divil, the hat looked so well on him, that’s what made up my mind for me.’
Oilly wore the hat all that day and did not take it off even when he ate or when he shaved or washed. The first Sunday he visited the Deery household, as he often did, and Mrs Deery went into ecstasies of admiration when she saw Oilly’s new hat. Timmy asked him about where he bought it and whether they sold ten gallon cowboy hats. Oilly laughed and said, ‘Well, they were definitely right cowboys so I’m sure they must sell cowboy hats.’
‘Is that right?’ said Timmy, ‘I must get one.’
The next day Timmy met Oilly and this time he was wearing his new cap. Timmy stared at it and commented, ‘I prefer the hat, why are you wearing a cap?’
‘Oh, I keep the hat for my Sunday head and this is for my weekday head.’
Timmy looked startled. ‘You mean you have two heads.’
‘Aye, Timmy, that’s what gives me a head start over you ordinary chaps.’
Timmy innocently spread this story around and in time Oilly became known as the man with two heads.
Every weekday from that time onward Oilly wore the cap and every Sunday the hat. And, eventually, after about six months when his hair did grow back to its former glory he had become so fond of the headgear that he continued to wear it and he never again belittled bald men. His own months of “baldness” had taught him a valuable lesson.
The maid was the belle of the ball
With a frock that was not her’s at all
In a weakness she took it
When Tim kicked the bucket
And she boogied all night in the Hall
8
DRESSING DOWN
Every summer a carnival week was held in Roggart to raise funds for the parish. A large marquee was erected in the football field and every night a dance was held in it. The highlight was the final Sunday night when the Carnival Queen was selected. Judges were brought in from the neighbouring parishes and there was great rivalry among the girls.
Una McKay was a very good-looking nineteen year old who worked in one of the big houses in the area. She was a kitchen maid for the Babington family and was the fourth eldest of five sisters. She was poorly paid in money terms but got all her meals in the house. The only other concession to the staff was that any old shoes or boots which the family had no further use for would be given to them. One day Una was asked by the head of kitchen staff if she was interested in a pair of red sling-back shoes which Lady Babington had thrown out. The young girl was thrilled and said, ‘Oh yes, please, yes, please.’
She brought home the prized shoes wrapped in newspaper and, even though they were a size too big for her and the buckle of one was bent and twisted where something heavy had fallen on it, to Una this was a minor flaw and could easily be hammered out and repaired. Now if only she had a red dress to go with the shoes!
She looked forward eagerly to the carnival and entering the Carnival Queen competition. Her biggest problem was that the only suitable dress she had was a green one which had been handed down from her older sister. To make matters worse her sister, Jane, had been selected Carnival Queen the previous year while wearing this dress. One day while having her dinner in Babington’s she was leafing through a magazine belonging to Lady Babington when she came across an article on how to change the look of a frock by “tie-dyeing” it. It all sounded very easy. You simply tied the garment in knots, soaked it in a bucket of colour dye and when it was removed and untied a beautiful new coloured pattern appeared on it. Well, in the magazine, it seemed beautiful and so easy, and Una remembered that there was some red dye at home which her mother had bought but never used.
Una wasted no time. When she got home that evening she got to work. In the kitchen she prepared the bucket of red dye, tied several knots on the green frock, and pushed it into the bucket with a wooden ladle. Her mother and sisters had gone into town so she had no interruptions or objections to what she was doing.
‘I must hide it until it is finished,’ she thought to herself. ‘Now where would be a good place? I know; the summer house.’
The summer house was a bockety wooden structure well hidden by branches of plum and apple trees and located in the McKay’s overgrown garden.
‘It will be safe there until tomorrow. It should be soaked enough by then,’ Una mused as she carried out the bucket of bright red liquid. The next morning Una went off to work at seven o’clock as usual. She took a quick look in the summer house to make sure that the dye colouring operation had not been disturbed. Having satisfied herself that all was well she proceeded to Babington’s.
Later on that morning Timmy Deery was driving five bullocks along the road past McKay’s garden and one of the animals broke through the flimsy hedge which bordered the summer house. Timmy jumped off his green bicycle and shouted at the animal.
‘Come back, you awkward contrary brute!’ he roared, as he followed the beast.
The animal gave a buck lep and came out again on to the road without mishap but Timmy was not so lucky. He stepped right into the bucket of red dye which Una had hidden.
‘What in the name of all the bad luck miserable wretches, who left that? Be the holy saints it’s a bucket of blood!’
Timmy stared down at his wellington boot which was once black but now mostly red in colour. Then he remembered the cattle he was supposed to be driving. He kicked the bucket out of his way in temper and jumping on his bike, raced after them. By the time he rounded up the five bullocks and put them safely into the “top field” he had forgotten about the bucket of “blood.” On reaching home, he was quickly reminded of it by Henrietta when he marched straight onto the kitchen floor which she had just washed and polished.
‘Timmy Deery,’ she yelled, ‘What is that red stuff on my good floor? Is that blood on your foot? What on earth happened to you?’
‘Oh yeah, the blood, I accidentally stepped into a bucket of blood this morning when I was driving the cattle to the top field. It was in McKay’s garden.’
Timmy explained to Henrietta about one of the cattle breaking into the garden and what happened with the bucket.
‘That’s terrible, where could all that blood have come from?’ said Henrietta.
‘I dunno, maybe they killed a pig or something.’
‘They don’t have any livestock. I’ll have to get Sonny to check on things over there. In the meantime get all that blood cleaned off your boots and then you can clean up the mess you made on my kitchen floor.’
Sonny returned at mid-day for his dinner and listened intently while Timmy and Henrietta related the events of the morning.
‘Strange,’ he murmured. ‘Are you sure it was blood?’
‘Sure what else could it be? It was red and there was a bucket of it.’
‘I have me doubts, but I’ll go over and have a word with the McKay’s. They’re quiet hard-working people. There is probably a simple explanation for all this.’
After he had eaten Sonny made his way to the McKay household. Mrs McKay was in her kitchen clearing up the dinner dishes and she greeted him warmly as she usually did.
‘The tay is still wet, sure you’ll have a cup.’
‘Aye, sure I might as well.’
She was always in good humour and today was no different. After they had exchanged pleasantries and discussed the weather and Mrs McKay enquired after Henrietta she then asked how Timmy was and this gave Sonny the opening he was looking for.
‘Well, it’s funny you should ask about Timmy because a peculiar thing occurred this morning. He was driving the cattle to the top field and one wild one happened to break into your garden. I hope he didn’t do any damage to your fruit trees.’
‘Ah, not at all, sure the
garden is wild. I’ll get that fence fixed right away.’
‘Mrs McKay, you didn’t have a bucket of red liquid like fruit juice in the garden?’
‘No, why?’
‘Well, Timmy came home with his boots covered in red liquid and he said it happened in your garden. Do you mind if I have a look around the garden? It’s probably nothing at all.’
‘Oh, go right ahead, Sonny, let me know if you find anything.’
Sonny was not long in finding the bucket of red dye which Timmy had stepped in. The green dress which Una was tie-dyeing looked a sorry sight. Timmy had squashed it with his size eleven boots and most of the dye had ended up on the ground. ‘That’s definitely red dye for colouring clothes,’ Sonny said to himself, ’probably one of the McKay geshehs and Timmy has made a right mess of it. I’ll let Mrs McKay know that it’s not blood anyway.’
Sonny told Mrs McKay about the dye and said he would send Timmy over to apologise and also to fix the fence which the bullock had broken through. ‘That’s the last we’ll hear of that episode,’ he said to himself as he headed for home. But it was not quite the end.
Three months later a headline appeared in the local newspaper, The Roggart News, “Servant Girl Wore Her Employer’s Frock to Dance.” Sonny carefully read over the case. The young girl, Una McKay, said she was desperate to go to the Carnival Queen dance. Her own dress had been ruined by a man with cattle trampling on it. She had given in to temptation. The dress fitted her perfectly. She had laundered and ironed it afterwards and returned it to its wardrobe but she had been caught in the act by Lady Babington and this had resulted in her appearance in court. She also lost her job. District Justice Raymer took a lenient view of the incident and Una McKay was let off with a warning as to her future conduct. There was laughter in court when the judge said he could not understand why some ladies held on to clothes that they wore as teenagers. Did they hope that one day scientists would discover a magic potion to reduce the middle-age spread? Perhaps Lady Babington might consider donating her old clothes to charity!
On his bench sat the judge looking fat
His white wig changed its hue as he sat
Like King Midas of old
Turned a bright shade of gold
There’ll be wigs on the green, fancy that.
9
A JUDGE OF COLOUR
The District Justice for this area of Meath was Mr Edward Raymer. He lived in a rather unkempt large house reached by a long avenue. The old two story house had yellow-washed walls and wooden fencing. The locals tended to keep clear of him. For a few this was because they had appeared before his court on some minor charge, but for most it was because they wrongly assumed that a judge was someone whose revered station was beyond the ambit of ordinary people. He loved horses and followed the Ward Union Stag-hounds during the hunting season. He had never married and the most obvious signs of this were un-ironed shirts and untidy court robes. He also had the habit of over-powdering his wig as he felt that this covered up any imperfections. The court sat in Roggart on one day per month.
The Deery family frequently had visits from relations or neighbours in the evening time. The children would be sent to their room and told to do their school homework, or if school was out, they would be told to read or at least to keep quiet. Their reward the next morning would be any goodies left over from the meal which Mrs Deery provided. She always made sure that something sweet was left over, usually a bit of jelly and custard. The children were especially fond of this when it was cold and set overnight.
One evening the Deerys had a surprise visitor. A large dark green car chugged into the yard and pulled up beside the water pump. Steam was gushing out from under the bonnet. The lone occupant switched off the engine and staggered out and away from the steaming car. It was the District Justice, himself. The family were all at home and rallied to his aid.
‘Don’t go near it until it cools down,’ Sonny shouted.
‘Come in and rest, Mr Raymer, while you’re waiting, the tay is wet,’ said Henrietta.
The judge had got a bit of a shock and was glad to get out of the scalding vehicle.
‘Ow thank you sow mach,’ he said in his loud posh accent, ‘I thought the old jalopy was gowing tow explode.’
‘It’ll take a half hour or so to cool down and then maybe we’ll see what caused the problem,’ said Sonny. ‘You have a cardboard box on the back seat, I think we’ll take it out in case it gets water damage.’
Sonny took out the box, which was very light, and told the children to bring it into the house for safe-keeping.
‘Ow good gells,’ said the judge, ‘it’s ownly the jolly old wig which I wear in court, pwobably requires powdering.’
Eventually the engine cooled and when Timmy started refilling it, they all saw where the problem was. The water went in at the top and straight out again at the bottom. In those days there was a safety valve which blew out if the water pressure got too high. This usually happened if the radiator was not topped up regularly. There happened to be a spare valve in Deery’s shed and this fitted the judge’s car. The relieved man departed with much loud thanks-giving and shaking of hands. It was about an hour later that Henrietta noticed the cardboard box sitting behind the armchair in the parlour. Sonny and Timmy were both gone to the pictures in Roggart. The children wanted to open it just to have a close-up peek at a real judge’s wig.
‘Well, just a quick look and don’t handle it at all.’
The box was not sealed so Henrietta gently lifted the lid.
‘Yuk, is it alive?’ The children twisted their faces and made squealing noises.
‘It’s horrible, if Towser sees it he’ll think it’s a rabbit and eat it.’
‘That’s enough now,’ said Henrietta as she closed the box.
‘I’d better telephone Judge Raymer and tell him.’
The judge told her not to worry and he would collect the box the following morning on his way to court. Henrietta put on her coat and scarf.
‘That’s grand, now I have to go over to Mullards for a game of cards so, hopefully, there’ll be no more emergencies for an hour or two.’
She was gone about fifteen minutes when the telephone rang. Rose, the oldest girl, went to the hall and took the call. She came back a minute later looking flustered.
‘That was Mr Raymer and do you know what he wants me to do?’
‘Wants you to do,’ the other two replied.
‘Yes, me, myself. He asked if I could dust off his wig and shake some white powder on it so that it would be ready for wearing in court tomorrow. He said there’s a small squeeze container of powder in the box.’
Rose gingerly opened the box and found the powder, or rather the powder container and this was quite empty.
‘What do we do now?’ Rose wondered aloud.
Her brother, Sean, piped up, ‘Look, it’s only white powder. You could use flour or anything like that. That oul wig will look better no matter what powder you put on it.’
‘Well, we’ll try it and see. Margaret will you get out the whitest flour from Mammy’s cupboard?’
She came back with two large glass jars.
‘We’ll take a little out of each jar, that way no one will miss it.’
They shook the white powder liberally over the old wig.
‘And there’s a bit for luck,’ said Sean as he sprinkled on an extra handful.
The judge collected the cardboard box early next morning and after thanking everyone again and refusing to sit down for more tay he left for his court. The weather had turned very showery and it was raining heavily as he drove into his parking space which was about thirty yards from the door. He waited for a few minutes to see if the rain might stop. As he waited he opened the wig box and smiled.
‘Aha, it never looked so white,’ he mused.
He put on the wig and decided to make a dash for the door. By the time he locked the car and got inside the building his robes and wig were fairly wet. He was alread
y late because of his diversion to collect the wig. He marched quickly to his bench so that the court proceedings could begin. Those of us who were present never forgot that day in court.
Back at the Deery farmhouse Rose told her mother about powdering the wig.
‘Show me the powder you used,’ Henrietta asked.
‘Those two jars there, Mammy.’
‘They’re not flour, dear, they’re custard powder. The flour is in the back cupboard.’
‘Well, the powder is white.’
‘Yes, and it will stay white until it gets wet.’
As the morning in court gathered momentum everybody found themselves staring at District Justice Raymer’s head. The wig began changing colour. First of all blotches of yellow became visible. After a while the whole wig turned a deep golden yellow. The honourable judge carried on oblivious to this strange happening. Nobody dared say anything for fear of offending him. The phenomenon was causing everyone, from senior legal practitioners to simple witnesses, to lose concentration and they were unable to answer questions properly. The judge began to lose patience. Several times he admonished a speaker for dithering and being incoherent. Finally, an applicant for a bookmaker’s licence was asked a question about betting odds and he kept repeating:
‘I never seen the like, the odds must be a billion to one.’
Justice Raymer called a recess for half an hour. He swept into his chamber and as he passed a mirror he stopped and stared in amazement. He whipped off the wig, put it down on a chair and hurried off to get his fellow court staff. Just as he went out the door, a small pet dog belonging to the court cleaning lady spotted the wig. The little dog sniffed it and promptly began licking off the custard and in a few minutes the wig was back to its normal off-white hue. The dog’s owner then appeared.
‘Hm, that looks like Judge Raymer’s wig.’