by Martha Long
The dealer looked, then blinked thinkin. ‘Never mind, here! I knew tha might happen, an just in case ye didn’t want them I got these special! They’re soft, come on! Here, where’s yer bag?’ she said, grabbin at the granny’s string bag an shovin in a big bunch a rotten bananas.
‘Ah no! They’re too many!’ the granny tried te say.
‘Take them! They’ll make yer teeth grow back!’ the dealer shouted, then put her hand out, sayin, ‘Now! I’m lettin you have them fer sixpence, it would be eight pence te anyone else or if I didn’t like ye!’
The granny tried te give them back but the dealer said, ‘No go on, ye’re not robbin me, don’t even thank me! Sure amn’t I known up an down the length an breadth a Moore Street fer me generosity? Not te mention me honesty. Ye owe me sixpence!’ she said, lowerin her voice an sayin it fast, then holdin out her hand waitin.
The granny slowly let down her shawl an rooted around inside lookin fer her purse. Then took out two pennies, two ha’pennies an a thruppeny bit.
‘Lovely, God bless ye,’ the dealer said, checkin it on her hand te make sure it was all there. ‘FOURPENCE THE DOZEN ROSY APPLES!’ she went back te shoutin an we moved off, te continue makin our way down the Moore Street.
I felt like sayin te the granny, ‘Do ye want me te carry yer shoppin?’ She had a little brown parcel tied up wit string from the Clothin Mill an now she had the bunch a bananas sittin in on top a tha. I counted, there was six. I’m good at countin I am. But I can’t read yet, only a tiny bit.
We walked on then stopped outside Sheils’s the pork shop an looked in the winda. Then the granny turned an hurried in te stand beside the counter an wait in the queue te get served. I slid along on the sawdust thrown on the floor, it was put there te stop people fallin an maybe breakin their necks on the tiles. Tha’s just in case, because it can happen when it rains. Mammy told me tha, because we come in here too, it’s te get our food fer the evenin tea an breakfast on the Sunday mornin, an loads a other stuff.
I looked te make sure the granny was still there, then bunched up the sawdust an tried te mash it between me toes. Then I heard a roar an looked around, it was comin from a young fella, he saw me lookin an leaned his head at me snarlin. ‘Ger away from my sawdust, it’s not there fer your enjoyment,’ he snorted, givin me a dirty look before goin back te throwin more clean sawdust down on top a the dirty stuff. He had a bucket an he was grabbin out handfuls and shakin it on the floor.
I went over an stood beside him te watch. After a while I said, ‘Eh! Can I have a bit te throw down too?’
He just ignored me an went on shakin it, makin sure not te let it go on people’s shoes, because they were givin him dirty looks an grabbin a stare down at themself te make sure.
‘Eh, young fella, do ye not hear me? I want te give you a hand. Give’s a bit a yer sawdust an I’ll help ye throw it down.’
‘Go on then,’ he said, shovin the bucket at me, lettin me dig in an grab two handfuls, but when I looked there was only a little bit, it all got spilt out before I could get much.
‘See it’s a knack,’ he laughed, grabbin up a handful an shakin it all around him.
‘Do you work here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How old are ye?’
‘Fourteen an two months! How old are you?’
‘Eh, seven an eh …’ I tried te work it out! ‘Loads a days.’
‘So, you just got yer birthday, I bet ye!’ he said, lookin happy I was not nearly as big as him.
‘Yeah! But still an all! Seven is big! Isn’t it?’
‘I suppose. But you still have years before ye get te be like me. A workin man wit a wage in me back pocket.’
‘Yeah, but you have te give the wage packet up te yer mammy, don’t ye?’ I snorted, ragin because he was makin out like he was already a big person an he was now his own man.
He gave me a dirty look then said, lettin his head drop sideways, ‘Would you ever go way now like a good little child an leave me te get on wit me job a work. Go on ye’ll get me fired, I’m not supposed te be slackin.’
‘All right then,’ I said, movin away an lookin over at the counter te watch fer the granny. She was nearly there, just at the top a the queue wit one other waitin ahead.
‘Now, ma’am, wha can I get you?’ said the fella wit the white coat givin his hands a quick slap on the counter, thinkin he was playin the drums.
‘Give me four streaky rashers, love,’ she said, pointin down at the ones she wanted, sittin in the front a the winda.
He put them on white greaseproof paper an slapped the lot on the white scales lookin at the weight, then rolled up the paper sayin, ‘Anythin else?’
‘Oh yeah, wait now till I get started. Gimme a bit of tha back bacon ye have over be the wall, I want a nice bit fer me dinner on the Sunday. Then give me a quarter pound a Granby sausages, a nice bit of black an white puddin, an finish it off wit half a dozen nice big eggs. They’ll do me the week.’
‘Tha the lot?’ he said, wrappin it all up an liftin the pencil sittin behind his ear, he was wantin now te work out how much she owes him.
‘That’s one shillin an eight pence,’ he said, wrappin the lot in one big sheet a white paper an handin it to her.
She tried te lift it wit one hand an manage the string bag in the other, but the parcel was too heavy.
‘Here, ma’am, let me help ye, give me up the bag an I’ll put it in fer you.’
‘God bless ye, son,’ she said, handin up the bag then takin out her little brown purse an rootin fer the money. ‘There’s two shillins,’ she said, givin him the money an takin the bag.
I could see it was gettin heavy now, an was dyin te ask her te let me carry it. Me an Ceily always did tha fer me mammy. Help her carry home the shoppin. I felt me chest an stomach tighten, an it took away me happy thoughts makin me want te cry again. I miss me mammy terrible, somethin terrible, it pains me heart so it does. Oh God, send her back, I want me mammy, you can’t keep her, God! She belongs te me an Ceily! An where’s me Ceily? Why did she go?
I held me breath waitin te hear, but nothin came te me, God’s not talkin.
I watched the granny go more slowly now, makin her way out the door wit the bag lookin heavy. Then I trailed after her, wishin I was really belonged te her. She seems somehow like me, on her own an a bit lonely. Tha’s because she lost her dog an her cat, they were her friends! So we’re the same, because I lost me mammy an me sister, an me home! An me wellie boots, well the one. But tha’s no good, I thought, starin down at me feet lookin black wit the dirt an blue from the cold.
The granny crossed the road an looked in the butcher’s winda. Then she went in an I followed, wantin te see wha she got.
‘Yes, darlin, wha can I get you? We have a nice bit a steak today, special offer! Shillin a pound look! Best rump.’
‘Ah will ye go on outa tha, you aul fool. Every bloody week ye say the same thing, knowin it’s been a rare day, an a very rare one at tha, since I ever bought a lump a steak. Sure where would I get the money? Never mind the teeth te chew it! Sure don’t ye know I haven’t one left in me head.’
‘Sure I haven’t one meself,’ he said, shovin in his tongue then suddenly liftin his teeth an grabbin out the top set.
‘Oh holy Jesus! Willie Wilson! Don’t let them drop on me meat, or ye may say goodnight te any money ye might a got from me!’
‘Tut tut! There’s no pockets in a shroud, Mona, ye can’t take it wit you! Why don’t ye take me out an we’ll paint the town red?! Wha do you say? A couple a bottles a champagne, you get the glad rags on, drag out tha frock you’ve been savin since the Charleston first came out, an we dance the night away! Roses an candlelight, chandeliers, diamonds in yer hair, Mona, settin off the sparkle in your lovely blue Irish smilin eyes, my lovely Mona! Can you see it?’ he said, leanin over the counter an talkin very softly te her, like she was the only woman on the earth.
Then he put his hands on her wrinkled hand sittin on the counter, a
n the shop was very quiet. Everyone wanted te hear him talkin lovely te Mona, the old wrinkled granny. Then a tear poured down her cheek an a man coughed an a woman standin next to him said, ‘Tha was lovely. I never knew you had it in ye, William Wilson! But then you never know someone, do you?’
‘God, it was like listenin to the pictures,’ said another woman, smilin wit everyone lettin out their breath.
Then Willie shouted, ‘RIGHT! What’s it te be this week? Sheep’s head, anyone? Only sixpence, boil the shite out of it an make yourself a lovely pot a brawn. Now I can’t say better than tha!’
‘Have ye a nice bit of neck a lamb?’ the granny said, lookin along the winda an seein wha he had lined up on the shelf behind him.
‘The very job te put hair on yer chest,’ he said, whirlin himself around an grabbin up bits a meat hangin off a load a bones. ‘Thruppence! Tha do you?’ he said, rollin them up in white paper an handin them te her, without waitin fer an answer.
‘Tha will do grand,’ she said, takin out three pennies an puttin them in the palm of his hand, held straight out. She put tha in her bag leavin it hangin, not wantin te let it down in the sawdust coverin the dirty floor. The dirt was dragged in from the street, an blood splattered the floor as well, tha was comin from the meat hangin by the door, held up on big hooks. Then she made her way out an I followed. She eased her way down the street an stopped at a dealer, she was sellin cauliflowers an cabbages, an loads a different vegebales.
‘Wha do ye want, granny? Here, how about a nice cauliflower, or wha about—’
‘Give us a nice green head a cabbage, missus,’ interrupted the granny, knowin wha she wanted.
‘Oh ye’re right, they’re lovely today, came fresh in the market fer the weekend. Have you a bit a bacon te go wit tha, missus?’
‘Yeah indeed I have. Got a lovely bit a streaky up in Sheils’s.’
‘Oh God, isn’t tha lovely fer ye? Now wha else do ye want? Will ye be havin a stew? Wha about a nice few carrots an onions? I’ll throw in the bit a parsley an thyme fer you. I won’t charge ye, missus. Here, give me yer bag over an I’ll stick them in fer you.’
‘Ah ye know me well, Chrissie!’
‘Well, if I don’t know your ways after sixty years on the street, I must be dotin! Gone senile! Isn’t tha how long ye’re comin te us? It was me mammy then, God rest her soul, but sure I’m reared on these streets. Mammy, God be good te her, used te leave me sittin in the orange box there, shove a banana in me mouth te keep me quiet, an no one more contented than me, I can tell you! Twelve of us she reared on these streets, out in all weathers, she was, an us along wit her. She lived te seventy-two, God bless her. Used te sit on tha stool over there, givin orders from her throne she would.
‘Yeah, Tessa Blackstock, my mammy! I’m goin te get a petition up te get the corporation te put a plaque up in her memory. I know down through all the days there was a lot a dealers here, but she was down here as well, right in the middle a them she was, when she only eleven days old. Tha’s right! Her mother, my granny, used te keep her wrapped up inside her shawl an she all the contentment an comfort a babby could want. Oh, yes, wit her able te suck away on the diddy – sleep an suck, me granny said. Not a bother on her, an Mammy did the same wit all a us, kept us wrapped inside her shawl te suck on her milk an sleep away to our hearts’ content. Sure wha more would a babby want?’
‘Ah nature’s a great thing,’ said the granny, holdin open her purse waitin te hear how much.
‘Sixpence, love!’
‘Thanks, see ye again soon,’ said the granny, smilin an movin off.
‘Thanks, missus, you mind yerself now, an take it easy home wit tha bag. It looks heavy.’
‘Ah, I’m used to it!’ the granny said, walkin slowly towards the corner wit the bag draggin her down, makin her go very slowly.
I stayed behind really wantin now te rush up an ask te carry it fer her. She made her way goin really slow up Parnell Street wit the Rotunda hospital on the left. The path was crowded wit people hurryin te get the shops before they closed, or the good stuff was gone. It must be Friday, I thought, knowin people only make fer the shops then, because tha’s when the men get paid or the workin women like my mammy. Then people start rushin te pay the shops tha they owe money to, an all the other people tha give them ‘tick’.
We stopped at the lights on O’Connell Street and the granny leaned her shoppin bag on the ground but didn’t let go of it, because then all the stuff would tumble out. Then we were movin again onta Parnell Street an I wondered where we were headin.
We came te Gardiner Street an stopped at the path waitin fer the traffic te ease, but she didn’t turn up the hill headin fer Mountjoy Square or any of the laneways off the hill, nor did she go headin down stayin on Gardiner Street. So maybe she will do tha when we get te the other side.
We waited an waited wit no traffic lights te help us, an it looked now like we were goin te be stuck fer ever! It’s Friday an everyone wants te get home wit their wages an give it up te the fambily. Nobody stayed on the path long, they all dashed out inta the traffic makin it stop, but me an the granny couldn’t do tha. I was too small an she was too old. At last, the traffic eased an a coalman wit a black face an empty sacks wit his day’s work over sawed the granny an me standin waitin patiently an pulled up his horse, sayin, ‘Whoa, easy there now, girl,’ an stopped te let us go past an get across. There was only me an the granny now walkin slowly, other people came runnin an flew past us, but you could see me an her was together.
‘Missus! Do you want me te give ye a hand?’ I suddenly said, puttin out me two hands showin her I wanted te help.
‘So well ye might ask,’ she said, lettin the heavy bag ease in her hand by droppin it down fer the ground te take the weight. ‘Wha’s wrong wit you? Are ye lost?’ she said, lookin at me wit her head shakin, like she couldn’t understand wha was happenin.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘No! I’m not lost!’
‘So tell me, chicken, why are you followin on my tail since early today? An tha’s hours ago,’ she said, lookin around seein it was startin te get dark now wit the lights comin on in the shops an the lamps on the front a the cars. ‘Where do ye live?’
‘Off Portland Row.’
‘Do ye? I don’t live far from there meself. Who is your mammy? Maybe I know her.’
‘Missus Mary Carney,’ I said, lookin up at her, wonderin wha she’s goin te do te me. Maybe get Father Flitters after me!
‘No! Haven’t heard tell a her. Where’s she now? Why you runnin wild? Where’s your shoes an yer coat? You’re half naked as I can see, here! Give tha foot up te me.’
‘Wha, missus?’ I said not understandin.
‘I want te see the state a yer feet.’
I sat down on the ground an lifted me foot, lettin her have it. She rubbed her hand up an down then let it go, easin it back onta the ground. ‘I thought so, soft as butter, them feet never walked on cement in all yer borned days! An where did ye get the women’s knickers from? Wha’s goin on?
‘Here, we’re goin the same direction, I don’t live too far from there, I live beside Summer Street off the North Circular Road. You go down past the old maids’ home then left, inta the row of nice houses there, don’t you?’
‘Yeah I do. But me house is gone!’
‘Wha? Here, grab up the handle of the bag there an we’ll carry it between us. We can walk at our ease an you can tell me wha ye’re up to. Have we a deal? Are ye game fer tha?’
‘Yeah, we have a deal,’ I said happily, delighted she was talkin te me, an not even tellin me te ger away or wantin te shout at me.
I took hold a the handle an lifted up the weight, then grabbed hold a me Delia knickers pullin them up an holdin onta them wit me other hand. Then we started te walk slowly up Summerhill.
‘So tell me, where’s yer mammy? An wha do ye mean yer house is gone? Were youse evicted?’
‘Wha does tha mean, missus?’
‘Get thrown outa yer house
an end up on the streets wit yer stuff all around ye. Very often happenin every day a the week,’ she said, clampin her mouth shut an shakin her head.
‘No tha didn’t happen, missus. Our stuff is still in our house. But me sister an me mammy is gone missin.’
‘How tha happen?’ she said, lookin very confused wit her face leanin over te me, bendin her head.
‘Mammy got buried, she got put in a hole in the ground, but it wasn’t really me mammy, it was someone else! Because I sawed the corpse an it didn’t look like my mammy at all, not at all like her,’ I said, shakin me head makin tha very definite.
‘I see,’ she said, speakin very quiet now, an noddin her head like she knew wha I was talkin about.
‘Then Father Flitters came te the house wit the cruelty peoples, a man an a woman an they tried te take us away.’
‘Ah enough said, if tha evil man was involved! God forgive me an he a man of God. But I wonder. Oh God, he sure knows how te pick them! God forgive me, Lord, but I often wonder wha the method in the madness is. Makin aul Flitters a priest. Mind you, havin said tha, there’s many more like him. Country men brought up hard, an comes up here te make life even harder, fer us city people. Worse than ever he, or they got it,’ she said, talkin te herself not lookin at me.
I kept shakin me head agreein wit everythin she was sayin, but I didn’t really understand any of it. But it did sound right.
‘So go on, tell me. I’m listenin!’
‘Yeah, but they didn’t get me because Ceily told me te run an I did. An I brought back Mister Mullins, he owns the corner shop.’
‘Oh yes, I think I may have met him, but I would only know him te see.’
‘So him an Delia came up te help Ceily an stop Father Flitters an the cruelty peoples takin us away. But there was terrible fightin an people got hurt!’
‘Wait a minute now! Are you the Carney childre they tried te put away into a convent? A terrible riot broke out an spread fer miles across the city! Right over te the south side it did, went on fer three long nights wit runnin battles between the animal gangs from the north an southside a the city an the police. Innocent people was caught up in it! Over forty people badly hurt an three people lost their life! It was in all the papers sure. Never mind tha I meself witnessed the killins an runnin battles wit ambulances comin from all over the city, not te mention the fire brigade! Homes went up in blazes when people left their tenement houses te come out onta the street te witness the ructions. Yes! The sparks from the fire hit the floorboards or anyway, must a lodged somewhere in the rotten wood. Sure two houses alone went up on Gardiner Street. Jesus mercy tonight, an you’re tha child?