Living in the Past: A Northern Irish Memoir Read Free Page A

jump off and run into the house or run around the yard while Charlie and the owner would be unloading. I loved those trips in the summer but in the winter, if I was foolish enough to go with Charlie, I would regret it. Sometimes coming home late on a frosty evening, really cold, the houses would all be lit up and through the windows I could see people getting the evening tea ready, exuding warmth and reminding me that I was freezing and starving. The last mile or so seemed to last forever.
    When we came home about six o’clock the kitchen would be bright and warm and the tea would be on the table. The radio would be playing and next we would hear the introduction for Dick Barton, Special Agent and I would sit spellbound, while Dick, Jock and Snowy knocked the daylights out of the baddies.
    Sometimes, when I got home after visiting all those houses in the surrounding area with Charlie, my mother would ask me what a house was like.
    “It was all right,” I would say.
    “What kind of kitchen did they have?”
    “It was all right,” I would reiterate.
    “Didn’t you notice anything at all?” she would say. “You’re not much good to send out anywhere.”
    Now I realise how frustrating it must have been, as my mother was very furniture and fashion conscious.
    There was a black and white wall with a smooth surface that ran along the road opposite the shop, and on Sunday mornings after Mass, if the weather was good, people would gather and sit on the wall. When it was full they sat along the hedge. I suppose they were just there for somewhere to go or, maybe, for the craic. Craic is a Gaelic word meaning fun which we added to our English vocabulary, because there doesn’t seem to be an English word with the same meaning. Everybody loved a bit of craic. If you complained about someone to my mother she would say, “Ah, but isn’t he great craic,” and that was that. I think it was a form of repartee which is the nearest I can get, but it had to be witty – everyone likes a laugh.
    On Sunday evenings another crowd would gather at the corner to play pitch and toss, because the Irish do like a gamble. It would start about seven o’clock and the crowd would get bigger and bigger, surrounding the wide sandy space on the quiet road opposite the shop. One night, my father was late locking up because the trade in cigarettes and minerals and the like was good and he said, when he came home, that there were perhaps thirty men there in the circle, and they were striking matches to see if the coins were heads or tails.
    Gambling on horse and dog racing was also a great craze. My father had the weekly handicap books stacked behind the door in his bedroom. These were cross reference books and he could look up any horse and find out its history and past form at any time. When my father was ill and had to get Dr. Girvan from Coalisland, who also would have had a flutter, the doctor drew back the bedclothes and there underneath was the handicap book.
    “Ah, James,” he said. “I see, like myself, you study the bible.”

It’s raining today and it hasn’t stopped
since I had my breakfast call
I kneel with my head against the pane
and watch the raindrops fall
For a while I settle in a trance
but I want to go out and play
Oh, I wish it would stop, I wish it would stop
for today is Saturday.
I wanted to go with Jimmy and Joe
down to the water edge
We could skim some stones and hide in the den
we made behind the hedge
Afterwards, if the sun is warm,
we could go down for a swim
This time I promise I won’t be scared,
I’m going to jump right in.
Mum, the rain has stopped and it’s getting bright
and the sun’s coming out again
Well, off you go but come straight back
if you feel one drop of rain
And off I go three hops and a jump, three hops and a jump, warm in the morning sun
I’ll be there soon, I’ll be there soon,
and I break into a run
Oh what a day it’s going to be,
a Saturday of fun.

Chapter Two
    I didn’t like school