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THE CELTIC CONNECTION • MARCH 1993
HANG ON TO YOUR MA
MR. O'NANYMOUS
IT'S NOT EVERY DAY yor Ma runs away, unless she's under a lot of pressure and strain; and believe you me, my Ma had put up with a lot in her life — raising 11 of us and losing her first born at a year and a half.
Da was a drinking man, not uncommon to Irishmen,but the fact that he was overly fond of the gargle didn't help matters. I never knew Da that well. He was an early riser and at half seven every morning he was gone to work. As kids, we would still be in bed 'till half past eight or so. In the evening, we'd be in bed by nine and Da would arrive in after the pubs had closed.
So ye see, we never got to see him; maybe on the odd weekend we'd meet him. Of course, that's only
when he worked in Dublin. When he was away in the country, it would be weeks on end and ye'd never see him, and Ma was lucky ta see a fiver a week, if that.
So, what happens after some of the bills are paid? Nothing! Not a bluddy thing, except ya starve, because der's nothing left. Ma got introduced to moneylenders by a neighbour who was in the same boat as ourselves.
Ya got a lend of five bob and ya paid back seven anda tack. For those of you who don't know what seven and a tack is, it's one third more than five bob; and if ya don't know what five bob is, look it up in the dictionary!
The lenders were Taylor, Isaacson, Bagle and the likes; I can't knock these people as such, 'cause in fact, they did keep us alive. Bread and margo on the table.
The problem was. Ma was borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. Then, she'd turn to the pawn shop (Uncle Tommy as Ma called it) to pay Peter and Paul off.
I remember one time, me Ma kept me off school to tell the lenders she wasn't home. After the deed was done, Ma sent me across the road ta borrow a pair of shoes or a suit from a neighbour, so she could pawn it for a few bob to buy the grub.
This went on for as long as I can remember, until it would all come to a head. We were evicted four times and we'd camp out in the front yard and neighbours would bring us tea, food and likes ta keep us going.
Of course, Da would smarten up, borrow money from the Dublin Glass and Paint Co. to pay off the overdue rent, which was about six to eight months in arrears. This was the company he worked for since he was eleven years old.
A glazier by trade, he knew all aspects of the window trade, including the name of the pub that was gold embossed on the plate glass windows, which he could read backwards (you would too, if you were sitting there on the inside, day in and day out).
Ma left without a trace one day. I was 13 at the time and just six months into the workforce. It
was a shock to me, I never thought she would do something like that.
Me sister Kathleen and Aunt Kitty who was Ma's sister went with Ma to the B & I boat down on the Dublin docks ta sail off to England to my sister Alice. Kathleen said "Ma, ye just can t go off like this! Will you please stay?" Ma said "Kate, don't stop me, please." Kitty said "Maggie, ye can't run off like this and leave eleven children, and Ann is only a baby. How can ye do it? Grab a hold te yorself!"
Ma said "Well, if yis try ta stop me, I'm going into the Liffey." Me sister Kate knew the hard truth. Itwaslose a mother for awhile or lose a mother for good.
Kathleen said "Ma, will ye write to us and let us know how ye are?" Ma replied "I will, Kate. And when I get settled, will ya send me baby over to me? The rest of them are old enough to look after themselves." "I will," sez Kathleen and Ma was gone.
We were evicted four times and we'd camp out in the front yard...
Me Da was brought up from the country to work in Dublin because of the circumstances. They put me working with him to keep his morale up. Low and behold, he gave up the gargle. I couldn't believe it, me Da on the wagon.
In all the times I can remember, it was a first. I was going te get ta know him, after all the years I didn't, and get to know him I did. It was the emotional side, a part of me Da that I never knew existed.
We were put to work on the new Head Offices for the
Bank of Ireland in Baggot Street. It was there I saw me father cry to himself day after day. I would run off to another floor on the building site where no one was around and cry meself.
Itwasasad timeforall. Dajust didn't know how to cope. I felt so sorry for him. If I could have reached out and held him, I would have, but bein' from the old school, hugging and holding was not part of the household. However, as a child, I always idolized him like you wouldn't believe.
Da confided in me one day. Sez he "Why did yur Ma go?" I told him about the debts and the lenders. Well, he nearly hit the roof.
"Why in the name of Jaysus didn't someone tell me? How long has this been going on?"
I'm sure he never realized how much of a heavy drinker he was and the amount of money he'd spent. It was his turn to wake up and face reality as me Ma had done in all her struggling years trying to rear us. Back in those days, they daren't open their mouths to their hubbies.
One Saturday morning, with Da just two weeks off the gargle, he calledme over in the kitchen and sez "Will ye slip down the road and get me a dozen and a small Jameson's? And hurry up, will ye?"
I was back in no time flat. That afternoon he was well oiled and ready for action. He summoned me again in the kitchen and said "Those effers will be coming by soon for effin money. I want you ta answer the door and tell them ta f— off. And, if they raise a hand to ye, I'll be waiting behind the door with a hurling stick and I'll beat the be Jaysus out a them."
Mr. Isaacson arrived at the door, I answered the knock. I was sheitin' bricks. "Hello, is your mother home?" "No," sez I, "she ran off ta England and we've no money." It went without a hitch. He left and I closed the door. Well, wouldn't ye know it, no Da behind the door — only the hurling stick.
It ended up that the Dublin Glass and Paint Co. bailed us out of debt. It so happened that only two out of six moneylenders were legit. They were paid off and the others were threatened with lawyers. We never saw them again.
My baby sister, Anna Marie, had spent the last nine months in Derbyshire, England with me Ma. I'll never forget the morning they all came home. We all couldn't wait to see them. We were all at the door every minute watching for the taxi to arrive.
Me sisters Kate and Peggy had gone to the B & I to pick them up. Finally, they arrived. Anna Marie got out first — I couldn't believe how grown up she was — and then, me Ma. I choked back the tears, it was just great.
In she walked, never said a word. She sat down and lit a Woodbine. You could feel the silence. It was silent joy. In my mind I thought "Great ta have ye back, Ma!" Yours truly, Mr. "O"