The Aul’ Man

"Mr Sleanagh, do you think you could help me here? I need some-one to hold this side of the sheet, while I get it tied on over there."

Cormac shooed Dan and Hugh from under his feet. "Boys, will you go in to your mammy and get your hair combed, and don’t, for God’s sake, get your clothes dirty."

"Daddy, we want to watch the man."

"Well Dan my son, go and watch from the path over there, and take Hugh with you. If you keep getting in Mr. Grant’s way, we’ll never get our photograph taken."

"I’ll tie it to this nail in the wall here. And then, we’ll find somewhere to tie the other end. I might have to knock a nail into the wall over on your side. Is that a problem? I always have a hammer and a couple of strong nails with me."

Euan Grant unfolded the background sheet, stretching it across the garden wall.

"It’s a problem I almost always get. Where to hang the sheet up if we’re outside. In a room, it’s never a problem. There’s always something there to hang it onto. I need the sun at my back, so we might be able to tie it to the tree there. In fact that’s just what we’ll do. By the time we’re all ready in about fifteen minutes, the sun should be right behind me if I’m standing over there with the camera."

"You don’t know my wife. If you think she’s going to have herself and the rest of the weans ready in fifteen minutes, you’re sadly mistaken. If she’s ready in thirty, I’ll be a happy man."

"Ah that’s not a problem. You’re my last family today. It had better not be longer than that though, or the sun’ll be gone.

I’ll be down in the Station Square tomorrow. Got three in the morning, four in the afternoon and another two in the evening. It’s Saturday. I can work the whole day. I’ll need to be sharp tomorrow. Nine’s a lot, though I’m having them all in one place in the morning. That means I only have to set the sheet up once. Hope it’s going to be nice again tomorrow, They like to have their photos taken outside. So do I. Saves me the cost of the flash-powder.

How do you like the sheet? It’s new last week. Chap I know makes the scenery at the Gaiety Theatre in Ayr for the music-hall shows and that. He did it on the boss’s time and using his paint and stuff. He says there’s so much scenery getting made, they never notice something like this going missing."

"Aye. I like it fine. A wee touch of class that, with all them pillars. Is it meant to be a church or something?"

"Not at all. That’s meant to be some Greek temple in Athens. The Parthement or something like that. When the photo’s ready, it’ll look like you’re all standing on them steps there at the front. My customers are really pleased with it, I can tell you. I’ve got four sheets. This is the one for family portraits, and I’ve three for smaller groups or individual portraits.

"I’ll just away in the house to see how Beth’s getting on. You boys stand there and don’t move. Mr. Grant’ll tan your backsides if you upset his sheet. And don’t go near that camera. You hear? I’ll be back out in a minute."

The boys nodded, looking suitably solemn at their father’s only half-joking tone.

"You leave them to me Mr. Sleanagh. I’ll keep an eye on them."

Beth was brushing Cath’s hair. The others were standing beside the table like statues, in their Sunday clothes.

"Just coming. Only Cath’s wee hair to do. Will you take them down to the garden. I’ll be there in a minute."

"Right! All of you! Down to the garden! And please, no horseplay. We’re going down the Rec. for a wee picnic after we’re finished and you’ve all got your ordinary clothes on again. I’ve got lemonade and your mammy has baked currant buns. So be good for another ten minutes. Right. Away you go, and don’t run. Mack and John, will you both take a chair from the dinner-table for me and your Mammy to sit on. Beth, bring that comb. You’ll have to comb Dan and Hugh again."

Eventually they went down into the garden.

"Right Mrs. Sleanagh. Fine. That’s grand boys. You brought the chairs like I asked. What I had thought was that the bigger ones would stand at the back, with the wee ones at your feet in front. And you and Mr. Sleanagh would sit in the middle."

"As you like Mr. Grant. You know how these things are done. Just tell us how you want it, and we’ll go where you say." Beth was at her most compliant.

He took the chairs and placed them in front of the Greek classical backdrop, depicting a view of the Acropolis.

"Mr. Sleanagh, will you sit here, and will you sit there on the right Mrs. Sleanagh. If you’ll just keep the wee one on your knee, that’ll be the best."

Beth straightened Cath’s dress and smoothed the hair out of her eyes.

"She’s got your bonny red hair Mrs. Sleanagh. She’ll be the youngest? How old is she? Nearly two? I thought she was younger."

"Aye, she’s wee for her age," acknowledged Beth

"Right then. Who’s the oldest? That’s you, is it? What’s your name? Mack? You’re the image of your daddy. And how old are you? sixteen? Will you stand there at the back, behind your daddy?"

"Who’s next? What’s your name? You’re John. You’re more like your mammy. You stand there at the back next to Mack, between your mammy and your daddy. What age are you? fourteen?"

"And who’s next? And your name is? Ah, you’re Paddy are you? How old are you? Eleven. Who’s your teacher at St. Mary’s then? I bet you it’s Miss Grant. See. I told you. D’you know she’s my wee sister? Well, she is. D’you like her?"

"No! Don’t tell me." He laughed, before he could get an answer.

Cormac and Beth laughed with him. "Aye. They all like Miss Grant. They don’t like all the teachers. But, she’s one they do like."

"Right Paddy, you just stand next to John; behind your mammy. That’s fine. Right then, who’s next? Who’re you? Thomas? Right Thomas, you sit down here at the front, just beside your daddy’s feet. No, just a wee bit over to the side. No, the other way. Aye, that’s just right."

"Now, it’s time I had a lassie. I hope you’re next. What’s your name? Maggie? And how old are you? You’re five and a half. That’s a nice age. Will you sit there in the middle? Right there, between your mammy and daddy. That’s great. Now, I think you’re next. How old are you? You’re four? I think your name is Dan. Is it Dan?"

"Dan, tell Mr. Grant your name. Come on now. You’re not always this shy."

"Dan Sleanagh."

"Dan, would you come and sit here next to Maggie, in front of your mammy. That’s a good boy."

"Mr. Sleanagh. Would you like to take the youngest boy on your knee. That will make it a really nice balanced portrait. What’s he called?"

"This is Hugh, and he’s three and a half."

"Now, if everybody will look right into the lens here at the front of the camera. I’ll look through the wee window at the back here to see if you’re all nicely in the picture."

Euan Grant stuck his head under the black cloth which covered the camera.

"Good, that’s fine. Now nobody move." He came round to the front of the camera.

"Now, everybody keep really still while I take the cover off the lens. And don’t move till I put it back on again. Right, here we go. Give a big smile for the camera, ... Now! One, two, three, four, five, six." He covered the lens again.

"That was fine. That should give a real nice portrait Mr. Sleanagh. I’m sure you’re going to be pleased with it."

The family relaxed and the children came over to look at the camera.

"Boys. Please don’t touch the camera. You can look, if Mr. Grant says it’s all right. But I don’t want it broken. I haven’t the money to buy Mr. Grant a new one."

"Ah, it’ll be all right Mr. Sleanagh. There’s not much they can do to it. It’s a sturdy machine, though if they knocked the lens-cover off, it would ruin the photo I just took. I wouldn’t worry about the children. They’re probably some of the best behaved weans I’ve seen."

Beth preened. "Well, thank you Mr. Grant. We’re trying to bring them up to be young ladies and gentlemen."

"Your garden’s nice. That big tree will give a nice bit of shade on a hot day."

"Aye, it’s a pear tree. We think it must be more than a hundred years old."

"You must be real proud of that climbing-rose on the wall there, as well. It’s a beauty."

"We think that’s as old as the tree. Look at the thickness of the stem at the bottom there."

"My lord. That’s as thick as my arm. It must be at least that old."

"So, when will it be ready? And! What are you asking for it? I never even asked you when you were at the door last week."

"I charge a shilling for the photo. If you want it in a nice frame, I’m asking one and six. It’ll be the end of the week if you just want the photo, but it’ll be some time next week with the frame; probably Wednesday or Thursday. I usually ask sixpence for a deposit and the rest when I bring it round"

"We’ll have one with a nice frame, and one without. I’ll go and get your sixpence while you gather your things up. Mack and John, will you help Mr. Grant to pack up his equipment. And be careful. Listen to what he tells you. Paddy, bring that other chair back up to the house."

Cormac picked up a chair and went into the house.

*****

"Is everybody changed? Have you got the message-bag with the picnic Mammy? John, will you carry that for your mammy? Paddy, open the door and we’re away. Wait a minute there boys. Ladies first. Where’s your manners? Mack, you got the blankets to sit on? Right, I’ll close the door. Away you go the lot of you, on up the hill."

The Sleanagh clan walked the short distance up the hill to the big, white gates which were the entrance to the Rec.; the Recreation Park. The Rec. was the sports-ground owned by the Empire Cotton Mills Ltd. It was the former Garnock Estate, bought from the Bryce family after Sir Alex died thirty-some years previously. It was a favourite place for Kerlaw families to spend a day in the sun.

"Right, there’s my jacket. John, you get the empty message-bag, and that’ll be the other goal-post. Beth, give us your cardigan for a goal-post. Don’t be daft woman, it’s not cold. It’s July for God’s sake. No, we won’t get it dirty."

He turned back to the boys. "That wee tree there will be one goal-post and the cardigan will be the other. Right. Mack, John and Thomas; you’re on one side. Me and Paddy and Dan and Hugh are on the other side."

Cormac spun a coin. "Heads or tails? Tails. You lose. We’ll kick off. What way do you want to play? Down towards the big house? Right, come on our team, round this way. We’re going to win the cup. Hugh, come on over here. You’ll be the centre-forward. You’ve got to kick-off.

You lot be easy on the wee ones now, all right?" he whispered to the older boys.

"Aye, of course daddy. Right, we’re away," shouted John.

After half an hour, the older boys were winning ten - three and Cormac was out of breath. "I think it’s time we had that lemonade. What do you all say?"

They collected the goal-posts and trooped up to where Beth and the girls were sitting under the trees. They had brought books to read. Maggie, already at seven, was a great reader. Beth devoured penny-dreadfuls. Cath had dressed and undressed her doll three or four times in between picking wild flowers for Beth. Like the rest of the Sleanagh brood, she did not need entertaining. Maggie had set out the tumblers and, having seen them coming up the hill, was pouring lemonade.

"That was great fun," mumbled Mack through a mouthful of currant bun.

"Aye, so it was Daddy," said John. "We won the cup."

"That’s all right. We’ll win it the next time. We let you win today. Didn’t we our team? We weren’t really trying. You wait till the next time."

"Ah, you lot just can’t take a beating." The banter went back and forth.

Later, Beth and Cormac sat in the kitchen after getting the children off to bed.

"I’m fair tired out with all that football."

"I was exhausted just watching you." She waited a couple of minutes and then went on.

"D’you know what I did yesterday? I went and saw old McAuslin, the factor. Do you remember we got a letter from the mill last week saying we could buy the house?"

"I thought we said we weren’t going to do that. We haven’t got that kind of money. Only the doctor or the bank manager buy their houses. Working folk like us don’t."

"What if they sell it to somebody that’s going to want to come and live here themselves? Or to some old miser, who’ll only want his rent, and not do anything when there’s repairs needed?" Beth was persistent.

"Why on earth would they let us buy the house? They never sell property, and if they ever do, it’s to their friends. And it’s certainly never to us Catholics. We’d be getting ideas above our station."

"When the mill bought the estate after old Sir Alex Bryce died, they bought quite a few houses with it. This was one of the estate houses. Apparently, it was a gamekeeper lived here at some time. Anyhow, the mill doesn’t want the houses any more, and they’re going to sell them. Because we’re sitting tenants, the law says we’ve got first chance to buy it, before they can offer it to anybody else. How much do you think they want for it?"

"Don’t ask daft questions." Cormac was getting exasperated. "How the devil would I know the price of this house? It makes no difference in any case, for we haven’t the money to do it. Just forget it. If somebody buys it and wants to live here themselves, we’ll just have to move. We’ve moved before."

"I don’t want to leave this house. I’m really happy here." She looked over at him. He avoided her eye.

"They want 75 pounds for it."

"Where are we going to get 75 pounds?" he wanted to know." I suppose you think I’ve got it tucked away under the weans’ mattresses."

"Cormac, we can afford it. Would you not like to own your own house?"

"Where are we going to get 75 pounds from?" he asked again.

"I went to Watson the solicitors in Rodden St. after I talked to the factor. He said to go and talk to them. We’ll get it from the bank. The bank will loan us the money and we’ll pay it back over ten years at fourteen shillings a month. It’s called a mortgage."

"Aye, I know about mortgages. It was part of the book-keeping lessons. But they’re just for rich folk, not the likes of us."

"Why not? We’re just as able to have a mortgage as them. The bank will buy the house off the mill. We’ll get to live in it as long as we keep paying off the loan to them. And after we’ve paid back all the money we owe the bank, the bank’ll give us the house."

"Can we afford fourteen shillings a month?"

"That’s three shillings and sixpence a week. We’re paying two and six a week, rent, just now. That means we only need to find another shilling a week to pay the loan."

"Well, if you really think it’s all right? I mean, can we afford it? What’d happen if I lost my job and we couldn’t keep paying off the loan? We’d get thrown out in the street.

"You’re right. If you lost your job, we’d be in the same trouble anyway, even if we were just paying rent. Cormac. I’ve always dreamt of owning our own house. You know that. I never thought I’d see the day. Let’s do it. Let’s do it right away, before they change their minds. I don’t care what we have to do. We’re going to buy our own house."

"Well, if you’re sure we can afford it. You’re always the one that looks after the family money. But I hope to God we’re not making a mistake."

Cormac went to bed that night thinking, where the devil did she get all that stuff from. I used to think I was the one that made the decisions in this house.

Beth fell asleep with a smile.

*****

There was a crash followed by the tinkling of broken glass falling on the ground. It was a great shot, deserving to score, but just wide of the goal. The jackets forming the goal-posts, at the edge of the grassy patch behind the parish priest’s house, were swiftly scooped up by their owners fleeing in the direction of the school playground.

"That was you Thomas Sleanagh. You’ll get the belt."

"Aye, I ken. Don’t tell the teacher. My daddy’ll murder me. Nobody tell on me."

"Right Thomas, we’ll not tell." The pact was made.

The footballers were doubly at fault. The grass field behind the priest’s house was out of bounds. It was much better playing on grass than on the tarred playground of the school-yard, so it was a risk worth taking. The leather taws was a daily risk to which most boys were accustomed, even hardened. Breaking the priest’s window however, was of a different order altogether.

An hour later, Thomas was struggling with his addition. The door to the classroom opened. Mr. Grogan, the headmaster, came in with Father Boyle.

"Good afternoon Miss Brown. Good afternoon children."

"Good afternoon Father. Good afternoon sir." The children were well trained in their manners towards visiting dignitaries.

"Carry on with your sums, boys and girls, and keep quiet. No talking while Mr. Grogan and Father Boyle are in the room."

Every-one knew it would be about the window. The guilty eight looked at each other apprehensively. The headmaster and Father Boyle, stood talking to Miss Brown.

"Right children. Look this way please." The class put their pencils down and prepared to listen to the headmaster.

"At playtime, some boys were playing football in the field behind the parish house. Would the boys who were there, please stand up."

Thomas and his seven friends stood up.

"Well boys, you know that you’re not supposed to play outside the playground."

"Yes, sir," came the chorus.

"That’s the first rule you broke. You also broke a window in the priest’s house. That’s the second rule you broke." There was no reply.

"Father Boyle would like whoever did it to own up like a man. Would that boy please put his hand up."

No-one moved.

The boys were questioned one by one. All stuck to the story told by the first. "I wasn’t watching sir. I don’t know who it was that kicked the ball."

"I think it would be right for whoever broke the window to own up. Breaking a window is not a sin. It’s just a mistake. Playing in the field when you’re not supposed to is the sin of disobedience. Not owning up, is the sin of telling a lie, which is a grievous sin in the eyes of God." Father Boyle was at his most sonorous. The boys were not impressed.

"All right boys, you may sit down,"

The three adults conferred. "They’ll not tell tales on one another. We’ll have to find out from other children. Others must have been there. We’ll ask the other classes whether they saw anything."

The two men left, and Miss Brown continued with the lesson.

In class five, Eddy McGeough, a well-known clype, told them he had seen Thomas Sleanagh take the fatal kick. Thomas was duly summoned to the headmaster’s office, where he continued to maintain his innocence, confident in the continued support of his pals.

Cormac was a strict father, who never struck the children. They feared his displeasure, not his belt. Punishments, while not corporal, were severe. It was an agreement Cormac and Beth had made when they got married. Cormac’s father, Hugh, had beaten him and his brother Harry fearfully as boys. Cormac swore his children would never go through that.

Thomas was given a letter to take home to his parents. In it the headmaster pointed out that the police would be involved if the matter was not resolved. Cormac questioned the boy, who again, reiterated his innocence. Cormac, knowing his children, believed Thomas and supported his position.

The following day, Cormac was shown into the headmaster’s office.

"Mr. Grogan, I know my boy. I trust him to tell the truth. I’ve taught him to be truthful. I believe him. The McGeough boy could have made a mistake. And he’s the only one who saw anything."

"Mr. Sleanagh, Father Boyle is convinced that Thomas broke that window, and if he does not confess, to it, the matter will be put in the hands of the police."

"Look, Mr. Grogan. This is not really very sensible. It’s only some wee boys who’ve broken a window. At the end of the day, they’re all guilty. Which ever boy had the last kick is irrelevant. Any of them could have done it at any time. It was just bad luck on who ever actually took that kick. Give them all a suitable punishment for being where they shouldn’t have been.

What does a new pane of glass cost? This is getting out of all proportion. We all know what boys are like. They’re scared of authority. They think they’re going to get sent to an approved school, or get their backsides tanned. They cannot see things like this for what it is. This is a big thing to them. Why don’t we do this? There are eight boys involved. I know all their fathers. If we all club together and pay for the new window, that’ll be the end of it. Let me go and talk to them. I’m sure they’ll agree to it. It’s all just a bit of boyish mischief."

"That might seem a reasonable solution to you Mr. Sleanagh. I must confess, I don’t like the children getting the better of authority by telling lies. But leave it with me, and I’ll talk to Father Boyle. I’ll send a letter with the boy, when I know something."

The following evening Cormac answered a knock at the door. When he saw Constable Farley, he knew what had happened.

Containing his anger he said, "Constable, good evening. I think I know why you’re here. Come in." The policeman took off his cap and stepped into the passage. "Come through into the room here. Sit down there. I’ll get the boy."

"I’d rather talk to you alone Mr. Sleanagh, if you don’t mind."

"I’m sorry, but it’s about the boy, and if we’re going to discuss the matter, then the boy will be there to hear what’s being said. I’ll be back in a minute." He went to get Thomas from the back-kitchen.

"All right Constable, what’s it all about. I thought I had sorted this all out at the school. They said they were going to let me know what they thought about my idea for solving this piece of nonsense."

"There has been a complaint made against your son, Mr. Sleanagh, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask him some questions. Is that all right?"

"Before you start, can I ask him a single question?"

"Go ahead."

"Thomas, did you break that window? You know I’ve never taken a strap to any of you. I’m not going to start now. Now, I want to know the truth. There will be a punishment, but you know it will be one you can live with. Did you break that window? I got up to mischief when I was your age, and I got my backside tanned for it. But I didn’t die of it. It was sore but, I’m still here. I don’t care about the old window. I just don’t want our good name being dragged through the mud. Now did you or didn’t you?"

The boy began to cry. "It was me Daddy. I did do it. I was feart to tell anybody. I’m sorry. I’m awful sorry." He came over to where Cormac was standing and put his arms round his waist.

"I’m sorry Daddy." The tears streamed down his wee cheeks.

Cormac held him at arms length. "It’s all right son. It’s all right. Away you go through to your mammy in the kitchen and I’ll take care of things now."

"Constable, I thought I knew my own son. To my knowledge, that’s the first time he’s lied to me. I’ll tell Father Boyle in the morning that I’ll pay all the costs of repairing the window. I hope that that will be the end of this whole business."

"I’m afraid that it’s not that simple. There has been a formal charge of causing damage to property brought against the boy. We cannot just forget that. I’m afraid, he’s going to have to appear before the Juvenile Court to answer the charge."

"Are you telling me that my own parish priest brought a charge against my six year-old son for breaking a window that’s going to cost five shillings to repair?"

"I’m afraid that’s the size of it." Cormac could see the amusement in the eyes of the constable, whom he knew to be in the Lodge.

"Thank you Constable. I’ll wait to hear when the boy needs to go to court. I’ll show you out."

*****

"Thomas, you embarrassed not just me, but the whole family. The whole town is laughing at us. The only thing worth having in this world, is your good name. The worst thing you can do to make me mad is to have us made a laughing stock. So. You will not get out to play for a week. You will not get to sit up beside the fire for a week. And you’ll get no pudding, cakes, biscuits or sweets for a week either."

"I’m awful sorry Daddy."

"Let this be a lesson to you. I’m awful angry with you. Away you go, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep out of my way for a while."

"Cormac, that’s awful hard on the boy. It’s three punishments for one mistake."

"Beth, I’ll thank you not to interfere. We agreed that we would not disagree in front of the children, especially if it was about the children."

"All right. But I still think it’s awful hard on the child."

"That’s enough Beth. We’ll talk about this later."

"You’re right. We will."

"All right Thomas, away you go to your bed. Good night."

"Good night Daddy. Good night Mammy." The boy passed in front of Cormac and kissed Beth on the cheek.

"Good night wee son. Sleep well."

When the boy had gone, Beth put down her knitting. "I don’t like the punishments you gave him. The poor child makes a mistake, and because he hurts your precious, good name, you treat him extra harshly. I’m not happy with the way you dealt with him."

"Look, I meant what I said. Please never interfere when I’m chastising any of them. I don’t interfere when you’re doing it. If you have something to say about things, say them when we’re alone. Family honour is very important. If we don’t have our good name, we’re nothing. And the boy didn’t just make one mistake. He broke the window. That was the first. He shouldn’t have been in the priest’s field. That’s two. He told a lie, and repeated it for days. That’s three. And now I’ve got to show up in court, - again. That made me really happy. No, I let him off lightly, believe me."

Beth picked up her knitting. "As you like. But I don’t like it."

"What about a cup of tea?"

"You know where the kettle is. I’m knitting. Set a cup for me too."

Cormac posted a letter enclosing a postal-order for five shillings to the parish house. He never saw the inside of a Catholic church again, except for christenings, weddings and funerals.

Four weeks later, in the Juvenile Court, Thomas was fined two shillings by Mr. Gourlay, the Justice of the Peace, son of the Sheriff, who had jailed Cormac eleven years earlier.

*****

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