The Aul’ Man

"Uncle Corm?" It was a brisk afternoon towards the end of April. Phillip Wilson was fourteen and big for his age. He had Cormac’s black hair and brown eyes, but his looks were Maisie’s. He and Cormac were walking along the esplanade in Helensburgh. Kilmarnock were playing St. Johnston away in Perth. The sun had brought several of the big yachts out to enjoy the stiff breeze on the Clyde.

"What is it Phillip?"

"Look at that big one with the red sails. Isn’t it a beauty."

"Aye, it is that. It’ll have cost a few pounds, that one."

"I’m going to have one like that when I grow up."

"I hope so. But you’ll have to work awful hard to get enough money to buy one as big as that, my son."

They walked on for a few minutes in silence, watching the boats.

"Am I your son?"

"What a question to ask. Why did you ask that all of a sudden?"

"If you’re not my daddy, where is he then? Everybody else has a mammy and a daddy. I’ve only got my mammy. Nobody ever talks about my daddy. You and mammy act like my mammy and daddy. You are, aren’t you?"

Christ, now what do I say? I’m not going to lie to the boy, but what will Maisie say? I wish to God, I had discussed this with her the way I meant to do. I was going to say something a dozen times, but never seemed to get round to it. He stopped. Turning to face the boy, he took him by the shoulders.

"Aye, my son. You’re my wee boy. Your mother and me should have told you before this, but I kept putting it off. Aye, I’m your daddy."

"And Ellen’s too?"

"Aye. And Ellen’s too."

"I’m glad you’re my daddy. I always wanted you to be my daddy." The boy turned and started to walk on.

"Can I call you Dad now, instead of Uncle Corm?"

"We’ll talk to your mother when we get home. We’ll have to ask her what she wants. It’s not just that easy."

"Why’s it not easy?"

Cormac sighed. "Mammies and daddies are supposed to be married son. Your mammy and I aren’t."

The boy thought for a while. "Why not?"

"Here. Let’s sit down on this seat for a minute. You see, your mammy and I knew each other a long time ago. I went away, and we didn’t see each other for years. While I was away, I met another lady and I married her."

"Have you got other boys and girls?"

Jesus. Maisie’s going to murder me for this. "Aye I have six wee boys and two wee lassies."

"Are they my brothers and sisters?"

"They are. They’re your half brothers and sisters."

"What’s that?"

"Well Ellen’s your full sister because you both have the same mammy and daddy. My other children have a different mammy, so they’re your half brothers and sisters."

"Can I see them?"

"No son, we can’t do that; not just yet. Maybe later."

With trepidation, Cormac walked into the kitchen at Clyde View. Maisie was washing the dinner things in the sink.

"Come through to the living-room Maisie. Phillip and me want to talk to you. Where’s Ellen?"

"Ellen’s along at Joyce Morrison’s playing with Rina. What’s up?"

"Come on through; grown-up talk."

Maisie put her hand to her cheek which got covered in suds from the sink. Their eyes met. Cormac nodded. They went next door and sat down by the fire.

"I knew it for a long time Mammy."

"How did you know?" Maisie was not sure if she was pleased, relieved or angry.

The boy reddened. "Ach, I just knew."

"I think he means that he found out where babies come from," said Cormac with a grin. The boy reddened some more.

"Aye, something like that," he muttered.

"Well. What do we do now?" Maisie wanted to know.

"I don’t think we need to do anything, except tell Ellen," Cormac said.

"Why don’t you go up the road and get her son. Don’t tell her anything. Just say that we all need to talk about something important and she’s got to come home straight away."

"Aye. All right, - Dad." Cormac smiled. The boy ran out.

"Are you angry? He asked me straight to my face, and I wasn’t going to lie to him."

"No, I’m not angry. I’m glad. I’ve been waiting for months now for them asking about it. I think I’m relieved. They had to be told at some stage. I didn’t know how to tell them. They’re growing up and they’re not daft."

"That’s for sure. They’re grand weans. They’re as clever as anything. I’m that proud of them."

Ellen came in with Phillip.

"Come and sit down Ellen. I’ve got something to tell you."

"Uncle Corm’s my daddy. I know. I’ve known for donkeys."

There was a stunned silence. A precocious child, Ellen could have been Maggie’s twin. With brown hair and eyes, and sharp features, she would never be a beauty.

"How did you know that?" They looked at Phillip.

"I never said a word. Honest."

"Och, you all think I’m daft. Jeanette McAlpine told me. She heard her mammy and daddy talking about it."

Cormac looked at Maisie, who at first looked shocked. Then, realising that they had been fooling themselves about their relationship and its supposed secrecy, she took a fit of the giggles. She began to laugh. Her shoulders shook, her eyes streamed. Cormac’s grin broadened to a laugh too. Soon all four were laughing, their arms around each other.

"They all think I’m a scarlet woman in any case; have done for years by the sound of it. I don’t care. If they don’t like it, they can do the other thing."

Uncle Corm became Daddy.

The following Monday, Beth found a ticket from Glasgow Central station to Helensburgh. She had got out of the habit of searching his coat pockets for tickets some years previously. Having found none for several years, she assumed that there had been an innocent explanation or that any illicit behaviour had ceased.

Beth determined to confront him with it, but unable to face the possibility of confirmation of her suspicions, did nothing. She resumed her search of his coat pockets after away games, and tried as subtly as she could to catch him on his accounts of irregularities she read about in the papers about crowd-trouble, accidents and such-like. Her suspicions festered.

*****

"I’d better be getting up the road, otherwise I’ll get no tea." Cormac put his empty glass on the bar at the Bowling club.

"You fit for the final next week then, Cormac?"

"Aye, Beth’s cleared the place on the sideboard where the Drummond Trophy’s going to sit."

"Well, I don’t know about that. Bert Guthrie’ll make you work for it. And he’s been playing well the last couple of weeks."

"We'll see. I’ve beaten him twice, once last season, and again this March. No, I fancy my chances. Put your money on Sleanagh." He laughed and, straightening his cap, opened the door and left.

Outside in the street, as he closed the gate to the bowling club, Greg Barclay caught up with him.

"Walking up towards the Cross? I’ll walk with you." Barclay hefted the bag containing his bowls.

"You’ll be catching the new bus back to Irvine. It’s a grand service. I remember when I was at the Fullarton Institute for the book-keeping lessons, I had to take the bike. It was murder in the winter."

What the devil does he want, Cormac thought, as Barclay fell into step beside him. He never wants anything to do with us Catholics.

"Aye, it makes all the difference. It’s a lot better than the train."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes.

"Remember I bumped into you in Helensbugh a while back? You were with your sister-in-law."

Cormac felt the adrenaline prickle his cheeks. "What about it?"

"You don’t have a sister-in-law by the name of Wilson."

"Her name’s not Wilson. Where did you get that idea from?"

"You introduced her as Wilson."

"You’re mistaken. I don’t have a sister-in-law called Wilson."

"I know you don’t. You have two; one’s Carty and the other’s Urquart."

"That’s right."

"So which one was with you in Helensburgh?"

"That was years ago; before the war. I don’t remember any more."

Barclay took the guest-house leaflet from his pocket. "That’s the woman you were with. And I saw you and her and them weans going into that house. I went back later and got this from her."

Casting his mind back to the incident, seven years previously, which he thought had been forgotten by every-one, he cursed his stupidity for introducing Maisie as his sister-in-law.

"You’re wrong about her being my sister-in-law. I remember going to Helensburgh. There had been a match at Dumbarton, and I was too late to get in, so I took the train on to Helensburgh and had an afternoon on the esplanade. I seem to remember going into that hotel for a pint, and getting on talking with the owner and going for a walk with her and the weans."

"Bollocks. It’s not a hotel, it’s a guest-house." Barclay pointed to the leaflet. "Residents bar. You couldn’t have got a drink there. It’s only for residents. And anyway, I saw them weans. They’re Sleanaghs. They’re yours. She’s your fancy-woman, and she’s had a couple of bairns from you."

Cormac tried to laugh. "Don’t be daft. Where would I find the time and how would I have the chance to have a fancy-women away in Helensburgh?"

"I don’t know. But I know I’m right. You bloody sanctimonious Papists, always looking down your bloody noses at the rest of us. Well, I’ll tell you. You’re not going to win that cup next week. If you do, I’ll be round the same night with this bit of paper to show that holy wife of yours. Me and a few mates have quite a bit of money on Bert, and you’re going to see that he wins."

"You’re off your head."

"Well, we’ll see. Just you make sure Bert Guthrie wins next Saturday." Barclay crossed the road and walked off on the other side.

*****

The silver rose-bowl donated by Lex Drummond, a local businessman, stood on the table on the veranda of the club-house. Cormac and Bert in their white flannels and trilbies walked past it down the steps onto the green. The crowd applauded. Bert won the toss and rolled the jack down the rink.

They went into the last end all square. Cormac stood up to the mat. Bert had the jack covered and stood two bowls ahead. Cormac had a deep bowl at the rear of the rink in case he needed to take the jack out. With the last bowl of the match, Cormac tried to knock Bert’s bowl, sitting in front of the jack, and the jack itself, to the back of the rink next to his own bowl. He powered the bowl straight down the middle. The bowl whizzed past Bert’s and landed in the ditch.

Cormac turned to shake Bert’s hand.

"Well done Bert. A good game. Congratulations."

"Aye, you gave me a run for my money. It was a good game." As Bert turned to the veranda to acknowledge the applause, Cormac knew he had not tried to hit that last bowl. He would have done it, the bastard, he thought as he smiled at Bert and waved to the crowd.

Tom Drummond, Lex’s son, stepped forward to present the trophy.

Later, Barclay found Cormac on his way to the toilet.

"You left it awful late Sleanagh. I thought for a minute there, that you were going to win it."

"I was trying my damndest. If you think I deliberately lost, you’re out of your mind. Now go to hell and leave me in peace."

*****

Thomas threw his school-bag in the dust-bin. The lid was thrown on top with a clang.

"That’s me finished with the school. Boy, am I glad I don’t have to go back there."

Beth laughed. "You’ll wish you were back at the school as soon as you start working. Then you’ll realise that school was just one big holiday."

"No I won’t. I hated school. Nothing can be as bad as that. I don’t care what kind of rotten boss I get, it could never be as bad as school."

"Well, we’ll see. So, what are you going to do? Where are you going to get a job?"

"I’m going to see Mr. McCready at the county-yard on Monday. My da spoke to him last week. He says they’re needing labourers on the roads. I’ll like that. I hated being stuck inside at the school. I like to be out in the fresh air."

"That fresh air can get awful cold and wet in the winter, son. And it can be awful heavy work on the roads as well."

"I don’t care. I’m used to the weather. Sure, I never feel the cold. I never wear a coat or a scarf. And I’m no’ feart of hard work."

Three days later, on a scorching July day, Thomas came home with the news that he would start the following Monday as a labourer on the gang that maintained the Ayrshire county roads.

*****

"Daddy, what’s a Black and Tan?" Cormac was reading the evening paper. He looked up.

"They’re part of the Irish police, Hugh. What do you want to know that for?"

"Some of the boys at school were talking about them. They were saying that they’re hunting down and torturing and killing the Irish."

"Well son, they’re certainly not being nice to them. The British can’t get enough policemen in Ireland, so they’ve got ex-soldiers from England to do their dirty work. They’re being awful bad to our people over there."

"Were our Mack and John Black and Tans?"

"Of course they weren’t. What in God’s name put that into your head?"

"Oh nothing. I was just wondering."

"Away you go out to play, and stop worrying about Black and Tans. You’re far too young for that. You’ll have plenty of time when you’re older, to start wondering about that sort of thing."

Cormac returned to his paper.

"Dirty Black and Tan. Hugh Sleanagh’s a dirty Black and Tan."

"I am not. My daddy told me what Black and Tans are, and I’m not one. They’re policemen in Ireland."

"No, but your two dirty brothers were. They were in the English Army. They went and fought for the dirty English."

"They fought against the Germans, and our John got wounded."

"It doesn’t matter who they fought against. They were dirty English soldiers. They were Black and Tans, and the Black and Tans are killing the Irish."

Terry Collins and Ronny Devanney were Hugh’s classmates. They were twelve years old and all were in the top class at St. Mary’s primary school. Mrs. Robertson was their teacher. Terry and Ronny’s older brothers were leading lights in the Gaelic Association and staunch Celtic supporters. That they, nor any of their family, ever attended Mass on Sundays, did not detract from their Catholicness. The prejudices of the older brothers, were being passed on to the receptive, untutored minds of their younger siblings.

It was ten past four on Tuesday afternoon. In two weeks, the summer holidays would begin. It was a warm June afternoon, and seven or eight boys were on their way home from school through the Rec. The two radicals, bolstered by their mutual support, and reinforced by the lack of resistance from the others, began to pull and push at Hugh, who was a gentle, unaggressive soul. The pushing and shoving became more rough and violent.

"Black and Tan. Black and Tan. Hugh Sleanagh’s a Black and Tan. His dirty brothers were dirty Black and Tans."

They grabbed hold of his jacket and pulled it over his head, pushing him to the ground. Hugh fell down. He felt the kicks and punches to his ribs. His Catholic upbringing, was to love your enemies and turn the other cheek. Now, for the first time, he felt the pain of the victim.

Fuck this, he thought. They’re calling my big brothers traitors and they’re kicking me in the ribs. I’ll forgive them tomorrow, but I’m not having this. If I stay lying here like this, they’ll kill me.

He lashed out at his attackers.

A few minutes later, Hugh’s red mist cleared and he saw Terry and Ronny running down the hill towards the Station Road. His knuckles were bruised and he had a bloody nose. He looked round at his other classmates who were standing looking at him. His jacket was on the ground behind them. He moved towards them to pick it up. They scattered before him.

"It wasn’t us Hugh. We didn’t hit you."

Hugh ignored them and picked up his jacket. He walked up the hill and went home.

"Hugh Sleanagh, what have you been up to?"

"Nothing Mammy. I fell down coming up through the Rec."

"I don’t believe a word of it. What have you been up to?"

"Nothing. I tripped."

Beth, knowing she wasn’t going to get anything out of him said, "Come into the kitchen till I get you cleaned up. It must have been a heck of a fall to have bled your nose like that."

"I was running Mammy. I fell down real hard."

*****

On Thursday evening Hugh brought a letter home from school. Padraig Grogan, the headmaster had been approached by Terry’s and Ronny’s parents. Their boys had been the victims of a vicious and unprovoked attack by Hugh Sleanagh on Tuesday afternoon in the Rec. Hugh had been punished with six strokes on his hands with a Lochgelly leather taws.

Cormac read the letter. It took him but a few minutes to discover what the true version of events was. The Black and Tan questions of the previous week made everything clear.

"Mr. Grogan, good afternoon." Cormac had taken an extended lunch-break to discuss the matter with the headmaster. "I got your letter. I am very angry that you punished the boy. I’ve talked to him about it, and it seems to me that the Collins and Devanney boys got what was coming to them."

"And how do you make that out?"

Cormac explained the story that Hugh had told him.

"That’s not what the Collins and Devanney boys say."

"Right, tell me what their story is."

"According to them, Hugh attacked them for no reason."

"Mr. Grogan, you’ve been a headmaster for a good number of years. When was the last time you had an example of a single boy attacking two other boys, for absolutely no reason?"

"I received a complaint from two sets of parents about an attack by your son on their children. Both boys were injured in the attack. I am duty bound to investigate it."

"Did you ask Hugh for his version of the affair?"

"I, ... No, I did not. I found that a complaint from two sets of parents, who both gave the same account of events was enough reason to accept that as the truth."

"So you only listened to one side of the case, and then punished the boy without even talking to him?"

"I did speak to the boy."

"And what did you say to him?"

"I told him about the complaint and that I was going to punish him for what he had done."

"And you find that just?"

"I am the headmaster of this school, and I must see that discipline is upheld."

"I’m the father of six boys. I’ve seen them getting into all sorts of scrapes with all sorts of excuses. The one thing I know, is that there is no such thing as an unprovoked attack. Now, normally I’d be quite prepared to accept that Hugh was partly at fault for what has happened. But, from what the child has told me, the other two have been bullying him for weeks. The fight happened when the other two had Hugh on the ground and were kicking him. Have you asked the other boys who were present what they saw?"

"What other boys? There were no other boys present."

"When Thomas broke the window a few years ago, the first thing you did was to interrogate the whole damned school to get at the truth."

"I’ll thank you not to take that tone of voice with me. As headmaster of this school, I am a person of authority and, as such, deserving of respect."

"Look, you have just assaulted my son. You did it without any process of investigation into the matter."

Cormac gave him the names of the other boys who were there. Grogan became very quiet.

"I would like you to assemble all the boys concerned. You and I will question them about what happened."

"I cannot do that. I cannot question pupils in the presence of outsiders without their parents being present."

Cormac thought for a moment.

"I accept that. On reflection, I would be most upset if you questioned Hugh in front of other parents without me being there. I suggest that you ask the other boys for their side of the story. I expect to hear from you after you have done that. Good day to you."

Cormac went home.

*****

"Danny, what the hell are your lads up to. Do you know that the Collinses and Devanneys are giving me a pain in the neck."

"I heard something about it Cormac?"

Cormac was in O’Sullivan’s having a pint. By no coincidence, he had found the company of Danny Taggart.

"You know what I think about what you’re doing as the president of the Gaelic Association spreading bigotry and prejudice. Now it’s affecting me and my family, I’m angry. You know I’ve always kept out of the politics of it. The fact that I’ve got a problem with it now, because my twelve year-old boy has been dragged into it, makes me really angry. Now, do me a favour. Get the Collinses and Devanneys to tell the school what really happened."

"Did you not know that your lads were round to see them tonight?"

Cormac looked at him. "What happened?"

"I think they’ve already decided to withdraw their complaint."

"Oh Holy Christ. The daft buggers. I’ll wring their bloody necks. They never told me."

"Away home Cormac. It’s all been sorted out."

He put his half-finished beer on the bar and left the pub.

Cormac slammed the front-door behind him and strode into the kitchen at number 37.

"Where are they all?"

"They’re all down in the pub. At least that’s where they said they were going."

"I’ve just come up from the pub, and they’re not in there. Who’s them all?"

"Mack, John, Paddy and Thomas, why?"

"Damn that Grogan. If the boys end up in jail, I’ll kill him. I mean it. I’ll break his fucking neck."

Beth was so shocked at his anger, she did not object to the strong language.

"What’s wrong?"

"They’ve gone to have it out with the Collins and Devanney lot. I’m away down to the Foundry Row. That’s where they’ll be."

An hour later he came back. "I can’t find them anywhere. They’re not in the Foundry Row. I’ve looked in all the pubs in the town. I even went into the police station. There’s been no disturbance in the town. Where are they?"

He sat down and stared into the flames in the hearth. He was still staring into them an hour later when the boys noisily came home.

"Where the hell have you been? What have you all been up to? Are you all right?"

"Aye. Why wouldn’t we be all right? We’ve been in the Saracen Head with the Collinses and Devanneys. We’ve had a right good night."

"The Saracen Head? It’s the only damned place I never looked in. What were you doing in that dump?"

"That’s where they drink. We went to have a few pints with them. What’s wrong with that?"

"What’s wrong with that? I’ve been sitting here worrying myself to bloody death, wondering where you were. Danny Taggart told me you had been down to have it out with them. I thought you were all in the bloody jail."

"Ah, see, there you are Aul’-man. You’re not the only one in the family with a bit of influence around the town. You forget that we were in the same class as the Collins twins, Tam and Eric, and wee Pat Devanney. We went to talk to our old school pals. They were very friendly."

"Aye, that’s right John. So they were; after we threatened to shove their teeth down their throats." Thomas was somewhat the worse for wear, after six pints of beer. Neither were the others too steady on their feet.

"Shut up Thomas. It was all very civilised among old friends."

Cormac’s anxiety collapsed like a burst football.

"I’ll skin the lot of you. You’ve taken twenty years off my life tonight. Never, - ever, do anything like this again. D’you hear?"

John put an arm round Cormac’s shoulder.

"Easy there, Aul’-man. We can take care of ourselves. And we’re just as ready as you, to stand up for the family when it’s needed. Young Hugh there has a couple of big brothers who’re well able to make sure he’s not going to get shit on."

"John Sleanagh, I will not have that language in this house." Beth could not hide her grin.

"Where is the wee bugger? He stiffened the pair of them. He’s a credit to us all. If he can stand up to the scruff and defend the family name when they’re calling his big brothers names, then the least his big brothers can do is to stand up for him when he gets into trouble for it. Is that not right?"

"Go and get me a whisky. I need a wee dram; - I need a big dram." Beth fetched him a large glass of Bell’s. Everybody found a chair to sit on.

"Eamon Collins and Johnny Devanney want to see you in the White Hart tomorrow at eight o’clock to buy you a couple of pints. Young Terry and Ronny have had their backsides warmed. They’ve got to go and see Grogan on Monday morning to tell him it was their fault and that Hugh wasn’t to blame."

"Pour me another Bell’s there, Paddy. Beth, we’ve raised a bunch of wild men. May God forgive us."

*****

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