The Aul’ Man
"Father Michael, come in. I wasn’t expecting anybody. How
are you doing?"
"Ah, sure I’m in good form. Didn’t the Celtic beat the
Rangers on Saturday. I was there myself in the stand. A grand game; a grand
game."
"Will you be stopping for a cup of tea, or there’s
something cold out the back?"
"That would be grand. I’ve got a throat like the Sahara
with this heat."
" Sit down there. I’ll get a couple of bottles from the pantry." John
returned with two bottles of beer. He produced glasses from the sideboard
and sat down opposite the priest.
"Eileen’s away out. This is her bridge night."
"I know. It’s you I wanted to talk to."
"What’s on your mind?"
Father Michael poured beer into his glass. "It’s a mite
delicate, and something I’ll need you to promise to keep between ourselves,
no matter what happens."
"Serious then?"
"Very. Couldn’t be more serious."
"Well, let’s hear it then. You have my word; I’ll keep it
to myself."
"It could be dangerous, John. No, not could, it will be
dangerous. Even just knowing about it could be dangerous."
"Well, by the sound of things you haven’t come here
lightly, so tell me what it is. If I don’t like it, I’ll say no, and we’ll
stay good friends."
"I need some-one to do me a huge favour. Actually to do a
cousin of mine a favour. To be honest, it’s the IRA that needs the favour."
"Jesus Michael. I didn’t have you down as an IRA man."
"I’m not. Well, only in a very small way. I pass them
information when I think I have something interesting to tell. My uncle is
Chris Erskine, one of de Valera’s team, and my cousin is Tom O’Hara, and
he’s Erskine’s nephew as well. It was Tom that shot Sir Alexander Steele,
the head of the auxiliaries, after the Custom House fire. As you know, the
Brits have a country-wide police-alert out for him.
"Bloody hell. And you want me to get involved in that?"
Michael O’Hara spread his hands.
"Is that all you can say?"
The priest clasped his hands. "I need some-one to help us
get the man out of Ireland and away to America. Because he’s Erskine’s
nephew, the Brits want to put on the mother and father of show trials to
discredit the Republican Army. Michael Collins has made it clear that that
is not going to happen."
"So what do you need me to do?"
"We’ve got him booked on the SS Columbia leaving Glasgow
in a couple of weeks for Boston. We’ve got a passport for him in a different
name. All we need is a place for him to stay for a couple of days till the
boat sails. I hoped you could hide him above the shop in the store-room."
"Well, I’m in this far. What would the actual plan be?
Will I have any say in how it will work?"
"The plan is that he’ll be dropped from a fishing boat out
of Larne at Porten Cross at night. He’ll stay hidden there till the
morning, and then I’ll collect him and bring him to the shop the next
morning. If you could make some kind of secret corner behind some boxes or
that, he could hide in there till we take him to Glasgow. He’ll only be
there for two nights at the most."
"Where the devil is Porten Cross?"
"It’s a wee harbour just north of West Kilbride. It hasn’t
been used in years. Now and then they use it to bring in potatoes from
Ireland, but that’s only at the end of the autumn. It’s deserted, and
there’s only a couple of houses out there."
"How do you know about it?"
"I didn’t know about it. They told me about it. I’ve a
notion they’ve used it before."
"How are you going to get from Porten Cross to Kerlaw?"
"Bikes. I thought that you and me would cycle out there
the day before and hide one of the bikes there and come back together on the
other bike with one of us on the back step. I’ll cycle out the next day and
him and me will cycle back here."
"Have you got a bike? I haven’t. I haven’t ridden a bike
since I was a boy. I’m not sure I can still ride one."
"Nonsense. It’s something you never forget." And I’ll get
a bike from somewhere for you."
"I’ll have to make sure that there’s only me in the shop
when he arrives. I’ll have to get rid of Mack and Paddy somehow."
"So, you’ll do it then?"
"I didn’t say that. I’ll have to think about it. Haven’t
they got other folk who have done this kind of thing before?"
"I’m sure they have, but I think they’re afraid that they
might be being watched. They want somebody completely new that they’re
certain isn’t being watched."
"Christ Michael, you’re not making this any easier. When
is he due to get here?"
"Next Wednesday night."
"So he’ll be here on Thursday. And if I say no, what are
you going to do?"
Again, Father Michael spread his hands.
"What happens if we get caught?"
The hands spread wider.
"You know that the family keeps well away from all the
politics."
"I’m using you John. That’s what politics does. They’re
using me and I’m using you. It’s a filthy, dirty business. We abuse our
friendships to achieve our ends. I could appeal to your Irish heritage.
That’s what they normally do. I don’t think you’d be particularly impressed.
I came to you because I know I can trust you, either to help, or to keep
your mouth shut if you don’t.
John went to the sideboard. He produced a bottle of Bells
and two glasses. "Jesus. I need a whisky. Are you having one?" Without
waiting for an answer, he poured two large ones.
"Here." He sat back down. He took a large swallow and
swirled the rest of the spirit around in the glass. Father Michael watched
him. The clock on the sideboard whirred and chimed the quarter hour.
"Damn you for a bloody Irishman."
"Then you’ll do it?"
"What the hell else can I do? I believe in the cause. I
don’t believe in the violence. It’s against all my better judgement, but
somebody’s got to do something. We can’t always leave it to the other poor
bastard, can we?"
Father Michael finished his whisky and stood up. "I’ll be
in touch when I know some more. I’ll see myself out."
*****
John swung the boxes about. He cleared the furthest corner
of the store-room and created a space big enough for a man to lie down. He
built the boxes up again to conceal the space created.
"Christ. Haven’t sweated this much in years." He grinned
to himself. He had a couple of Bells in the Popinjay and went home. Earlier
in the afternoon, he and Father Michael had cycled to Porten Cross and left
the second bike in the undergrowth. He slept soundly for the first time
since he had spoken to the priest.
"Right you lot. It’s Thursday, and it’s quiet. I want the
pair of you to take a walk down to Seabank and have a look round the town.
I’m thinking of opening a new shop there. I’ve been looking myself, but I
want to know what you think. Is there room for another grocers in the town?
Is there any shops that look likely candidates? Is anybody on the point of
closing down? And are they in a good spot for a grocers? I’ll look after the
place here. Take the afternoon off and have a stroll around. Have a couple
of pints and watch the women. Seriously. I’ve been thinking about this for a
while. See what you think. I’ll see the pair of you in the morning."
Paddy and Mack looked at each other. "Are you taking the
mickey?"
"No. I’m dead serious. After your dinner, away down and
see what you think. It’s decent weather. At first I was going to wait till
it was pouring, but seeing yous’re family, I’ll let youse go in the
sunshine."
Seeing they were still not convinced, he said "Look, I am
serious. The business here is going well, and in a year or that, I should
have enough put by to put down a deposit on another shop. We’re only getting
in each other’s road here when it’s not busy. Make use of the time. I’m
serious."
John opened the shop after lunch at two o’clock. Seamus
Rafferty came in.
Christ, not now Seamus, he thought. Seamus was seventy,
retired with time on his hands and always looking for company.
"You needing something today Seamus?"
"No, not really; just doing the rounds. Wanted to see how
the Sleanaghs are doing today. Where are the rest of them? Isn’t it a grand
day."
"They’re away collecting some stuff for me, and I’m
counting the stock in the store, so I haven’t any time. Drop by tomorrow and
I’ll put the kettle on and we can have a good old blether."
"I’ve got nothing else to do. Why don’t I help you count
it?"
"No, that wouldn’t work Seamus. I’ve got my own system,
and I need to be on my own to get it done. I can do it faster that way.
Thanks, but I’ve got to get on. I’ll see you tomorrow."
"I used to be a good counter John. I worked in the mill,
in the shed. It was my job to collect the finished bobbins and put them into
the boxes. We had to count the right-sized bobbins into the boxes and then
count the boxes and give that through to the charge-hand so that he could
tell the office how many bobbins there were. I was real good at it. I could
be a good help. I’d like to help, and I’ve got nothing else to do."
"Seamus, please. I’m busy and need to get on. I haven’t
got the time. I need to get this done before tonight. Why don’t you go up to
Tam Robertson’s. He’ll have the kettle on. Be a good man and away up the road."
"Let me give you a hand John. I mean it. I was really good
at counting the stock. We’ll get it done in half the time if we do it
together."
"Seamus, please go away. I haven’t got time for you
today."
"I’ll count and you can write it down. I was never great
at the writing, but I was good at the counting. I’m telling you. It’ll take
us no time at all."
He started to come round behind the counter to go into the
store-room.
John took him by the elbow. "Can’t you see I want to do
this on my own? Now be a good man and leave me to get on with it." John
steered him towards the door, gently but firmly.
"All right, all right. I can take a hint. I know when I’m
not wanted. With the others away, you’ll be wanting to keep the place to
yourself so’s you can make up to the womenfolk that comes in."
"You bloody old fool. That’s enough." He pushed the old
man into the street and closed the door. His hands were shaking.
John looked at his watch. It was quarter past two. He made
a cup of tea. A few women came in for things they had forgotten that
morning. He looked at his watch; twenty-five to three. He opened the door
and stood out on the pavement.
The afternoon dragged by. At ten to five Mrs. Northcote
was leaving and Father Michael passed her in the door.
"Good afternoon Father Michael."
"Good afternoon Mrs. Northcote. It’s a fine day." She
turned up towards the Cross.
"Where the hell have you been? I was expecting you more
than two hours ago. Where’s O’Hara?"
"He’s across the road watching for me to tell him it’s all
right to come in. I came over to make sure the shop was empty."
"Right, get him in before somebody else comes." The priest
waved from the door.
A small man appeared with a Vandyke beard and crooked,
round spectacles askew on his nose. He looks like a poet, John thought. His
left arm hung loosely by his side, and he had a bruise on the left side of
his face.
"Jesus Christ. What the hell happened to him?"
"He can’t ride a bicycle. I spent an hour trying to teach
him before we set off. Halfway here, he falls off and breaks his bloody arm.
We’ve walked most of the way here."
"Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty. No wonder our poor country’s
in the state it’s in. Get him up the stair."
"Get in there." John pointed gruffly to the space behind
the boxes. O’Hara got in and lay down. John put the boxes in place around
him.
Downstairs, he asked the priest, "Has he had anything to
eat?"
"I took some sandwiches and a pint of milk with me this
morning."
"When was that?"
"About half past ten."
John filled the kettle and spooned tea into the tea-pot.
He made some ham sandwiches while the water boiled. O’Hara accepted them in
silence.
"Are you all right?"
"I doubt it. I’ll need a doctor. I cannot travel to
America like this. It ‘s very painful. I think it’s not a simple fracture."
"Bloody wonderful."
John returned to the priest downstairs. They drank their
tea.
"Now what do we do? He needs a doctor."
"Would Dr. McGrath be prepared to help us and keep it to
himself?"
"He might. Who else is there?"
"Dr. McGrath’s the only Catholic doctor in the area. Apart
from him, the only medical type I know is Christy Donnelly, and he’s a vet."
"A broken leg’s a broken leg. If he can fix one on a dog,
he’ll be able to fix one on a man. D’you know him well? I can’t remember any
Donnellys in the parish."
"Lapsed Catholics. Not your type of folk. His old man left
them and went off with a younger woman. The family stopped going to church
after that. Him and me were in the same class. He’s in West Kilbride these
days. I see him now and again."
"Would he help? Could we trust him?"
"Oh, I’ve a feeling we could trust him. It was a prod that
stole his father. He hates them, and he’s a hell of a Republican."
"Can you get in touch with him? What would we have to tell
him?"
"You can tell Christy the truth. He’d be happy to help. If
I’m not mistaken, he’d be more than happy to get involved with the
Republican movement. I’ll get on that bike and go and see him tonight.
Christ, the things I let myself get talked into. Why, in God’s name, did you
not check that he could ride a damned bike first?"
It was a clean break, but the ends were out of alignment.
Christy had to manipulate them back together. O’Hara made no sound. Both men
were soaked in sweat at the finish. Christy had thought to bring plaster of
Paris, and the arm was set in a cast.
"Thank God somebody’s using their brains," John muttered
when he saw Christy putting the plaster in his bag.
Mack was due to open the shop on Friday morning. John
swapped opening-days with him and Fr. Michael took O’Hara away at
quarter to seven.
"Good luck." John shook his hand. They walked off towards
the Cross.
*****
"You’ll be going to the funeral in the kirk again I
suppose?"
"I will. It’ll be in the Barony Church in Seabank. It
won’t be as big an affair as Ian Russel’s. Tam Warnock wasn’t an elder or
anything like that, but he came from a church-going family. And don’t you
give me any lectures about me going to pay my respects to an old work-mate.
I had enough last time. Tam was my foreman for years and he was a good man.
And I’ll take no grief from any damned priests this time either."
"No, I liked Tom too. I’d like to pay my respects to Lizzy,
but you know I can’t go. I’ll see her myself later. She’ll understand. I
don’t know why you can’t do the same. You’ve always got to make everything
such a matter of principle."
"I know Beth. It’s not your fault. It’s the damned
churches and kirks that make it so damned difficult for us to exist decently
with our friends and neighbours. Iron a clean shirt for me. It’s Thursday
morning at eleven o’clock. The ones that are going are getting time off for
it. Right, I’m going down to the pub for a pint."
Cormac was enjoying his second pint when the noise-level
dipped for a second. The White Hart was a Catholic house. There was no
restriction on other persuasions but normally, like kept to like. A strange
face had come in, enough to cause conversation to pause.
Greg Barclay stood up to the bar and was served. Catching
Cormac’s eye, he nodded, and drank his beer.
Thinking, what does Barclay want here tonight, he turned
back to his company and rejoined the conversation.
Barclay were waiting for him as he left.
"Nice night Cormac."
"What brings you to Kerlaw?"
"Oh, just a change of scenery." He fell into step and they
walked up the hill.
"I hope you’re not thinking of going to the funeral on
Thursday."
"I’ll be there. You’ll be talking about Tam Warnock?"
"Aye, Tam Warnock’s. And you won’t be there. We’re not
having you insulting us again at a Protestant funeral the way you did
at Mr. Russel’s. You see that you stay away, or I’ll be round to see your wife."
"Go to hell Barclay. Tam was a good friend, and I’ll be
paying my respects to Lizzy."
"Suit yourself, but you know what will happen. Cheerio."
And he walked off in the direction of the station.
Cormac slept little that night, his mind grinding his
worry finer and finer.
Let him tell her. He can’t prove anything. Beth would
never believe him anyway; – she might; - at least she’d become suspicious.
It would make it almost impossible to get out to Helensburgh. She’d be
watching every move I made. What would folk think? I don’t care about what
folk think. I couldn’t let this happen to Beth, - and the family, - and the
business. He’s bluffing. I’m not going to give in to him. He’s a nasty
bugger. He’d just be the one to do it. He’s got nothing to lose. He hates us
Catholics. He’d get a lot of pleasure out of doing it to me, - and to the
Catholics. What does an advertisement for a guest-house prove? Nobody saw me
there but him. It’s his word against mine. What’s Beth going to do; go out
to Helensburgh and visit her? She’s very likely to do just that. She’d see
that Phillip and Ellen were mine in a minute.
On Thursday morning Cormac left for work as normal,
intending to attend the funeral. Cycling through Seabank, he was overcome by
a deep, undefineable dread. To escape, he pedalled harder and harder till,
with his throat raw from the exertion, he had to stop to be sick. He rode on
to the yard, where he told Charles Hutchinson that he was too ill to stay at
work and had to go home. He cycled home and went to bed.
He wrote a note to Tam’s widow, expressing his condolences
and making his excuses for not being there.
*****
"I’m away down to the shop. Are you needing anything while
I’m down the street?"
It was Saturday morning. The April sun was struggling
through the tail-end of a Scottish spring storm. The hills of Arran were
peeking through the squall scurrying up the firth, white horses chasing
after it. Cormac was pulling on his shoes.
"Don’t think so. Dan’s down there with the shopping-list.
I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. Just a minute while I finish this,
and I’ll come with you."
Beth gave the top of the dresser a last wipe, put
the duster back in the press and turned to watch him tying his laces.
At 54, though small, but always erect, his full head of
hair now streaked with distinguished grey, he was a handsome man. She was
awful proud of him, and loved to walk down the street, arm-in-arm with him.
She pinned her hat on and inspected her shoes. She gave them a quick rub
with the shoe-duster from the cupboard in the passage, put on her coat,
checked her hat, and she was ready.
"Have you seen my hand-bag?"
"It’ll be where you left it."
"I put it on the dresser there when I came in this
morning."
"Well, it’ll still be there on the dresser."
"It’s not there."
"Beth, you leave everything lying at your backside.
Nothing is ever in the same place twice in this house. Now, come on. Hurry up. If
you can’t find it, we’ll go without it. What do you need it for anyway?"
"I can’t go down the street without a hand-bag." Beth
searched the kitchen for the bag.
"Where were you this morning with your bag?"
"I was next door at Elsie Baraclough’s."
"What did you need your bag for if you were only going
next door?"
"Aye, you’re right. I didn’t have it with me."
"When was the last time you had it?"
"How do I know? Where is that thing?"
"You probably haven’t had it since you came home from
devotions on Thursday night."
"Aye, that’s right. Now what did I do with it when I came
home?"
Cormac went through into the living-room. The bag was on
top of the glass-fronted cabinet. He returned to the kitchen.
"Here woman. It was on the cabinet where you left it."
"How did it get there? I never went into the room on
Thursday night."
"You did. I was in there with Arthur Farrell from the
bowling. You came in to ask how Jean was."
"That’s right, so I did. I must have left it there then."
"For goodness sake Beth, come on. I haven’t got all day to
spend looking for your hand-bag. Now you’ve got it, let’s get a move on."
"Just a minute. I need to see whether my purse is in here.
No, it’s not. Now what did I do with it?"
"If you don’t come now, I’m away down to the shop without
you."
"No, wait a minute. I know what I did with it. It’s in the
press beside the milk-money." She went to the cupboard and took the purse
from the top shelf.
"See, I knew it was there. Right I’m ready. Come on then,
if you’re coming. What are you standing there for?"
Cormac opened the front door for her. He closed it behind
them with an exasperated grunt. As they turned left to go down the hill, she
took his arm.
"Mrs. Beck, Andy." Cormac tipped his cap to a neighbour
and his wife.
"Hello Irene. Hello Andrew. It’s clearing up fine. I think
it’ll be nice this afternoon." Beth added her greetings.
"Mrs. Sleanagh, Cormac. Aye, the Thistle should get it dry
for the cup-tie, this afternoon. I hope they beat the Winton, but I have my
doubts. The Winton’s got a strong team this season."
"Them and their football. How’s your Terrence? Did I hear
it was the chicken-pox?"
"Oh, it was, but he’s fine again. Eating like a horse.
He’ll be back at the school next week."
"I’m glad to hear it. Well, we’ll be getting on then.
Cheerio."
Beth took Cormac’s arm again. On down the hill, turn left
into Rodden Street and a couple of hundred yards down on the right-hand side
was Sleanagh’s Stores. Three young men in crisp, white coats stood behind
the mahogany-topped counter. John was fulfilling his promise to take all
Bain’s customers for the treatment he got when he worked for him.
"Will that be all then, Mistress Reilly? Right then,
That’ll be three shillings and tuppence to you. Would you like the boy to
bring it up the hill for you? Right you are ma’am. Hugh will bring it up in
about an hour. A very good day to you."
"And who’s next? Miss McGregor. How are you today? How’s
your brother? I heard he was out of the hospital. That was a terrible thing
to happen. Tell him we’re all asking for him. Hugh, pull over that
chair there for Miss McGregor. Here. Hang your stick over the rail there.
Now, ma’am. What’ll it be today? The ham’s fresh. Opened it this morning.
Just the thing for your tea tomorrow.
Hugh, take that order for Mrs. Reilly through the back and
put it beside the other deliveries. Make sure you put her name on it. Do you
know where she lives? Lockard Road, seventeen; on the corner.
Sorry Miss McGregor. Will I slice two ounces of the ham
for you?"
John waved at his parents who had come in.
Cormac and Beth walked past the waiting customers to the
back-shop, where there was always a kettle on the gas for a cup of fresh
tea. Mack and Paddy waved over too, then got back to serving their
customers. Maggie was in the back weighing tea and sugar into paper bags to
be ready for handing across the counter when asked for; red for tea and blue
for sugar. Hugh was loading the deliveries into the basket of the
carrier-bike. Cath was setting out cups and biscuits for their morning tea.
Only Thomas was missing, He had kept his job with the county.
As expected, the kettle was singing on the gas. Cormac and
Beth took great pride in the success of the family enterprise.
It might have been John’s shop, but it was the family
business.
*****
more next week top
