The Aul’ Man

"Mr. Sleanagh, good morning. Mr French asked me to ask you to go in and see him when you came in."

"All right Betty, I’ll wait over there."

"I’ll tell him you’re here."

"John, come in. Sit ye down. I’ve been looking at your account. Got it here in front of me. Have you noticed the size of your overdraft recently?"

"Aye," said John. "I have, and I’ll tell you. I’m less happy than you are."

"It’s nearly seven hundred and fifty pounds. It’s nearly three week’s takings for all three shops. You’ve ran that up in five weeks. If the strike goes on for another five weeks, as it looks likely to do, you’re going to have a debt to the bank of more than six week’s turnover. I can’t let you do that John."

"I’m good for it. And once the strike’s finished, I’ll have it cleared within three to six months."

"How are you good for it John? You have no other accounts with this bank with that much in the black. Unless you’ve got something tucked under the mattress, I’m going to have to cap you at a thousand pounds, which would be four week’s turnover. I’m very sorry. I know why you’re in this situation, but I cannot finance your philanthropy with the bank’s money."

"Is there anything we can do? I know this will turn out well. I’m even hoping that it will be good for future business when this all gets settled."

"Well, if you had a house with a bit of equity in it, you could offer that as surety, but you’re in a rented house."

"I’ll get back to you."

"Bye, then. I’ll wait to hear from you."

John shook French’s hand on the way out.

*****

"What do you say Beth?"

"We’ll do it. Of course we’ll do it. I wouldn’t think of doing anything else. John, you go and tell the bank you can use this house to back up your loan. You’re right. I know you’re right." She nodded her head in conviction.

The papers were drawn up the following day. Cormac and the Bank Manager signed them and the secretary witnessed them. Cormac handed over the title deeds.

"I hope the pair of you know something that I don’t know," said Gerry French.

"I don’t Gerry, but I wish to Christ I did."

"Good luck John. You deserve it. As a businessman, I think you’re foolish, but as a human being, I take my hat off to you." He turned to Cormac. "And that goes for you too sir. It’s an honour to shake your hand." He turned back to John. "For God’s sake be careful John." He showed them out.

Out in the street, John headed for the Popinjay. "I need a Bell’s."

"I think that’s a good plan. I could use one too." It was Friday the thirteenth of January 1929.

The Union recommended acceptance of the wage-cut the following Wednesday. There was a vote and the men, women and girls went back to their machines the following Monday.

It was September before John and Cormac could go down to the bank and get the title deeds back. Gerry French signed off the document certifying full restitution of the liability. Cormac pocketed the title deeds.

"I’m pleased this all worked out well."

"So are we Gerry. Thanks for your help."

"John, if it had gone differently, I could have been presiding over your parents being put out of their house right now."

"I know, but that’s business. You win some, you lose some."

Father and son left the bank. John headed straight across the road.

"The Popinjay’s open. Come on, I’ll buy you a Jameson’s."

"Aye, I think I deserve it."

*****

"There’s another fifty pounds John. That only leaves us with twenty five to pay. I should have that for you next month."

"That’s all right Colin. We’ll call it quits at that."

"That’s mighty generous of you. You know that that means we can be a bit more generous with our help now. We’ve been paring things to the bone, to pay you back."

"That was daft. You shouldn’t have done that. If I’d have known, I’d have told you to take it easy. Here, take half of that back. That’s us clear." John pushed five fivers back into Colin Walsh’s hand.

"The Society appreciates this John. You’ve always been good to us. As president of the St. Vincent de Paul, I’ve wanted to ask you to join for a long time now. Why don’t you go the whole hog and become a member?"

"Me, you must be joking. I haven’t the time to go visiting folk at nights. Leave me to drop you a few quid now and again. That’ll be my good deed."

"The visits don’t take that long; half an hour at the outside. Anyway, it’s for another reason now. We need a Treasurer; somebody to look after the money. Benny McKeating’s getting past it. He’s asked me to find somebody to take over from him. You’re a businessman. You know how these things work. If you don’t feel comfortable doing visits, you don’t need to. We do like members to visit. That’s really the most important part. The financial-charity side, while more practical, is less important than the spiritual benefit of spending time with them that need a bit of company and support, more than them that need financial assistance."

"I’ll think about it."

"That’s fine. I’ll see you at Mass. Let me know when you make up your mind."

The following Sunday, John and Colin walked home together from ten o’clock Mass.

"I’m not sure this is right for me. I’ve never been particularly religious. I’ve never been one for running up to the Church every five minutes and twice on Sunday. I leave that to Eileen and my mother."

"We don’t like the Holy Willies. They give us a bad name. You’ll fit in fine. You probably think you know everybody in the SVDP. You’d be surprised at how many keep in the background and don’t let on to anybody. I hope you’ll decide to join. We can use the likes of you."

"Can I come to a meeting to see what it’s all about and then make up my mind. I told Eileen. My mother and her are dead keen on me joining. They think it’ll be good for my soul."

"So it will be. We’re meeting at Benny McKeating’s at eight o’clock on Tuesday night. You know where he lives?"

"Aye, he’s in Castle Avenue, isn’t he?"

"That’s right, number eight."

"Right I’ll come round on Tuesday night. Do I need to bring my rosary-beads?"

"You won’t get in without them. It’s the secret sign. It’s our handshake."

John laughed. "All right, I’ll see you on Tuesday night."

"What’s this Cath was telling me; you’re the new treasurer of the St. Vincent de Paul?" Cormac took a pull at his Jamesons. He and John were sitting in the back kitchen.

"Benny McKeating’s standing down next week, and they’ve asked me to take it over. Colin Walsh asked me to do it back in August when I joined at first, so it’s no big surprise."

"Well, you certainly kept it to yourself."

"No point in telling everybody. They’ll find out soon enough. None of their business anyhow."

"I suppose you’re right. Should I congratulate you?"

"Not bloody likely. It just means more work. As if I haven’t enough to do as it is." John laughed, clinked glasses with his father and took a swig of his Bells.

*****

"You’re late. It’s nearly eight o’clock. If you want a cup of tea, you’ll have to put the kettle on yourself. I cleared the table nearly an hour ago." Beth was folding her ironing.

John lifted the kettle and filled it at the sink.

"Dunlop’s building’s on fire," he said over his shoulder. "I’ve been down there watching. There must be a hundred folk in the Crow Market. There are four or five fire-engines. They must have come from as far away as Kilmarnock. Did you not hear anything? If you look out the back window there, you can see the glow."

"Mother of God. Has anybody been hurt?"

"Never heard anything. The place is well-alight though. Both the upstairs floors are on fire. It just started to break through the roof when I left to come up the road. There’ll be nothing left. It’s too far gone. They’ll never save it now. The wind’s blowing the sparks over onto the church, so they’re keeping the roof wet with hoses."

"Please God, I hope the church doesn’t catch fire. And those poor families. They’ll have lost everything. Do the Evanses not live there?"

"Aye. Tommy and Iris are on the top floor at the Crow Market end. There are two closes, with the ground and two floors. That means there must be twelve houses in the building. It’s a big building."

"Where’s my Da?"

"Oh, he’s away to the bowling club. There’s some meeting or other."

"Do you want a cup Mother?"

"That’ll be grand John. I’ll just put these shirts in the drawer, and I’ll put out the cups. I thought Eileen and the children were coming up tonight as well."

"Sorry, did she not say? Frances has a temperature and a bit of a cough. She’s keeping her in the house for a day or two."

"Oh that’s too bad. And I was looking forward to seeing them."

"Ach Mother, you see them practically every day. You’ll not die of loneliness for a couple of days without them."

"I know, but, I like having them about me. I need to know they’re there. I hardly see Paddy these days. Since he joined the Labour Party after the strike, he seems to spend all his spare time down at the Labour Club. I sometimes wonder whether he just joined to get into the bar there."

"Don’t you believe it. He’s the shining light there. He’ll be on the Town Council at the next election. You wait and see. Anyway, there’s half a hundred other Sleanaghs to keep you amused."

"I know, but there’s nothing wrong in wanting to enjoy the whole family?"

A cold draught blew through from the passage as the front-door opened.

"Dunlop’s building’s on fire. You can see the glow from Seabank."

"We know. I was down there ten minutes ago. I might’ve known you’d appear. I’ve just put the kettle on." John put his arm round Cath.

"You’re cold. Take your coat off and sit up to the fire. Mother, have you got another cup there for Cath? Where have you been?"

"Legion of Mary. I always go to the Legion on a Saturday night. You know that."

"Right. I wasn’t thinking."

"I wish we had a church-hall of our own in the parish. It’s an awful trek down to Seabank every week for our meetings."

"One thing at a time. We’re still paying off the costs of building the new church."

"That’s nearly paid now. There’s only a thousand pounds left to pay. Monsignor Friel says we’ll have it paid within two or three years. They’re talking about building a hall as soon as it’s paid off."

"That’s typical. As soon as one debt’s paid off, they’re going to land us in another. It’s all very well for them, but it’s us that got to pay for it every time." John lowered the gas under the kettle which had begun to sing.

"It’s all right for you; you and your St. Vincent de Paul. You lot just meet in each-other’s houses."

"Well. Why doesn’t the Legion do the same?"

"We need to be at the church."

"If we can say our rosaries in the living-room, why can’t you?"

"It’s not the same."

"Right, it’s your own choice then, so stop moaning about it."

"Aye, I suppose you’re right. But it’ll still be nice to have our own hall."

Misk Lane was off the Crow Market. Dunlop’s building was on the opposite side of the lane from the Catholic church. It stood as a derelict, burned-out ruin for more than a year. Old Norry Dunlop, who owned it, was a childless widower approaching eighty. He died exactly ten months to the day after the fire. His niece, and only surviving relative, Roberta, had married and moved to Birmingham. She put the business of disposing of the property in the hands of Watson’s the Solicitors.

"The Dunlop building plot’s for sale."

"Where did you hear that?"

"When the old man died, he left it to his niece in Birmingham. She doesn’t want anything to do with it. The insurance has finally been settled and now she just wants to sell it. She’s asked us to take care of it for her. Mr. Watson asked me to check out the title deeds this afternoon."

It was Friday evening and most of the Sleanaghs were in number 37 for the weekly conclave of tea and gossip.

"D’you know that would be a perfect site for the Church-hall. It’s right next to the church. Monsignor Friel was telling us at the legion of Mary meeting just last week, that the church is all but paid off, and they’re starting to think seriously about building a hall."

"I wonder what they’ll be asking for it. It’ll cost a few bob. It’s a good site; just off the Cross. It might interest the Co-op. They could get all their departments under one roof there. It’s on the wrong side of the Cross for a shop though. All the plans for building houses are on this side of the town." John was thinking of the competition that might bring.

"Why don’t you buy it then, if it’s such a good site?"

"Far too big for me, Paddy. Cath might be right, you know. It might be just the place for the hall."

*****

"Have you no boiled potatoes? I never eat chips."

"Certainly sir. I’ll get some from the kitchen."

"Thanks very much."

"D’you not like chips John?"

"Chips are for the plebs. They’re infra-dig; no class."

"I like chips; nothing wrong with them."

"Sorry Brian, present company excepted of course. I just think too many people eat the damned things. It’s chips with everything these days. You can’t get a decent meal with honest boiled potatoes any more. I suppose it’s just my pet hate. No offence."

"John Sleanagh. What are you like? Dan and Nell aren’t married ten minutes and already you’re insulting her brother."

"Aye, I suppose you’re right Cath. It wasn’t very diplomatic, but Brian knew what I meant. Didn’t you Brian."

"No problem John."

"It’s a lovely hotel. The meal’s gorgeous. I think it’s the nicest wedding I’ve been to."

"Well, Cath. You see, our Nell’s the only daughter, and she’s my Dad’s favourite. Nothing’s good enough for her. We think he’s probably mortgaged the house, sold the family silver and taken on a paper-round in the mornings to pay for this wedding. We’ve all been pulling his leg about it. The whole inheritance has been blown on a big fancy wedding for Nell, and there’s going to be nothing left for the rest of us."

"That’s a terrible thing to say Brian," said Cath, laughing and choking on a mouthful of fish. "Now that’s just like something you would hear in our house. Sometimes, I’m really ashamed of the Sleanaghs. If you lot have the same warped sense of humour as us, Dan and Nell will get on fine."

"You speak for yourself, Cath Sleanagh. We Sleanaghs have got nothing to be ashamed of." Maggie lifted her glass of wine, her little finger lifted at just the right angle.

"Maggie, you wouldn’t know a sense of humour, warped or otherwise, if you tripped over it."

"John, for goodness sake. You know my name is Margaret. I wish you’d all stop calling me Maggie. It’s so common."

Winding Maggie up was one of the great sports in the Sleanagh family. She always rose to the bait. John and Cath were merciless. Brian recognised the ploy and winked at Cath. The teasing went on throughout the rest of the meal and the coffee. Maggie, determinedly trying to maintain her dignity, became steadily more pompous.

Ian Higgins, Dan’s best-man, tapped his glass with a spoon to ask for silence.

"Reverend Father, bride and groom, bridesmaids, ladies and gentlemen; it is my great pleasure to be here today to say a few words about my best friend Dan Sleanagh on the occasion of his wedding to his beautiful Nell."

Ian warmed to his task, to Dan’s embarrassment.

Maggie drank her coffee, still with her little finger cocked at an appropriate angle. Cath stirred hers slowly. The service in the Claremont Hotel in East Kilbride was top class, as witnessed by the piping-hot coffee that was being served. As Maggie, raised her cup to her mouth, Cath took her spoon from the hot coffee and laid it on the back of Maggie’s other hand.

"...and, as Dan’s getting off the tram, the clippie says to him, ..."

CRASH.

Maggie looked round in mortification, as the remains of her coffee-cup and its contents spread over the table in front of her. Two waiters rushed over to mop up the spilled coffee.

John was having difficulty containing his laughter. The hot-spoon trick was his invention. Ian picked up the thread of his anecdote with some difficulty. The rest of the speech was cut short as he went directly to thanking the bridesmaids for decorating the ceremony with their presence.

After the tables were cleared away, the dance began. Ian, as best-man, had arranged a three-man dance-band; piano, accordion and drums. The band-leader called the bride and groom to lead off the proceedings. Enthusiastic dancers, the Sleanagh’s followed them onto the floor in short order. For the next hour and a half, the band earned its money.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The orchestra will be taking a short break for some refreshments. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes."

The band-leader’s sally about his orchestra, was greeted with good-natured jeers as they walked off in the direction of the bar.

"Did Patrick, bring his fiddle?"

"Aye. Paddy? Where’s Paddy?"

Paddy was dug out of the bar and pulled to the small stage in the corner.

When the trio returned, they sat in behind him and became a quartet. The sweat poured off them as Paddy led them into ever faster jigs, strathspeys and reels. The floor was crowded. Every hour or so, the band retired to the bar to refuel. At the end of the night, none were sober and the music suffered.

No-one noticed.

*****

"Mrs. Farrell, Mr. Farrell. Thanks for giving them such a lovely wedding. You did them really proud. Please, don’t be strangers. It would be nice if we could meet for the day in Glasgow now and then. I love Glasgow. It’s only an hour in the train for us. How far is it from East Kilbride? Less than half an hour? That’s not far at all."

"Beth. Can I call you Beth? Call me Janice. I would like that too. Your Dan’s such a nice boy. All your family are nice. Our Nell is lucky to have found him. She was awfully flighty when she was younger. You should have seen some of the boyfriends she had. I was scared to death she would end up with some really tiresome chap. I didn’t want her to go to London to work, but my Kenneth put his foot down. He can be so masterful at times. ‘Let the girl live her own life and make her own mistakes,’ he said. ‘If she makes her bed, she’ll have to lie in it,’ he said. And then she met your Dan, and now they’re married. I’m really pleased. They make a lovely couple. They’re such a good match, don’t you think so?"

Janice Farrell had drunk too many sherries. The accent was affected middle-class, but the pronunciation was distinctly slurred. Beth had been more circumspect. Though the champagne at the start of the reception had gone to her head, she had drunk nothing but tea afterwards.

The Sleanagh clan had hired Stewart’s coach for the day. Fergus Stewart was a pal of John’s.

"Every-one seems to be a pal of John’s, these days," remarked Cath when John told them he had arranged it. Nevertheless, it was the perfect solution. East Kilbride, was miles away.

"That was a grand wedding." Beth snuggled up to Cormac in the bus.

"Aye, you broke your record today; five of them."

"Five what?"

"Handkerchiefs."

"Och, leave me alone. It’s how I enjoy weddings. What’s the time?"

"It’s gone twelve o’clock. It’s not all that late to be leaving a wedding. Mind you, I enjoyed myself. I’m glad we’re not staying on till the wee hours. I cannot be doing with that any more. We’re getting old lassie."

"You speak for yourself, Aul’-man. I still feel like a young slip of a thing. If you’re getting old, I’ll have to find myself a younger man. What did you think of Nell’s folk?"

"To be honest, I didn’t think a lot of him. Kept trying to impress me with the important job he has."

"What does he do?"

"Book-keeper."

"Did he not know, that’s what you are?"

"Don’t know. He never asked me and I never made him any the wiser."

Beth chuckled. "She was an awful snob, with her fancy accent. Tehrribleh Kelvinsaaide’," she drawled, in a perfect take-off of Janice’s drunken slur. "Can I call you Beth, Beth? If I can call you Janice, Janice."

"You’re tiddly."

"I am not." She snuggled even closer to him. Within five minutes, she was sleeping soundly with his arm around her.

John came and sat next to him on the opposite side of the aisle.

"So, did you enjoy yourself Aul’-man?"

"I did. It was a grand do. Nell’s folk didn’t scrimp on it, did they?"

"No, they certainly didn’t."

"Well that’s the last of you. All of you have flown the coop now."

"We’ve still got one left to marry off. Cath’s still not flown away yet."

Cormac looked round to see where Cath was sitting. She was right at the back.

"I don’t think your sister is going to marry, John. I’ve got a feeling in my bones that she’s not the marrying type. I hope she does, but I’ve my doubts. What about you? Did you enjoy it?"

"I did. It was a bit flashy for my liking, but Maggie enjoyed it. It was right up her street. When them waiters came round with the champagne at the start, I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Couldn’t wait to taste it. Didn’t fancy it myself. Give me a glass of whisky any time."

"Where’s Eileen?" a voice shouted through the hubbub.

"Give us a song Eileen." Several voices took up the cry.

"Aye, give us a song Eileen. Sing Vermio for us," Cormac called.

"All right Daddy Sleanagh." The bus became still.

"Vermio, oh roh van oh,

Vermio, oh roh van ee

Vermio, oh roh oh

Sad am I, without thee."

Her dark brown contralto drifted through the silence.

After four verses, the bus slept.

*****

chapter twenty-two    top