The Aul’ Man

"Come in. Come in. It’s bitter out there." Maggie and the children arrived at number 37 for Christmas dinner.

"Hurry up. In you go, the lot of you, out of the cold. Merry Christmas, Mammy. Oh, close that door. That wind would cut you in half. Right, you Dorians. Go and hang your things up in the back- kitchen."

Maggie gave her mother a hug. "Here, take that bag. It’s the presents for under the tree." She passed the four children coming down the passage, coatless and hatless, as they piled into the living-room.

"Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas." Shortly, Maggie followed them into the room. "Merry Christmas everybody."

"Maggie, come over here to the fire. You look absolutely frozen."

"Thanks, LizAnn. It’s bitter out there. It really is. Hello Daddy. Merry Christmas. What did Santa bring you? Socks and handkerchiefs? Get away. I don’t believe you. There’s more coming," she said, laughing, pointing at the contents of the shopping-bag being stacked under the tree.

"Aye, I was afraid of that."

It was Christmas Day, 1943. Maggie and the children were the last to arrive. It was a quarter past two. Beth had been in the kitchen since nine o’clock.

The whole clan were there. Exceptions were Hugh, somewhere in Italy, and Mack and Ann in Carlingford. John’s son, JayJay, was in the Navy, somewhere in the north Atlantic. Barney Dorian was in the RAF. Maggie had hoped Barney would have been given leave, but it was not to be. Bernard, Kathleen, and the twins, Mary and Frances, would have to spend a fourth Christmas without their father.

"Barney didn’t get up from Biggin Hill then. That’s a shame Maggie. I bet all them bloody English got leave, and all the Scots got duty over Christmas. It’s bloody typical of them."

"Paddy, mind your language in front of the children."

"Aye, sorry Maggie. But I can get fair worked up about it. That’s three years on the trot that Barney’s never got home to see his family at Christmas. It’s not good enough. You’d think that they’d let him home at least once in three years. It’s a damned scandal, so it is. Sorry Maggie, but there’s no other words for it.

Larry, away and get me a bottle of McEwans, there’s a good man. If you can’t look after your father at Christmas-time, it’s a sad state of affairs."

"Aye, ok Da. Anybody else need anything while I’m through in the back-kitchen?"

An immediate chorus of requests were made.

"Frank, come and help me. I’ll never remember all this. Who’s got a bit of paper? The two young men made a list and went to get the refreshments.

Cormac was sitting next to John and Paddy by the fire. "Have you heard anything about the two boys? They’ve both turned eighteen. We can expect their call-up papers any day now," he whispered.

"No, nothing for Frank yet," John whispered back. Eileen looked over. She knew what they were whispering about.

"Larry neither," said Paddy.

"Have you heard from JayJay recently?"

"We had a letter from him last week for Christmas," said John. "It was sent via B.F P.O. in Nova Scotia, so he’s still on the Atlantic convoys by the sound of things. When he was here on leave in July, he was on a Corvette. The bloody thing’s not much bigger than a rowing-boat according to him. He’s a gunner on the anti-aircraft guns.

According to the papers, the damned U-boats are nearly done for. They’re not such a danger any more since they’ve got them long-range planes that can get out into the middle of the Atlantic to help out our lads on the ships. But you never know what lies they’re telling us. Nearly everything you read in the papers these days is more for Hitler’s consumption than ours. Still, I hope this time, they’re not kidding us."

"Right girls. Here’s your lemonade. Who was the orangeade and who was the cream-soda?" Larry was carrying the tray and Frank was handing the drinks round.

"Mine was orangeade," said Rosie, reaching for the glass from her brother.

"And I was the cream-soda," said Dierdre.

They were cousins but could have been twins. Dierdre, Paddy’s daughter, was the older. Both were beauties; redheads with fair skins and green eyes. Dierdre had turned fifteen a month ago and Rosie, the image of Eileen, her mother but with her father John’s dimpled chin would not be fifteen for another two months. They sat in the corner listening to Bing Crosby on the BBC Light Programme.

"Right young Colin. Were you the whisky, or was that Granda Sleanagh’s?" Colin was Frank and Larry’s junior by three years. Like his father, Hugh, he was a quiet boy, unlike the brash extroversion of Frank and Larry. He accepted the teasing with a grin.

"No. You keep the whisky for Granda. I’ll just have the cream-soda like Dierdre." Colin’s lack of reaction to their teasing caused them more irritation than they ever hoped to excite in him.

Three days after New Year, Frank and Larry both received instructions to report to Maryhill Barracks in Glasgow on the 17th January.

Both young men were sent to Stirling Castle for initial training and assessment. After six weeks, Frank was posted to Spean Bridge in Argyllshire, where he received commando- and parachute-training. Larry was posted to the Black Watch and spent the following five months being trained in sea-borne assault tactics in the south of England.

Frank, at five feet eleven inches and fourteen stone, had played junior rugby for the West of Scotland. This, and the natural assertiveness absorbed from his father John, made him a prime candidate for the elite corps of the Commando Regiment. Besides his commando-training, he specialised as a radio-operator.

*****

"Right you men, listen to what I’ve got to say."

Frank Sleanagh and his pal Alec Brown straightened up in their bucket seats where they had been trying to doze off.

Major Blacklock of the King’s Own Scottish Borderers shouted over the roar of the engines, at the men sitting in two lines along the sides of the four-engined Stirling bomber. Being towed behind them were two Horsa gliders. All three aircraft were filled with Paratroop Commandos en route to the Ginkelse Heath near Wolfheze, five miles north-west of Arnhem in The Netherlands.

They were part of Operation Market Garden, whose objective was to capture the Rhine bridge in that city to enable the Allied armies to cross over into the Ruhr industrial area of Germany. The aircraft bucked and rolled in the slipstreams of the other aircraft in front of them. The major clung to the fuselage ribs on either side of him to stay on his feet.

"Our objective is to take and hold the landing area for the First Polish Brigade, who are following us in tomorrow. Colonel Frost’s men should be already at the bridge. They went in yesterday. General Sosabowski’s Poles will be moving up to re-enforce Frost and secure it. So we want to make sure that they’ve got a safe place to land. We don’t expect any serious resistance, but we cannot be sure. So be ready for anything when we go in."

"Thank Christ we’re finally going. All that farting about, training and waiting was getting my bloody goat."

"Aye. I’m the same, Frank."

The jump and the subsequent landing of the gliders went successfully. According to plan, they dug in round the Johannahhoeve farm.

"I told you Frank. A dawdle. The Jerries heard the Jocks were coming. They’re probably half-way to Berlin by this time. They’ve always been scared of us since the first war. The ladies from hell they call the Jocks because of their kilts."

"I hope you’re right Alec. But it’s early days yet. I’ll not be happy till I’m back in The Plough in Saltby with a pint in my hand."

"Sleanagh?"

"Aye, Sarge?"

"Is that bloody radio working yet? Blacklock’s getting awful nervous."

"I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I’ve stripped it down twice. I’ve checked all the valves. I even replaced them all with my spares. The damned thing’s working all right. I’m getting enough static, but I can’t raise anybody, and nobody’s answering anything I send. It’s beyond me."

"Well, keep trying. And the minute you get somebody on the line, let Blacklock know. He’s out in the back-kitchen, drinking tea with the lady of the house, if you please."

Frank continued to fiddle with the ’22.’ Once or twice, he heard a distorted voice, but nothing of any consequence.

"Holy shit. Get down everybody." The shout from the sergeant was completely unnecessary, as every-one was already on the floor. Heavy machine-gun fire raked the farm from all sides. Men grabbed their weapons and returned fire. The Germans had been dug in to the south of the farm all the time. They had waited till darkness to make their attack.

"Wallace. Is that you?" Major Blacklock peered through the dust.

"Yes sir." They both flinched as a shell hit the upper story.

"I asked them to send me the radio operator. Where’s Sleanagh?"

"He was next door, when that first shell hit, sir. They all got killed."

"What about the radio?"

"Not much of it left. Hell of a mess. That means we’re without a radio now. Not that it was ever much use to us."

Thank you Corporal. That will be all. Ask the Sergeant Major to come and see me."

"Sir."

*****

It was raining when the red Post Office motor-cycle turned into Glebe Street. The High Kirk steeple was chiming two o’clock. The disastrous battle of Arnhem had ended three weeks ago. This was the fifth telegram the messenger had delivered that day. Eileen opened the door.

"Thank you," she said.

"No trouble Missus," he replied. He was only sixteen, and never knew what to say to the recipients of his telegrams. "Sign here." He hurried away, embarrassed.

Eileen put on her coat and walked down to the shop in Rodden Street. It was only a few minutes walk down the hill. In the shop she handed it to John.

"Who is it? JayJay or Frank?"

"I don’t know. I didn’t open it."

John sat down. A moment later he looked up at his wife.

"Frank. Confirmed dead at Arnhem," he said.

He stood up and walked through to the front-shop.

"Ella. Can you look after the shop for the rest of the day? Me and Mrs. Sleanagh have to go up to number 37. If we’re not back by six, will you cash-up and bring it up to number 37 after you lock up. Here’s the keys."

No-one cashed-up or locked up except family. Ella knew immediately what had happened.

"I’ll do that Mr. Sleanagh." She had the good sense to keep herself to herself. She too had three brothers in Europe somewhere.

John and a resolutely silent Eileen went up the hill to tell Cormac and Beth.

*****

"Granny Sleanagh, come through and see the tree. Uncle Hugh’s got the lights working."

Susan was Dan and Nell’s youngest daughter. She was thirteen, and the youngest grand-daughter. She took Beth’s hand and pulled her up out of the chair.

"Come and look. Come and look. It’s lovely."

Beth let herself be pulled through into the living-room.

"Put the big light out." Dutifully, JayJay switched off the ceiling light.

"Look Granny. Isn’t it nice."

"Aye sweetheart, its really bonny. You boys have made it awful nice."

"I did it Granny. I decorated it. They just helped. Didn’t you Uncle Hugh."

"Aye, that’s right Mother. She did it all on her own. We just helped with the high bits she couldn’t reach."

"It’s really nice that you and Nell and the children could come up for Christmas, Dan. I’m still not sure where everybody’s going to sleep."

"Don’t you worry about that Grandma," said JayJay. "We’ve got it all fixed. There’s beds enough in the family."

"I’m away through to the kitchen to see about the tea."

"Mammy, will you please come and sit down. Eileen and LizAnn and Nell are in there. They’ve got everything under control." Cath pleaded with her mother, knowing it was not going to have any effect.

"They’re sure to be needing a wee hand. I’ll be back in a minute or two."

Beth shook off Cath’s restraining hand, and went along the passage to the kitchen. Beth’s daughters-in-law knew better than to try to chase her out of her own kitchen. They stood back while she checked the sausage-rolls in the oven.

"Is there enough bread for the sandwiches? Did you find the ham? It’s in the pantry, on the top shelf."

"Aye Mammy Sleanagh. Everything’s fine. Away in and sit down."

Beth allowed herself to be persuaded to go back to the living-room. Cormac sat in his big easy-chair by the fire, with a glass of whisky. He had no trouble letting his daughters-in-law take charge in the kitchen. The boys were looking after him as befitted the head of the family. It was Christmas day 1946. Beth sat down in the chair opposite Cormac by the fire.

"Mammy Sleanagh, can I get you a cup of tea? Or maybe a wee glass of sherry seeing it’s Christmas?"

Taa-taa-ta-taa-taa - taa-taa. Some-one outside in the street rapped on the window. Cath opened the curtains, but there was no-one to be seen.

"Who the devil is that now on Christmas day?" Cormac asked. "JayJay, away and see who it is."

JayJay went out along the passage to the front door. Opening it, he saw a figure standing there in a great-coat and Army cap, carrying a kitbag.

"Hell’s bells," said JayJay. "What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in India."

"Landed in Southampton on Tuesday. We got leave at the last minute. I didn’t think I was going to get here in time for Christmas. I never sent a telegram. I wanted to surprise you all."

"Well, you’ve done that all right, Larry you bugger. It’s great to see you, so it is." JayJay slapped his cousin on the shoulder.

JayJay went back into the living-room.

"Who was it?"

"Nobody special Granda. Just Santa Claus with a surprise."

Larry appeared beside him in the doorway. Paddy jumped up and crossed the room to him. "Larry. Larry son." But Dierdre got there first.

"Hello, Da. How’re you doing?" he said with difficulty, bent over, his arms around his sister, his face smothered against her shoulder.

"LizAnn. LizAnn. It’s Larry. Come through here right now."

*****

"Cold. Never been so bloody cold in my life. It wasn’t even that it was below freezing or anything like that. It was just permanently damp. Everything was damp. Your uniform, your underwear, the blankets. And when it did go below freezing, some of the men got frostbite. Twice we had to transfer somebody to a destroyer for them to get medical attention for it. There were heating ducts through the boat, but if you were more than six inches away from them, you couldn’t feel any heat. It was really miserable. Give me a cigarette. I came out without mine." JayJay took another drink of beer.

The two Sleanagh warriors were in the White Hart drinking beer.

"I know. I crawled through enough mud. Once you’re cold, you’re cold. Nothing gets you warm again till you can change your clothes. Thing I hated most was wet feet. If my feet were dry, I could suffer almost anything. But wet feet. I know what you mean; really bloody miserable." Larry pulled out a packet of Capstan, offered it to JayJay, and they both lit up.

"Never used these things till I got to France. They were in the field rations, so they were free. At first I just gave them away, but after a while, I started smoking them myself. There were times when a fag was the only thing that kept me sane."

"JayJay Sleanagh. How’re you doing?" A young man stopped by the table. JayJay looked up.

"Paddy Hagen. What are you doing in Kerlaw? I’m fine. How’re you doing?"

"Larry, d’you not remember Paddy? He was a couple of years above me at St. Peter’s in Winton. What are you doing in Kerlaw?"

"I married Minnie Quinn. You’ll know her. From Lockhard Road. Her father works in the mill; in the drawing office. Got a house here in the Moorfield Road after we got married."

"I know Minnie all right. She’s a nice lassie. You’re a lucky man. Did she let you out the night? Are you in company? No? Then sit down. Larry was just getting a round in. What’ll you have?"

"Thanks. I’ll have a pint of heavy."

Larry went up to get the beer in.

"That your brother?"

"No. Cousin."

"You could be brothers. You look just like each other."

"Everybody says that. You working?’

"Aye. Minnie’s father got me into the mill. Just labouring in the shed, but it’s a start. I’m not going to stay in the shed long. I’ll tell you that for nothing. All that fluff flying around. Hardly get your breath. You should hear them all coughing. You?’

"No. I’m going to Uni. Going to do Political Economy at Glasgow. Polycon, they call it."

"Were you in the Army?"

"Navy. Corvette on the Atlantic convoys."

"Shit, that was one of the hard ones. Any bother? Wounded or that?"

"No, thank God. Got sunk, though."

"Jesus, you never told us that," said Larry coming back with the drinks. "What happened?"

"Simple enough. Got hit by a troop-ship; the Queen Mary. We zigged, she zagged. It was summer ‘44. It was flat calm and broad daylight. She cut us in half. Must have been doing more than 40-odd knots. I was up in the bow with the gun. I was a 303 ack-ack gunner. More than 40 of them never got out. The stern went straight down in minutes. The bow floated for half an hour or so. By the time we had to get into the water, there were a couple of other ships round us. I was only ten minutes in the water. Even then it was bloody cold. God help the poor buggers that went into the water in the winter, at night, in bad weather. That was the end of the Cowslip. After two weeks shore-leave in Canada, I was on the Foxglove."

"Daft names for boats; Foxglove and Cowslip."

"Aye, I suppose so. They were Flower Class Corvettes. They all had the names of flowers. Displaced 925 tons with top speed of 16 knots. 85 men on board. we had two guns and four AA machine guns. Not worth their while. The main four-incher wasn’t too bad, but it wouldn’t have saved us against anything bigger than a rowing-boat."

"What about you Larry? What mob were you in? Got work yet?"

"Black Watch. Not demobbed yet. Got a week’s leave after getting back from India last week. Should be getting out at the end of the month. Got to report to Maryhill Barracks on Monday. Cheers." They raised their glasses.

"See any action?"

"Was in France. Went up the beach on D-day."

"Christ the Sleanaghs were in the teeth of it," said Paddy. "What was that like?"

"It was pretty rough. Lots of men got killed. You wouldn’t believe what a heavy machine-gun can do to the human body. What about you, Paddy?" Larry changed the subject.

"Compared to you two, I had it easy. I was a cook. Always in the rear. I was all over the place; Sicily, Monte Casino; was with Monty’s crowd pushing up to Arnhem through Belgium and Holland.

You had a brother JayJay. At first I thought it was your man here, but it’s not. Where is he? What was his name again? Big bugger; played rugby."

"That was our Frank. He didn’t come back from Arnhem; commando. He parachuted in."

"Sorry JayJay. Our Terry was there. Lost an eye; shrapnel. He’s a tough bastard too. He fought on and got taken prisoner. Maybe they knew each other. Terry was a Commando as well."

"Aye, could be. Here’s to our Frank. He was a good scout," said JayJay.

Three maudlin, young men left the pub at closing time, far from sober. Frank had been well and truly commemorated.

*****

"I don’t know what to do. Half of me says do it, and the other half says look at all the work it’ll be. I’ve been mulling it over and over in my head for a week now, since last Sunday when Ellen Devine asked me to stand. What am I going to do Hugh? I came over to talk to you as you’re the only one that’ll give me some sensible advice. Mammy and Maggie just think of me being something ‘high-up’ in the Church. John thinks it’ll be good for business. Paddy, as usual, says that I’ll have to make my own mind up, and daddy’s the same. I can’t discuss it with any of them except you. What’ll I do?" Cath fiddled with her pen.

"Well, right off the bat, I’m certainly not going to tell you what to do or give you any advice."

"Aye I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I mean."

They both laughed. He rose to get the teapot.

"I’m having another one. You?"

"Sure, heat up what’s left in the cup. I’ve been talking that much, I let it get cold."

"Biscuit?"

Cath waved the tin away.

"Do you want to do it?"

"Of course I want to do it. You know that. The Legion is the most important thing in my life after the family."

"Well, do it then."

"I wish it was that easy."

"So, what’s so difficult?"

"Well, point one, it’s a big job: a huge job, with a great deal of responsibility. If I don’t do it properly, it could damage the Legion. Point two, it’s an enormous amount of work. Can I do that – and – do a full day’s teaching as well? Don’t forget, I’m also head of maths. I don’t just teach. I’ve got other things to do than just teach."

"I realise that. Point three?"

"Three, I’m not sure I have the ability or the stamina to take it on."

"Four?"

"There’s no four. That’s it. I’ll tell you honestly, I’m terrified at the thought of it, and, at the same time, I would love to do it."

"All right then, lets take them one at a time. It’s a big job that could hurt the Legion if it wasn’t done right. Cath, you’re the most conscientious person I know. Look at your flat. It’s immaculate; a place for everything and everything in its place. I never hear you moaning that you’re behind with your corrections or anything else about your work. You didn’t become head of the maths department for nothing.

So I wouldn’t bother too much about it being too big for you. Ok, it’s a lot of work. How much more work is it going to be than the president of Kerlaw? And don’t forget, when you take on the national secretary’s job ..."

"... if I take on the secretary’s job. I haven’t been elected yet."

"Aye, all right then, if you get it, you’ll not be president in Kerlaw any more. So that part of your work will go away. What was your other point?"

"Am I good enough to do it?"

"That’s right. Have you the ability and stamina for it? Come on Cath. Don’t talk daft. You’ve more ability in your wee finger than most folk have in their whole body. And stamina; I don’t know where you get all your energy from. You’re only a wee bit of a thing, but you’ll run rings round most men. Anything else?"

"Ach, you. You’re always so blooming logical and systematic about everything. I’ve had all those arguments with myself a hundred times, and told myself the same things. I’m still not sure."

"Well, what’s holding you back? Are you afraid?"

"Hugh, I’m terrified at the thought of it. What if I fail?"

"Then you fail. What’s wrong with that?"

"It could put the Legion back to where it was before the war. It was so cock-sure of itself; so complacent. That’s why the membership stagnated. I didn’t break my back sorting the membership out to ruin my own work being a rotten secretary."

"There’s two answers to that. First you’ll not fail. It’s not in your nature to fail. Even if you did start to fail, you would see it coming, and hand it over to somebody else before you did any real damage. You know that about yourself as well as me. Second, even if you were to stay on and do damage, it wouldn’t be the end of the Legion. There would be somebody along soon enough to pick up the bits and put them together again. If you think you’re important enough to destroy the whole organisation single-handed, you’re not the wee sister I thought you were. Nobody’s that big."

"You’re right enough. I hadn’t looked at it like that before."

"So do it."

"I’m still scared."

"What about this enormous faith you have in Our Lady? Don’t you think she’ll keep you right?"

"I’ve been praying like mad to her all week."

"So what are you waiting for? For her to send down the Angel Gabriel?"

"Something like that." She smiled.

"Look, you’re doing all the right things. It’s only natural to have doubts; healthy even. It’s very sensible to rationalise the whole thing and look at it from all the angles. You’ve looked for help by discussing it with somebody you trust. God help your innocent wit, coming to me." He grinned at her. "You’ve prayed for guidance. You’re a Legion person to the marrow of your bones. The only thing left is to make the decision. There are no arguments against doing it. We’ve just been through those a minute ago. So what’s left?"

"So - what’s left?"

"Your intuition. Go with what you feel. At the end of the day, that’s all you’ve got. It’s either that or toss a coin."

"Have you got one on you?"

"I left my special double-headed penny in the till."

"I’m going to do it. You’re right. We can talk till we’re blue in the face and I’ll still not be convinced. Deep in my heart, I knew I was always going to do it. I suppose I was just looking for somebody to tell me to do it so that, if it went wrong, I could tell myself it was their fault for making me do it. Is their any more tea in the pot?"

"No it’ll be cold now. How about a glass of sherry to celebrate?"

"I think that’s a great idea. I feel like a ton’s been lifted off my shoulders."

A month later, Cath Sleanagh was elected to the job of national secretary of the Scottish Legion of Mary.

*****

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