has to go back to work in Coventry. Mam wonders how hell get to
Coventry without a penny in his pocket. Hes up early on Holy Satur-
day and I have tea with him by the fire. He fries four cuts of bread and
wraps them in pages of the Limerick Chronicle, two cuts in each coat
pocket. Mam is still in bed and he calls to her from the bottom of the
stairs, Im going now. She says,All right.Write when you land. My father
is going to England and she wont even get out of the bed. I ask if I can
go with him to the railway station. No, hes not going there. Hes going
to the Dublin road to see if he can get a lift. He pats my head, tells me
take care of my mother and brothers and goes out the door. I watch him
go up the lane till he turns the corner. I run up the lane to see him go
down Barrack Hill and down St. Josephs Street. I run down the hill and
follow him as far as I can. He must know Im following him because he
turns and calls to me, Go home, Francis. Go home to your mother.
In a week theres a letter to say he arrived safely, that we are to be
good boys,attend to our religious duties and above all obey our mother.
In another week theres a telegram money order for three pounds and
were in heaven.Well be rich, there will be fish and chips, jelly and cus-
tard, films every Saturday at the Lyric, the Coliseum, the Carlton, the
Atheneum, the Central and the fanciest of all, the Savoy.We might even
wind up having tea and cakes at the Savoy Café with the nobs and toffs
of Limerick. Well be sure to hold our teacups with our little fingers
sticking out.
The next Saturday theres no telegram nor the Saturday after nor
any Saturday forever. Mam begs again at the St.Vincent de Paul Society
and smiles at the Dispensary when Mr. Coffey and Mr. Kane have their
bit of a joke about Dad having a tart in Piccadilly. Michael wants to
know what a tart is and she tells him its something you have with tea.
She spends most of the day by the fire with Bridey Hannon puffing on
her Woodlbines, drinking weak tea.The bread crumbs from the morn-
ing are always on the table when we come home from school.She never
washes the jam jars or mugs and there are flies in the sugar and wher-
ever there is sweetness.
She says Malachy and I have to take turns looking after Alphie,
taking him out in the pram for a bit of fresh air.The child cant be kept
in Italy from October to April. If we tell her we want to play with our
pals she might let fly with a right cross to the head that stings the ears.
We play games with Alphie and the pram. I stand at the top of Bar-
rack Hill and Malachy is at the bottom.When I give the pram a push
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