the butcher after dark, climbs the wall, cuts the tongue of a sheeps head
thats on a hook on the wall and brings it back to his poor father in the
bed. Of course I have to boil that tongue with salt galore and Dennis,
God love him, ates it, lies back in the bed a minute, throws back the
blanket and stands out on his two feet announcing to the world that
consumption or no consumption, hes not going to die in that bed, if
hes going to die at all it might as well be under a German bomb with
him making a few pounds for his family instead of whining in the bed
there beyond.
She shows me a letter from Paddy. Hes working in his uncle
Anthonys pub twelve hours a day, twenty-five shillings a week and
every day soup and a sandwich. Hes delighted when the Germans
come over with the bombs so that he can sleep while the pub is closed.
At night he sleeps on the floor of the hallway upstairs. He will send his
mother two pounds every month and hes saving the rest to bring her
and the family to England where theyll be much better off in one room
in Cricklewood than ten rooms in Arthurs Quay. Shell be able to get
a job no bother.Youd have to be a sad case not to be able to get a job
in a country thats at war especially with Yanks pouring in and spend-
ing money right and left. Paddy himself is planning to get a job in the
middle of London where Yanks leave tips big enough to feed an Irish
family of six for a week.
Mrs. Clohessy says,We have enough money for food and shoes at
last, thanks be to God and His Blessed Mother.Youll never guess who
Paddy met over there in England fourteen years of age an workin like
a man. Brendan Kiely, the one ye used to call Question.Workin he is
an savin so he can go an join the Mounties an ride all over Canada
like Nelson Eddy singin Ill be callin you ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh.
If it wasnt for Hitler wed all be dead an isnt that a terrible thing to say.
And hows your poor mother, Frankie?
Shes grand, Mrs. Clohessy.
No, shes not. I seen her in the Dispensary and she looks worse
than my Dennis did in the bed. You have to mind your poor
mother.You look desperate too, Frankie, with them two red eyes starin
outa your head. Heres a little tip for you.Thruppence. Buy yourself a
sweet.MM
I will, Mrs. Clohessy.
Do.
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