again in the pram so what’s the use of washing him. Michael is small but he’s always saying remarkable things like that. We push the pram out to the rich avenues and roads but when we knock on the doors the maids tell us go away or they’ll call the proper authorities and it’s a disgrace to be dragging a baby around in a wreck of  a  pram  that  smells  to  the  heavens  a  filthy  contraption  that  you wouldn’t use to haul a pig to the slaughterhouse and this is a Catholic country where babies should be cherished and kept alive to hand down the faith from generation to generation. Malachy tells one maid to kiss his arse and she gives him such a clout the tears leap to his eyes and he  says he’ll never in his life ask the rich for anything again. He says there’s no use asking anymore, that we should go around the backs of the houses and climb over the walls and take what we want. Michael can ring the front doorbells to keep the maids busy and Malachy and I can  throw  coal  and  turf  over  the  walls  and  fill  the  pram  all  around Alphie. We collect that way from three houses but then Malachy throws a piece of coal over a wall and hits Alphie and he starts screaming and we have to run forgetting Michael, still ringing doorbells and getting abuse from maids. Malachy says we should take the pram home first and then go back for Michael.We can’t stop now with Alphie bawling and peo- ple giving us dirty looks and telling us we’re a disgrace to our mother and Ireland in general. When we’re back home it takes a while to dig Alphie out from under the load of coal and turf and he won’t stop screaming till I give him bread and marmalade. I’m afraid Mam will leap from her bed but she only mumbles on about Dad and drink and babies dead. Malachy is back with Michael, with stories of his adventures ring- ing doorbells. One rich woman answered the door herself and invited him into the kitchen for cake and milk and bread and jam. She asked him all about his family and he told her his father had a big job in England but his mother is in the bed with a desperate disease and calling for lemonade morning noon and night. The rich woman wanted to know who was taking care of us and Michael bragged we were taking care of ourselves, that there was no shortage of bread and marmalade. The rich woman wrote down Michael’s name and address and told him be a good boy and go home to his brothers and his mother in the bed. Malachy barks at Michael for being such a fool as to tell a rich woman 239