land is a donkeys arse.Men have been dying for Ireland since the begin-
ning of time and look at the state of the country.
Its bad enough that Dad loses jobs in the third week but now he
drinks all the dole money once a month. Mam gets desperate and in the
morning she has the bitter face and she wont talk to him. He has his
tea and leaves the house early for the long walk into the country.When
he returns in the evening she still wont talk to him and she wont make
his tea. If the fire is dead for the want of coal or turf and theres no way
of boiling water for the tea, he says, Och, aye, and drinks water out of
a jam jar and smacks his lips the way he would with a pint of porter.
He says good water is all a man needs and Mam makes a snorting
sound.When shes not talking to him the house is heavy and cold and
we know were not supposed to talk to him either for fear shell give us
the bitter look.We know Dad has done the bad thing and we know you
can make anyone suffer by not talking to him. Even little Michael
knows that when Dad does the bad thing you dont talk to him from
Friday to Monday and when he tries to lift you to his lap you run
to Mam.
Im nine years old and I have a pal, Mickey Spellacy, whose relations are
dropping one by one of the galloping consumption. I envy Mickey
because every time someone dies in his family he gets a week off from
school and his mother stitches a black diamond patch on his sleeve so
that he can wander from lane to lane and street to street and people will
know he has the grief and pat his head and give him money and sweets
for his sorrow.
But this summer Mickey is worried. His sister, Brenda, is wasting
away with the consumption and its only August and if she dies before
September he wont get his week off from school because you cant get
a week off from school when theres no school. He comes to Billy
Campbell and me to ask if well go around the corner to St. Josephs
Church and pray for Brenda to hang on till September.
Whats in it for us, Mickey, if we go around the corner praying?
Well, if Brenda hangs on and I get me week off ye can come to the
wake and have ham and cheese and cake and sherry and lemonade and
everything and ye can listen to the songs and stories all night.
Who could say no to that? Theres nothing like a wake for having a
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