Read Part 1 of this story here.
Ma was the cornerstone of my very existence. My earliest memories are of sitting on her lap, facing into her as she would tumble me up and down on her knees. Holding my wayward “Goldfish-like”attention, that was probably 5 seconds on a good day, (mouth open all the time as well by the way)to repeat rhymes and prayers. “Who’s that?, what colour is this? what’s my name? and so forth with her female tiger-eyed attention on her youngest cub with jet black curls she beamed a jet stream of love at me. Her words were gold-leafed from the middle section of the Book of Kells at Trinity College, Dublin. I’ve never felt as secure and loved as when Ma clutched me tightly under both my arms with both her knees alternating up and down like ‘pistons’ under my nappy-cushioned bum with my fat cheeks wobbling in rhythm to her smiles.
Myself and Ma at Rosslare beach, Co. Wexford in 1975. I’m under her wing as per usual!
The picture above is proof of one of many talents that Ma possessed – CONSISTENCY. She always had her little box camera ‘on the ready’ snapping all the way throughout the decades. Thanks to her we have a rich documented photo archive of all our rich co-existence. Like money was as hard to come by as ‘meteorite dust’ on the Beara Peninsula in hurricane season, but she managed this amazing feat while covered in sand, nappies, stale milk, dog poo, no money and surrounded by ‘inbred trouble-makers!’
Above is the actual Box Camera used by Ma. She guarded this with her life, and God help anyone that would even look sideways at it. Like us lot would break ‘anvils’ as a matter of course!
Ma didn’t do ’embarrassment’
Sher I was nearly a teenager before I got to see the inside of a proper ‘men’s toilet’ in hotels, pubs, shopping centres or such like. No way would she let me into these ‘dens’ alone. I’d be literally dragged into the ladies and just treated like an add-on ‘handbag’ that totally belonged in its ‘natural surroundings!’ The muscle structure behind my eyes was highly developed at this stage by rapid eye movement in these positions. I actually had no idea where to look with embarrassment, so my eyes just rolled all over the shop as to not make contact with another living organism. By the way, Ma didn’t do ’embarrassment’ – not that ye didn’t know that.
I was in my middle twenties before I actually realised that women did “pass air”, true!! Ma always said religiously that, “Women do not fart” and sher what else am I going to believe. I’m 54 now and experience of life has proven Ma theory to be completely bogus, but then on the other hand, well I’m not so sure now??? She’s never been wrong before now, ahh well I’ll plead ‘ignorance’ on the whole debacle.
As the decades rolled into each other, Ma would look up at 105 kg – 6’2″ me. She wasn’t the size of a settin’ hen, in fact I’ve seen bigger legs hanging outta birds nests, she’d exclaim, “You might be taller, but I’m Bigger!” – delivered with a glint in them deep green eyes. “I’m the best friend you’ve EVER had, all the rest are just need different levels of persuasion before they’ll happily throw you under the next oncoming bus! – now plug in the kettle, I’ve lovely fresh scones from Dunnes” she’d continue.
Both in their twilight years here, but still madly in love and closer than ever.
Lucky to have them as parents
Lucky to have had them as parents. Da was 6ft 2″ tall and 115kgs a big bag full of wind – he’d encourage a fly to move along quietly. All he wanted was the “Independent” every morning and a cup of coffee! He’d always say, “never trouble, trouble until trouble troubles you!” Another great olde saying belonging to the Da collection and in a lofty slightly higher ‘baritone’ pitch mixed with an aged hoarseness was ,”ehh sher, sell it en buy a walkin’ stick!” Full of chuckles coming from his trademark double ‘Guinness’ chin, this would apply to any situation. If ye fed him enough of the ‘Black Stuff’ he’d turn into a ‘stubborn mule’ quick enough- but that’s another days yarn!
Da’s favourite daily ritual with a coffee en-route, happy as the proverbial pig in …… well you know the rest!
The front and back pages of the ‘Independent’ were bombproof, once raised up, nothing could penetrate their greatness or the interest they garnered on a daily basis. If ever disturbed by a cheeky monkey such as myself, Da’s index finger would point to the ceiling without explanation. This really meant – that’s my roof, you get your own roof, then you can do whatever the hell ye like!
Da
For my time on this planet I’ve never met anything, man or beast to ‘mind their own business’ like Da. I could arrive home in a Sikorsky Helicopter, sporting two blonde Miss Universes under each arm and he genuinely wouldn’t be even the slightest bit curious about anything around him. Except about the noise of the contraption that might disturb neighbours and so on, that’s it. He wouldn’t ask me how I afforded, insured it, flying licence – nothing! He’d only be concerned about its’ safety on the front lawn and if I asked him to go for a spin, he’d hop in and again, wouldn’t even ask where we were going.
The flip-side of this though was if I did run into heavy weather, he’d also mind his own business, flick up the Independent and on with him. Like he didn’t want to hear any type of problems whatsoever. If I had an issue, I knew where not to go with it. Hunky Dory was his planet and dare anyone try to land on it and upset the ‘good vibes’. Then if I won the Euro Millions he wouldn’t ask or expect a single euro coin from me. Bloody enigma he was!!
My view of people’s character would often be animated. Da to me was a huge cuddly grizzly bear and Ma was a miniature Pomeranian with her litter of puppies, defensive to the bone! Let me tell ye, she was always right as well, the only thing she was missing was a lanyard! Oh Pomeranians do fart by the way, cause I have two of them!
Da possessed a hybrid of this system where he often told me that for someone he didn’t quite like, he’d place the biggest ‘pigs ears’ on the side of their head. This immediately took away any type of power they had and channelled it into pure comedy.
Ma and Da
Having a few with the two of them in ‘Gaynors” at the top of Hill St. and as Da would head out to the little boys room, Ma’d lean into me, with a brandy or two on board – “Ye do know we’re all bitches!” I’d reply aimlessly, “Is that right Ma?” She’d continue, “I know because I’m one of ’em – if the woman comes home in a ‘huff’ she’ll raise the feckin roof off the whole house, just to suit herself!” “Is that so Ma”, as I noticed Da emerging from the back of the lounge. She’d continue, “Mark my words – now hop up there, nudder Hennessy and a small bottle of ginger ale and his usual!” All in the wink of a cheeky eye. Then as Da snugged himself into the corner seat, the two of them would whisper among themselves.
Ma’s hearing was low on oil at this stage so it really wasn’t whispering at all, just loud hoarse conversation. “The black-haired one behind the bar tonight is very attractive” she’d utter to Da. Returning his glass to the Carlsberg mat, he’d mutter back, “Ah dat one has a “foal at foot” as he’d raise his chin up somewhat. I’m here listening to this and trying to signal the same person for the “same again” hoping she heard nothing. “Shut the feck up you”, I’d utter under my breath. “Ahh ye can’t bury the truth” Da would continue. “I’m warnin ye now, Da” I’d retort to him with the eyes of the ‘divil’ on me. Ohh stop all the lights.
A Drinker?
Another narrative Ma always peddle was if the husband was a ‘drinker’ they would have some chance, because when he’d come home half ‘spluttered’ she’d ate the arse off him. But they’d have no chance if she was a drinker, the same as him!
Ma’d happily face down a bull in open grassland crawling with fertile cows without blinking once. She’d hit first and ask questions later – like that she’d beat the hell out of ye, then cuddle ye like a Mama polar bear, dare anyone else touch me.
I don’t really care who reads this, but just for talk’s sake, if I arrived home with a ‘body’ in the back of the jeep. Da wouldn’t even come outside. He’d head straight for the black bakelite PT landline phone, “Hello, is that Wexford Garda Station?” Ma or anyone else wouldn’t stop him either, he might have been quiet and unassuming, but his ‘will’ had JCB stamped on it somewhere’s.
Whereas, Ma would come out with me, peek into the back of the jeep with her beady little eyes, tiny fingers gripping the top of the passenger door window, look straight at me and say “get two shovels, quick!” Another little earth-moving track machine.
Who’s right here? Who’s wrong?
Me of course, fur dragging that dead mouse on to the front door step in the first place!
Go on now with yerselves, I’ll leave it with yee.
The End.
(c) Brian Gilhooly
Read Part 1 of this story here.
And read more from Brian on Writing.ie here.
