‘What concert?’
‘In the Capitol. Cliff Richard is coming there Christmas week!’
Agnes knocked over her coffee cup as she jumped up and gathered her bags. She ran out of Arnott’s into Henry Street like a shoplifter. She scurried down the GPO Arcade and was at the Capitol within five minutes of hearing the woman’s statement. She went to the box office, breathless.
“Scuse me, love, what date is the Friday of Christmas week?‘ she asked.
The girl in the box office looked at a calendar overhead. ‘Eh ... it’s eh ... the twenty-second.’
‘Right! Give me one ticket for the twenty-second for the Cliff Richard concert - up at the front.’
‘We’re sold out.’
‘Well, the twenty-first then.’
‘I said we’re sold out. All sold out, for the whole week - Monday to Saturday!’
‘Yeh can’t be! Check - any night - I only want the one ticket!’
‘Look, love, we’re
sold out,
right? Jaysus, they’ve been on sale for two weeks, we sold out days ago.’
‘But you don’t understand. I’m his best fan in Ireland.’
‘You and fifty thousand others, love. Sold out, now go on or I’ll call the usher!’
Agnes staggered out onto O‘Connell Street. She headed for home in a stupor. People walking towards her must have thought she was demented. She moped along, dragging her bags behind her. She couldn’t believe it was possible for Cliff Richard to be in Dublin singing to strangers and not to
her-
Agnes Browne, his number one fan in the world.
When she entered the flat, she just dropped the bags and slumped into her armchair. Mark came bounding out of the kitchen. ‘Hiya, Ma! Have I got news for yeh!’
‘Put some turf on that fire,’ Agnes said in a daze.
Mark went to the turf bucket and put a couple of sods on the blazing fire. Dusting his hands, he walked over and knelt in front of her. ‘Well, do you want to hear it?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Yeh, go on then, tell us,‘ she said flatly.
‘I got a job!’ Mark beamed.
Without taking her eyes off the flickering flames in the grate, Agnes patted the boy on the head and said calmly, ‘That’s nice, son, that’s nice.’
‘Nice?
It’s fuckin’ great, Ma! It’s a trade job as well ... I’m goin’ to be a carpenter!’
Agnes suddenly snapped out of her trance. ‘A carpenter ! Good boy! How?’
Mark told the story with enthusiasm. Agnes was really pleased, especially about the schooling. She hugged the boy and made a cup of tea for them both. She then told Mark about her disappointment over the tickets for Cliff Richard. He was sad for her but perked up when she said, ‘But, son, your good news makes up for any disappointment, it really does.’
It didn’t. Life had snipped yet another of the strings that held up the heart of this woman.
Chapter 21
AGNES WAS PLEASED TO MEET the famous Mr Wise at last. He was a nice man, a kind man, and Agnes could see why Mark thought the world of him. Mark had been working for over two weeks in Mr Wise’s factory. He loved it. He had made a shelf in that two-week period and Mr Wise had allowed him keep it as a souvenir of his first effort as a ‘tradesman’. It hung beside the cooker and held the tea caddy. The reason Agnes had called to see Mr Wise was to thank him for his kindness to Mark and to ask his advice. She had finally decided what to get Mark for Christmas, a set of carpenter’s tools, good ones. She knew nothing about tools and figured Mr Wise was the best man for advice on the matter. He gladly told her what basic tools Mark should have and over a cup of tea went through the things to look out for when buying them. He told her to go to Lenehans of Capel Street.
She went there next morning and spent at least an hour picking them out. The shop assistant was very helpful, advising and telling her all the pluses and minuses. When the tools were selected, he parcelled them up for her. She had intended taking them with her until she got the bill. It totalled fifteen pounds and twelve shillings. He asked for ‘fifteen and ten’, giving her a little discount.
‘I don’t have enough with me,’ she said.
‘That’s no problem. If you give me a deposit I can put them away for you,’ he smiled.
Agnes fished in her purse. She took out a ten-shilling note.
‘Would ten bob be all right for a deposit?’
‘Absolutely, love.’ He took the note and wrote out a receipt, then he wrote ‘Browne’ on the parcel, and went out back to store it.
Agnes left the shop a bit worried. Fifteen pounds was a lot to find between now and Christmas Eve - eight days. But she’d find it, somehow she’d find it. She checked the Herald clock in Abbey Street. Time to go up to Buddha and collect the tricycle for Trevor. As she turned into O‘Connell Street she saw four men out on top of the Capitol theatre porch erecting a giant sign with Cliff’s picture on it. A white band across the sign with red letters on it read ’Sold out‘.
She put her head down and walked past. Her mind turned back to money matters. She had three pounds in her slipper at home. The following week was Christmas week but it was never a busy one for her stall, all that sold were potatoes and sprouts. So she couldn’t count on more than three pound ten off that. Mark was handing up a pound, that was seven pounds ten shillings. She had made the last payment on her hamper the previous week, so that was all the Christmas food paid for. Buddha owed her seven pounds and ten shillings, the tricycle was two pounds, that meant he had to give her five pound ten. That was thirteen pounds. She could really do with another ten pounds to get her over Christmas, buy the tools and see her into the New Year. She looked to heaven and smiling said aloud, ‘Marion, lend us a tenner, will ya?’ Heaven was the right place to look, she thought to herself, for she could do with a minor miracle.
When she arrived back at the flat, she had the tricycle with her. Yellow and red, it would make Trevor’s eyes glow with joy when he woke to find it waiting under the tree on Christmas morning. The trick was to make sure that neither Trevor nor the other children found it until then. Agnes tiptoed up the stairs. When she arrived at her landing she opened the door to the water tank for the toilet in the flat below hers. Gently she slid the bike in beside the tank. Mark stored his turf sacks on the other side. She lifted one of the sacks and used it to cover the bike. She closed the door quietly and went up to her own flat.
There was great excitement when she came in. Charlie Bennett, the coalman, had delivered the Christmas tree, and the kids were waiting to decorate it. Agnes calmed them all down and promised them they would all do it, but after tea. Tea first, tree later, she pronounced. Agnes made the tea and they were all sitting around the kitchen table when Mark tapped his fork off his cup, like he had seen a best man do at a wedding. Everybody stopped talking and looked at him.
‘What’s that for?’ Agnes asked.
‘I’m goin’ to make a speech, Ma!’ he answered.
‘Oh, I see. Quiet, youse, listen to your brother - the man of the house.’
Mark puffed out his chest. ‘Ahem! I have a surprise for everyone!’ he began.
‘The hairs are after fallin’ off your willy!’ Dermot said and all the children laughed. Agnes gave Dermot a clip on the ear, but gave a little laugh herself as well.
‘Don’t mind him, son, you go on, you have a surprise for us all? What is it?’
‘Today I put a five-shilling deposit on a television set,’ Mark announced proudly.
The cheers and whoops could be heard in Cork! Cathy took Trevor’s hands and danced in a circle, singing, ‘We’re gettin’ a tell-ee! We’re gettin’ a tell-ee!’
Agnes shushed everybody. ‘You
what?’
she asked Mark.
‘I put a deposit on a telly,’ Mark repeated.
‘How much is this ... telly ... going to cost?’
‘Fifteen shillings a month. It has a slot at the back and you put two bob in it for five hours. Every month the man comes to empty the meter. He takes fifteen bob out of what’s in it and gives you back the rest.’
Agnes thought about this. The children waited on her thoughts in silence. Agnes rested her head on her hands and looked down at the table as she deliberated. After what seemed like an hour to the children, she slowly raised her head. You could hear the damp slack as it hissed on the fire.
‘All right,’ she said simply and the mayhem broke out again. Agnes poured herself another cup of tea and sat back at the table. She stared at the face of her eldest boy. It glowed with joy as he watched Cathy and Trevor dance and sing. Agnes leaned over to him and squeezed his arm. He turned and looked at her questioningly.
‘You’re a very good boy,’ she said with pride.
He got embarrassed and dropped his eyes. ‘Thanks, Mammy.’
The telly man installed the telly that night at seven o‘clock. It took some time to fix up the rabbit’s ears, but when they were sorted the entire family sat in front of the set, enthralled. There was one problem - if anybody got up to go to the toilet the movement affected the reception. So nobody moved and the ad-breaks now became piss- breaks.
Agnes had a fitful weekend, between the pleasure of the new television and the worry about whether or not she could find the money to get Mark his set of tools. So when she arrived in from work on the following Monday night and Rory handed her the letter that had arrived that day, it might just as well have had the words ‘minor miracle’ printed on it. It was addressed to ’Mrs Browne‘. She opened it and read:
I.T.G.W.U.
Liberty Hall,
Dublin
Number 4 Branch.
Re: Christmas Benefit.
Dear Mrs Browne,
As the widow of a deceased member of this Branch you become entitled to a death benefit. This is a once-off payment of £12 paid on the Christmas of the year of our member’s demise. As your husband worked in the Gresham Hotel, the payment will be available for collection there from the shop steward, Eamonn Doyle, on the morning of the 22nd of December. May I take this opportunity to offer the condolences of the Branch on your loss and wish you and yours a very peaceful Christmas.
Michael Mullen,
Branch Secretary.
‘God Bless the Union, and God bless Mickey Mullen!’ Agnes exclaimed. ‘And thanks, Marion,’ she said, smiling and looking up to heaven.
Chapter 22
MARK KNOCKED ON THE DOOR. It was cold, freezing cold. His duffel coat hood was pulled as far up as it would go, and he had a scarf wrapped several times around his neck, but still the cold got through. He knocked again. He heard the movement behind the door, then a click and the door opened a little. Mr Wise’s eyes peered out and then the door opened wide.
‘Mark! Come in, boy, before you freeze.’
Mark stepped in and Mr Wise closed the door quietly to keep the heat in. They went into the front room where the fire was burning.
‘Take off your coat, son.’
‘Ah it’s okay, Mr Wise, I only called for a minute.’
‘Still, take it off or you lose the benefit of it when you go back out.’ Mark took it off.
‘So, what brings you knocking on my door during the holidays?’ Mr Wise sat into his armchair. Mark sat too, but on a hard dining chair.
‘Mr Wise - you know loads of people, important people, don’t yeh?’
‘I do. Some important, some who think they are.’
‘Yeh ... well ... I want to get me Mammy a ticket for the Cliff Richard concert and I was wondering do you know anyone that could get me one?’
‘Who is Cliff Richard?’
‘Yeh don’t know
Cliff
? Yeh must be the only person in Ireland that doesn’t. He’s a singer.’
‘Oh! Well, I’m not good at names. Now, let me think! Who would I know?’ Mr Wise closed his eyes and with thumb and middle finger held his temple. After a few moments he took his hand away and shrugged. ‘No! I cannot think of anyone, Mark, I am sorry,’ and he looked it.
‘That’s all right. I just thought you might, that’s all.’
Mark started to put his coat on. Mr Wise stood and pointed a finger in the air.
‘I have an idea, though.’
‘What?’
‘Why not get his autograph for your mother?’
‘He’s auto-graft? What’s that?’
‘If you go to the theatre, say during the day, with a notepad, he will sign his name on it. I dare say that if you tell him the story, he may even write a little note to your mother too.’
‘Would he do that?’
‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
Mark smiled at last. ‘Yeh, it is, Mr Wise, thanks a lot.’
Mark buttoned up his coat and Mr Wise went with him to the door. Before he left, Mark took something from his pocket. He handed the colourfully-wrapped parcel to Mr Wise.
‘Look, I know you don’t believe in it, but here, happy Christmas anyway.’
Mr Wise took the parcel and shook Mark’s hand. ‘And a very happy Christmas to you, son, thank you.’
Mark stepped out and the door closed. It was just a fifteen-minute walk to the Capitol from Mr Wise’s house. Mark walked quickly to keep warm. He was glad he gave the aftershave to Mr Wise - his mother had never used it even once! In Eason’s he bought a small notepad, then briskly walked the few steps from there to the Capitol box office. The same girl that had greeted Agnes ten days earlier was there. Mark’s head was just visible over the counter.
‘Hey, young wan!’ he called.
The girl, who had been engrossed in a magazine, looked up. ‘What do you want?’
‘Tell Mr Richard I want him.’
‘What? I will in me shite!’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s not goin’ to just drop everythin’ and come out to see a little shit like you!’
‘Well, all right then, which door is it? I’ll go into him.’
‘Get yourself away t’be fucked, go on, get lost!‘
‘Here, all I want is his auto-graft on that.’ Mark pushed the little notebook towards her. The girl had gone back to her magazine and she ignored him. Mark persisted.
‘Hey! Here, tell him it’s for me Mammy, her name is Agnes. Tell him to write a note.’
The girl leaned forward and called: ‘ARTHUR! Arthur, come out here!’ The double doors of the stalls area opened, and a huge fat man in a military-style uniform marched out.