Two Walls and a Roof (11 page)

Recently
,
while researching this book,
Eunice
told me that when I began working
,
Nannie also had other rituals that she insisted were applied to me. I was always to be given the ‘second’ cut of the bread,
“Because John is earning now, and he i
s to get only the best’. My inedible dinner was to be kept warm on top of
a pot of boiling water so that it didn’t dry out,
and Eunice was warned to present me w
ith this dinner on a special tray kept
e
specially for me. A
nd finally
,
I was to be given all this attention while sitting on the warmest chair by the fire because I
had just come in from the cold
. It’s a wonder that both Eunice and Michael didn’t hate me
. I
n my defence I don’t remember asking for any of this attention, but Eunice swears I demanded it. One time
,
in a rage
,
Eunice took the second cut of bread for herself, and Nannie saw her do it. She beat her while shouting at her, “Don’t you dare take John
’
s bread again, you little bitch”. Poor Eunice was indeed a slave twice over
,
and like mother
,
never once complained.

Across the road Tishie was born on March the sixteenth
,
the day before Paddy’s day
,
and I clearly remem
ber that particular Paddy’s day
because I had just made a microphone from carbon granules and an Andrews tin, and
we could hear the parade on it
as it marched up the town. Th
at same day Lill was cooking a chop
for the father, who had just returned from Kit
’s bar
and from a drowning of the Shamrock escapade, while our mother was in the Mallow hospital having our new sister Tish.  Lill
,
knowing no better
,
only cooked the chop on one side, and the other side was bloody and raw. Father
,
always a squeamish man at the best of times, but by then full of porter, sat down and began to eat his chop cooked by a ten year old child.  Suddenly he saw the blood and flew into a rage
. He
threw the whole chop out the back as he puked all over the place. I find it so strange how some memories stick in us for an eternity, and other ones vanish in hours.

My sister Tishie
,
who is actually called Patricia after the Paddy’s day birth
,
is an amazing girl. Like Eunice and myself
,
she seems to be very spiritual in outlook
. S
inc
e writing this memoir I realize
that Kyrle
,
Lill and Hugh are qui
te the opposite, being totally s
cience driven
, living
by logic and reasoning, while we others tend to live by emotions and feelings. In my view neither side is right or better
,
just different, but it does cause some amazing arguments when we all meet
,
which is way too rare these days.

Tishie was the father’s pet I think. He loved her as did mother, and all of us saw her grow into the girl that fell into much better times than we had
,
and we were all s
o glad of that. She went on to u
niversity and got h
er d
egree
, and there she met her husband-to-
be
,
John Stack. They live happily in Scotland with my nephew Hugh, a Downs Syndrome boy with great artistic talents. Eunice lives in the Isle of Man
with her husband S
eamus and their three girls Bree
,
Carrie and Ciara, while my sis
ter Lill has two children Peter
and Charlotte. Lill married a Manx man
,
Philip Faragher
,
and she too lives very happily on the Island of Man. It
’
s all too rare that we Cahills meet up now, but thank God our mother, the focal point of our family today, is still alive and well and she also lives on that beautiful little island.

Uncle Michael nicknamed my youngest brother Hugh as ‘The Congo’. He di
d this after a number of Irish s
oldiers were killed in a fierce battle in the Belgian Congo in Africa around nineteen sixty when Hugh was born. When
he came into the mother’s world
he was probably the least wanted of my parents
’
children, but who am I to know this for sure.  I feel he came at a real bad financial time, but no doubt he was loved by our parents like the rest of us were. However
,
I suspect deep down he sensed that he would be better off arriving a year or two later when things were beginning to improve.

I think Hugh grew up alone
. H
e used to sleep with Kyrle
,
who was nine years older
,
and they fought like dogs
:
worse than we ever did. Hugh literally had to live by his wits and survive all by himself, and to my shame I just remember him as being almost invisible, yet I loved his smile.  Mother had got bad epilepsy by then I believe, and I think another child to feed was just too much for her to take. Her poor mind cracked and she began to get what we called her ‘fits’. I only ever saw her in one of them and it scared the devil out of me. Poor father was kneeling beside her
,
comforting her and telling her that she was ok.  That really scary event was the one time I saw him show total love for his w
ife. You could feel his concern
as my mother jittered and moaned, looking desperate as she lay on our floor with father kneeling beside her holding her hand and propping her head.

Of course Hugh was totally blameless for the fits and for arriving in bad times, but I am very sure that a child, especially a very young child, can sense the feelings of those surrounding it, and if all you ever feel is fear, then you become defensive and a survivalist. You learn to live by your wits and Hugh became a master of that art right down to this day.

He was always on the defensive about everything, always trying to prove himself better and more right than Kyrle and I.  I didn’t care about this at all and I would just argue for the fun of arguing, but I never took it personally.  Kyrle did though, and would fly off
the handle in an instant. T
hey were always arguing about something.  They once had an argume
nt that went on for days about the principle of a draugh
t and why and how a fire actually lights
,
and what is the purpose of a chimney. I still laugh at this as even today after their numerous ‘proofs’ bounced off me, I am as confused as ever and still don’t know the principle myself.

My brother Hugh was caught in between two sisters and two older brothers
. H
e must have always felt alone and unloved I believe.  This was wrong as we all do love him, but we were useless at showing it.  Yet he has grown up with one of the most balanced personalities I have ever met.  He makes friends instantly and easily, and has a great personality and sense of humour. He is very outspoken and
is always battling the system. He’s a modern day Robin Hood
who will argue for the sheer mental exercise of it, and it’s a brave person will take him on.

He was certainly a bit of a womaniser growing up too
,
and I still mee
t women today who ask how he is
and where is he now.  He lives in Perth where he is very happily married to Celestine
,
the love of his life. They have three wonderful children
:
Tara
,
Tirna and Nieve
. A
ll of them are full of life and adventure, and I can’t wait to hear of their exploits as they become adults. Hugh has
,
in my mind, the most inve
ntive brain of any of us Cahill
s. I believe he
can think laterally as the norm
when most of are barely able to think at all in a crisis. I know this is true because I
saw
him do it in Hong Kong some years ago
,
but that’s another story.

My brother Hugh started to study the problem of DVT
(
deep vein thrombosis
)
better known as ‘blood clots’ on air travel, and as a result he has come up with the ultimate s
olution. Together with his long-
time best friend Gerard O’Connor
(
another Irishman
)
and myself
,
we have lodged patents in the USA on Hugh’s invention. At the time of writing
,
a number of them have been granted to us and a final one is close to grant.

According to Hugh, our invention will save thousands of lives in the future, and not alone on planes either, but in offices also, especially in America. Only time will tell where that project will go
,
but I am in no doubt of its success.

For as long as I can remember
,
Joe Hurley and I were fast friends. He lived just down the street from us
. H
is father
,
Tadgh Hurley
,
owned both a furniture shop and a grocery shop
,
and later still he brought television sets to Buttevant for the first time. Like
Big Kyrl, Tadgh was a true entre
p
reneur
and I always liked him. Mother had an account in his grocery shop for a while until they got fed up with her lack of payment and stopped giving us groceries. When she had been paying
,
she used to splurge out now and again
:
usually on a Sunday. This great splurging out amounted to her
buying a tin of fruit cocktail
on a Saturday night for the Sunday di
nner. Times were getting better
and we could now afford the odd tin of fruit
,
even if it wa
s on tick. What she didn’t know
was that each Saturday night me and Kyrle would punch a tiny hole in the top an
d bottom of the tin at its edge
to
drai
n off the juice
and then drink it. This was a regular occurrence and the minute we knew a tin was ordered, Kyrle would be itching to get the father
’
s hammer and nail ready. We simply loved that juice and to this day I often drink it, but thankfully I don’t need a hammer these days. On the Sunday as mother opened the tin she would get raging mad, seeing no juice once again
. She
would
despatch Lill down to Hurleys shop demanding a new tin saying
,
“Them Hurleys are trying to poison us all and I’ll not have it”. We did this drinking the juice for a long time before the Hurleys decided enough was enough, and her credit was stopped. Mother then moved on to Connor Corbett
’
s grocery shop with a new tick book, and no doubt leaving an unpaid bill at Hurleys.

Joe Hurley always seeme
d to be rich to me. H
e had all kinds of toys which he didn’t care about, and I had a magnetic attraction to him. No matter what he told me to do, I would almost certainly do it. To this day I don’t know why this was so, but he had great charisma and he made me laugh all the time
. A
ll he had to do was give me his certain look and I would burst out laughing
,
and for as long as I could remember we had been friends.

We played in a field up the ball alley lane which I am sure belonged to the Murphy family. Old Tom Murphy had a hardware shop literally across the road from Joe’s people and for some reason Joe hated them all with a passion. Tadgh Hurley owned a small field on his side of the lane behind his shop, so it was not surprising that Joe claimed the field on the opposite side of the lane as well, as that was how Joe was, but everyone kne
w it belonged to old
Mr.
Murphy…
except Joe.

Young Tom Murphy,
(
Mr.
Murphy
’s son who was hated by Joe)
was always openly claiming the opposite
,
and often there would be a shouting match between them from the safety of their front doors. This arguing led to a number of scraps with Tom
,
but all were
mostly a bit of pushing or name-calling events
except for one memorable day.

It was coming up to Cahermee time and the
travelers,
known to us as the tinkers
,
had stationed their horses in the Murphys
’
field. Cahermee is a famous horse fair held in Buttevant each July the twelfth. Joe and I were both about eleven or twelve years old then and up for any kind of devilment, especially Joe Hurley. We were standing in the field studying the horses huddled and tethered together in a corner when Joe says
,
“No one told them
tinkers to put them horses in my field. L
ets get rid of them Cahill”. Of course Joe had to act the tinker as well and give them the odd lash with a long stick he had found. Tom Murphy must have seen us and arrived, shouting at us to get out of his field
.
Joe
,
who was by then an expert at bad language, told Tom to
, “Fuck off out of my
sight”. As Joe’s disciple, I told Tom to fuck off as well, me trying to impress Joe with my tone and bad language.

Tom would not go and Joe says, “ Murphy, I’m giving you fair warning now, get the fuck out of here or you’ll be sorry
. I
sn’t that right Cahill
?
” I says
,
“You’ll be sorry, Murphy
,
” as I glare at Tom trying to look and act tough
too
. Still he would not go, so we made a run at him
,
and being two big bullies
,
we knocked him to the ground. Then Joe says, “Lets throw him to the horses
,
” winking at me evilly. I grab Tom
’
s legs and Joe
,
being stronger
,
grabs his hands
. P
oor Tom
,
who was younger and weaker than us bullies, struggles and kicks out
,
but its no use. We pull him over near to the horses and start to swing him.  Joe says, “Who owns the field now Murphy
?
”
“
My father does
,”
says Tom. Hurley says
, “I
f you don’t say who really owns it quick, you
’
r
e
going into those horses
”
. More swinging and Tom still refuses
. A
ll the time Joe is swinging and counting
,
“One… Two… Three
,
” we both let go
on three
and Tom sailed through the air into the horses who were already agitated. I saw all the trampling and took off
,
as did Joe. Poor Tom got trampled I believe and ran off home in a terrible state to complain to his dad. Old
Mr.
Murphy was the gentlest man I ever saw, but he later arrived over at Nannie
’
s house to complain
about
me and he was
very
angry
. H
owever
,
she would not hear
of a bad word said about me and s
he told him to get out, that her John would never hurt a fly, definitely not his son. He left and she then tells Michael
,
“Don’t get any more paint from the Murphy
s, go
on
up to Coleman
s instead
.
I’ll not have this carry
on, he’s lost our business”. One would think we bought loads of stuff from him, but all she ever got
there
was a couple of tins of paint every four years
for the Corpus Christ p
rocession. In her eyes though, her order to Michael to withdraw her custom would have dire economic implications for the complainer, and at the very least, he would go bust in the future. Then when I snuck back home she attacked me with her dishcloth and told me to keep away from Hurley, that he was
the
Devil and bad news followed him. This only cemented ou
r friendship all the more
, but
I always regretted the incident
as Tom was truly outnumbered and didn’t deserve what he got.
Me and Hurley chatted about it
in our camp in the trees in Murphy’s field later, and he blamed me saying that I was not supposed to let go of Tom
’
s legs because he had winked at me. It was just a prank that went wrong and I don’t think Tom got really hurt thank God
. W
e never attacked him again
though
to my knowledge.

We were going to the national school at that time a
nd had a woman teacher.
I think we called her Margaret. Hurley began having fantasies about girls
’
panties or ‘knickers’ as he called them. He decided that Margaret must wear pink ones and these were his favourite fantasy. Joe tried various ways to see if he was correct.
He would be dropping his pencil or copybook
trying to look up her dress. He had no luck and complained almost daily to me about it after school. He seemed to be almost obsessed with seeing her underwear. The fact that Marga
ret was probably in her fifties
made no odds to Joe
. I
f anything
,
it made it even more intriguing.

Margaret used to give us ‘the stick’
,
the term used for a good hiding, if we did poorly on the lessons and this was her weakness according to Joe. One day he decided to fail everything on purpose and also to give her back cheek as well, such was his determination to see up her dress. He had seen her flake one of the Knockbarry boys on the arse across her knee for back cheek, and he felt this would be the way to
go. Joe had no work done at all
and smarted off at Margaret when she asked why that was. Sure enough she got real mad and pulled him across her knees and flaked him hard across his pants with the
stick. As she swung into action
he roared out in pain, then another whack and more roaring, then I saw the funniest sight I had ever seen. There was Joe spread across her knees getting his ass beaten
while
he’s clearly bending his head and looking up her dress
. T
hen he looks down directly at me and gives me a big grin with the ‘thumbs up’ sign. She did wear pink after all. I thought he was taking the whole thing far too serious, but that was Joe.

When I was about thirteen, Hurley gave me my first sex education lesson.  Joe seemed to be an expert on the matter, as in all other things then, and one day I asked him what ‘it’ was like. I believed, wrongly, that he had ‘done it’ as that was the term used then to describe having sex, because he was constantly alluding to this great thing called ‘doing it’. On the day in question we retired to our camp in Murphys
’
field and inside the bushes Hurley told me the great secret. It amounted to this quotation and I n
ever forgot it. “Lad, see this m
ickey
?
” He opened his pants and proceeded to show me his small little penis,
“Well tis like this lad, what you do is you stick this in her hole and if she bleeds you better get out of town
fast coz she’s pregnant and you
’
r
e
in big trouble”
.
That was the entire sex education. Where he got this great information from
,
besides his vivid imagination
,
I never knew
,
but I believed him. T
hen he asked me to show him my m
ickey, but I was too shy and kept it inside. Hurley just laughed and said
,
“Lad it
’s ok
if it
’
s too small now, coz whe
n the right ‘bitch’ comes along
twill get real big”. For a long time Joe had been referring to women as bitches and every time he saw a schoolgirl go by he would go
,
“
L
ook at the fat arse on that bitch Cahill
.
I bet she loves it
,
” then he would slap me across the back and say
,
“One day soon you’ll know what I mean”
.
After Joe
’
s sex lesson I remember becoming really confused and was about to ask him more but decided to leave it for another day in cas
e he pressed me to show him my m
ickey again, so we went off playing hurling instead.

We had numerous scrapes and adventures. He tied a donkey up to an old gate and invited me to ride on his back just so that I could
,
‘Feel like a real cowboy
,
’ according to him. He assured me it was safe as the donkey was tied up. I climbed the gate and got on the donkey
’
s back and it all seemed great to me for a few seconds. I was hardly on board when Joe released the rope and gave the donkey a huge flake with a stick. The donkey reared up and took off down the field with me clinging on for dear life. It felt like I was
‘
breaking the horses in’ in the cowboy films, but I was terrified. The donkey bucked me off and made a run at me
.
I ran for the ditch
,
barely getting over it before it trampled me. I was terrified
,
but Hurley was literally crying with laughter. I punched him right in the eye and left for home
.
Joe came after me still laughing and saying over and over, “Sorry Cahill, sorry lad, but you should have seen yourself on his back, you’d have died laughing too”
.
I shrugged him off and told him to fuck off, but secretly I was beginning to see the funny side of it myself, especially now that I was not on the bloody donkey
’
s back.  But by then I was back at Nannie
’
s door and Joe knew that was forbidden territory for him. I think it was never the same with us after that
. W
e were still friends for years after
,
but something broke the friendship that day. I got a terrible fright thinking I was going to be trampled to death and all Joe could do was laugh at all that was happening to his best friend. I had enough of Joe by then, and we drifted a
part
until our secondary school days
with Pad Keely, when once again
Joe would be Joe
,
only worse and Nannie would be proven correct.