Two Walls and a Roof (22 page)

Whe
n I asked about how we would un-
nail th
ese windows later on, he said, “
John
,
the end always justifies the means
. D
idn’t I tell you that
? D
on’t you worry about the bloody windows today, I need em sweatin tonight”.

On the second night his window trick worked
a treat, and sales were way up
b
ecause the hall was like an oven
causing sweat to pour off both the tinkers and the townies alike. Still he was not satisfied with the profits, so on the third night he took me and Kyrle aside and told us that we had to also collect the empty bottles, as the ‘real profit’ was in the returned bottles. What’s more, he agreed that we would get extra pay for each bottle brought back inside the ‘bar’ before the
night was over. For some reason
he had got it into his head that people were taking home the bottles after the dance. He was also afraid of fights, as t
he bottles would then be broken. T
here was always a fight or two each night
,
so he saw a risk to his profits and we were to reduce it.

For me though, the thought of just going round collecting ‘empties’ was dead easy extra money, and so I set off first chance I got. I became eagle
-
eyed, studying the form of the dancers. Who was physically big, drinking fast, and dancing like a mad man? Who was trying to impress a fat w
oman, as she would drink more a
nd he would buy her more. I had all kinds of possi
bilities going round in my head
as I eyed up both the drinkers and the bottles alike.  Soon I collected away and made a tidy sum that night. Kyrle served bar with one of Kyrl
’s many casuals
and was adamant that he was also collecting the next night
,
having seen my extra stash of cash.

By the final nig
ht the money fever was up on me.
I convinced Kyrle to let me serve for the first half, and then I’d collect for the latter part of the night.  He was a bit suspicious, but I managed to make him believe that most fights took place in the latter part of the night, and he would be safer inside by then. In actual fact I had worked out that the place got like an inferno towards the end and that meant they drank far more. Kyrl also changed the door policy to ensure that you had to pay again on returning if they
went out for a bit of fresh air
or ‘a shift’
,
the term used for a million forms of sexual activity, so no one would be leaving at all that night and profits should soar.

Soon I was watching for each set change in the music, and the minute the dancers leapt up for another set, I would swoop in and grab their bottles. I became greedy and took any bottle that was about two thirds empty. It worked fairly well for a while, but then the inevitable happened. I took a bottle from under the nose of a very large tinker man and his even bigger brother. Unknown to me I was spotted and no sooner was I back in the bar when they arrived at the hole in the wall.  The tinker pushed his way through and grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me clean out through the bar opening, knocking over bottles of drinks and empties alike.

He had me up against the wall and was shouting and roaring that I took his drink, and he wanted it back. The only thing saving me was my youth. Very quickly Black John once again came to my rescue, and the tinker and his brother were quickly thrown out of the hall. Kyrl wanted to know if the tinker was right, and I had to admit that he was, so he says to me,
“Well John
twas not a bad plan and would have worked on the townies, but I’m not so sure about the tinkers though
. M
aybe it’s just as well it’s our last night huh”.  Smirking
,
he went off on his rounds of the hall and left me to serve away, still shaking from the fright I had got.

That night all of the windows in the hall were mysteriously broken. Next day I arrive for the clean
up and Kyrl says to me
,
“John, you should have left em have their ould drink
. N
ow t
’
isnt nails we need to worry about but glass”, but that was all he ever said on the matter again.  That was a great side of him too that I admired immensely
. T
here were never any recriminations for disasters
;
no need to state the obvious, and it was all put down to experience. Next year I would not be stealing bottles from the tinkers.

Even when a disaster was a costly one, he would not get really annoyed.

I had been doing the
headstone
lettering in his workshop know
n as ‘the shed’ for a long time
when my worst disaster happened. By then I had got quite cocky about my spelling accuracy and would letter a stone with almost sheer abandon. Kyrl
’
s method was different, and h
e warned me to use his method
as the customer was always right according to him. When a name was to be placed on a stone
,
Kyrl had a book which he would produce for the customer. Then he always
,
without exception
,
asked them to print out what they wanted on the stone in his book, and he just copied what they wrote. It worked with total success for him, and he kept telling me to make sure I followed the book.  Of cour
se I didn’t need a book by then;
I was invincible, or so I thought, because I was being taught by Ma Keely the master speller, and could never get spellings wrong or she would kill me, so I didn’t bother to use the book after a while.

This worked ok for a long time until one day I was asked to print the name Ballymagooly on a new headstone
.
I lettered away and he placed the stone in the yard for the customer’s usual inspection before we erected it.

Disaster struck
.
I had either added an
‘
o
’
or should have added one
. I
n any case I spelled it wrong, and as the
customer was arguing with Kyrl
he dashes in and demands the book. I c
an’t even find it at that stage
as I had used it so little, and he rushes out again all apologies, telling the woman that he will make her a completely ‘new’ stone at no extra cost
,
and it will be spelled correctly next time. I hear all this going on and figure I am getting no wages for the next ten years, based on what he paid me
.
I am kicking myself for my arrogance. In he arrives and he is not happy, demanding we find
the book. In the end it’s found
jammed down beside an old stone, and he gives me this look saying
,
“What did I tell you about the book
?
” All I can say is
,
“
I’m sorry
. I’ll
work it off till the stone is paid for
”
. Then he starts laughing, “Surely you don’t think I’m going to give that old skinflint a new stone, do you
?”
I say
,
“But you told her you would”. He says
,
“John, there are tricks in every trade, and it will be a new stone, even if half of it
’s gone. A
m I right”. I still don’t know what he is talking about and look at him blankly.

He is smirking away as he tells me all this, then says, “Let
’
s get the old stone back in and I’ll make it a new one before your very eyes”.

We get it in, lay it on the bench, and he grabs his sander and begins to grind down the whole front face of the stone. He was one hell of a polisher, I’ll grant him that, and in half an hour or so all my work is obliterated. Now he says
, “This time
use the bloody book will you, and learn two things from this experience
:
first you don’t know everything, and secondly there is always a way to fix things
,
” and off he went.  I never again got a stone lettered wrongly either, and I did learn a wonderful lesson in humility that day.

Kyrl
had two passions I believe, he
loved cars
, and he loved
touring
around
Canada and America
with his adopted son, John Collins
. A
side from his numerous money making schemes
, the buying of a car was the chief occupier of his mind when he was not abroad with John Collins
. As he got older he would change his car each year
, and for months he would be studying all the parameters such as engine size, colour, and internal attachments, and in this my own son Kyrl is a carbon copy.
But
the test drive was
always
the
big
gest
event for him
, and he would want to be fully satisfied before he parted with his cash
. After he
did make the purchase he would
arrive
on
to
my
father and give him
the test
drive as well, though it was always
Kyrl who
did the driving. One time he had bought a very fancy
modern
car complete with radio and electric windows as well as an electric cigarette lighter. Father was taken off for the inevitable spin and as they drove along Kyrl demonstrated all the new gadgets in the car. It was a sunny day and
Kyrl demonstrated the electric windows by winding them down.
Father
was amazed at this and soon
began to relax in the
comfortable
new seats and
so
they chatted as they drove along.
After some miles he became
fully at ease with his domineering
older
brother
, and
asked Kyrl if it was all right to smoke
in his new machine. He
got the ok from Kyrl,
and
so he gets out his fag
s
and reaches inside his pocket for the matches. Kyrl says, “What are you doing Hugh, you don’t need matches anymore,
just watch this
, use the lighter.
It will pop out when it’s re
a
d
y and you can light up
then
”. At that Kyrl activates the lighter and in
a short while it pops out. Kyrl says “It
’
s ready now
Hugh
light up” My father can
’
t believe
what he is seeing
and says “Jekus boys Kyrl that’s a great yoke”
.  Then he lights his fag and
before Kyrl can stop him he
throws the lighter
right
out the open window. Kyrl shouts “Noo Hugh” but its too
late, the little round device has
gone in over some ditch
never to be seen again
and after about two hours of embarrassed searching they give up on it all.
Kyrl drove father home in silence
,
and next day he
changed the car
,
because
he was so disgusted
with what happened. My
father got no more test runs after that
either
.

When I began researching this book I asked a great friend of
Kyrls
to tell me about the real
Kyrle
Cahill
because he just fascinated me. I wanted to know
the side
of him
that he showed to no one
, or so I believed
. The man I spoke to was Michael O’Callaghan a great local musician and Kyrl
’
s best friend. I felt if anyone could describe my extraordinary uncle
,
Michael could. As it turned out there was no secret side to the man. He just lived a charismatic life and adventures seemed to follow him
, but unlike my dad they were always good adventures
. Michael did tell me of a day he would never forget though.
Kyrl owned a stone quarry near a town called Doneraile about five miles from Buttevant. When he needed stone for his monumental works
,
he would organize about eight locals
as helpers
and head for the quarry to do a bit of rock blasting. My great uncle Johnnie who was a lot older than Kyrl and who was our master stone mason
,
was the so called expert on the blasting.  Johnnie had concocted a kind of drill that would bore a small hole vertically into the cliff face then
he would
add the gunpowder charge and tamp all this powder down with a wooden pole. Later he added the fuse and all going well there would be a fine blast and a slice of rough stone would fall from the cliff face
,
later becoming
someone’s
headstone. This normally worked well
enough
until the day
when Johnnie forgot the tamping
pole. Kyrl was insisting as usual that the day would not be wasted and a blast had to take place. I believe he convinced Johnnie to use an iron crowbar
and
gingerly tamp the charge while the whole crew looked on
in amazement
. The iron b
ar hit flint and the whole ground
blew up, throwing Johnnie into the air
,
sending the bar into orbit
,
and landing the rest of them onto their asses on the ground
,
shaken but unharmed.
Undaunted by this near death experience, Kyrl convinced Johnnie to do it all again
after a tea and Guinness break, and this time they were rewarded with
a good haul of rock
for the headstones
. Kyrls mode of rock transporting was
to get his crew to load all this
stone into a flatbed truck that he had built from scratch and this they did.