1
The ma an me, an me mother’s sister, Nelly, an her son, Barney – he’s only three, I’m bigger, I’m nearly four – live together in one room in a tenement house in the Liberties of Dublin. We were all born here. Me aunts an uncles were born in this room, all ten of them, but most of them now live away in England, so it’s just Nelly an me ma left.
Me ma, Sally, had only just passed her sixteenth birthday when I arrived in the world. It was a shock te everyone, they said, though how her growin belly was not noticed was a mystery. The hawkeyed women missed tha one! When her brothers an sisters arrived over te find out wha was goin on, she wouldn’t tell anyone who the father was, an the local parish priest said me ma would have te go inta a Magdalen laundry te stop her getting inta more trouble. ‘The baby can go into a convent as well. The nuns are very good in these homes, they’ll take care of it.’ But Nelly said she would take care of us an told the rest of them te go back te England.
Me granny was a dealer in the Iveagh Market. She sold secondhand clothes, an on Sundays she’d have me grandfather take her apples, an oranges, an chocolate, an things on his horse an cart, an drive out te Booterstown at the seaside, where she sold them te the city people comin off the train te get the fresh air an let their childre play in the sand an get a good wash at the same time, runnin in an out of the water. Me granny worked very hard, gettin up at four o’clock in the mornin te be at the market in time te get her fruit an vegetables, or fish on Fridays.
Me grandfather was a baker. He was a terrible man for the drink. An he was always angry. He didn’t make me granny’s life easy. He fought in the First World War, an he brought home a huge big paintin from a bombed church in Belgium. I don’t know how he managed te get away with tha an bring it all the way back te Dublin, but he did, an it used te hang in the back room (we don’t go inta tha room for some reason), takin up the whole wall. Now the paintin’s gone, cos Nelly sold it for drink.
Me poor granny lost four of her childre, one after another, an then me grandfather, within nine months. A three-year-old boy, he fell off a low wall an was killed. A little girl, she was only nine years old. A twelve-year-old girl, who died of pneumonia. She was late for school, an the doors were locked, so she sat on the cold steps of the school in the pourin rain, too frightened te go home. A neighbour saw her sittin there an told me granny. She ran down an found her still sittin there an soaked te the skin. Me granny took the shawl from aroun her head an put it on Delia, who was now shiverin like mad. But me granny couldn’t save her, an she died.
The next girl te die was Molly, who was eighteen years old. They say she was a real beauty. Gorgeous long wavy hair, down past her waist. She was very religious an probably would have joined the nuns, but she died of consumption. Then me grandfather died, all in nine months. Soon after, me granny got very sick an she was taken inta the union . Me ma was still only young when she died. The union used te be called the workhouse. It was a place where sick an destitute people went when there was no hope left.
Me granny left six childre behind te fend fer themselves. Me granny’s maiden sister – she never married – lived close by, an she kept an eye on them. One by one, they took the boat te England, each bringin over the next. Me ma even went at fourteen years old.
There was loads of work for everyone. Because England was tryin te rebuild her cities, after the war with Hitler, who nearly blew them te Kingdom Come. Anyway, for some reason, her brother Larry brought her back te Dublin just before I was born an dumped her with Nelly. So here we are – me, the ma, her sister, Nelly, an Barney.
We all sleep in the one big bed. Me an the ma at one end, an Nelly an Barney at the other. Me aunt Nelly is a real hard chaw – I heard tha word from a neighbour. I suppose it means roarin an laughin one minute, an screamin she’ll kill ye the next. It wouldn’t be a good idea te have a fight with her! One day she sent me fer a Woodbine, an on the way back, I saw tha gobshite Tommy Weaver. I hate him, I do! He thinks he’s so big cos he says he’s five. He doesn’t look it! Anyways, I decided te look like Nelly an put the cigarette in me mouth, I was suckin away like goodo, an yer man was ragin. But by the time I tried te hand it te Nelly, it was all mashed in me mouth, an I was spittin out gobs a tobacca.
Nelly went red as a tomato an then the colour of green grapes. She was gummin fer a cigarette. ‘Gimme me coat!’ she roared, an leapt out the door, screamin at me te come on! She was up in the shop an had managed te browbeat the aul one inta givin her another cigarette by the time I got there. ‘An another thing!’ she was sayin. ‘We were all well reared! If the babby says she didn’t get the cigarette, then she didn’t! We don’t tell lies! An we’re not beggars, we pay our way. So don’t act high an mighty wit me, or I’ll swing for ye! Com on, you!’ she roared at me, an I galloped out behind her, shoutin back at the aul one, ‘Yeah! Tha’s right!’