CHAPTER 3
"Enny old Rags"
Davey and the older lads stood together watching as the younger boys formed two great lines.
Arms linked across each others backs they marched backwards and forwards across the playground chanting, "ALL IN TO PLAY WAR! ALL IN TO PLAY WAR!" picking up stragglers onto their ends of their lines. Over and over they chanted at the top of their voices, nobody could resist, soon even the older boys who tried to stand aloof joined up.
"ALL IN TO PLAY WAR! ALL IN TO PLAY WAR!" Davey had tried to withstand the call but it was too urgent, one of the lines was becoming slightly longer than the other. He joined the shorter.
As if by unseen command the lines separated, positions were taken up behind low-brick walls, the toilet block and the corrugated metal walls of the school became command-posts and forts.
"OVER THE TOP!" roared a group of twenty littl'uns as they hurled themselves forwards braying like sheep. More machine-gun noises hit their charge, "Aargh!" some yelled throwing their arms up in the air and toppled to the floor to lie slain on the battlefield whilst their comrades continued the attack.
The bigger lads took command of the defenders, "Hand-grenades!" ordered Davey. Thirty boys obeyed him, in unison they reached for their belts; raised the grenades to their mouths, teeth extracted the pins, then as one, the grenades were hurled. More attackers fell screaming to the floor shouting the sound of the same explosion that brought their untimely death. Shouts of "Yer dead!" came from the defenders as some attackers argued the extent of their wounds.
The CLANG-A-CLANG of the bell froze everyone. Like a terrier shaking a rat Mr Quirk battered it back and forth in his hand.
"YOU BOY!" he roared at one of the slain who was slow in his recovery, "Stand still!"
Nothing escaped his eye, even a girl in the playground next-door was roared at, "Stop dancing about Glenda Tappington!"
"I want...toilet...Sir," squeaked a little voice.
The girl's shrew-faced teacher screamed, "SILENCE!@ and looked over the iron railings towards Mr Quirk, AI do apologise," she added. Her husband replied with a smug smile.
Davey thought he could use the distraction. His father would be resting on the Harrison's wall before he began his walk home. He turned and gave a quick wave. Hugh sat, his chest heaving, forehead sweating, he smiled weakly.
"You boy. OUT HERE!" roared Mr Quirk.
Davey moved from amongst the statues and made his way to the school master.
"Sorry Sir, it's my..."
"SILENCE!" roared the teacher into his face. The sound hit him like a blow. The smell of the man's breath was of moth-balls and kippers.
Mr Quirk's eyes swivelled to the side, took in Hugh sitting on the wall, then swivelled back.
"What do you think this is McCann!" he yelled, "I'm fed up with your insolence!"
The playground had been quiet before but now an expectant hush fell over it. Everyone knew what was coming.
"My cane Fergusson!" ordered Mr Quirk. A skinny, tousle-haired lad who had a permanent smirk on his face trotted into the building. Hugh used his walking-stick to help him stand up. By the time he reached his feet the boy had returned.
"Hand!" ordered Mr Quirk. Davey held out his hand, the cane was brought down with the full weight of the man's shoulder behind it.
"Hey leave it out!" called Hugh but his voice no longer had the power to carry.
"Other!" ordered Mr Quirk. Davey knew he must hold the hand perfectly still but as the heavy cane was whipping its way downwards he could not help it but moved his hand slightly, the cane caught him a glancing blow which was more painful than the previous swipe.
"Again!" snapped Mr Quirk without hesitation. Davey looked away as the second blow slammed home.
Hugh grimaced as each blow landed but Mr Quirk seemed to pay no more attention to the matter, "LINE UP" he roared. All the children walked quickly into lines, as each teacher appeared from the main doorway their class of children filed quietly into the building.
"Single file! SINGLE FILE!" Mr Quirk roared loudly so that his shout rang in the ears of Hugh.
A sly nod returned by his wife was followed by another smug grin as his eyes swivelled to watch Hugh's slow progress homewards.
"War hero," he sniggered as he took out a silver cigarette case from his pocket, lit up, then stood watching, chest stuck out, puffing smoke over his victory.
"I've told you that walking up to that school is too much for you Hughie," said his wife, "look at you, all out of breath," Hugh slumped in his armchair, his chest wheezed painfully as it dragged in air, "write to the War Board again, if we could afford the medicine you'd be recovering, not suffering like this."
"Times are hard girl," said Hugh, "there's men far worse off than me, look at poor old Paddy over the road," changing the subject he said, "Look Liz, I reckon that Quirk fellow is giving our Davey a hard time, you know the sort."
"Huh, know the sort, he got given four white feathers, he's nothing but a big bully."
"Well anyway I was thinking, what if we let the lad have a few days off?"
"And I don't suppose you'd mind having him round the house would you?" she laughed.
"It'll do him good, besides he's going to be out working before he knows it."
"Promise me that you won't try to go for another of those long walks like that one last weekend and I'll let him."
Hugh smiled, he wore spectacles, little metal rimmed glasses with thick lenses which magnified his gas-damaged eyes, Liz bathed in the love which flowed from them.
The chant already echoed through the school as Mr Quirk entered. With a loud, "Huh!" he pulled out a silver pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket then twitched his head as if to say, "They are too early." As he hurried through each classroom on the way to his own the class halted and stood up, not until he had passed through into the next room did they carry on from where they had left off.
"Your dad's still got his gun hasn't 'e?" asked Toots. Davey listened, he sat with his throbbing hands under his armpits, fighting back the tears.
"We'll get that creep," said Toots nodding towards Fergusson.
Fergusson was waiting at the door, when he heard the chant stop in the adjoining classroom he knew his master was near; he swung open the door, the class jumped to their feet, in stormed Mr Quirk, face red with fury.
"We're behind," he snarled abruptly. With a wave of his cane as though conducting an orchestra, they were off.
"One's five is five
Two fives are ten
Three fives are fifteen
Four fives are twenty"
Forty boys chanted together but Tony Toohey had no idea of his tables, he just said anything that came into his head that fitted the tune. Davey had nearly laughed uncontrollably listening to him in times past but today the pain in his hands warned him otherwise.
The windows to the room were set high into the walls so that nothing should cause any distraction, outside the late summer sun rose in the sky until its rays shone through the windows, the dust separated the light as it shafted downwards, slowly it crept across the bare boards below and brightened the dismal room. Mr Quirk's face twisted into a grimace at this potential nuisance, the echo of his thin soled leather shoes competed against the scratch of pen nibs, with a long pole he hooked a heavy blind and pulled it down, blocking out the brightness. He could not block out the heat, summer was ending but the sun radiated against the corrugated metal walls, turning the rooms into ovens.
Costas Contaratus was a Greek dumpling, the sweat rolled down his face in rivers.
"Sir, Mr Quirk Sir," he interrupted the teacher from reading a novel.
"What boy," snarled Mr Quirk.
"Please Sir, may I remove my jumper," begged Contaratus, the heat was obviously getting too much for him, his eyes swam in their sockets.
"Why?" asked Mr Quirk, twitching his head slightly as was his mannerism whenever he felt attention was upon himself. He sat in his
jacket, trousers, waistcoat, shirt and tie, not even a bead of sweat broke from his smooth white skin.
"'E's 'ot Sir," answered Fergusson.
Mr Quirk looked at him.
"Shut up," he spoke in a quiet voice but there was an air of menace to his words.
Fergusson's head shrank back into his shoulders, rebuked by his master. After a moments thought Mr Quirk nodded towards him. "Take him outside," he ordered, then returned to his reading. Fergusson copied Mr Quirk's self-important look and shot to help the boy who was slowly turning a shade of green.
Contaratus was half-carried through four classrooms, in each class he sank a little lower but the worse his plight the more titters he raised.
"Costa Curtains," whispered several voices, "Pull yourself together."
When they finally staggered into the fresh air, he gasped like a fish out of water.
Towards the day's end Mr Quirk took out his pocket watch and placed it on his desk, the feeling that freedom was once again drawing near spread like an invisible wave over the class, even Fergusson began staring anxiously at the back of the watch, polished by the hand of the man he sought to serve.
"CLANG-A-CLANG-A-CLANG!" the bell signalled the end of the day.
Indians, cowboys, soldiers, sailors, nurses and princesses burst from out of the school-gates, screaming, whooping and shooting.
"Dad!" called Davey, running across the street to his father.
Hugh sat on the Harrison's wall, he roughed the boy's hair in his hand.
"Hello lad, I'll bet you were baking like beans in there today, eh?" the sweat on his son's head was his answer. "Everything alright lad?"
"He picks on all the kids, it was nothing," Davey looked away.
"I haven't told your mum what happened but I've sorted something out for you...if you want that is."
Davey turned towards him, curious.
"If you like you can have a few days off, it won't hurt, your mum's agreed to it..."
"Thanks Dad that's terrific!" exclaimed Davey.
"Come on then give us a hand." With one arm resting on his son's shoulders the other using his stick they made their way home. Their resting places were well known to them, every few hundred yards Hugh would take a brief halt. "Why are you walking like that lad, I'm not too heavy for you am I," he asked, noticing that Davey was dragging his left foot.
Davey looked embarrassed, "It's the sole on me boot Dad, it's a bit thin."
"You leave that to me, I'll get your granddad to get us something to fix that with."
Down the neat rows of terraced houses they walked, past the cold dark sandstone walls of the reservoir, past Steble Street baths and over the canal bridge until they reached Copperfield Street.
"Wow Dad! That looks great!"
All round the front door Hugh had painted the bricks with bright red-lead paint.
"It makes our house the smartest in the street," said Davey as they entered.
"And it nearly finished him off, those fumes on his chest," scolded his mother.
Davey kissed her on the cheek.
"Oh stop fussing Liz," said Hugh, "you'll have me dead and buried."
"I'll give you dead and buried," she said, "and if you two think you're getting up to mischief together over the next few days then you've got another thing coming to you."
Davey smiled, "Thanks Mum," he said.
"I'm going to have a little lie down now girl," said Hugh.
Davey and his mother looked at each other as they heard him slowly making his way up the stairs, he would not be down until morning. They sat together listening to the wireless, upstairs they could hear the same cough, all night long it would go on a harsh racking sound which hurt to listen to.
"Doctor says it should improve given time.- and money," said his mother crossly, not looking up from her knitting.
Autumn was setting in, the weather contrasted with the heat of the previous day. A cold drizzle pattered against the window panes, forcing its way through unputtied gaps to slowly drip down the frame. A mist drifted across the river forcing ships and liners to sound their fog-horns like great beasts laying claim to their own territory. The clink of bottles told the time as the milk-cart wound its way along the streets.
"Breakfast Davey!" called his mother. From upstairs came faint snores.
"Ah, let the lad sleep in Liz," said Hugh coughing. The smoke belching out of a thousand chimneys to mix with the mist filthying the air put an even harder edge to his cough. Liz patted him gently on the back.
"You're spoiling him Hughie," she said forcing herself to laugh, each of his racking coughs cut into her like a knife.
Davey lay wrapped in his eiderdown but the smell of fried eggs was irresistible, for a moment he lay half asleep, half awake until the rumblings of his stomach dragged him from his bed, "I'm up Mum," he called, pulling on his dungarees and grining with the knowledge that he did not have to attend school.
The sound of his father's cough grated up the stairs, it seemed to be answered with a booming echo from across the street. Davey drew back the curtains and looked towards where the booming sound was coming from then pulled on his boots and ran down the stairs.
"Morning Mum, morning Dad, just popping over to Uncle Paddy's."
"Watch nobody sees you Davey," called his mother after him, "and be quick, it's going cold."
Smoke from a blazing fire rose above the Murtagh's thick and heavy like steam from a train, Mrs Murtagh tended her son like a nurse-maid, she ushered Davey up the stairs screeching after him,
"It's a visitor! Need anything Paddy.@
"Here she goes again, all day long, need anything Paddy," he copied, giving another great booming cough. On the bed at his side lay a walking stick, he tapped on the floor with it,
"Once for No, two for Yes, and three times if you want me," he mimicked.
The accuracy of the imitation caused Davey to laugh. Paddy coughed in reply, he lay in bed, it had been specially raised so that he could lie at the window looking out at the street; heavy net curtains dulled out any bright light which may hurt his weakened eyes, below them a horse and cart carrying scrap metal made its soaking way along.
"No school today then young 'un?" he asked.
"Naw, I'm going to be leaving soon. Me and me dad are going to play chess instead.@
"You'll learn a damn sight more doing that than stuck in that damn schoolroom.@ Every few words were punctuated with a frightening wheeze, "do us a favour and open that window, it's like a furnace in here." Davey could hear the fluids building up in his chest adding a rattle to the wheeze, he knew that soon Mrs Murtagh would ask him to leave saying, "He needs a good clear out."
He slid the sash open, drizzle drifted in.
"That's better lad," said Paddy, Aneeded a bit of fresh air.@ But the air which entered dropped small flecks of soot onto the bedcovers. "Chess is like a battle see Davey, you've got to get all your men into the right place at the right time, find out your opponents weakness, then when everything's ready you strike. Sometimes it pays to throw away one of your pieces, make a sacrifice, a sacrifice will rip the heart out of a man. Look I'll show yer 'ow it's done."
"And keep that window shut up there," called Mrs Murtagh, "the doctor said to keep you warm and I'm not paying to heat the street."
"There she goes again," said Paddy angrily.
Davey could see his anger was not directed against his mother.
Another cough from downstairs was instantly recognised, "It's me Dad," said Davey.
Mrs Murtagh greeted him, "Morning Mr Mac, come in, you're all wet, you shouldn't be out in that. Go on up, they're both up there, 'ere love give us yer coat."
Slow footsteps sounded up the stairs.
"Come on little feller," wheezed Paddy, "yer like an old man, what's wrong with yer!"
Hugh panted into the room, grinning at Paddy he said, "I'll give you old man, you great lunk," he turned to Davey, "better get your breakfast lad, your mum says i
ts getting cold, we don't want to upset her do we!" he smiled, a twinkle was in his eye.
"Alright Dad, see you later Uncle Pad.@
"'e'are son, couple of coppers for yer," said Paddy taking some coins from the top drawer of the dressing table and passing them to him.
"Ta!" said Davey.
The two men listened to his energy as he bounced down the stairs.
"How's you then little feller?" asked Paddy.
"Much the same, much the same," answered Hugh quietly.
"Your lad didn't look too happy yesterday Hughie, what was up?"
"God, you don't miss a thing from here do you Pad," joked Hugh, "he had a bit of a problem with his teacher."
"Oh, who's that then? Do I know him?"
"Big bloke, always wears a suit and tie, he's got a moustache and a bit of a beard, he gave our Davey a caning yesterday, I tell you Pad if I was half the man I was I'd have been straight over there and set into him."
"Swine!" said Paddy, leaning over and spitting into the bucket by the side of his bed, his face was bright red when he came back up, "I know that feller, I remember him, keeps twitching his 'ead, now let me think..yeah... Queerk, that's him isn't it?"
"That's the one," said Hugh coughing, Paddy nodded towards his bucket, Hugh cleared his throat,
"Liz said he gave so many excuses to dodge the call-up that he got given four white feathers."
"Swine! To think we was over there fighting for the like's of him, I tell you what Hughie a hiding's too good for >im," his temper had boiled over, "if you take my advice you'll get your .303 and put a bullet in him, so help me I would....If I ever get out of here...You get me your rifle and so help me God, I will get out of here!"
On her way upstairs with two cups of tea Mrs Murtagh decided she had better retreat. She hurried back into the kitchen and put a scarf on to hide the pegs in her hair, "Just popping round to Glendennings," she called up the stairs.
"Oh God, not more fish," groaned Paddy, "I'm goin' to grow gills if I stay here much longer.@
Holding a gabardine mackintosh over her head to shield herself against the rain Mrs Murtagh hurried across the street.
"Mrs Mac, Mrs Mac!" she called breathlessly at the open door.
Davey and his mother rushed to her, "What's the matter, is it Hugh?" asked Liz in alarm.
"No, No he's alright, nothing to worry about." She turned to Davey, "You go on in lad while I have a word with your mother, it's just women's talk."
As soon as Davey had disappeared she lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's my Paddy, stuck up there all day everyday, it's driving him mad, mad I tell yer. I've just heard him saying that if your Hughie gets him his rifle he'll shoot somebody!"
"Hughie wouldn't do that," said Liz.
"We know that but my Paddy... you know what he's like. He's getting himself so worked up over there, just hide the rifle from him there's a dear, just in case." She rushed back across the street muttering to herself.
"What's going on Mum?" Davey asked as she burst past him and ran up the stairs. When she did not answer he followed her up. She stood holding the rifle in one hand and a helmet in the other.
"We've got to get these out the house Davey," she said.
"But Mum, this is Dad's rifle, he took this helmet off a German in the war.@
"They'll only remind him of it," she said looking round and thinking. The cry from the alleyway gave her the answer.
"ENNY OLD RAGS! SCRAP OR IRON!"
"Give these to the rag and bone man, you keep the money, go on, there's a good lad."
Davey saw there was no argument about it, he carried them out into the back yard and opened the alleyway door. A few houses away a black, brown and white pie-bald horse which wore heavy leather blinkers stood patiently in the rain, harnessed behind it was a low flat-bedded cart carrying old rags and lumps of metal dripping with water, a man who was so filthy he looked as though he'd just come up from a coal-mine shouted his gravelly cry, "ENNY OLD RAGS! SCRAP OR IRON!"
Davey could never understand a word of it he walked down the sodden alleyway and felt a puddle seep into the worn sole of his boot, soaking his sock. "How much for these please Mister?"
"'alf a crown for the gun, a tanner for the 'at."
"I'll keep the hat," said Davey, "Ta!" he took the coin offered to him by a blackened hand.
Slowly he opened the alleyway door to check for his mother's whereabouts, between the outhouse, which housed the toilet, and the back wall was a narrow gap, he checked was not watching then pushed the helmet into the gap as far as he could reach.
"How much did he give you Davey?" asked Liz in a hushed voice.
"Half a crown Mum, here you have it.@
"Shush, there's a good lad, you keep it, don't say nothing to your dad, he's waiting."
"Make your choice then Davey boy!" said Hugh hiding a pawn in each hand. Davey chose white.
"Cup of tea anybody?" asked Liz but already the concentration was so intense she did not receive any reply. She drifted back into the kitchen from where issued the sound of her singing in a beautifully soft, high-pitched voice.
The game progressed in silence until Hugh spoke, "You've been listening to your Uncle Paddy, I'd recognise this style of play anywhere, Aa sacrifice will rip the heart out of a man,@ I bet that's what he told you, didn't he?" Hugh laughed as he asked the question, Davey's face confirmed his suspicions. "Anyway lad, it's not going to help you, watch out!" Hugh positioned his knight close to Davey's territory, it's commanding position pinned down several pieces.
"Check," said Davey, throwing away a bishop against the pawn wall protecting the black king.
"More like suicide," said Hugh, "unless its another of Paddy's sacrifice moves!"
More and more men attacked the gap forced by the loss of the bishop. Soon Hugh was able to see
what lay in store for him, "I'll give you that one lad, set them up again, I won't be a minute.@
Davey heard him coughing and spluttering to the outhouse and his mother's voice, "Will you come back in before you catch your death of cold."
"Davey's been getting a bit of help from the great lummox over the road," laughed Hugh when he returned, "I tell you what girl, that Paddy's got some brain on him. Hospital chess-champion he was. I can just see him now, sitting there concentrating, chewing away at the corner of his lip." Liz wrung the dish-cloth in her hands when she saw the tortured look of recollection appear upon Hugh's face.
All day long father and son pitted their wits against each other, dinner was but an unwarranted interruption to the contest, Hugh loved a game of chess now that most other activities were closed to him and gradually his style of play told upon the less experienced player. The early darkness that Autumn brought with it set in and still the games went on. On his return from one of many visits to the outhouse Hugh pointed out through the window, "Red sky at night lad, should be a nice day tomorrow."
Davey looked out, over the grey slate roofs the sky was streaked with bands of crimson, the wind had dropped and a calmness was in the air, "Maybe a bit too calm though," suggested Hugh.