An Irish Christmas Feast, page 15
‘She’ll pine for the ways of the city, you’ll see,’ a local farmer informed another, ‘and it’s my guess,’ he continued, unaware that he had an interested audience only a few yards away, ‘that she’ll make tracks as soon as her year’s mourning is down.’
‘What makes you say that?’ the second farmer asked.
‘I say that,’ said the first farmer, ‘because she has stopped wearing the black at mass and when women stops wearing the black they gets anxious about the future and then they’re likely to pull up stakes and to move or to marry as the humour catches them.’
That very night at the request of Pius the twins departed the pub after the second pint.
‘Follow me,’ he said, ‘and don’t ask no questions like a good man.’
Although slightly irritated Patcheen was curious. Silently he followed his twin into the night. Despite his best efforts he found himself unable to draw abreast of his brother. He wanted to ask why they were making a detour and why he had been obliged to forego half of his normal intake but could not catch up, so determined was Pius to reach his goal.
Eventually they found themselves at the gate which opened on to the Doody laneway.
‘It’s up to you now boy,’ Pius confronted his brother, ‘you better go in there and state your case or we might never see her again.’
‘Look at the hour of the night we have!’ Patcheen argued.
‘’Tis the right hour for what you have to do,’ Pius insisted, ‘and isn’t there a light in the kitchen window which means she’s still up.’
Patcheen hesitated. If he was to tell the absolute truth he would admit to having considered the precise manoeuvre on which his brother wished him to embark on many an occasion but implementing it was another matter altogether.
‘I won’t know how to put it,’ he complained.
‘It will all come to you when you face up to her,’ Pius assured him as he pushed him towards the gateway. At that moment the door opened and Kitty appeared.
‘Who’s out there?’ she called.
‘It’s only us,’ Pius returned.
‘I’m so relieved,’ Kitty called back as she placed a shaking hand under her throat. The brothers stood silently side by side, Pius nudging Patcheen to give an account of himself and the latter temporarily tongue-tied.
‘Is there anything wrong?’ Kitty asked anxiously after she had advanced a few paces.
‘This poor man has something wrong with him all right,’ Pius pushed Patcheen forward, ‘but he’ll be telling you all about it himself for I would say that it’s been playing on his mind for some time.’
‘Oh dear!’ came the sympathetic response, ‘there is none of God’s creatures without some kind of a cross.’ So saying she bent her head meekly and went indoors, making sure as she did that the door remained ajar behind her. At the same moment Pius Mickelow turned on his heel and disappeared into the night.
‘Sit up to the fire,’ Kitty removed a bundle of knitting from a chair near the hearth and sat herself on a chair nearby, nearer his chair Patcheen noticed than she had ever ventured before. His heart soared but then it flopped awkwardly downward into its rightful resting place when he considered the unpredictable ways of the opposite sex.
So far as Patcheen knew, and it was also believed by other eminent authorities, members of the opposite sex for reasons best known to themselves did not always make themselves quite clear in matters of the heart.
Faced with this dilemma he bided his time. Caution was called for and he would be the first to admit that he had no experience in dealing with women.
So profound was the silence in the kitchen, apart from the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, that the only sound to be heard came from the gentle criss-crossing of the knitting needles which Patcheen had never before seen so speedily and skilfully employed. Thus they sat for what seemed ages. From time to time he adjusted himself on the chair but there was no move from his companion saving the bewildering complexities of the knitting fingers. As far as he could see she seemed to be in a jovial mood. However, limited and all as his experience was, he knew that females often tended to make their meaning clear too late in the day, with disastrous consequences.
Occasionally she would lift the blue eyes from her work and smile at him as if it was the most natural thing in the world that the two of them should be sitting together.
Then surprisingly she moved her chair nearer to his, so near that their bodies brushed whenever they adjusted themselves. It was a hopeful sign surely but she gave no other and as the night wore on it seemed that she might not move till dawn brightened the landscape beyond the curtained window.
‘Unless I make a move now,’ Patcheen told himself, ‘I will never make one.’
‘Do you know what I’m thinking?’ he whispered confidentially.
‘No,’ came the conspiratorial reply.
‘I was thinking,’ said he, ‘of what a waste it is to see two fires in two different houses when you could have just one fire in one house.’
‘I know what you mean indeed,’ she agreed, ‘for it was often the same thought occurred to myself.’
‘Waste not,’ Patcheen recalled the first half of the ancient maxim.
‘Want not!’ she concluded it for him.
‘Then there’s the upkeep of the two houses.’ He pressed his advantage. She nodded eagerly in accord.
‘There’s no telling the advantages,’ he went on, at which she laughed and so did he.
‘One of the houses would have to go,’ she said.
‘You mean for pour oul’ Pius to stay here with us then?’ he asked, hardly daring to believe his ears.
‘We couldn’t very well leave the poor creature on his own,’ she replied, ‘and isn’t there a room to spare. We would have our room and he would have his, that’s if he’ll agree!’
‘Oh he’ll agree.’ Patcheen assured her, ‘there’s nothing he’d like better.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ She laid the knitting aside.
‘All Pius ever wanted from the day he met you,’ Patcheen informed her, ‘was to see the two of us settled. He worries that you may go off and leave us and never come back.’
‘I won’t be leaving,’ she whispered as she turned the devastatingly blue eyes upward and in so doing presented her pursed lips for approval. Only a man of iron would have by-passed such an opportunity. Kiss her he did, not once but several times and not just on the lips but all over her face and her throat and her nose and her nape and her ears. It was the blue eyes that he wondered at most of all. They seemed never to be without a sparkle and they were filled too with wonder or so it seemed every time he gazed into them.
When they had kissed their fill she laid the table for tea. They drank cup after cup and spoke for hours. Canon Mulgrave would have to be consulted. They both knew that he would approve, for was he not night and day vociferating his views about the absolute necessity for more marriages in the seriously depopulated parish and while discriminating pundits might argue that Kitty was past it, others would counter by insisting that where there was life there was hope.
As things turned out there would be no issue but otherwise it was as happy a marriage as one could find in the parish or the many parishes beyond. As for the arrangement with Pius, he treated his sister-in-law with the utmost respect and was at pains at all times to show her that he knew his place and could be trusted beyond words.
Certain of their immediate neighbours who believed themselves to be possessed of rare powers of prognostication let it be known that it was their belief that the bi-weekly visits to the crossroads pub and to other harmless activities would be seriously curtailed when the twins moved into the Doody homestead. They were to be proved totally wrong.
As always the pair showed up at the crossroads and they were to be seen at football matches and coursing meetings in the many enterprising townlands and villages which hosted such events in their seasons.
It was noted too by interested parties who had made close studies of the affairs of others on the grounds that it was beneficial to the community as a whole that the twins looked better, were sprightlier of step and were never without the price of a drink in their pockets.
Time passed and the old ways of the countryside began to undergo changes. Donkey and carts began to disappear from the roadways and the bog passages. Tractors and trailers began to replace them.
Small, serviceable motor-cars replaced the horse and pony carts and the family traps as a means of transport to mass and to village and occasionally to the town in the far away valley.
The twins Mickelow kept to the old ways for as long as was practicable but eventually, after years of subtle prompting from Kitty, submitted to the new craze and invested in a venerable Morris Minor which both brothers learned to drive.
From a financial point of view they were never as well off so the belated purchase of the car did not leave them in debt. All three had reached pensionable age before eventually deciding to invest in the Morris.
All around, other exciting changes were taking place in the villages and towns throughout the countryside. The old, musty, male-dominated public houses were being reconstructed and glamorous lounge bars began to replace them.
The crossroads pub, frequented by the twins, was among the last to conform to the modern style and the first female to accompany her men on a crossroads excursion on a Sunday night was the brave Kitty, wife of Patcheen Mickelow. In no time at all other females followed suit.
In short order came singalongs and dance music and even the clergy for once, somewhat confused by the transition, kept their opinions to themselves and allowed the parish free rein in its appetite for modern entertainment.
The twins, lookalike as ever, grew frailer but retained both their rude health and appetite for enjoyment. Their tousled heads whitened in the face of the advancing years but their capacity for consuming stout declined not at all. Kitty kept the white and the grey at bay with various tints and lotions. The happiness the trio enjoyed from the day Patcheen married had mellowed into a pleasant contentment. Whatever the neighbours might opine they could never say that the Mickelows were poorly off. When the three old-age pensions were tallied they realised a considerable income.
Then, alas, Kitty took ill and after a short illness passed away. The twins very nearly succumbed to the grief which followed. In the course of time the sorrow would be assuaged a little but they might never have visited the crossroads pub again had it not been for what Pius would later term heavenly intervention.
It transpired that shortly before Kitty died she summoned Patcheen to their bedroom. She bade him be seated on the sole plush-covered chair which, up until this moment, had never been used to fill the role for which it had been designed. Coats, blouses, trousers and other articles of clothing had been draped across its back or dumped on the seat but it had never, in the course of its existence, been sat upon. It had none of the sturdiness of the kitchen chairs, was frail and rickety but was, after all, ornamental.
Patcheen sat awkwardly and listened intently to his wife’s carefully prepared recital. She wished to be buried in the same grave as her late parents and she made him promise that when his time came for leaving the world he would join her there and Pius too if he so wished. He assured her that it would be their dearest wish. She next handed him a slip of paper with instructions for the smooth administration of her wake and funeral. On it was meticulously pencilled all that would be required in the line of drink and edibles. A silence followed. It was as though the business of briefing him had exhausted her. After a long pause she informed him that it was her wish to be laid out in her navy blue costume and white silk blouse.
‘In the drawer over yonder,’ she pointed weakly in the direction of the dressing table, ‘you will find a blue ribbon to bind my hair.’ Patcheen nodded. Her wish would be carried out were the heavens to fall.
‘In the bottom drawer,’ she continued hoarsely, ‘you will find two envelopes. In one which is marked wake money you will find sufficient to cover the cost of my wake and funeral and in the other which is addressed to Canon Mulgrave is the money to pay for the special masses for the repose of my soul and all the poor souls wherever they may be.’
During the long spring and summer which followed, the twins kept to themselves and were seen abroad only when they shopped at the crossroads or attended mass.
Despite the provision made by Kitty they found themselves in debt. Instead of the modest oak coffin for which she had allowed in her calculations they opted for the most expensive walnut with the most ornate trappings.
They found themselves faced with two choices: to sell the Morris Minor or abstain from intoxicating drink until the undertaker was paid. In the space of a year according to Pius’s reckoning they should be free of debt and also free to resume their visits to the crossroads pub. Then came the heavenly intervention referred to by Pius.
It so happened that after the funeral mass when Patcheen approached Canon Mulgrave to pay for the mass the canon had expressed reluctance in accepting the extra money for the masses which would be said for Kitty and the poor souls.
‘Now, now,’ Canon Mulgrave said, ‘there’s no need at all for that. You’ve paid for the high mass and that in itself is sufficient.’
Patcheen would have none of it. Mindful of his wife’s clearly expressed instructions he forced the envelope upon the canon and hurried from the scene.
Later that afternoon when the canon opened the envelope he was surprised at the amount therein. Normally he would have been gratified if a pound or two had been forthcoming but he was truly astonished when he beheld the neatly folded twenty-pound note. His conscience dictated that the money would have to be returned with the suggestion that a pound or two would do nicely in its stead. He knew for a certainty that the twenty-pound note was far and away beyond the means of the twins. He resolved to return the note intact at the earliest opportunity. Some time would pass before he did. He would agonise every time he looked inside the envelope which he kept atop the mahogany desk in his study. He dithered for several months. There were times when he told himself that the money had been given with a good heart and there were other times when he tried to convince himself that it would be against the spirit of the dead woman’s intent if he did not accept the money. He decided that the masses should be celebrated without more ado and he also decided that further cogitation would be required before he finally decided on the destination of the twenty-pound note.
It turned out that shortly before Christmas the canon’s letter box was flooded by a deluge of neglected bills. He withdrew the twenty-pound note from its envelope. With infinite care he smoothed it on top of his desk. It would go a long way towards discharging his debts. Then he manfully reminded himself that the Christmas dues would shortly commence to replenish the presbytery coffers. This left him with only one choice. The twenty-pound note would have to be returned.
He chided himself for his long-term tardiness and lack of Christian resolution. He sat in his car and drove to the abode of the Mickelows. Pius it was who greeted him at the door. The canon gracefully declined the invitation to enter.
The canon, like all the canons and curates before him, had long since given up the impossible task of telling the twins apart. However, as far as this particular mission was concerned, one twin was as good as the other.
Earlier that morning Patcheen had set out for a distant grove where he would cull a sufficiency of holly and ivy to decorate the crib and the kitchen.
‘Now my dear man,’ Canon Mulgrave held the twenty-pound note aloft, ‘I must tell you that this note you see before you is rightfully yours. It was far too much and I am conscience-bound to return it.’
Mystified, Pius Mickelow gazed with open mouth at the money and when he had gazed his fill he gazed secondly at his visitor. When the canon thrust the twenty-pound note into the gnarled hand Pius decided to play along although his mystification had greatly increased and he was now convinced beyond reasonable doubt that the canon had succumbed to the dotage which few escape at the end of their days.
‘Not a word now sir!’ the canon raised an admonishing finger, ‘not a word no matter what. This is strictly between you and I. The masses have been said so you can set your mind at rest. The money is yours to do with as you please. I’ll be on my way now and I sincerely hope that you and your brother enjoy a happy and a holy Christmas.’
The canon would relish the forthcoming Christmas. His conscience had been salved. He had acted as a true Christian.
On the Sunday evening before Christmas the twins sat at either side of the hearth. They had sat for over an hour without exchanging a word. It was Pius who broke the silence.
‘What say we go to the pub,’ he suggested matter-o- factly. Thinking that he had not heard aright, Patcheen inclined his head.
‘What’s that you say?’ he asked.
‘The pub,’ Pius threw back.
‘And what will we use for money?’ Patcheen asked sarcastically. Pius produced the twenty-pound note for the first time.
‘Is it real?’ Patcheen asked as he took the note in his hand. Satisfied that it was the genuine article he asked where it came from.
‘I am not at liberty to say,’ Pius answered solemnly, ‘but it wasn’t found and it wasn’t stolen. The man who gave it to me made me promise that I would never tell.’
‘Let’s move,’ Patcheen rose and donned his overcoat. Pius followed suit.
‘And you can’t say where it came from?’
‘Can’t say,’ came the reply, ‘but this I will say, ‘it came from God through man and if it came from God you may be sure that Kitty had a hand in it.’
Spreading Joy and Jam at Christmas
Let him who can boast of no failing take a bow for he is a unique fellow. He is elite among the elite but I would not have his impeccable status for all the lamb on Carrigtwohill.
Carpers will ask why I open on such a vein, what arrant nonsense am I proposing to inflict upon them as winter deepens and Christmas draws near.
