The Teapots Are Out and Other Eccentric Tales from Ireland

There is no sight so grotesque or pathetic as the dangling frame of a hanged man. It is also an affront to human symmetry. There is no parody so wretched and when Billy Fitz and John Murphy first saw Denny Bruder’s body hanging from the crossbeam in Looney’s shed they were bemused for some moments by the almost comic presentation of slack hands and slanted head. From the church nearby, as if by arrangement, came the muted tolling of the Angelus bell.

Billy moved first. He touched the hanging foot nearest him and when nothing happened he pushed it gingerly with his palm. The body unexpectedly started to gyrate slowly. The screams of the boys were simultaneous. They ran terrified from the shed.

Denny Bruder had first come to the village about five years before. He was a motor mechanic by trade. He took a lease of Looney’s shed and in a short while built a reputation as an efficient man who knew all there was to be known about motor cars. You could not call him morose. Glum would be a more fitting word. He was gentle with children and he never resented their curiosity. He was not the best of mixers and mostly he was to be seen alone going for walks or visiting the cinema where pictures were shown every other night.

In the beginning he was never known to enter a public house and he showed little interest in the local girls but this could have been because they showed little interest in him. He was not the handsomest of men. He was medium-sized with a rather bulbous nose and thick lips. However, he was far from being repulsive. His was a dour sort of face. Older women in the village described it as homely. In time people came to accept him as part of the local scene.

Shortly after Denny Bruder’s arrival Imogen Furey invested in a second-hand car. Imogen was the wife of Jack Furey the cattle-jobber. Jack already had a car but, as Imogen told anybody who might be prepared to listen, he was away from home so often at cattle fairs all over the country that they might as well not have a car at all. While Jack was away Imogen would visit his fields outside the village to count the cattle and to see if any wandering animals had broken down fences or forced entry. She would do this in all kinds of weather and since the fields were the best part of a mile from the village she was often in receipt of a discomfiting drenching and this, in addition to the time wasted, was one of the chief reasons why she felt the need of the car. There were two children, both girls, but these were away at boarding school for most of the year.

The car was an old model and if it burned more than its quota of oil it suited Imogen’s needs nicely. When it broke down one evening as she was returning from counting the cattle she sent for Denny Bruder who towed it to his shed. It transpired that the fan belt was broken. There was nothing else the matter. While Denny was installing a new belt Imogen suggested that he give the car a complete overhaul. She left it in his care and late the following afternoon he delivered it to her door. She was surprised at the reasonableness of his fee.

Midway through his second year Denny Bruder invested in some up-to-date garage equipment. This improved his business considerably and in his third year he found himself with more money than he actually needed. He looked about for a safe spot to invest it.

It was Imogen Furey who solved his problem. Envious neighbours were fond of saying that she knew everything about everybody. By this they inferred that she knew more than was good for her. Uncharitably they would hint that if she paid more time to her own business and less to the business of others she would be better off. This, of course, was not the case at all. Imogen Furey was an eminently successful woman by any standards. Her husband was reputed to be the wealthiest man in the village. Her home had every conceivable amenity. She dressed well and was a leading figure on local committees. Her children were boarded at one of the most exclusive schools in the country. On the surface, at any rate, hers was the sort of thoroughly satisfying existence which was bound to provoke resentment and jealousy.

When Denny Bruder confided to her that he had money to spare she asked for time to consider his situation. It was her experience that house property or land were the safest means of ensuring a profitable return from investment. On the outskirts of the village was a two-storeyed house in relatively good condition. It had been on the market for some years but because its owner was asking too exorbitant a price it went unsold. She informed Denny that she was convinced the house could be bought for the sum originally asked. After an interval of three years she explained that the price was not in the least exorbitant by prevailing values.

Denny bought the house, handed notice to his landlady and moved in. For months he was rarely seen in public. After work he would spend most of his time indoors redecorating the rooms and generally restoring the woodwork, ceilings and anything else he found in disrepair. When he had finished indoors he started on the outside. It was early spring when he started on the neglected garden which faced the roadway. He planted shrubs and trees and showed an excellent sense of taste in his selections.

He painted the house front and windows with delicately contrasting shades. By late spring the job was completed. He was more than satisfied with his handi-work. He decided to sit back and await developments. All through the summer he confidently expected a proposal or suggestion of marriage through some medium from whatever candidates were available. The house was his chief bait. It was much admired by the villagers as was the garden. He worked hard and which was more important he was seen to work hard. He bought new clothes and invested in a small comfortable car. The months of summer wore on and when the trees began to shed the first autumn leaves he found himself still with an empty house. He was puzzled. He knew he was no lady-killer but he was also aware that there were many happily married men in the village far uglier and less well-off.

He started to visit the public houses. He never drank more than a glass or two of beer. He became friendly with some of the barmaids but that was as far as it went. He went to dances in the village hall and sometimes to neighbouring towns when the bigger, betterknown bands included these in their itineraries. He never danced. He often tried but the girls he fancied were snapped up before he could get off his mark. Consequently he spent most of his time standing with other male onlookers at the rear of the hall.

That winter was one of the most miserable he ever spent. He missed the company of the other lodgers in his old digs. The house was unbearably lonely. To crown his misfortune he was smitten by a heavy dose of influenza. He was three days in his bed before anybody showed sufficient interest in his whereabouts to pay a visit to the house. His friend Imogen Furey eventually called. He thrust a muffled head from one of the uppermost windows and told her hoarsely that he was ill. At her bidding he dropped the key to the door at her feet. She was back in less than half an hour with a jug of chicken broth. She called again and again until he was fit to resume work.

At Christmas, to repay her kindness, he bought her a present of the most expensive perfume available. The Fureys, to give them their due, knew a decent man when they met one. At Jack’s bidding, Imogen invited Denny to a meal one of the nights during Christmas. Afterwards they sat in front of the sitting-room fire drinking a special punch compounded by Imogen. The heat of the fire and the whiskey to which he was unused had the effect of totally loosening Denny’s tongue. In a short while he had unfolded his tale of woe, confessing his loneliness and explaining his most pressing need.

Through the spring Denny planted more shrubs and blooms. At his garage he worked hard. He had, by now, acquired more than a local reputation and motorists from neighbouring towns would patronise him occasionally. He took to dealing in second-hand cars and was soon making more than he ever dreamed possible. He bought a better car and went about more. On Saint Patrick’s night he was invited to a party at Fureys. There were other people present. One of these was a girl from the nearby hill country. Her name was Nora Odell. She was auburn-haired and although exceedingly pale of feature was nevertheless quite an attractive girl in her late twenties. She was an indrawn, reserved sort. There had been talk that she had been seriously let down once by a neighbouring farmer but this was discounted as immaterial since almost everybody is subject to some sort of let-down at one time or another, the only difference being that there is never much revelation of these reverses by those who are at the receiving end.

Towards midnight all present gathered round the piano in the Furey sitting-room. Denny Bruder surprised everybody by proving himself to be the proprietor of a very fine baritone voice. The evening was a success. At Imogen Furey’s suggestion Denny asked Nora Odell if he might call and take her out some time. She agreed and they settled upon a date. Unfortunately, it was a blustery, rainy night. For want of something better to do Denny asked her if she would like to see the interior of his house. At first she was reluctant but he seemed so genuinely put out that she relented.

After a tour of the bedrooms he asked her if she would like to hear some records. He injected life into the sitting-room fire and chose a selection of Strauss waltzes. The evening was a happy one. She often came to the house after that.

Once he invited her to dinner. He prepared it himself. The main course consisted of curried chicken with the faintest echo of garlic for which she did not exactly care. Otherwise it was a first class meal. Denny explained that during his school holidays he used to help his mother in the kitchen of the hotel where she worked during the summer. He was an excellent cook and she would seize eagerly upon his invitations to dine in the house. Knowing her dislike of garlic he never used it when she was joining him for a meal. As the months went by Denny Bruder began to fall inextricably in love with Nora Odell. He never told her so. He was content to bide his time and wait for a suitable opportunity. Summer came and on Sundays they would motor to the seaside. Sometimes he would take her father and mother. He was now a constant caller at the Odell home. The senior Odells like him and Nora’s brothers respected him. He was one of the best mechanics for miles and a chap never knew when he might be obliged to visit him.

One fine Sunday in August the pair sat on the grass at the end of a peaceful headland overlooking the sea. Beneath them the incoming tide was noiseless and the flat unbroken surface of the sea like a sheet of silver. Overhead the sun shone from a blue sky. Suddenly Denny Bruder placed an arm around Nora Odell’s shoulder.

Denny Bruder was elated. Without taking off his shoes he ran in the water up to his knees and shouted to the heavens. ‘I’m going to be married,’ he called out. ‘I’m going to be married to Nora Odell.’

They became engaged a fortnight later and a date was set for the wedding. Neither approved of long engagements and so it was that they decided upon the first Saturday of October. In early September, however, they were to be separated for a longish period. Nora’s sister Bridie who was married in Wolverhampton was due to have her third child about this time. She wrote to Nora asking her to come and housekeep for her husband and two children.

Denny drove her to Rosslare which was the port most convenient. As he kissed her goodbye he suddenly realised how utterly empty his future would be without her. She had given his life a new meaning. He was, in fact, a different person since meeting her. People had told him so. It was expected she would be gone for a fortnight. This would allow her a week to prepare for the wedding upon her return home.

During her absence Denny spent every second night visiting the cinema. He always occupied the same seat in the balcony. One night a woman called Angela Fell, the wife of a local shopkeeper, happened to be seated next to him. Midway through the film she suddenly said, ‘Oh, oh.’ She said it loudly so that her voice carried to the corners of the balcony. Then she left her seat and occupied another at the end of the last row. After the show there was much conjecture. Several different reasons were put forward to justify the uncharacteristic behaviour of Angela Fell. Those who sat nearest to Denny Bruder spoke from a position of authority. A young man who sat directly behind Mrs Fell said that Denny was seen to suddenly lift his hand when she uttered the exclamation already described. As to the exact location of the hand prior to its being lifted, he was heard to say, ‘where the hell do you think it was?’

By implication this meant that Denny Bruder’s hand was placed on an area of Angela Fell’s anatomy which might best be described as out of bounds. There were some who flatly refused to believe this. There were others who refused to believe otherwise. Nobody thought of asking Angela Fell. Of all the women in the village she was the least communicative and the sharpest-tongued.

After this incident Denny Bruder was a marked man. People in his vicinity on the balcony would be paying more attention to him than to the screen. Denny had no idea he was under observation. A week passed and a teenage girl from the nearby countryside arrived late at the cinema. She fumbled her way to a vacant seat next to Denny Bruder. Couples nudged each other in anticipation. Nothing happened till near the end of the film. Then she left her seat and went outside. There was no longer any doubt in the minds of the villagers.

Some were filled with pity, others with indignation. Imogen Furey found herself in a dilemma. It was she who introduced Nora Odell to Denny. Clearly she would have to do something. One night in bed she asked Jack if he was asleep. He had been away for several days buying calves in the western counties and had earlier retired to bed. Jack Furey was awake. Painfully Imogen related the details of what had transpired in the cinema.

Jack lay silent. He could feel sympathy for Denny Bruder. He remembered what it was to be lonely, to be so sick with desire that little was beyond contemplation. Essentially he was a tolerant man who was prepared to go out of his way to make allowances.

They spoke far into the night. At Jack’s suggestion she agreed to do or say nothing until Nora came home. Shortly before her return Nora received two anonymous letters. The day before her actual departure she received a telegram from her older brother which stated coldly that he would be meeting her at Rosslare. She had been prepared to discount the two letters until she read the telegram.

It had been agreed that Denny Bruder would meet her. If her family saw fit to change the arrangement there must be something afoot. Both brothers were waiting when she disembarked. There and then they made her pen a letter to Denny acquainting him of a change of mind on her part. At first she refused point blank but when they threatened to deal with Denny themselves she reluctantly agreed. She would have liked to hear his side of the story. Family was family however and in the end where else was a person to fall back. She succeeded in convincing herself that she was doing the correct thing. In the days that followed Denny Bruder called repeatedly at the Odell farmhouse. He refused to stop calling even when the older brother appeared at the front door one evening with a shotgun in his hands. In the end both brothers dealt him a severe beating.

After this he concealed himself for a time. It was when word of the beating reached the Furey household that Imogen decided to act. Jack had left early that morning. Before his departure he asked Imogen to pay a visit to Nora Odell.

Imogen followed a narrow passageway into a tiny kitchen. It was a suffocating place with a gleaming hot Stanley range dominating the entire scene from one corner. Angela was bent over a small table chopping meat.

Without a word Angela strode past her towards the shop. Imogen could hear her voice plainly. ‘I thought I told you I didn’t want to see anybody while I was working. What sort of god-damned nit are you anyway?’

‘I’m not leaving this kitchen till you tell me,’ she declared. ‘A man’s whole future depends on what you say to me this morning. I’m asking you as one mother to another if Denny Bruder molested you in any way that night at the pictures. If he is innocent you have a duty to perform. If not say so and I’ll walk out of here this instant.’

They stood facing each other. From the shop came the voices of other customers. There was laughter when Mick Fell passed a wry remark. Angela crossed to the table where she resumed her chopping. She spoke over her shoulder. ‘He did nothing to me,’ she said. ‘I left my seat because there was a smell of garlic. When he belched I found it overpowering so I went to another seat.’

‘You might have said so before this,’ Imogen said accusingly. In the shop she collected her groceries. She resolved to go to Odells that afternoon. First she would see Denny Bruder. Not for the first time she marvelled at the unnatural reticence of women like Angela Fell. Involuntarily she shuddered when she thought of the evil begat by the silence of such people.