Story 22: It’s a Small World

Gemma Jackson

I vividly remember sitting on our staircase landing. I was about three years old. We as a family had moved from the Dublin tenements a few months prior to this particular day. I still hadn’t become accustomed to having our very own private staircase. I loved to sit on the landing and survey my own little world.

It was Friday. A very important day: it was comic day. I knew this because I heard my big sisters and brother talking. They were excited about having an inside toilet but I wasn’t impressed by that. The staircase was a wonder to me.

I sat with my two feet on the stair underneath me. My back nestled securely into the stairway behind me. I could hear me da snoring in one of the bedrooms behind me. He was on night work so we had to be quiet. I wanted him to wake up.

I was intently watching the door at the bottom of the hall. I was so excited I was forgetting to breathe. Earlier me ma had put me baby sister in the pram and gone to the local shops.

I thought about going down the stairs and out into the big back garden. I wanted to but I was nervous. The garden of our new house was overgrown and full of stinging nettles. All the houses in the new scheme had the same problem. The men wanted to clear the space so they could plant gardens. A local farmer was lending his donkey and goats to anyone who wanted their gardens cleared. It was our turn to have the animals in our back garden. I’d sat up here and watched my brother drag the animals through the long hallway and out the back door. I’d felt safe up here watching the action.

I’d been sitting up here the other day when a man with a pony and trap came around the houses offering baby chicks for sale. I’d heard me ma say we’d be interested when the back garden was cleared. Everything was so new and different around our new house. I missed The Lane. I’d known everyone there and been allowed to go off with the other kids, but not here. Whenever I asked I just got told “not yet”. I buried my head in my knees and, with my eyes fixed firmly on the front door, waited.

I heard our outside gate open. My sisters and brother exploded from the living room. I didn’t rush down. They were bigger than me.

“Would you let me in the door for goodness’ sake?” me ma snapped.

I stayed where I was. I could wait and from my vantage point I had a clear view of all the goings-on.

“Someone take these bags until I get the baby out of her pram. Seán, you take the bag with the comics. No peeking now. I want no trouble.”

I stood with my face pressed between the stair rails and watched the bag with the precious comics being carried into the living room. The bag was put on the sofa. My brother and three older sisters stood in front of the sofa, patiently waiting.

“Right.” My mother walked from the kitchen, pulling her scarf off her head. She’d removed her coat and was wearing her wraparound apron. My baby sister was on her hip, gnawing on something. “Let’s see what we have here.”

My mother put my sister down. She just stood there waiting. My mother sat on the sofa and pulled the comics from the bag.

“Who gets the Jackie?”

My eldest sister almost pulled that out of her hand.

“The Dandy?”

My brother grabbed that one. He escaped into the back with his comic. He wasn’t afraid of the donkey and goats. They were easier to put up with than all those bloomin’ sisters. I’d heard him say so.

“Bunty?” My mother held the comic aloft.

It too was pulled from her hand.

“Judy?”

That was snapped up.

“Jack and Jill?” My mother turned her head towards the staircase. She’d known I was there.

“Me,” I tried to whisper and scream at the same time. I ran down the stairs and into the living room. My mother was passing Playhour to my youngest sister.

I grabbed my Jack and Jill with both hands and hurried back to my place on the stairs with my treasure. I couldn’t read the comic yet but I could look at the pictures while I waited for one of my big sisters to be ready to read it to me.

I sat on the staircase, my precious comic open on my knees. The house was silent, everyone intent on reading. I turned the pages very carefully and examined the drawings and pictures in great detail. I became fascinated by the squares of drawings showing children with a small horse. It had its own house at the end of their garden.

I put my finger over each square and examined every little detail of this strange world. Why would a horse need its own house? Didn’t horses live in fields like they did around where I lived now? We’d had a stable in The Lane but that was for working horses. This horse didn’t look big enough to pull a cart. What would you do with a little horse like that?

I needed this story read to me. I looked down into the living room. No point asking my eldest sister. She’d give me a thick ear and tell me not to bother her. My next sister had a sweeter nature but she wasn’t the fastest reader and my need was great. I’d have to beg the sister next in age to me. She was the best reader anyway but, Lord, she was cranky. I’d heard my mother say so. I didn’t know that was what it was called to be in a bad mood all the time but I liked the word and it seemed to suit her.

I begged. I whined. I blubbered. I won. She read the story to me at a speed that would flatten you but I got the sense of the thing.

“It was too fast,” I whispered to the next sister in age.

She put her own comic aside and took mine with a sigh. She read the story again slowly. She let me sit on the floor beside her and waited while I moved my fingers under the words. It was a magical tale.

“Will you read me this story, please?” I’d braved the donkey and goats. I’d do anything to hear this tale again.

My brother must have known it was important. After all, I’d ventured out to the back garden with the wild animals, hadn’t I? He too read the story.

I took my comic back and turned to go inside and leave him in peace. I climbed back up the stairs. I opened my comic and visually examined every inch while keeping an eye on the living room. I had to wait until my sisters had finished reading their own comics. I continued to run my finger over the words written in white balloons coming out of the mouths of the children in the images.

Finally, after what seemed like days to me, my eldest sister started trying out new hairstyles she was copying from her comic. I gripped my comic tightly and slowly made my way down the stairs.

“Will you read this story to me, please?” I held up my comic.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a nuisance?” she snapped.

“You do all the time,” I answered honestly.

“Oh, give it here.” She grabbed the comic from my hands and with a longsuffering sigh sat down on the floor in front of the fire.

I hadn’t felt the cold until now but I was suddenly freezing. I shivered.

“Serves you right for sitting on those bloody stairs all day,” my sister snapped. “You would think they were going to disappear on you or something.”

I didn’t answer her back or stick my tongue out – though I wanted to. She was the best at reading because she put on strange voices.

I sat enthralled while she read and acted out the story in my comic. I decided to sit quietly for a while before doing the rounds again. I couldn’t get enough of this strange world in my colourful comic book.

When my sisters and brothers finally got angry at me I had to come up with another plan. I saw some of the older girls playing ball outside. I’d try and get the ones waiting for their turn to throw the balls against the wall to read my story. The plan worked. I passed my comic along the line and had my story read to me again and again.

My mother sent my eldest sister out to drag me in for something to eat. It still wasn’t time for me da to wake up. I ate the stew when it was put in front of me and couldn’t wait to try my luck with some of the other big kids.

“Do you want to wake your da up?” my mother shouted from the open front door.

“Yes!” I screamed.

I followed after my mother as she carried a cup of tea and a piece of bread she’d toasted on the open fire up the stairs. I almost stepped on her heels, I was following so close behind her.

“You better talk to this one.” My mother opened the curtains to let in the light. I waited until me da moved in the bed. I knew I had to wait until he had almost half the big mug of tea drunk before I jumped on the bed. “She’s been dragging around the place all day waiting for you to wake up.” My mother left the room.

“What’s that you’ve got?” me da said, pushing himself higher in the bed.

“It’s me new comic, Da.” I climbed up onto the bed with the comic in my hand. “Will you read it to me?”

“I’m only half awake, love,” me da said.

“Do you want me to read it to you, Da?”

“Come here then, you maggot.” Me da pulled me under his arm.

I opened my comic while he sipped his tea and ate the toast. I put my finger under the very first word and started to read aloud. I used my finger to follow every word. I was aware of me da listening intently and staring at the page. I felt so important.

“Rosie, come up quick!” Me da’s roar almost deafened me. “Rosie, yeh gave birth to an honest to God genius . . . Rosie!”

“What’s wrong?” my mother shouted up the stairs.

“Come up!” me da roared.

“In the name of God, what’s up?” My mother ran up the stairs.

“Listen to our little genius.” Me da nudged me. “Read the story again, love.”

I did exactly that, feeling very important. For the first time in my life I was the sole focus of the attention of both parents.

“She’s a fecking genius, Rosie!” me da yelled when I’d finished reading the story for the second time. “Not yet three years old and she’s reading like a champion.”

“She knows the ruddy story off by heart,” my mother snapped. “She should do. She’s had everyone and his brother pestered to read that ruddy story to her today.”

“But she knows every word. She didn’t make one mistake,” my da continued to say. “We’ve got a genius on our hands.” He patted the side of the bed. “Sit down a minute and listen to her read.”

I was almost three years old and I’d discovered the power of the written word. I’ve never forgotten that feeling of power and the attention it gained me.

Gemma Jackson was born in inner-city Dublin, the fifth of seven children. She vividly remembers being taken to see the ships sail in and out of Dublin. Her mother would paint word pictures of exciting worlds filled with marvels beyond their little island. Educated by the nuns at Mount Sackville Convent in Castleknock, Gemma remembers a childhood of hunger, cold and desperation. Yet through it all, making life worth living, were wonderful people, stories, music and gales of laughter. The hardship of early childhood put steel in her spine. She first left home at seventeen, desperate to see what was out there, beyond the sea. She wanted to see the strange worlds her mother had spoken of, taste the weird food and learn everything she could of the wider world. She has travelled widely. Her debut novel Through Streets Broad and Narrow is a loving tribute to the Dublin she remembers.