One hundred years, all put together in a hat. A special Memory Hat. That would be the best birthday present ever, thought Tommy, as he got ready for school.
Finding out all the things that were important to his grandmother over so many years and piecing them together to make the hat would be a bit like playing detective, he thought. He took the small spelling notepad from his schoolbag and began to make notes.
Nine children. That was something no one would ever forget. Tommy wrote down his dad’s name and those of all his uncles and aunties. Then there were the grandchildren. Last count there were thirty-seven of them. Now of course there were the great-grandchildren, including his sister’s new baby, Dara, which made it twelve so far. Massive. Granny and Grandad Butler had started a dynasty. Before you knew it, half of Dublin would be part of their family. It gave him a warm feeling just thinking about it.
He had pocket money due and if he helped the old lad with cutting the grass for the next few weeks, he could probably earn another few euros to add to his hat kitty. Before you could say ‘Tommy Butler’ he would have the amount needed to pay for the fancy designer hat his grandmother deserved.
He could see the hat in his mind. The only trouble was deciding what to put on it, like the nice lady in the shop had said. Everything had to be just right. This hat was going to be hard work but for once it was something he didn’t mind. He would have to get cracking if he wanted it ready in time as his mam and dad had already started sending out the invitations for Granny’s big party.
He would search through the family photo albums to get some clues about his grandmother’s life. Auntie Paula, his dad’s sister, was usually good for stories and remembered everything. He’d call on her. She’d never married and had no children and loved to get visitors, especially her nieces and nephews, whom she doted on.
Auntie Paula was surprised to see him and made him sit down for a bacon and sausage sandwich and a cup of tea the minute he arrived.
‘Just about to have one myself,’ she assured him, as she fussed around the kitchen of her red-bricked two-up two-down near the canal. She was wearing a pair of baggy trousers and an old cricket jumper, her plump figure moving around the small kitchen as the smell of rashers filled the air.
Tommy hadn’t realized how hungry he was after a day’s lessons. He wolfed down the tomato-sauce-smothered snack as his auntie poured out the tea.
‘That’s what I like to see, a good appetite,’ beamed Paula Butler. ‘After all, you are a growing boy and need to keep your strength up for studying.’
Tommy blushed. He wasn’t exactly doing well in the studying department and was struggling with maths and science. Mr McHugh, his teacher, had suggested him going for extra help after school but it clashed with his football training. He couldn’t miss football! He wanted to be a footballer when he grew up so training was more important than a hundred maths lessons in his eyes. He found himself telling his aunt, who nodded sagely.
‘None of the Butlers were known for their mathematical abilities, Tommy,’ she admitted. ‘You just do your best. But maybe that teacher of yours is right – a little bit of extra help might make a difference.’
With very little prompting his aunt soon launched into an account of her own childhood days and going to school. He constantly interrupted her with questions about his grandmother, which she was delighted to answer as Tommy scribbled in his notebook.