5

Pat O’Shea was sitting at a card table to one side of the front entrance, the lighting showing off her shining red hair to the very best advantage. Her head bobbed in greeting to the next customer and from where I stood she looked gay and charming and it was easy to understand that the local men would consider her a beautiful woman.

I smiled at every female that noticed me and I have to admit I got a lot of attention from the lassies as they paid their half crown admittance fee.

To help me get over the nerves that were bothering me, I went into my memory remembering how nervous I had been on the day I’d gone for my interview in the insurance office, dressed up like a dogs dinner in Harry Redmond’s one and only suit. That was an awesome mountain to climb and but for the genius of Harry as he concocted the fiction I would offer to the boss of the insurance brokers where I was conning my way into a job, or so I hoped.

Remember that day, coming away with the job under my belt, that had been the ordeal to end them all, and I used this belief to let go of anxiety and just let things happen. Besides which, I had going for me the fact that Jimmy considered me some kind of lucky charm.

Pat waved to me from where she sat by the door and it was impossible not to be aware of how well she filled out the front of her orange blouse. And from the way most of the men looked at her while they received their admission tickets, it seemed to me that she turned every one of them into a tit-man.

I went on smiling, now that the elastic had left my knees on bone and marrow, but I was having a tough time looking normal with the endless smile since it was a mask that I had to keep stuck onto my face.

A girl with blue-black hair stepped through the masking curtain on the far side of the hall and I guessed this was May Mitchell.

Seeing me, she walked across the front of the hall, her hair waved in shining ridges to her shoulders, large dark eyes smouldering under fine, well shaped brows and she shook my hand and wished me a happy tour.

This was a young woman who was every inch a star, while I felt about two inches high, having died in my own turn on my first night with the show.

There’s no other way to describe it. I went over like a lead balloon and I wanted to just run out of the hall and cry my eyes out. But I didn’t. I stood there, trying to tell myself that the audience just didn’t dig my style of singing. Even when I did my encore, putting everything I had into the number, it made no difference. Then it was over and I was coming off the stage in a lather of sweat, wishing that a hole would open up and swallow me.

Jimmy brushed past me - his solo spot ended the first half - then I was out front with Tom Hunter and Denny, selling raffle tickets: ‘Sixpence each, three for a shilling!’

Later as I stood putting the ticket stubs into a hat, Jimmy came to me and said, ‘You look after the door now, Tony, and watch the play. It’ll give you an idea of the kind of drama you’ll be acting in before long.’

I nodded and when I stood by the door to follow his instructions, I knew that I had never felt so alone before in my life.

Jimmy hadn’t said anything about my singing but even if he had said I had died a death, it would have been better than nothing.

I thought the play was awful and the acting not much better, but I wondered if it was really as bad as all that. I mean, I was feeling depressed, lousy, so let down by the way my act had flopped that I wasn’t sure I was fit to be the judge of anything. And to top it all, the man that had been so kind of me earlier, Gary Martin, came out of the drama as the all time, number one Ham.

His every movement was overdone and everything he said seemed to have been curled by hot tongs before it came out of his mouth. His eyes, my God, they rolled like striped sweets in his face and, once or twice, I thought he came close to knocking Jimmy right off the stage with his ridiculous arm-flinging gestures.

Yet, he was the one the audience rose to when the play ended, and as he took bow after bow, his long body just bent forward slightly from the waist, his eyes caressing the ceiling of the hall, his expression telling them, one and all, that they were not really such peasants as he had, earlier, thought them to be.

Jimmy now stepped forward and told the audience what he had in store for them ‘tomorrow’. A completely different variety programme, followed by a wonderful comedy-drama, and, of course, a long sketch afterwards to ‘send you all home with a smile instead of a tear,’

The sketch that followed was nothing short of a riot, and Jimmy was so funny that I howled with laughter along with everybody else in the hall.

And sure enough, as the audience filed out afterwards, they surely were going home with a smile instead of a tear. Some of the young women seemed gamey enough and I might have made a move on one of them had I not felt so tired and depressed, choked to the teeth with myself for not killing that audience stone dead, like I had done in the Top Hat, which was in Dublin, for god’s sake!

So, without so much as a good-night to anybody, I slipped out of the hall and away to the digs with my heart in flitters.

When I woke up on the Tuesday morning, I thought, at first that I was just wallowing in self pity. Maybe I was at that, but after a few minutes sitting on the edge of my bed in Molly Dale’s boarding house, I knew for sure that I wasn’t kidding myself.

I was sure. And absolutely dead certain, without having any previous experience on the subject, that I had gonorrhoea.

The evidence was all over my pyjamas bottoms which Larry Deegan had given me, which were stuck to me while my pipe felt as if some sadist had run a blow lamp over it.

Back on The Hill, the Hard Chaws thought the pox was good for a laugh. But you never laughed at the fella who had copped out. You laughed at him, behind his back, and in time you talked with other guys about the subject that you knew next to nothing about. All he-man bravado stuff, and you chuckled that it only happened to the other fella, never to you. So you wee free to join in the banter when someone said, ‘Yeh, Jimmy’s up at the Lock Hospital, got a full-house from a mot up in Dartry, a really decent bird, giving it away like the St. Vincent de Paul Society!’

I vomited into Molly Dale’s wash basin, wanting to take a razor blade and rip myself free from this disaster. But, I poured water into a basin and took it along the hall to the lavatory and emptied it. There wasn’t anything left to throw up but I felt sick right down to my toenails.

When I was dressed, I lit a cigarette and sat down on the bed again. If only Redmond or Larry were about. Yeh! And if only my aunt had balls, wouldn’t she be my uncle!

It had to be the older woman from the previous Saturday night, and God Almighty, there in that guest house in Northern Ireland, I wasn’t sure I even had her name.

Another cigarette and I had calmed down somewhat. I had to calm down or make a fool of myself and maybe end up losing my job with the show. After the way my act had flopped on my first night, Jimmy could be forgiven for telling me goodbye, baby.

I went down to the hall, having told my landlady that I didn’t want any breakfast. It was a quarter to ten and I had the place all to myself and I was glad about that. I left the front door open and I opened every window except those that were rusted into place.

Starting at the back, I swept the floor clean along the row. There was so much dust that I went looking for a bucket, which I found, along with some disinfectant, in the cupboard of the dressing room. I sprinkled the stuff lightly about the place and with the fresh air coming in through the front door and the open windows, and the place didn’t smell half bad.

Jimmy Frazer came into the hall and I could see he was pleased with the job I had done on it. But he sensed my unease and asked me what was wrong.

His tone was a caring one and I responded without caution and he knew the whole story before I could even thing of being embarrassed by my predicament.

He nodded in understand and said ‘Is that all that’s worrying you?’ I nodded my head and he said: ‘For a second or two you had me worried that you were in serious bother.’

I didn’t respond and he lit a couple of cigarettes and put one in my mouth. ‘Come on out to the wagon for a minute and let’s have a butchers.’

In his caravan home, he said: ‘It’s less trouble than tooth ache these days.’ He drew the curtains tight on the window and said casually: ‘Just in case anybody takes a gander in the window. We don’t want them thinking we’re a couple of poofs.’

I dropped my trousers and the underpants and Jimmy squatted down in front of me. I looked down and my heart skipped a beat. The cone looked grey more than pink and it looked a bit lopsided. And the eye was closed, stuck with a coloured discharge that sat along the lip like a zipper.

‘It’s Guntack alright!’ Jimmy stood up, nodding his head.

I said nothing and he went on: ‘Honestly Tony, it’s nothing. A jab or two and its gone in a couple of days.’

I sat down while he washed his hands. My legs felt weak, partly through fear but, more through being relieved.

‘You had a bunk-up some time last week, right!’

I nodded: ‘Saturday night.’

‘Was she rough?’

I nodded my head and told him I’d been drunk.’

‘We’ve all done it. The more you drink, the better they look.’

‘What can I do about it here, Jimmy,’ I asked, still more than a little concerned about my problem.

‘We’ll have a run through of tonight’s show, then I’ll take you to see Villiers, he’s the local sawbones and a decent skin.’

‘Will he treat this?’’

Jimmy grinned: ‘Treat you? For a bottle of whisky, he’d cut his sister’s nipples off!’

On the way to the hall, I tried to thank Jimmy for rescuing me but he wouldn’t have it. ‘I’m only glad you had the good sense to mention it...when there’s something wrong with your chopper, you can’t afford to be proud. You get help wherever you can, as fast as you can.’

By late afternoon, the discharge was drying up and I felt so good that I smiled at every female in the hall before the show, my good humour enhanced by a very encouraging nod from Jimmy as I headed for my duty at the entrance while he was heading backstage for the Open Chorus.

The hall was packet again and it seemed to me that many of the punters were sitting in the same seats as on opening night. So Jimmy’s hard work and his magical way with the punters was paying off, with a little help from his cast, and hopefully, before long, I would contribute in a meaningful was the every nights performance.

Pauline had run me through ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’ and ‘All The Things You Are’ before in the early afternoon and told me she loved the way I had sung them, which was a buzz since I had so much time for her, but even though I gave the numbers everything I had, I didn’t get within a mile of that Tuesday night audience. Admittedly, I got a fair response from the girls, and some of the younger women, but all in all, I wasn’t setting the place on fire, and that’s for sure!

From my place by the door, I watched the play and it was much the same as the other one. It ran on a very simple story -line, with some laughs thrown in to balance the required smattering of tears, the tale touching a lot of the women, and creating a fair deal of nose-blowing from the big tough country men in the audience. When it finished, I remembered Jimmy had said to me earlier ‘the trick is to give them what they want’ and it doesn’t take long to work out that its laughs and tears, and if you can work a nice bust in a tight sweater in the story, you’re away in a hack.’

As the punters were filing out with a plethora of thanks and good night, I was more than surprised by the number that lit up when my employer was talking to them personally. John Wayne might have got a bigger response, but it was hard to see how they could have been any more appreciative than they were for the attention Jimmy granted them.

I did my share of good-night-ing with the younger females and I noticed that May Mitchell got a lot of attention from the men, even though many of them were so shy in her nearness that they could hardly speak.

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Backstage a while later, as we were getting the make-up off and hanging up our costumes, I heard Pauline acting the fool with the words ‘O, hold me hand till the tram passes!’ as though she was about to faint.

Tom Hunter winked at me and Jimmy chimed in with: ‘don’t get your knickers in a twist, girl! All I said was that I’d buy the first round.’

‘In that case, I’ll come along, Jimmy old boy!’ Gary chimed in, creating a laugh that suggested he never bought a drink, anyway. This turned out to be a true state of affairs, not that, as I discovered, anybody thought him tight or anything. In fact, all in all, Gary was cherished some by one and all.

Tom Hunter got closer to me: ‘What do you think of it, of Us, Tony?’

‘Well, it’s a lot to take in...so much in each show, but I’m glad to be here.’

‘I’ve been on the road all my life,’ he said in a matter of fact way. ‘Born in a wagon in Tipperary, I was. The Father had his own Fit Up Company when I was born.’ His eyes had turned warm as he spoke: ‘Every play, every gag, all the sketches, I grew up on them.’ He shook his head gently: ‘And still, when I’m on the door and watching the show at the same time, I get as big a kick as ever I did.’

I nodded my appreciation and Gary Martin cut in with ‘Which adds weight to the argument that you are an ignorant peasant, so lacking in sophistication that it defies belief!’

Tom smiled and winked at me and I found myself grinning at the way in which he allowed this half-joking-whole-in earnest tirade to roll off him, like water off a duck.

‘That’s it,’ Tom said firmly, ‘that’s definitely it! No red handbag like I promised, for your birthday!’

Jimmy reappeared: ‘Right boyos! By two’s, down Main Street to Johnnie Cullen’s pub, quick march!’

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‘By the way,’ Tom Hunter said to me as we walked down the dark village street: ‘I liked your singing.’

‘I’m grateful somebody did, so thanks, Tom.’

‘Well, it takes guts to sing your kind of material in a place like this. But, you stick to your guns and you’ll have them by the end of the week.’

When we stopped outside Cullen’s pub, we were in complete darkness. I looked up and down the street, half expecting the law to show up at any minute.

Jimmy rattled the letter box as though he was trying to send it flying in through the shop, and after a minute I heard somebody approach the door as a corrugated voice asked who was there.

Jimmy bent down and put his mouth near the letter box.

‘There were four and twenty virgins in the town of Castlerea.’

The man inside said: ‘Oh, Jesus God, now there’s a thought for you.’

There was a tearing noise then, as a rusted bolt was drawn back across the door, and Jimmy threw his arms wide with a yell: ‘Open, o shant for me!’

It was a terrible joke but I laughed, which got me a glance of mild disgust from Pauline, who probably hadn’t laughed even the first time she heard it.

We moved into the hallway in single file and I could smell out host before I got a clear look at him. He stank of whiskey and stale tobacco and month-old-sweat, and I thought it fairly reasonable that his missus might not want to give him a cuddle every time she ran into him around the house.

The street bold closed behind us and the bold cried out again. A light now came to life and Johnnie Cullen and Jimmy were into a serious handshake that was a health hazard.

The short, thick-set publican was almost dancing with pleasure as he and Jimmy pressed serious flesh, his great shaggy head rolling about, his eyes blinking like red and white stripes, while his breathing reminded me of the train that had hauled me up here from Dublin. And you didn’t need to be any kind of mind reader to decide he was carrying more than his fair share of booze.

‘Welcome, welcome, one and all.’ He cried out, his puffs of breath pleasure filled as he went on pumping Jimmy’s arm, as he said with feeling: ‘Begod, Jimmy Frazer, and you’re a breath of fresh air.’

This compliment was a lot funnier than he realised, and the way that Pauline’s eyes flicked to me for a second told me that though so too.

Jimmy was grinning at the publican as he pulled his hand away. ‘You look well yourself, Johnnie, are you sick!’

Johnnie Cullen hopped ahead of us down the passage, the rest of us trooping along in a crocodile behind him, and he was cackling away at the most recent octogenarian joke that Jimmy had just provided: ‘Begod! And that’s a good one, Jimmy, you never lost it!’

He was opening the door to the bar as he said this, while my eyes opened like windows, since the huge room was more than occupied. I calculated that there were at least forty people intent on feeling no pain, and I remembered one or two of the faces from the audience we had played to earlier. And, somehow I was not in the least surprised that there wasn’t a woman of any description in that large bar.

The customers were likely farmers or farm workers, while in once corner, away from the counter, sat a uniformed police officer who looked to be about thirty years old.

He was very drunk, his loneliness a cloak about his shoulders. His cap lay beside his stout and an accompanying whiskey and he had, strapped about his waist, a revolver that was, presumably, standard issue to every member of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.

The man has a small, pale face; his forehead was marked by his cap; and his tenement eyes were those of a man on the run.

I shuddered at his misery, turning back to my work mates, to find Pauline studying me in a serious way. She pulled a face at then and we shared a harmless smile.

‘Tell us, Johnnie,’ Jimmy yelled, ‘is there any danger of getting a drink here?’

‘Danger, Danger! ’

Johnnie Cullen must have been Jimmy’s greatest fan, as he laughed a long bout, fighting for breath like a fella choking on the force of his own amusement.

Some of the men at the bar began to laugh with Johnnie, and it didn’t seem to matter that they didn’t know what they were laughing at.

I found I was making mental notes as I took in the rough, timber floor, the old wooden counter and the rough style tables and chairs. And the fireplace, big enough for a man to stand in, a great fire was yelling its way up the chimney into the cold of the night.