The Teapots Are Out and Other Eccentric Tales from Ireland (5 page)

We had heard the sounds of discord quite plainly as we neared the house. All three were involved. It had reached hysterical proportions just as my mother knocked upon the door. Suddenly there wasn't a titter to be heard. A grimy face appeared at the window and shortly afterwards a voice called, ‘Come in.' By this time, however, Dinny Colman, who was never a man to stand on ceremony, had the door open. The disarray was quite evident.

‘God bless all here,' he used the benediction to camouflage his extreme curiosity. Hastily Dolly Leary and her sister-in-law Bridgeen departed the hearth clutching their teapots and other relevant accoutrements. They disappeared soundlessly into an adjacent room.

‘Come in, come in,' Neddy Leary cried as though there had never been a word of disagreement. Dinny Colman made immediately for the hearth and stood with his back to it so that the whole kitchen could be kept more easily under observation.

‘Servant boys don't know their place no more,' Neddy Leary addressed himself to my mother at the same time rising and ushering us both to the hearth where he bade us sit on the chairs which had just been abandoned. This left Dinny with no choice but to move to one side. Using heavy black tongs Neddy Leary set himself the task of re-arranging the turf fire. This he managed to do with a surprising degree of skill. In seconds it was a tastefully-constructed pile of glowing embers, quite pleasant to behold and radiating welcome warmth. He delicately banked it with sods chosen from an ancient tea-chest which stood nearby. He declined, however, to sweep the hearth and surrounds clean of ashes. He managed to give the
impression that this was a chore beneath his dignity.

‘As soon as that kettle boils,' he politely informed my mother, ‘we'll wet a mouthful of tea and discuss your business.'

Having said this his face hardened and he called out in a loud voice, ‘Come down here this instant.' As he once more turned to my mother the harshness left his face. ‘They'll be down now to set the table,' he told her. Meanwhile Dinny Colman had moved nearer the door where he made a thorough investigation of that makeshift portal. He seemed determined to record every contrary detail. He moved next to the farthest corner overhead which was a hen-coop covered by lattice wire. Several pullets and hens of the Rhode Island Red species sat contentedly staring into space as though drugged or dazed. Reaching upward Dinny thrust a finger though the lattice and tapped the nearest of the hens on its beak. There followed a soft, fruity clucking.

‘Let those hens be!' The order came from Neddy Leary. He had been noting Dinny's progress with mounting displeasure. Dinny moved on to where a picture of the Sacred Heart was barely visible through a cracked, dust-covered glass frame. He took a deep breath and expelled it in the direction of the picture. His every action was a deliberate manifestation of his amusement.

Dolly Leary was the first to arrive from the room. ‘You know my woman don't you?' Neddy said.

‘Indeed I do,' my mother answered. Nevertheless she shook hands with Dolly who looked far tidier now than when we first entered.

After a few moments, enough to allow Dolly establish herself, Bridgeen Leary presented herself. ‘And my sister,' Neddy
said. Again there was a handshake.

‘Will ye take an egg with the tea?' Neddy enquired and he lifted a black canister with the tongs. It was half-filled with murky water the surface of which was partly covered with ashes.

‘No thanks,' the three of us answered hastily, too hastily. My mother made amends by stating that we had partaken of our dinners just before we set out. Dolly and Bridgeen began to clear the table. They were watched closely by Dinny who had returned to resume a less familiar form of communication with the Rhode Island Reds. Between them the women of the house managed to spirit away all the unsightly objects which had first greeted us. In no time at all a tablecloth covered the table. There were cups and saucers, side plates and a large dish which contained an outsize pancake and the quarter of a currant loaf.

‘Dang that kettle,' Neddy Leary said but just as he spoke the faint curling steam from its spout was suddenly transformed into a solid jet. He took himself to the table where a whispered consultation took place between himself and the two women. The argument concerned itself with which of the three teapots should be used for the occasion. One word borrowed another and it seemed as if the parley might erupt into a major row. Suddenly there was silence. An agreement had been reached. Dolly Leary raced to the room she had just left and returned at once with a brown earthenware teapot which was obviously being pressed into service for the first time. It was quickly rinsed with a gurgling squirt from the boiling kettle. Neddy arranged a circle of small coals of a uniform size a few inches from the fire and on these the freshly-made tea in its brand new teapot was allowed to draw.
While we waited Dolly and Bridgeen made the joint observation that I was like my father but had my mother's eyes. Meanwhile in the hen-coop there was uproar. Dinny, the party responsible, had quickly removed himself from the scene of the crime and was once again inspecting the door.

‘Take a seat at once sir,' Neddy spoke curtly and indicated a chair at the bottom of the table. Suspecting that a limit might have been reached Dinny sat at once. One by one we joined him at the table. Neither of the household women sat till the tea had been poured. Neddy sliced the pancake and the currant loaf. A tell-tale, off-white vein ran through each of the pancake slices. In the case of the currant loaf the fruit had sunk to the bottom. Despite this we would be obliged to partake of at least one slice. Thereafter it would be possible to decline all pressure to eat more. Gingerly we opted for the currant loaf. It was heavy going. No crumb fell to the table or the floor such was its soggy consistency. We managed to get it down, however, and so placed ourselves in a position to refuse all other offers. The household, having satisfied itself that our wants were fulfilled, ate heartily until nothing remained in the dish.

‘Now,' Neddy Leary announced as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ‘tell us what it was that brought ye.'

‘Not much,' my mother answered, ‘just to find out if you could give us your brother Tom's address in New York.'

‘With a heart and a half but tell us who belonging to you is for America?'

‘This boy here,' my mother informed him.

‘He's young isn't he?'

‘Old enough at sixteen,' my mother responded.

Neddy Leary sighed. ‘The best age,' he agreed. ‘They don't settle so well when they shove on in the years. That was Tom's
age when he left. Never looked back. Made out fine for himself.'

Neddy's younger brother Tom figured as a sort of intercessory between prospective American employers and the droves of young Irish boys and girls who emigrated yearly from the district. It was a genuine labour of love on his behalf and indeed it would be unthinkable for any intending emigrant not to contact him before leaving. His house served as a home from home during those heartbreaking first weeks. It gave the youngsters a chance to absorb the strange, complex environment until such time as they were able to make some slight evaluation of the new situation for themselves.

‘I'll get it for you right away,' Neddy said. He rose and entered another room to the left of the kitchen. Nobody spoke during his absence. My mother cleared her throat and was about to say something but changed her mind. Dinny Colman eased himself self-consciously out of his chair and betook himself to the hearth where he first looked up the sooty chimney before standing with his behind to the fire, hands behind his back. He stood with a knowing smile on his face, his lips pursed, issuing a sly, soundless whistle. Neddy returned with a writing pad, a bottle of black ink and a small well-thumbed notebook. Behind his ear was a wooden-handled pen with a rusty nib. His wife and sister cleared the table feverishly while he stood imperiously waiting behind his chair. His eyes scanned the table for signs of any object which might impair the work which was about to begin. When he sat the two women stood in attendance directly behind him no more than a foot apart. Even Dinny Colman was impressed by the ritual. He was made to feel that he was in the presence of a scribe. An inner sense told him that it was not a moment for levity. Laboriously
Neddy Leary laid out his writing materials on the table. When he was settled properly in his chair he uncorked the ink bottle, having first held it up to the light for careful inspection in case it harboured any foreign bodies. Satisfying himself in this respect he next inspected the rusty nib. Not finding it to his satisfaction he thrust it into his mouth, twirling it round and round several times therein and then proceeded to suck it as though it were a lollipop. Removing it he held it close to his eyes for final inspection. He dried it by the simple expedient of rubbing it against the sleeve of his coat. He then wet the thumb of his right hand with his tongue, lifted the notebook eye-high and thumbed through its tattered pages until a deep sigh of satisfaction intimated that he had found what he had been looking for.

‘Thomas Ignatious Augustine Leary,' he chanted the words with due solemnity. ‘Two forty-seven, East Two Sixtysecond Street, City of New York, United States of America', he concluded with an American twang. He then carefully proceeded to copy the address onto the notepaper. As he wrote not a pin could be heard to fall, a feather to alight, a heart to flutter, until he had almost completed his task. Quite out of the blue, you might say almost sacrilegiously, his sister Bridgeen covered part of her bosom with one hand and all of her mouth with the other before emitting a clearly audible gasp that shattered the concentration of the scribe as though a shotgun had been discharged over his head. His reaction was not to erupt from his chair mouthing blasphemous barrages in his sister's direction. He merely folded his hands while the colour of his face changed to a ghastly hue. A nerve-jangling silence of several moments ensued. Neddy Leary closed his eyes and spoke.

‘Is there somebody present with something to say?' His voice shook with emotion. It was evident that he was making mighty efforts to control himself.

‘It was me made the noise; Bridgeen replied without a hint of apology in her voice.

‘Why so?' Neddy was now drumming his fingers inquisitorially on the table.

‘Because,' said his sister sarcastically, ‘that's the old address.' So flaring a transgression was this that it simply had to be ignored. To contradict the head of the house in the presence of strangers could not be brooked no matter what. In the circumstances the only alternative was to pretend the woman had not spoken. Without haste Neddy finished off the address, rose, held it to the fire and allowed the ink thereon to dry. While he was thus engaged his wife committed the second cardinal error of the afternoon.

‘If you're not careful you'll burn it; she said. From the expression on his face it was plain that Neddy had decided to treat this comment with the same detachment as the other. When the ink had dried he folded the sheet of notepaper and handed it to my mother. His hands trembled and a furious fire burned in his dark eyes.

‘I wish the boy luck,' he said gently, ‘and now if you have no further business you might like to be shortening your road.'

‘Of course,' my mother agreed, ‘and let me thank you for your kindness.'

A sensitive woman she could readily presage the signs of the approaching storm. Any moment now the lightning would flash and the thunder roll and crack. The barely restrained winds of rage were already rustling dangerously. One could almost run one's fingers over the bristling tension.

‘Time to go,' my mother ushered me to the door which Neddy Leary had obligingly opened for us. As ever Dinny Colman was inclined to dawdle. He posed affectedly in the doorway as though admiring the landscape while all he really wanted was to savour the beginnings of the oncoming conflict. He savoured it all right but not in the manner he would have liked. Behind him stood Neddy Leary waiting to close the door so that he might give rein to his anger. When Dinny refused to budge Neddy drew back his right foot and forcefully impressed the side of his boot on Dinny's buttocks making him to buck forward unceremoniously till he found himself on all fours. As soon as the kick was implanted Neddy banged the door shut, the better to begin the domestic dissension in earnest. Outside, after Dinny had recovered, we marvelled at the indoor commotion. The first shot was fired in this instance when the ink bottle came flying through the window. Then came the clangour of human voices upraised and distorted till they seemed inhuman. It was a wanton, reckless, irascible strife. There was the sound of splintering wood mingled with the crash of breaking crockery. Add to this the noisome jangle of canisters, pannies, buckets and other tin missiles and some idea of the general bedlam will be conveyed.

The climax came with a mighty crash followed by the terrified clucking of badly-maimed hens. The hen-coop had fallen; whether by accident or design we could not determine. Suddenly there was silence. The battle was over. The door opened and a file of Rhode Islanders staggered and limped out from the scene of the fray. In the kitchen Neddy Leary sat at the table with his head in his hands. His wife and sister sat holding their sides at either side of the hearth. A lifeless hen lay sprawled on the floor. There was debris everywhere.

‘Come along,' my mother said, ‘they'll need to be alone now.'

‘The teapots will be out forever after this,' Dinny Colman forecasted. He was still peeved at the way he had been treated by Neddy Leary. Reluctantly he followed us to the pony and trap. As we climbed the second hill Dinny was still muttering to himself over the injustice which had been done to him.

‘Tell us about the very first shot,' I said. He mulled over the suggestion for a while.