Christmas Day by Paul Durcan

Author:Paul Durcan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781446484494
Publisher: Random House

VII

Back down into the black leather upholstery

And George C. Scott with a beard in khaki

Explaining, defending, preserving dolphins.

I deposit my Christmas present for Frank

On his chair hoping he won’t sit on it.

Gift-wrapped in a cheap sheet of ruddy Santa Clauses.

(Five sheets for 50p in Moore Street

On the night before Christmas Eve.)

Frank roars: ‘Time for exchange of presents, is it?’

Chuckling, he claws at my present

But it is all too obvious it comprises a book.

He reads out the title: Soho Square 6.

He grins, slams it shut, puts it under his chair,

Stands up, bends down over fireplace,

Plucks up a large package.

Impossible to guess what is inside it.

Frank’s Christmas present to me

Is a pair of AA Driving Gloves

‘Suitable’ the logo says ‘For Both Men & Women’

And a Cockpit Kit – Clock, Compass and Thermometer –

And a Christmas card made by himself.

‘Oh Frank, you thoughtful man, thank you.’

‘My pleasure, Paul, my pleasure.

It is mandatory – is that the word? –

To honour your accomplishment

In having learned to drive a motoring car at forty-nine

And to having passed your test first time out.

Don’t take offence but I did not expect

You to pass your driving test,

Certainly not first time out.

Two Christmases ago

Do you remember what you said to me?

“Don’t tell anyone

But I am taking driving lessons.”

I was amazed when I heard you’d passed.’

‘I was amazed myself, Frank.

After the test, as we walked from the car

Into the centre, the tester said to me:

“You are a natural driver, Mr Durcan.”

“No, I’m not” I’d like to have said.

Instead I said “Thank you” and blushed.

There is no such thing as a natural driver

Or a natural golfer or a natural poet.

In the six months prior to the test

I spent hundreds of hours

On dull, grey, empty, Sunday afternoons

Practising on the driving-test course –

Practising, practising –

The streets of Navan town.

The streets of Navan town are a trial.’

I am too timid to try on the gloves in front of the fireplace.

Later tonight I will try them out in bed.

Soft leather palms, polyester backs.

Visions of Paul

‘Juan Fangio’ Durcan

Driving round Ireland

For the sake of it –

And for nothing else.

I only like doing a thing

For the sake of it.

I am bejasus banjaxed

If it’s for a reason.

Taking a vagary and

Motoring down to Westport

And calling in on Mary MacBride

In the Old Rectory

And taking the kids out for a spin,

All five of them,

Bernardine, Erc, Una,

Síabhra, Mary Catherine,

Showing off to them,

Sliding back the sun roof,

Changing gears with the backs of my hands,

Caressing the steering wheel –

Paying it out like rosary beads –

Cuddling my car phone

To phone up Marian Finucane

On her radio programme,

Liveline,

Putting a Van Morrison tape

Into the cassette, turning

Up the volume to full,

‘No guru, no method, no teacher’

Or ‘Among those rolling hills’,

Hitting the back road

To Leenane and turning off

For Tourmakeady and stopping

On the side of a mountain to see

Who can hear a bell-wether

In the flock or to listen

To Big Dermot Seymour

Leaning on a six-barred gate

Taking a raincheck on the EEC

Or the coast road to Killadoon,

Lislongley, Rathviney,

Out past Rosbeg, Mallow Cottage,

Sunnyside, Lecanvey, Murrisk,

Dropping the kids back

After ice creams at the Quay –

Three 99s and two

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