Gypsy Boy: My Life in the Secret World of the Romany Gypsies by Mikey Walsh

Author:Mikey Walsh [Walsh, Mikey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780312622084
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

13

Fate of the Munchkin Queen

Granddad Noah was coming out of hospital and we were all going over to Tory Manor in the evening to celebrate his return. He’d been breathless and ill for some months, and in the end he’d needed a heart bypass.

That afternoon Frankie and I set off to show a disbelieving Dolly and Colleen the Haystack Man’s home and the spot on which Horace almost breathed his last. We had come well prepared, having filled several carrier bags with pinecones and rocks, but there was no sign of the monster.

Disappointed, we turned back and took another of the six paths from the clearing, which led us to Oak Place itself.

We were shocked to find that what we had thought of as a prison for mental patients was just like a quaint little village; from outside we could see thatched cottages, stables with friendly donkeys and even an all-day disco. Walking round the perimeter fence we followed the sound of cheesy pop to a huge hall, with an open front, where we could see several deranged people jumping around and throwing themselves into break dances to Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’.

It was a unanimous vote that we should all go and join in, and we managed to slip through the gate without being noticed. It wasn’t until we’d had an hour or so of non-stop pop fun that we were finally escorted off the premises by four hefty, shaven-headed women guards, carrying truncheons.

We ran out through the main gates, out of breath and screaming with laughter. But as we reached the camp we heard my father whistling for us and realised that we’d been out too long.

We climbed back over the wall to find him standing there, heaving like an angry bull, and holding the dreaded bamboo stick. Frankie made the first run for it. She tried to dodge, but he managed to whip the bamboo stick across her rear end as she ran. She kept on going, holding onto her backside with both hands as she headed, screaming, towards our plot.

I tried to do the same, but as I swerved by him I tripped and landed right at his feet. Like a chicken in a fox’s jaws, I played dead, hanging limp in his arms as he dragged me back to the beating shed where he whipped me ferociously with the stick, before shoving me into the truck with our mother, Frankie, Henry-Joe and Jimmy.

As we drove up the lane towards Tory Manor we saw that every tree had been tied with balloons, yellow ribbons, and misspelled signs reading, ‘WELKOM BAK’.

Frankie and I had been made to feel guilty for the whole journey, and the sight of the decorations brought forth a fresh burst from our father, who gazed at them, tears in his eyes, and ranted at us about how shameful it was not to have been here early enough to help put them up.

‘It’s all because of you, fucking off to that mental home,’ he yelled.

Frankie was behind his seat, waggling her shoulders and moving her lips to his voice.

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