This Man's Wee Boy by Doherty Tony;

Author:Doherty, Tony;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mercier Press

6

The Folded Newspaper

It was getting on in July 1971 and the bonfire season was approaching. Axes, hatchets and bow saws were sharpened in preparation for cutting the thick branches of the trees out the Line.

I was wearing a new mint-green wool jumper. I tore into the work with the rest of them, about a dozen boys in all, and the jumper eventually came off to reveal my white vest underneath. After we’d finished cutting and chopping I picked my new jumper up, but it caught on barbed wire. I gave it a sharp yank and, once it was free, I tied it around my waist. I positioned myself in the fork of a thick trunk of new-cut timber and began to pull it up the road towards home. The dragging leaves on the cut branches rattled noisily behind us as we hauled our bonfire fuel along Foyle Road; drivers to and from Killea had to slow down and go around us.

When we got back to Hamilton Street, I put my jumper on over my dirty vest and noticed a strand of wool sticking out from its side. I gave it a tug and made a wee hole; I pulled at it again and the gap became larger. By the time I’d reached our front door there was a sizeable gash in the jumper right across my belly. I stopped dead in my tracks and considered the consequences. Would I get thumped or would I be kept in for a week? I needed more time to think so I turned up the street towards Dooter’s house.

When I reached Dooter’s, Maisie, his ma, was at the door talking to another neighbour. There was a grim look of shock on her face as she dragged on an Embassy Red.

‘… and killed him stone dead,’ she said.

‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and St Joseph, they didn’t, did they?’ said the other woman.

‘Aye, ran right over him and left him on the road over in Westland Street. There’s murder over there. All the men are out,’ said Maisie.

‘Oh, Jesus preserve us this day!’ said the woman.

‘Aye, I know,’ said Maisie. ‘God look to the wee boy’s mother and father. We’ll all be ready for Gransha if this keeps up.’

‘Aye, the poor critter. We’ll be ready for Gransha, surely. Our nerves will never hold out to it.’

Gransha was the local mental hospital.

Maisie looked towards me with my arm resting awkwardly across my jumper hiding the gaping hole. ‘What are you hiding there, look see, young Doherty? Let me see what’s up. C’mere over.’ I had no choice but to drop my arm. ‘Oh Jesus, Tony Doherty, your mammy’s goin’ to kill you!’ she said, still with the fag in her mouth, and confirming for me what the likely punishment would be for destroying the new mint-green knitted jumper. ‘Your mother had them knitted for yous three. You’d better get home and tell her anyway,’ she said turning back towards her neighbour.

‘Aye, the poor critter. Run over on the street by the army.

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