Found stuck to the bottom of a folder....

Tons of Crap (Retd.)

‘Once up on a time.’ When we were growing up didn’t all good stories start like that?

Aye! And didn’t most end ‘and they all lived happily never after’? It’s hard to find a story like that nowadays.

Once up on a time I worked for a large international airline, you know the one I mean, Yea that’s it. It was a good place to work in then: good management, good staff, good pals and after work a good social life, and fun like the Inter Departmental Competitions.

Once when our section was training some staff from another airline, Air Lanka, here in Dublin, we would have won the Inter D hockey competition, except some smart ass discovered that two of the players we had successfully petitioned the ALSAA council to allow play with us were Sri Lankian hockey internationals.

One was the goalkeeper, the other an attacking forward. That was one story that didn’t end ‘and they all lived happily ever after’.

One of the teams in the soccer tournament for a couple of years was The Tons of Crap team. Their mission was never to win a match and never to have a man or woman booked for tackling another player. The goalkeeper would be dropped if he stopped a shot and any forward who failed to shoot over the bar at an open goal, would be transferred to a better team: and a transfer payment would be made to that team if they took him.

For a few years the team played badly enough and lost all their matches, then disaster struck. Late in injury time in a nil all match the other team scored an own-goal and the referee blew up before the Tons of Crap team could pay back the favour. They had won a match and despite their appeal and protests to the Fair Play Committee the result was a win for Tons of Crap.

The following year the team did not play in any competitions in protest and to my knowledge have not participated in any Inter D to this day. Another unhappy ending.

If they made a comeback today how would they line up? Who would be recruited to play with them? What strategy would they adopt to loose all their matches?

As it so happens, this reporter has been contacted, by their old manager Snitchy and that is just what he is now proposing: the All Old Tons of Crap (Retd.) Team. He even has a wish list of the type of players he wants to attract if you feel you can fill any of there positions contact snitchy@tonsofcrapagain.com.

For the goalkeepers he wants someone who once guided large aircraft to their stand on the ramp. Snitchy told me. “I want men who when they see a ball approach will confuse it with the nose cone of a large jet. I want them to put their right hand to their ear and scream, LEFT LEFT LEFT YA SO'NSO and then jump out of the way and run along the end line with both hands over their head”.

He is looking to appoint a Team captain who would once have been a manager or director of a division. He will play in the midfield position, a kind of Roy Keane role. When he gets the ball, Snitchy says, “I’m hoping he will fall back towards defence and pass the ball to the vice-captain, also midfield, who will run with it, while the captain shouts CARRY IT, CARRY IT, DON’T LET US DOWN, KEEP WITH THE PLAN. MAKE SURE IT’S IN THE BUDGET!”

He says he might have a bit of a problem if he messes up the rest of midfield. The players he need to attract will once have been sales or marketing managers who will bring with them two forwards that have previously worked with. “My master plan, depends on them regressing back into their work role. When they get the ball they will only pass it to their man, the sales or marketing forward, with instructions to do their best and report back. The best men for that job would be ex-cargo, they could run at the opposing team roaring NETT NETT, FIVE PLUS FIFTEEN. This would be real confusing in that the NETT NETT would confuse the other team: they would think we were serious about having a real go. I don’t know what the FIVE PLUS FIFTEEN means, as what it was all about, was a secret.”

That’s his plan for the one-four-two roles. The backs he says will be a real problem. He needs stoppers who will fall over when challenged. Retired Business Development Analysts looked promising but when he put the case to them they said it would take three months before they could get together to discuss it. He met a few retired systems programmers but when he said Good Morning at the meeting they replied SIX MAN MONTHS. So he gave up on them as well.

He asked the pilots, if they could supply two centre backs, but they were all working for other outfits and had to look at the roster to see if they would organise a gash day so that they could meet him.

In the end they appointed a committee and two outside advisors to discuss the issue and report back. Then they propose to have discussions and ballot their members to see if they will participate, they also proposed that if they did take part all their members would have to be trained at Old Trafford so that they could rotate players in case of work commitments. If a potential player had not been called on for a certain time they indicated that would need a Soccer Skills Simulator at base in Dublin for refreshers. Snitchy says he is waiting , but not with much hope of a result, for their representative, “TO GET BACK TO HIM.”

He says he rang Reservations three weeks ago and he is still listening to The Jingle, and sometimes he even gets up at night, just in case he is off hold. He considered going in and establishing contact in one of the booking offices but he can’t find any in town. He asked a travel agent to help, get him in contact, but they asked him for a commission. He says he went out to the HOB but he couldn’t get into the car park.

So then he fell back on the old reliable and went looking for the Personnel Department to ask for advice but the PCB is now a Lap Dancing Club. For some reason he said that didn’t surprise him. I advised him to put an advert in Aer Sceala: he said it was gone too. He went up to the Dublin Passenger Terminal but couldn’t find the front door and when eventually he got in all he could see were Ryanair desks.

In the end he fell back on an old reliable; he went to ALSAA on a Friday evening around five, but it was empty; a fellow called Tommy said he hadn’t seen a face he knew in ages.

Snitchy has given up. He says he never thought putting another Tons of Crap Team (Retd,) together for a few Sunday morning games would be such a difficult thing.

All I could say to comfort him was, “Maybe they all lived happily ever after.”

The O'Connors get what they deserve - gaping mouths!

Peggy is at rest now, beside Jonnie and her parents. The funeral was big, dignified and the headstone now had, as she had instructed Jonnies' name, his date of birth and the date he died, inscribed there. Below it her name and date of birth sat waiting for the final chiselling.

"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. World without end. Amen. God rest her soul."

The priest turned to Donie and shook his hand, "She is at rest now Donie. I heard what you did for her, James came to me to make the arrangements."

"Did the O'Connors not meet you to arrange things?"

"No. One of them rang, the eldest I think. I told him it was all looked after. He may have assumed it was you who arranged things. I left him none the wiser."

"Three Our Fathers, and Hail Mary's for deception so."

"No Donie. The deception was in their own minds. We are in the clear."

"Amen so, Father."

MacDonald the solicitor sat behind his desk, in his overheated office, and closed a small, slim, tidy file. To an onlooker it would appear he had a smile, more a smirk on his face. It was a smile! The smile of a man who had completed a good job for his client.

"That’s all the business concluded then in the case of the last will and testament of the late Peggy Murphy. "

The solicitor rose. Nodded. Offered his hand in condolence and then realises that it’s not going to be taken. Still, he leave his hand outstretched: a talon that won't be grasped.

The Nephews and niece stood as if to leave the office and then they turn on one another.

"You lot weren’t watching her. How did she slip that one past us? A son! A bloody son that no-one knows about. She had the bloody birth cert. She thought of that. And now he gets the feckin' prize. You lot weren’t watching her. You let her out of your sight. You lost the feckin' plot. There’s no way out of this. Shit! The bitch! After all we did for her. The ungrateful bitch. Feck you two. Were ye feckin' asleep? The Bitch. The Fecking Bitch!"

"There goes the villa in the South of France so...."

There is a stunned pause before the other two physically turn on him.

"Lady and gentlemen. Can I respectfully advise you to take this argument outside. The business here is done, and it's satisfactory, very satisfactory. Good Day. "

The Caged Songbird (the title of the play) sings again...

Well Jonnie, you left a trail and I followed it. I found James. Peggy's sleeping now and I’d say it won’t be long now before she joins yourself and the Bossman and the Mam and the rest of the clan. My parents as well, This is the first time I saw her peaceful in a while. I’d say she’s dreaming. We will wait for a while to see if she wakes up properly. I did the job for you. I watched over her. I made up my mind and brought the boy to see her. Rest easy now. I know it troubled you that you let the Bossman send the baby away. Made him an orphan you said. But sure I knew the Bossman too. It would have been hard to change his mind.

The Club Football Final was a bad match. Our lads couldn’t match the Boys from Knockbride around midfield...

Peggy is home again talking to Jimmy. The years have rolled back just like a dream travel daydream.

The day is lovely and bright: a happy day. I’m looking out across the fields. The hens and chickens are fussed, shoving one another away, pecking at the grain, I’m throwing to them, cackling and squabbling.

I’m glad you came back. They all said you were gone for good, that you were married over there. I told them they were wrong. I waited. I knew you would come back. They took our son away. I called him James. I cried for him and that you were not here with us. Now you found me. Just like he did. He came for me. I told him I never wanted to give him away. That they made me. I told him to keep quiet or they might hunt him away again. He forgave me. When I got the place, after Jonnie, I made a will. I left it all to him but he won’t need it now you’re back. This time you don’t have to go away. This time it will be different. This time we will look after him together. Will we sing our song? It's been so long since I felt like singing anything.

My thoughts today, though I'm far away,

Dwell on Tyrconnell's shore,

The salt sea air and the colleens fair,

Of lovely green Gweedore.

There's a flower there, beyond compare,

That I'll treasure evermore,

It's that grand colleen, in her gown of green,

The Rose of Aranmore.”

Peggy's Secret...Is Revealed....

They’re at it again Fighting. All we do now is fight. About me and the baby. I didn’t mean to get this way. In the family way. It’s not as if I planned it. It just happened. I love him and he loves me and that’s all that matters. He says we can run away to England, but if I do that who will look after Bossman. They’re going to send me away to have it. Then they will take it away and I’ll never see my daughter or son again. It will be a son and he will grow up to have his fathers smile. It’s a lovely smile - a scamp’s smile.

They’re gone. Thank God. They’re gone. Here’s Bossman and the dinner’s ready. He might be in good humour. Here’s the dinner Boss. It’s bacon and cabbage just what you like.

I didn’t do it on purpose. Molly didn’t want him! She married his brother. He’s older and has a few pounds. Jimmy has nothing: just the shirt on his back.

I DON’T KNOW WHY! What Molly has is only a bit of paper. ONLY A BIT OF PAPER. I’LL HAVE ONE TOO. SOON. You’ll see. Everyone will see…

At the entrance to the Nursing Home, Donie and a younger man get out of a car.

"Go in through the front doors. Don’t go right: there’s a door to the left. That leads to a small stairs. Go up that to the first floor. Go out the door in front and it’s the second room on the left."

Donie pays the hackney fare, and slowly follows the younger man into the home and up towards Peggy' room.

He arrives and glances into Peggy's room, where she is alone. Moved to solitude to await death. James sits beside the bed, he is holding her hand, leaning down and crying, the tears fall on to the white bed sheet. A mirror to the colour in Peggy's face. Donie stands at the door: a sentry, on guard.

"Mam. Mam it’s me. It’s James. I came, Donie found me and got in contact, He phoned. I’m here now. It’s going to be all right Mam."

Hearing his voice Peggy stirs, trying to move towards the sound.

"Jimmy? Jimmy is that you?"

" No Mam. It’s me James. Remember?"

"James. Oh! James. I missed you. You’ll have to go! They’ll run you."

"Not any more Mam. Not this time, I won’t let them. I’m here to look after you now."

This is just a normal conversation - among relatives in a nursing home!

"Go home. Go Home. I don’t want you here. Go away and leave us in peace. Go to your own places."

"What’s she on about - NOW?"

"She’s been like that all week. She thinks she is back in the old house. She keeps talking to her Father and him dead since 1964."

"Christ I hope I never go like that. Feck me! Spending all your days in the County Home, out of your head. Living in the past.”

What are all these people doing in the house. I keep telling them to go, but they won’t listen. When Bossman comes home he will be cranky about it and he’s going to blame me for letting them in. He’ll want his dinner and I haven’t enough for all of them. Why won’t they leave. I don’t want them here. I have work to do.

"I keep telling you. It’s NOT The Home any more. It’s a Nursing Home now."

"It still smells the feckin’ same. Wee and vomit."

"Like your place? Shut-up She’ll hear you."

"I don’t know why we come in at all. She doesn’t know we’re here."

"Has she made a will? Who will she leave the place too?"

"I don’t feckin’ know. You shower were around her. I’m was up in Dublin."

"If we don’t watch it she might leave it to the other shower. They were in to see her all the time when she was in the house."

"I asked the Solicitor MacDonald. He said she tidied up all the bits, when she went to him over Jonnie’s will. She told none of us she was going, or what she was at."

"That was before the Hospital. She had her wits about her then?"

"Yea, well about her I’d say."

"We’re all right. She always said she would leave it to the O’Connors. To us."

"Yea. That’s right. She did. Could we get a look at it? Do you think?"

"Don’t be stupid. John Joe."

"I was thinking of nominating you Kate. I wouldn’t say she will last long in here. It’s a terrible place."

"We're in it so."

"Who else? She has no one else, but us."

"God help her!"

"F-off John Joe. Are the pubs open yet?"

"Give me a few bob and I'm out of here, me money is not due 'till tomorrow."

"What about last weeks?"

"Gone with the wind Sister Dear, gone with the wind."

Ringo the mule! Not as mad as it seems...

Donie made the trip to the bog. It was almost a daily ritual when Jonnie was alive. Well! A fair day ritual then. There was nothing as miserable as a wet day in the bog, no shelter and maybe a whipping wind. The wind in summer, made the bog cotton dance on their tall thin green stalks, and the gentle breezes created miniature tornados, never, ever, more than a few few tall.

Thank God. The turf is all saved. Poor auld Jonnie. I miss you. At this time of the year with your turf saved you’d say: Sound now for the winter. We have a shed full of dry turf.

I went to the Nursing Home to see The Sister. Most days now she just sits beside her bed muttering, and sobbing. I think she’s remembering things that upset her. She’s troubled. I’d say she’s angry about something. You know the way she used get. All huffy - with that look on her face.

Maybe she feels ashamed that it’s turned out this way. Sometimes she gets frustrated when you don’t understand what she wants.

Poor Peggy her mind is trapped in the past. She just has today and there will be no tomorrow: all she has is yesterdays. Just yesterdays. Only the past for company...

I have your caged birds. They're singing again, went silent for a few days after I moved them.

Ringo, the Mule, with his fringe, took a bit longer. The call eegits birdbrains, feather heads, but I think the birds missed you as well.

What that lot are at isn’t right. She deserves a lot more.

Somethin’ has to be done about it. For all our sakes, I better start looking for him. For the boy.

Peggy falls the first time - couldn't resist it Easter week...

The county hospital was a place where sick people from the locality were taken for treatment. The locality was a loose term, it could be near, but also far, to far sometimes for stroke or heart attack victims to survive long enough in the back of an Ambulance on narrow bumpy rural roads.

Peggy had only been transported a short journey. The hospital in the county capital was relatively close and accessible. She was also lucky in that in those days a bed would be available immediately, Progress in Ireland with the jobs boom and cheap drink would soon mean that real sick older people would find that the beds they paid for with their welfare contributions and taxes were filled by drunks, brawlers, drug addicts, and others who in their short lives so far had made no contribution to earn them the space they came to occupy.

Just when I was starting to get back on me feet. I don’t know how I fell or how I got here. It’s the Hospital and that’s a blessing. I was afraid it would be the other place they would put me into. I don’t know what I was thinking when the neighbours were knocking at the door and the windows. I think I tried to chase them away. Thought it was Bully-boys after the money. Am I gettin’ forgetful?

The O'Connors huddled, bedside crouchers, watching Peggy, counting her breaths, wondering, maybe even hoping.

"Would ya look at her, away with the fairies, muttering to herself. Once they think she is over the fall, they'll want her out of here. They said she didn't break anything, so the writing's on the wall. We better be ready to move her somewhere."

"She can’t look after herself Miki, and the ravin’ is getting worse. She keeps talking to people who are dead. Last night she thought she was married and had a husband and a son."

"Maybe she was. Maybe she had a son. Wouldn't that be somethin'. Somethin', man alive."

"Don’t be a smart-arse, John Joe."

"Leave it with me I’ll make some calls. We’ll get her in somewhere. Don’t let them move her out of here ‘till I have a place fixed up. Don’t let her go back home what ever happens. Are you two listening? On no account is she to be let go back home."