In 1969 I emigrated after my Leaving Cert.to England and Wales for a period.After paying my boat fare over to Holly head I had three pounds stuffed into my shoe for fear it would be stolen
I went with a pal of mine to the house of his aunt in Carshalton in Surrey.She was a Dub,long since left Dublin and all vestiges of the Dublin accent was well gone.She had married late in life to a Pole and they were totally devoted to each other.They were very polite and decent people and socially well up the ladder.
Within days we had got the start as labourers with Wimpy who were building houses for the local council.
I served time levelling gardens with a spade and shovel,cleaning out the insides of the completed houses,cleaning the outside woodwork of the same houses and wheeling barrow loads of concrete up Wooten planks like a slave.
The biggest tyrant on the site was a West of Ireland foreman who drove us on like workhorses..
At one stage I was helping an English carpenter who used try and rise me by saying that he was a tradesman and I would never be anything bar a labourer.This was done to put me down as there was a fierce hatred of the Irish there because of the Northern troubles .
I did not enjoy my time in that site,
The decent people who put us up were set in their ways.Coming home dirty from work into a fairly posh neighbourhood we had to strip out of our clothes in the garage ,have a bath and then get the tea,usually al fresco.
I was uncomfortable there,
Things came to a head for me one evening when I was asked ,while eating alfresco, to go into the house and wet another pot of tea."No problem at all" said I.I boiled the kettle,scalded the tea pot and opened the tea caddy.,Not a leaf to be seen ,just packets containing tea leaves.Tea bags of course but the first I had ever seen.Too proud to ask how to use them I figured that in accordance with the high standard of poshness around me and for hygiene purposes they had the further protection of putting them into packets so that they would remain purer than your normal tea leaves.
So I tore them open and emptied the leaves into the scalded pot.
Proud as punch I brought the well drawn tea out to the table and poured the first cup full for the lady of the house.She sipped a mouth full and gagged."Did the tea bag burst "said she.Turning deep crimson I said "Yep that's what happened "
What a fucking idiot.
I handed up my subs every week for a few more weeks and resolved to go elsewhere asap.
After a while I moved into a house nearby full of Paddies.Basically there were three or four floors in the house,with a communal kitchen on each floor and we slept in our own bedrooms two to a room.I bunked up with an older labourer from the site.
As said there were communal kitchens and a communal fridge on each floor,into which you put your perishables including your milk.
We were self catering and ate at our own convenience,
There was a milk thief abroad and more often than not the bottle was drained.Nothing as hateful.It was impossible to catch the milk thief single handed but my room mate solved the problem.He injected a laxative ,Jollop I think ,through the bottle top into a fresh bottle of milk one evening.
That night there was fierce running in every sense of the word along the corridor on our floor to the communal jacks,Lesson learned and problem solved.
And we had another problem.There was a bed wetter in the house.He worked shift work and thought nothing of shaking into my bed when his own was wet from his piss and repeating the dose in it.I never actually caught him in it,
Wherever he got them my room mate conjured up a half dozen crows and put them under the blankets one morning.Problem solved and message delivered.
I drank very little then.
On a Bank holiday I ventured up to an Irish Club in Leicester Square to a dance and got a few dances and met up with two Westmeath brothers who I befriended.
We resolved to head to Brighton for the weekend and I resolved to travel further afield.
Like my late uncle Tommy Mac Cormack I travelled light in those days.Tommy could fit his travelling kit,a comb and razor,in his breast pocket ,I could fit mine in a large rucksack.
So of with us.I don't remember much about that weekend except two things,one .being sneered at a number of times by publicans that "this isn't Ireland Paddy and we don't sell chocolate in Pubs here "and the second being that Woke up with a sore head and about a tenner to my name.My "mates " had disappeared also.
Alone and broke I got the train and headed for Cardiff ,intending to visit my grandparents outside Cardigan.
I duly arrived ,went to the local tourist office and got a map of Wales establishing the discretion of Cardigan relative to Cardiff.It was a long way away ,much more than my meagre pocket could afford on public transport.So I caught a random bus and looked out for building sites and likely employment.I found one with a crowd called "Cementation "who were driving piles to raise a bridge from a dry river bed being made into a road over an intersecting and busy roadway.
It being Tuesday and the start not being until the following Monday I had to live for the week and I had s.f.a.
So I walked out the road for Cardigan intending to thumb to my grandparents and stay for the week.But nothing stopped and I walked and walked and walked to well into the countryside.And took to the minor roads and just before dark bought cheese and Players no,10 fags .
I slept the first night in a remote telephone kiosk and was gone at dawn further off the beaten track.
Eventually I spotted a hay shed full of square bales of hay in the corner of a field and made this my headquarters for the following week.
I made a nest on top of the bales and lined off the land on turnips .carrots and thy cheese and fags,I drank river water and often sat frozen on top of the bales as the farmers worked at bringing more bales into the shed.
One fine day I decided to wash all my clothes in a remote river and did so stripping g to the skin,I lit a fire and spread the wet clothes out to dry on bushes nearby and lay back enjoying the sunshine,And fell asleep.To be awoken by a lady on horseback staring down at me,No words were exchanged.She rode off and I did a runner.
Time passed and before I knew it it was Sunday.I walked back into Cardiff stopping on the way to go to Mass.I gave my last few coppers to the collection plate and kept going until I got near the site.Having nowhere to sleep I nosed out a n underground pipe adjacent to the site and settled in only to be moved on by a security guard.I then spotted a derelict house and went in and slept until daylight and off then to the site for the start,
The foreman was a Walsh guy and the crew were mostly Welsh with a smattering of Irish.I was hungry and tired but kept at it helping to empty the bullet dsaped receptacle that was driven into the ground to make the bore that would take the cement to make the pile.It was dirty and cloying work but I kept at it ,not saying much.At tea break all the other guys had sandwiches at which I looked longingly.These tough men and they were tough. sussed out my predicament and shared with me.The same again at dinner break and at tea break the foreman offered me a fiver sub and asked me to mind the workman's hut at night for a week.
Decent and great men .
And so it went for the first week,me getting a fiver sub each day and the lads sharing their lunches and minding the hut at night,
Then as now I had a Dublin accent a fact that made a huge Mayo man from a famous footballing family pick on and goad me at every opportunity.He was twice as strong as me and very popular with the others but enough is enough and I eventually snapped and took him on in a fist fight.IN the end he bate the shite out of me and I ended up unconscious in a heap of spoil.but I got in a few hard punches and kicks before I passed out.
TH at was the end of the bullying.
Another worker on the site was a guy called Sean Pembroke from Tipperary.One of the most decent men I have ever met .He lived in Bristol with his mother and other siblings and his father and some other siblings remained in Ireland.He was returning to reality from a prolonged but ended betting spree on the horses..We became good friends and he sorted out a place for me in the digs he shared nearby.
SO come Friday off I went with him.A huge house full of Paddies run by two old Wales crones,The deal was bed and breakfast,packed lunch and evening meal ,cooked by the crones and served at a huge communal table at which I was introduced to one and all just as dinner was served.
"This is Dave " said Sean introducing me to the over fifteen men seated at the table and the brace of crones
Then crone number piped up "Jeez Dave you are very sexy. "Blushing fiercely and before I could reply she piped up "Yes you have a face like a cunt ."I was rooted to the ground ans didn't know were to look.
Up to this I had never heard a woman use such language.My mother ,my aunt Molly and Nan and Nancy Mic Cormack never cursed like this .neither did any of the women who lived around me.
So I stayed mum and just sat down.
In fairness the dinner was well cooked and the occasion was only once interrupted when the "star " lodger ,a huge Kerryman threw his dessert laden plate at the crone because it wasn't to his liking.No one batted an eyelid.
And so it went.
I never understood how that man had the stomach to mount that woman.The things men will do for a good feed !!
Since then I have a revulsion for women with foul tongues and it has inevitably proved to be a good gauge of hatefulness and bad character.
This revulsion transcends into films and dramas mimicking such behaviour,especially when put in the mouths of clergy ,none of whom i ever heard using such language.I detest Father Ted and find no merit whatsoever In the antics of a fine actor like Frank Kelly mouthing fuck and feck and fuck all else and that moron who depicts the tea lady with her nonsensical "Gwan etc.It actually sickens me and I cant bear to watch it.Iconsider it total nonsense,
And as for Missus Brown in whicn a mini man dressies as a woman to curse loudly and freely I am revolted by it and consider it a gauge of the decline of standards of decency and proper behaviour SO prevalent in Irish public life today.
Paddy whackery of the worst kind inflicted by our own,
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