Outside our house is a different place.
One day my mother let us go down to the shop on our own, but she gave us a piece of rope and told us all to hold on to it so we would not get separated. An old woman stopped and said that was a great way of making sure we didnt get lost. My mother says were surrounded by old women. Miss Tarleton, Miss Tomlinson, Miss Leonard, Miss Browne, Miss Russell, Miss Hosford, two Miss Ryans, two Miss Doyles, two Miss Lanes, Mrs Robinson, Mrs McSweeney and us in between them all. Some of them are friendly and others hate us. Some of them are Protestant and others are Catholic. The difference is that the Protestant bells make a song and the Catholic bells only make the same gong all the time.
You have to be careful where you kick the ball, because if it goes into Miss Tarletons garden next door youll never get it back. She told us not to dare put a foot inside her garden. Mrs McSweeney is nice and calls you in for a Yorkshire Toffee. The two Miss Lanes across the road have a gardener who wanted to give you back the ball one day but he couldnt. He came to the gate, ready to hand it back, but then one of the Miss Lanes appeared at the window and shook her head. The gardener stood there, not knowing what to do. We begged him please to give it back quickly before she came out, but he couldnt because he was working for Miss Lane, not for us, and she was already at the door saying, Give that ball here. She said she was going to confiscate it. We stood at the railings until Miss Lane said: Clear off. Away from the railings. Go on about your business, now.
My mother laughs and says confiscate doesnt mean kill or stab with a knife. It just means taking control of something that belongs to somebody else. One day I confiscated my brothers cars and threw them over the back wall into Miss Leonards garden, but we got them back. One day Miss Tarleton declared a football amnesty and we got nine balls back, some of which never even belonged to us in the first place and most of which were confiscated all over again very shortly after that. Miss Tarleton might as well have handed them straight over to the Miss Lanes. My mother wants to know if the Miss Lanes play football in the kitchen at night. And she wants to know what the Miss Lanes have against her, because they just slammed the door in her face.
My mother says maybe they still hate Germany, but my father says they hate their own country even more. He says they still think theyre living in Britain and they cant bear the sound of children speaking German on the street and, even worse, Irish. My mother says that means we have to be extra-nice to them, so they dont feel left out. You have to try not to throw the rockets up so high because the bang frightens old women and makes them think the Easter Rising is coming back again. You have to make sure the ball doesnt go into their garden. My father says its your own fault if you lose the ball, because their garden is their country and you cant go in there. He says our country is divided into two parts, north and south, like two gardens. He says six counties in the north have been confiscated and are still controlled by Britain. The difference between one country and another is the song they sing at the end of the night in the cinema and the flag they have on the post office and the stamps you lick. When my father was working in the north of Ireland once, in a town called Coleraine, he refused to stand up in the cinema because they were playing the wrong song. Some people wanted to put him against the wall and shoot him. And then he left his job and came back to his own country where he could speak Irish any time he liked.
So, you have to be careful what country you kick your ball into and what song you stand up for in the cinema. You cant wave the wrong flag or wear the wrong badges, like the red poppies with the black dot in the middle. You have to be careful who to be sad for and not commemorate people who died on the wrong side.
My father also likes to slam the front door from time to time. And hes the best at slamming doors because he makes the whole house shake. Lots of things rattle. Clocks and glasses and cups shiver all the way down to the end of the street when my father answers the door. He sends a message out all over the world, depending on who knocked. If its the old woman with the blanket who says God bless you, Mister, and promises to pray for him and all his family, if its the man who sharpens the garden shears on the big wheel or if its somebody collecting for the missions, then he gives them money and closes the door gently. If its people selling carpets he shakes his head and closes the door firmly. If its the two men in suits with Bibles then he slams it shut to make sure not even one of their words enters into the hall. And if its one of the people selling poppies, then he slams it shut so fast that the whole street shakes. Sometimes the door slams shut in great anger of its own accord, but thats only because the back door has been left open and theres a draught going through the house.
One day Mr Cullen across the street asked us to help him wash his car. Afterwards he gave us a whole chocolate bar each, because he works for Cadburys and has boxes and boxes of chocolate bars and Trigger bars in the boot of his car all the time. A woman came along the street selling the red badges with the black dot in the middle, so, as well as the chocolate, he bought us each a badge and pinned them to our jumpers. Lots of people on the street were wearing them Miss Tarleton, Mrs Robinson, Miss Hosford, and the two Miss Lanes.
We didnt know they were wrong. We didnt know that wearing the wrong badge was like singing the wrong song in the cinema. So when my father saw us coming into the house wearing poppies, he slammed the door and all the clocks and cups and saucers shivered. Franz shivered too. My father ripped the poppies off so fast that he stabbed his own finger with the pin and I thought the badge was bleeding. He ran into the kitchen and opened the door of the boiler and threw the badges into the fire. Then he ran his finger under the tap and looked for a plaster while the badges burned to nothing and I thought it was a big waste because Mr Cullen had paid money for them.
Who gave you those damn things? my father wanted to know.
Not like that, my mother said. They dont understand.
Who gave you those poppies? I could see that my father hated even saying the word. Theyre British army poppies. Who gave them to you?
Mr Cullen.
Mr Cullen has no right. Im going over to have a word with him.
But my mother pulled on his elbow again. She told him that Mr Cullens father died in the First World War and we didnt want to offend him. My father said Mr Cullen was trying hard to offend us. Lots of good people died on the German side, too, as well as all the Irish people who died fighting against the British army instead of joining in with them. And what about all the people who died in the famine and there are no badges you can get for them. Mr Cullen was mocking us, he said, giving us the poppies on purpose because the Germans lost the war and the Irish lost the six counties. My mother says shes not offended and Mr Cullen is too nice a man to even think of something like that. Its time to be big-hearted, she says. Its not important to win. And one day theyll commemorate all the people who died in those wars, not just their own.
They have no children, she said.
I was afraid that my father would find out we got chocolate and that would go in the fire, too. One day when we were coming home from the shop with Smarties, Franz dropped one of them on the street and my mother told him to leave it there because it was dirty. Then he threw the rest of the Smarties on the ground as well. If one was dirty then they must all be dirty. So I thought this was the same, that we had brought home something from outside on the street that was dirty.
They have no children, she said.
I was afraid that my father would find out we got chocolate and that would go in the fire, too. One day when we were coming home from the shop with Smarties, Franz dropped one of them on the street and my mother told him to leave it there because it was dirty. Then he threw the rest of the Smarties on the ground as well. If one was dirty then they must all be dirty. So I thought this was the same, that we had brought home something from outside on the street that was dirty.
Never let me see those things again, my father warned.
Explain it to them, for Gods sake, my mother said. She doesnt like things being taken away from us without something else put in its place. She wants everything to be explained in a calm way, sitting down.
So my father sits at the table and we sit opposite him and he tells us why we cant accept poppies from anyone. First of all, he says, there was the British empire. He takes out a map of the world and points to all the pink bits that were owned by the British. Then he says the Germans wanted to have an empire, too, but the British didnt like the idea, so that was the First World War. He says millions of men died when two empires fought against each other and not even one person was killed on their own soil. It was big countries squabbling over little countries. Then right in the middle of it all the Irish decided to declare their own free state. We serve neither king nor kaiser, is what the Irish were saying to themselves and to all the other small countries around the world. But after that its hard to understand what my father is saying any more because my mothers name was Kaiser and I dont know what the difference is between the First World War and the Second World War, and who the Nazis are and what they have to do with us. My mother says the Germans hardly behaved any better than the British, that instead of just having an empire and keeping slaves, the Nazis made slaves of their own people. The Germans turned themselves into slaves and started killing all the other people who were not German enough and my father says its all the same thing.
Thats the end of the road, he says, and I think there are people being killed at the end of the road and I dont want to go down there any more. My father says all we need to know is that poppies are not allowed in the house and thats the end of the story. Well get our own badges and flags and songs. On St Patricks day, we get shamrock and green badges and tricoloured jelly and ice cream.
At night in bed Im afraid of silence. I can see the light coming under the door and I think my father still wants to go over to Mr Cullen, only that my mother is holding him back telling him to leave it. Its all in the past. Were in the future and we have to behave like the future. Then I hear the music coming up from the front room. Big German music spreading all over the house again, all the way up the stairs and in under the door with the light.
On Sunday, Onkel Ted comes to tea again with his wet hair combed in lines. I tell him about all the balls that Miss Tarleton gave back but the Miss Lanes took away again. I tell him that we were allowed to wash Mr Cullens car and that we got chocolate. I tell him about the poppies and all the people being killed at the end of the road, but my mother says we wont talk about that now. I tell him that a man on the bus said Nazi to my mother under his breath, but we wont talk about that either. Then its time to reach into Onkel Teds pocket for the sweets and I dont know what to tell or not to talk about any more.
After that its hard to know whats right and wrong. My mother says weve started doing a lot of things that make no sense. One day Franz put stones in his ears and he couldnt hear anything any more. Maria put a marrow-fat pea in her nose and it swelled up so much that the doctor had to come and take it out. Franz hit his thumb with a hammer and his finger went blue. Then I started burying all the silver spoons in the garden with my grandfathers initials FK written on them and my mother had to find the treasure. She laughs and says she hopes we wont do any more stupid things for a while. But then one day I started throwing the toy cars in the fire. I carried the box with all my cars into the kitchen and opened the door of the boiler by myself. I could see them lying on top of the orange coals. I watched them lighting up blue and green for a moment, until the flames disappeared and they went black and silver. One by one, I threw my cars on top of the coals until my mother came and asked me if I was out of my mind. She pulled me away and slammed the door of the boiler shut. She kneeled down and looked straight into my eyes. She makes everything better with hugs that break your bones. She tells me a story and says its all forgotten now and we wont talk about it any more.
Seven
One day the boiler burst. It started hissing and clicking because of all the bad things that had been thrown into it. It got so hot that you could hear it cracking inside. Then there was a bang and it burst open with hot brown water gushing out all over the kitchen floor like tea with milk. My mother told my father to call the fire brigade. He frowned and sucked in air through his teeth. But then he put out the fire by himself. He carried the red coal out on a shovel and rolled up his sleeves to sweep the tea out the back door.
Then its winter and our house starts filling up with mice. The pipes are cold and there are mice in every room because they get in under the back door. More and more of them are coming in every day until all the mice from the whole city are living in our house, my mother says. Theyre in the hall and on the stairs, everywhere you go. Any time you open the door and go into a room you see them running away. But mostly theyre under the stairs where things are kept, like jam jars and pots and old shoes. There are so many of them that you have to watch where you walk, because one day when Franz was running down the three steps from the hallway into the kitchen, a baby mouse ran out from under the stairs and got squashed. We all crouched down to examine the flattened corpse until my mother told us not to be so interested in blood and took it away on the shovel.
Its so cold, we stay in one room by the fire where its nice and warm, but if you go from that room up to the bedroom, its like going out on the street and you need your coat on. My mother shows me her hands and says they will never get warm again. Theyve gone blue and green with the cold, like mackerel. She wants me to take pity on her hands and please let them in under my jumper to get warm. Be a good boy and give shelter to my poor fish-blue hands, she says. Just let them in for a little second or two to get warm. Then I scream and laugh and my mother screams and laughs, because the mackerel are fast swimmers and they go up under my jumper and down around my neck into my shirt and my mother says: Wie schön, wie schön warm, oh lovely and cosy and warm.
Áine came back from London, but shes so sad that she only talks to herself in the mirror now. She cant even say walk on the wall in Irish or English or go down to the seafront because her legs wont carry her. Shes never going back to London, but she doesnt want to go back to Connemara either, so she lives with us. Sometimes you hear her upstairs crying and my mother says something happened to her, something that cant be explained or forgotten about either, so we just had to wait for her to get her words back. Onkel Ted has to come and make the sign of the cross over her, but still she wont come out and nobody knows what to do. My mother says its the worst thing of all to be sad for yourself. You can help other people but often you cant help yourself.