Old Money, New Money. Peter Sheridan

      PETER SHERIDAN

      OLD MONEY, NEW MONEY

      Peter Sheridan is one of Ireland’s best-known figures in theatre. He co-founded and ran the Project Theatre Company. His best-selling book 44: A Dublin Memoir was published to wide acclaim in 1999, followed by Forty-Seven Roses (2001) and Big Fat Love (2003).

      OLD MONEY, NEW MONEY

      First published by GemmaMedia in 2009.

      GemmaMedia

      230 Commercial Street

      Boston MA 02109 USA

      617 938 9833

      www.gemmamedia.com

      Copyright © 2000, 2009 Peter Sheridan

      This edition of Old Money, New Money is published by arrangement with New Island Books Ltd.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

      Printed in the United States of America

      Cover design by Artmark

      12 11 10 09 08 1 2 3 4 5

      ISBN: 978-1-934848-14-2

      Library of Congress Preassigned Control Number (PCN) applied for

      OPEN DOOR SERIES

      Patricia Scanlan

      Series Editor

      Chapter One

      Hugh ‘Redser’ de Barra hated doing the paper round on his own. He delivered Catholic papers to the Legion of Mary. It took him all around the North Wall. He went to houses along Seville Place, where he lived. He delivered to people living in cottages along the canal. The flats in Sheriff Street were part of his round. He had customers in Brigid’s Gardens and Laurence’s Mansions. They were badly named – they had no gardens and no mansion. The papers took him over the bridge to the East Wall, too. In short, it took Redser to the four corners of the parish.

      It was a long way to walk on your own. There was a saying he’d learned at school – ‘two shorten the road’. He’d learned it in Irish. Gioraíonn beirt bóthair. Redser was good at Irish. His father came from Donegal, where it was still spoken. That’s why they’d kept their Irish name, de Barra. Redser was christened Hugh after another Donegal man, Red Hugh O’ Donnell. That was how he got the nickname Redser. He didn’t have a single red hair anywhere on his body. It didn’t matter because he liked his nickname. One thing Redser didn’t like was doing the paper round on his own. They were supposed to deliver the papers in twos. His partner, Timothy Keegan, hadn’t turned up. Redser hated the thought of walking all around the parish on his own.

      He thought of calling around for Pancho. Christopher Nolan was Pancho’s real name. One Christmas he got a sombrero from Santy. Somebody in Sheriff Street called him Pancho and the name stuck. Pancho was Redser’s best friend but he hated anything to do with the Legion of Mary. Redser tried to get him to join several times. His sister, Catherine, became a member, but not Pancho. The problem was he didn’t believe in God. He stopped believing in God the day Joseph Kavanagh was killed in Sheriff Street. He was run over by a coal lorry. His remains were splattered all over the cobblestones. The accident happened right opposite the shrine to the Little Flower. He was the second member of the family to die that year. His sister, Marcella, had drowned in the canal four months earlier. After Joseph was killed, Pancho declared that God was stupid. How else would he have let that happen? Everyone rounded on Pancho. It wasn’t God’s fault, they said. God never slept, everyone agreed. In that case he must be dead, Pancho concluded.

      Redser knew that God was alive. There were too many churches for Him to be dead. Too many people saying prayers for Him not to exist. He had to be out there somewhere. Anyhow, he didn’t want to argue with Pancho about it. He wanted him for the company on that paper round. Redser knew that he would come back to his religion sooner or later. He was only thirteen after all. His birthday was the eleventh of June. He was born Christopher Nolan in the Rotunda hospital. Redser knew this because he was born Hugh de Barra in the same hospital on the tenth of June. They were babies in the hospital together but Redser was a full day older than Pancho. Whenever they had an argument, Redser reminded his friend that he was older than him. This drove Pancho mad because Redser claimed he was wiser too.

      Redser bounded into Brigid’s No-Gardens. He was going to call on Pancho to keep him company. He could only say no, after all. Under his arm he had his papers – the Catholic Standard, the Catholic Herald and the Universe. They were papers full of God. They were full of someone Pancho claimed didn’t exist. Redser skipped up the steps to the top balcony. On his arrival at Pancho’s front door, he heard crying coming from inside. He peeped in through the window. Tommy Nolan, Pancho’s father, was sitting at the table. In his hand he had a bottle of Jameson whiskey. He raised it to his lips and almost missed. He took a slug and offered it to Mrs Nolan. He mumbled something but it was impossible to make out the words. Mrs Nolan shook her head and cried, ‘Have you any of the money left or have you drank it all?’ Tommy Nolan brushed off her question with a wave of his hand.

      Redser was surprised to see Pancho’s father there. He had been missing for nearly three weeks. He was out on a bender. It wasn’t an ordinary bender. It was a massive bender. An ordinary bender went on for two or three days. Maybe even a week. But this was a bender for the record books. Over two weeks and drinking every day. Not coming home. Not for food, not to change clothes, not to wash.

      Pancho had gone looking for him in the pubs on the quays. He tried all his usual haunts – Liverpool Bar, Champions, Byrne’s Pub and Coyle’s Select Lounge. He’d been buying drink for half of Dublin, Pancho was told. But there was no sign of his da. Rumour had it that he’d gone over to the south side. That was a big move for a docker from North Wall. Pancho didn’t have a clue where to start looking over there. So he came home and told his mother. All they could do was sit tight and wait for his return. Wait for the money to run out. Wait until he drank himself sober. Wait until he got sense. Whatever way they looked at it, all they could do was wait.

      Now he was home, and he was far from sober. Had Redser known, he wouldn’t have called round. Pancho always got mad when his father was drunk. Some men drank and got merry. Other men bought fish and chips and brought them home. Some men even threw their money away in a rush. Tommy Nolan wasn’t like that. When he got drunk, he came home and started a row with his family. He picked on someone and blamed them for his drinking. If anyone answered him back, he got violent.

      Redser looked in at the awful scene. Mrs Nolan crying and asking the same question over and over again, ‘Have you got any of the money left?’

      Catherine and her younger brother, Tommy Junior, sat in silence. They were afraid to move. Anything they did could provoke him to lash out. Above all else, they didn’t want him lashing out at their mother.

      Redser was struck by how bare it all was. The walls were bare and the table was bare. The presses were closed but Redser knew they were empty. There was no food in the house. It had a hungry look, a defeated look. Redser was helpless to do anything. He’d never gone a day hungry in his life. At worst, there was always bread and tea in his house. Or Marietta biscuits and jam. He hated Tommy Nolan for doing this to his family. Why couldn’t he see that food was more important than drink? Why did he blame others when he was at fault?

      As the eldest, Pancho always got the worst of it. He stood up to him, which only made things worse. He wasn’t standing up to him now because he wasn’t there. Maybe he was out looking for him and didn’t know he’d come home. If he saw him drunk like this there was sure to be a fight. It was so predictable and so awful. Redser was angry that Pancho was trapped. He turned away from the window and walked along the