Old Money, New Money. Peter Sheridan

hospital on almost the same day. They should have been friends from there on but they weren’t. It was chance that had thrown them together. Nothing but pure chance.

      Chapter Two

      Redser de Barra and Pancho Nolan on their first day in the big school.

      They had known each other in the little school but they had sat in different rows. It was only when they went over to the Christian Brothers that things happened. They were put standing in a line against the wall. Their new teacher, Brother Armstrong, looked like a cheetah prowling over them. He had green, flashing eyes. He looked like a cat about to pounce on its prey. He called out a name and a boy put his hand up like a frightened mouse. He pointed to a desk and the mouse sat down. He consulted the roll book and picked out another name. That was how Pancho and Redser ended up sitting together like paired mice.

      At eleven o’clock, Brother Armstrong let his charges go out into the playground. ‘I’m glad I’m sitting beside you, Redser,’ Pancho said, ‘you’ve got brains.’

      Redser was chuffed at the compliment. ‘You’ve got brains too, Pancho,’ he told him.

      Pancho shook his head: ‘I’m a dunce, Redser, you’re sitting beside a dunce.’

      Redser thought Pancho was joking. It was their first day in the big school and he was nervous. All the boys were nervous. Five more years ahead of them. Thousands of days with Brother Armstrong. It was too long to think about.

      ‘My da was no good at school and neither am I,’ Pancho confided. ‘It runs in the family.’

      Redser had never met anyone like Pancho. All the other boys lied about how good they were at things. Dominic Foley claimed he was a genius at maths. Tom Bradley said he could run a mile in under three minutes. Myles Plummer was going to be the president of America when he got out of school. Pancho Nolan, on the other hand, admitted to being a dunce. From that day, he became Redser’s best friend. In fact, according to most things, they should have been enemies.

      For a start they were opposite sides of the parish. Redser lived in a house and Pancho lived in flats. The two sides were like water and oil. They didn’t mix. The men drank in different pubs and the women bought their messages in different shops. In the chapel, they knelt on opposite sides even though they prayed to the one God. There was a line dividing the parish in two. It was invisible but more real than if it had been painted by the Corporation.

      Redser and Pancho didn’t recognise the invisible line. Pancho played in Redser’s house and Redser played in Pancho’s flat. Redser loved the view of Dublin from the balcony of the flats. More than that, he loved getting up onto the roof and inspecting the pigeon lofts. Nobody from the houses raced pigeons. Budgies in cages were all you’d see in the houses. The roofs of the flats were dotted with lofts. Pigeons flew down to the river and picked up grain in their beaks. After they’d stuffed themselves, they flew in formation to their lofts. It was a great thrill to watch them.

      Pancho preferred Redser’s house. He didn’t care that much for pigeons. He loved the half-sized snooker table in Redser’s front room. He had a great eye for potting balls. He knew how to play a screw shot and he could stun the ball, too. No one had taught him to do it – it came naturally to him. He glided around the table and stroked balls into the pockets. It was like poetry. Everyone loved to watch him but hated playing him. He was so good he didn’t need to boast about it. ‘It doesn’t take brains to pot a few balls,’ he’d say. ‘It only takes a good eye.’

      The only thing Pancho admitted to being good at was finding money. He was a genius at it. Walking along the street with him, he’d suddenly jump down. He’d come up with anything from a penny to fifty pence. It was like a sixth sense. It seemed he could smell money. On the footpaths, in gardens, down shores – there was nowhere safe for money to hide when Pancho was around. If he wasn’t finding it, he was making it. Collecting empty jam jars, Guinness bottles, Harp bottles, cider bottles, he’d get a penny for each of them at the off-licence. His best money-making scheme was carrying cases.

      One day he showed Redser the ropes. It was during the summer holidays. They hadn’t the price of an ice pop between them. The sun was melting the tar on the streets. How they’d love to be going to Tara Street Baths. Or getting a bus out to Dollymount Strand for the day. At Amiens Street railway station, Pancho placed Redser at one side of the steps. He stood on the opposite side. Together they waited for passengers. Passengers with cases. ‘Remember, Redser, pick up a case and start to walk,’ Pancho advised. ‘Don’t wait for them to say no.’

      A woman with four cases struggled into view. She was pumping sweat. No wonder, considering the Aran sweater she was wearing. She had two small cases under her arms and two larger ones in her hands. Pancho pounced straight away. Redser followed his example. ‘Can I carry your case, miss?’ Pancho said as he took one from her. In seconds, the boys were heading up Talbot Street with the woman chasing behind.

      ‘I’m going to the Gresham hotel,’ she shouted after them.

      ‘Just follow us so,’ Pancho replied.

      ‘Yeah, just follow us.’ Redser echoed the command.

      At the Gresham hotel, the woman gave them a ten-shilling note. Pancho, for once, was speechless. Redser couldn’t believe his eyes. A beautiful, crisp ten-shilling note. Bright orange, like the setting sun. They could do whatever they wanted now. The baths, the beach, the pictures – anything was possible. They went down to Matties, their favourite sweet shop, and stared in the window. The coconut bars looked appealing. So did the gobstoppers. In the end they couldn’t resist the lucky lumps. The chance of finding a thrupenny bit was too hard to resist.