Those Barefoot Days......

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice-Cream.

The year was 1946, less than one year since World War Two had ended.   Luxuries in Ireland were as scarce as chickens’ teeth.   When people talk about ‘the good old days’ when no-one had to lock their doors or windows has nothing whatsoever to do with peoples honestly.   Most definitely not: it was simply because 99.9% of people had absolutely nothing whatsoever indoors worth stealing.  That is a fact………

Southern Ireland, (the Republic), had for all intents and purposes remained neutral during the War but recent discoveries reveal that if Ireland had continued her threat to refuse refuge to damaged British ships Winston Churchill had warned that Ireland would be treated as a total enemy and could accept what he was willing to do with her.   It never actually came to that but apparently the threat was taken seriously by the Irish Government.

So:  the war having ended, everything worth selling was being exported from Ireland to her nearest neighbour and market, England.    The best of everything, dairy products, beef, pork, mutton and agricultural crops was being sold to bring revenue into the impoverished Irish economy.   Such trade was most likely making the already well-to-do wealthier, whilst the ordinary people were left to skimp and make do with little or nothing.

My father, like tens of thousands of other Irishmen and women who had served in the British forces, returned to a poverty stricken town.   Dad was lucky in a sense as he was supposed to have been seriously wounded in the Royal Air Force and was receiving a decent British pension.  Others were far less fortunate.   In fact, I am convinced that he had ‘worked his ticket’ and although he might have been injured in some way or another, his supposed total disability was nothing of the sort.

In any case, the job he had left before joining the RAF in the family shoemaking business run by his father was no longer available and with six or seven children to feed he needed something to eke out his pension.   He began shoemaking and repairing from the family home.    This sounds a little drastic now but I can well remember that all sorts of trades and businesses were being run from neighbours’ homes.

So there was Dad working away indoors whilst I, aged six, played around outside with my then best friend Gerry Shortt.    It was as far as I remember, July or August, as I was barefoot and the tar on the road in places was bubbling in the heat.

As I suggested earlier, luxuries were an absolute rarity with everything except water being rationed.   There was a lot of ‘under the counter’ trade being done and it was a case of ‘who you know’ that ensured a man could get some of life’s little extras.

Dad liked a smoke...............

He called me in off the street and handed me a one shilling coin.   “Run down to the shops” he said “and see if you can get me some cigarettes.  Tell them they are for Mr. Paddy.  . Away Gerry and I ran down the left hand side of Main Street.   Each shop was entered where the same question was put to the shopkeeper.    No luck.

I must have ‘done’ twenty shops until I came to the end of that side of the road.   It was now necessary to cross the street and check the shops on the other side.   I carefully put the shilling into my trouser pocket and Gerry gave me a piggy-back across – you remember, I mentioned the melting and bubbling tar.   As I said I was barefoot.    Off we went, shop to shop, asking the same question.

Once again we had no luck.    When we got back up to the top of the street Gerry again piggy-backed me across the street to our house.    I stuck my head around the open front door and called to my Dad, “Sorry Dad, no cigarettes anywhere”.    I immediately left and continued playing with Gerry.

Sometime later, I doubt if it was more than an hour, I found a shilling coin.   Not on the pavement or roadside, oh no – in my pocket.   Gerry and I puzzled as to how it got there and neither of us had any idea.   Boy oh boy – were we a lucky pair of so-and-so’s.   With such ‘luck’ we began to decide what we would do………..

Down Main Street there was a café – McCarthy’s – and it also sold ice-cream.   They used to sell halfpenny ice cream cones which were small but a penny one was quite good and sufficient.  However, we were going to go for the ‘big hit’ – yes, we decided on two sixpenny ice creams.    Off we ran and this time, I did not worry about the hot tar and my bare feet – straight across the road and into the shop.   The fact that I was sticking to the floor with my tarry feet did not hold me back………

The young girl serving stepped back in amazement when I asked boldly for “Two sixpenny cones please”.    “Show me the money” she boldly asked and when I handed it to her, she began to manufacture two of the biggest ice creams I have ever seen – before or since.   There must have been ten scoops hanging at precarious angles from her largest cones.

We carefully crossed the street and made our way back towards our house.    I could see my Dad standing on the steps and he looked annoyed.   “Where have you been?” he asked.  “Just playing Dad” I replied as I licked the ice cream.   “Where did you get the money for those ice creams?” he casually asked.   “I found it in my pocket Dad” I replied – sensing something was wrong.   “And where is the money for my cigarettes?” he asked.

Oh shite…………………I think I did say the word, maybe even aloud and bear in mind that I was, and probably still am, the most honest person I know.   The penny began to drop with the realization that I was going to be killed.    I looked at Dad’s hands and was glad to see that he was not holding his leather knife or his hammer.

He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me indoors.   Mum must have heard me scream or something and came running from the kitchen.   She took the ice cream from my hand and as soon as she did so, I promptly fainted.   (It was to be nearly twenty-five years later that I learned (in the Witness Box at the Central Criminal Court London) that when you are in the crap, the only thing to do is to faint and hope beyond hope that the problem has gone away when you recover).

At some stage I awoke in bed with Mum sitting on the side of the bed.   “Why did you do it Michael?” she asked.   I cried and looking her straight in the eyes, I said “I swear Mum; I really did think I found it in my pocket”.   She looked at me with kindness showing all over her face.   “Get up now and be a man” she whispered “Go out and tell your father that you are truly sorry and that you will pay him back with your pocket money for the next six months”.

I dried my tears and made my way to him.   I repeated what Mum had told me to say.  Dad looked at me and I saw a twinkle in his eyes.   “The next five years” he demanded.

I looked around me and about five of the other children were sitting at the table.  I am sure that they were expecting me to get a good hammering.   Incidentally they all had a bowl with some of the ice cream in it.   I got none, but knew in my heart of hearts that I did not deserve any.   I knew only too well what I did deserve but went back to my room where I prayed for the next hour or so.  

The good Lord, the Virgin Mary, and my Guardian Angel must have all felt very proud that night – they probably have never had so many prayers of thanksgiving before or since and all on account of those two sixpenny ice creams…………One of which almost proved fatal……..

--------Mike--------