Kind Maisie.....

Stupid Childhood Experiments..

I am quite amazed at how different my two grandsons are from each other.   The older one takes after his Italian Grandfather whilst the younger takes after yours truly.  He even looks like me (God help him).  I look in awe at him every time I see him and when listening to him I am transported back through the years to my own childhood.   You see, he is the practical one of the two and if I may say so myself, that too was one of my gifts throughout life.......

I may not have been able to do things myself but I could see from a mile away that what someone else was doing was ridiculous and or dangerous.  I had the knack of finding solutions to tricky situations.

These little stories will illustrate exactly what I mean:   I had two older brothers.   The eldest was as different from me as chalk and cheese, whilst the other was a total dreamer.   The eldest always had his head stuck in a book and having read something he was determined to try it out for himself.

On one occasion he read in a book that sea water held a large percentage of salt so guess what he did?    You are probably well ahead of me on this one......Yes, he took a kettle down to the seaside and filled it with sea water.   He then took it home and put it on the gas stove and brought it to the boil.

Twenty minutes later with the kitchen full of smoke and steam and the kettle now with a large hole burned in the bottom, he began to cry.   When he tried to explain it to Mum she did not (much to my surprise and regret), give him a good whacking; she merely said that he was to be more careful with his ‘experiments’ in future.

Around the same time (the mid 1940’s in Ireland) we took it in turns each morning to walk to the farmer’s dairy which oddly enough was in the centre of town.   Maisie Costello was the eldest daughter of old Tom the farmer.   She liked me and I honestly thought the world of her.   She was aged about eighteen whilst I was a mere six or seven.   However, she always gave me extra milk which I would drink before making my way home.

Of course I had to be careful and not drink too much as Mum had secretly scratched a line inside the milk-can and knew if the contents were short.   At least she thought it was a secret but I was well aware of the fact..............

In any event, it was my eldest brother’s turn to collect the milk and I went with him in the hope that it would be Maisie who served him and we could share the extra milk.  In fact it was her sister Kathleen who did and she was extraordinarily mean.

Once outside the dairy my brother decided to experiment with the almost full milk-can which had no lid.   He had read about ‘centrifugal force’ and was determined to try it out with the milk can.    He was going to swing it at arm’s length backwards and forwards until it actually went over his head.

As he nervously began to swing the can, I stood well back for I could see that there was going to be some sort of accident.   Sure enough he hesitated as it reached above his shoulder and the entire contents – about four pints of milk – cascaded down his arm and legs.   He immediately began crying realising what would happen if he went home without the milk.   Mum would have murdered him on the spot....

My other fear was that the little so-and-so would blame me as I was three years younger than him...............

There and then I decided on my course of action.   I took the can from him and returned to the dairy.   Kathleen answered the door and I merely said “May I speak to Maisie please”.   When Maisie came to the door she looked worried and asked me “What is wrong Michael?”   I said with a false sob or two, “I had an accident Maisie and dropped the milk – my Mum will kill me”.   Without hesitation, she took the can and almost filled it up to the brim without saying a word.   I thanked her and rejoined my brother.

As I handed him the milk can and milk, I merely said “Don’t do anything stupid like that ever again”.

To be honest, my words of wisdom were of no avail – he is still as thick as two short planks......................

I wrote the following poem about Maisie some time ago but I still often think of her with great fondness..................

Sweet Maisie.

Milk didn’t come in bottles, when we were little boys,

So going to the dairy, was one of life’s true joys,

For if it were sweet Maisie, who served you out the measure,

The extra cup was yours to sup, a memory to treasure.

Kathleen only gave us, exactly what she should,

At times a little ‘tilly’, we always prayed she would,

The youngest of the sisters, I now forget her name,

Was quite as bad as Kathleen, and dished out just the same.

Old Tom, the three girls’ father, and the owner of the farm,

Never used the measure, to him it was the norm,

You see, he never had a son, and treated all us boys,

With lots of cream from off the top, and pence to buy small toys.

The level mark inside the can, that my mother scratched,

Had to be watched closely, to ensure that the milk matched,

For if you got too greedy - drank more than Maisie gave,

My Mum would note the difference, and fly into a rave.

But last time I was over there, the farm it is now gone,

New cottages and houses, the land is built upon,

Yet as I stood and looked around, I saw the corner stone,

Where I would drink, the extra milk, before I wandered home.

So God Bless you, Tom Costello, though sadly now not here,

And to his lovely daughters, to them I raise a cheer,

To Kathleen and the youngest, who sometimes drove me crazy,

I thank you all, for what you gave, but especially you Sweet Maisie.

-----Mike-----