The load of turf that was expected early Saturday morning, did not show up until six o'clock, and after the lorry driver had emptied it on the road outside McGowan's gate, there wasn't enough time to get it into the shed that evening. Mr. McGowan had promised to give us five bob apiece after we had got all the turf under cover for the night, and now, and all because of that lorry driver, we wouldn't be able to buy the new lights for the bikes and have them on for the run to Benediction at seven. We got two red oil lamps ready and put them at either end of the heap, so as we wouldn't have the job of shifting the Dos Ó Sullivan's mother's motor car, as well as the heap of turf, first thing in the morning.
"Tom, come up for your tea" I could hear my mother yell at the top of the road.
"I'm on the way, what's for it" I shouted back.
"It's on the table"
I told Pat that I'd call for him at a quarter to, and to be ready.
We decided to walk to the church tonight and have the bikes and the lights to look forward to
on Monday morning and First Mass. On the way Pat mentioned that we would'nt be able to
get the lights tomorrow, 'cause Spokes Kavanagh's would be closed, just like everyone else is
on Sundays, so we would have to wait till after school on Monday to get them, but at least we
could spruce the bikes up for a couple of hours, after we've got the turf in.
I always liked serving at Benediction, although I never understood for one minute that the round of
bread, sandwiched in the Monstrance above on the altar, was who it was supposed to be. It was even better
when Fr.O'Mahony was on duty, because when he got to the end of the Rosary, that was that;
there were no bits added on at the end, no prayers for the Pope's intentions, no prayers for the sick and dying, no prayers
for the nuns out foreign, no prayers for the black babies above in Africa or any of that old stuff. But best of all
was the music, and the roars of Miss Bowe, above in the organ loft, hammering out the old
Tantrum Ergos as if there was no tomorrow, just as myself, McGowan and the priest were
making our entrance on to the altar.
Outside the chapel all the talk was about Mick
Dooley, who, the night before, almost sacrificed himself when his starched white surplice went
up in flames as he was lighting the candles before the Benediction.
But we had other things on our minds and the Mick Dooleys would just have to wait.
When we turned the
corner by the Dead Wall we could see the glow of the two red lights ahead in the darkness and
the shape of the mound of turf, waiting patiently to be moved into the shed and out of the cold.
The Dead Wall
Sunday morning, Mass, a quick breakfast afterwards, and we were soon under starter's orders down outside McGowan's shed. I brought down the galvanize tub that my Mother used to bath myself and my brother in when we were small, in front of the open oven of the cooker, every Saturday night, but now it was too small for that and just the right yoke for carrying the turf into the shed. There was a handle on each end, so we could fill it to the top and carry it to the shed together.
"Say nothing now, but here's Joe Kennedy, the Guard, coming down the road" says Pat.
"Frigem, and he's crossing the road towards us too. I'll tell you one thing; hail, rain, snow or Joe Kennedy, this turf's going into the bloody shed today"
"Good morning, young men" says he, with the pipe hanging out of his gob.
"Good morning to you Guard Kennedy, and a powerful one it is"
"Ye know lads, that its a bad state of affairs when you see well brought up young men like yourselves, out working on the Holy Sabbath"
"It is bedad, Mr Kennedy, a bad case of a stairs, indeed"
"And you do know, of course, that it's a sin"
"Well it would be Mr. Kennedy if this wasn't a state of emergency, for there wouldn't be an ounce of
heat in McGowans house this winter, if this turf gets wet, and whats more we're not getting a
hapert for doing it"
"I'll be on me way then, but don't let me catch ye not observing the Holy Sabbath again"
By three o'clock we had every sod of that turf stacked in the shed, with all the mould swept up
off the road and spread around Mrs.McGowans rose bushes. With our hard earned money
safely in our back pockets, we started working on the bikes, and by the time we were
finished, they were shining, and running like oil from a tap, especially Pat's, as he wouldn't stand
for even the slightest little squeek or rattle, and I bet the bikes just couldn't wait to try on the new
lights either, and anyway here comes my mother.
"Do ye two know what hour of the night it is at all, ye have school tomorrow and the bikes can wait"
"I'll be there in a minute"
The morning after; and we had to serve first Mass and that meant avoiding the Spirit
Egan on the way home afterwards, because he always holds us up, finding fault with the way we kneel or the way we
hold the paten and he'll check our nails as well, right in front of all the holy holy's going home from Mass.
Spokes Kavanagh, with a face that would turn a gallon of fresh milk sour, had to move nearly every bike in the shop out of the way, just to get near the window
where our lights were sitting, and he didn't like it one little bit. Be Jazes, if he knew what we had
to go through yesterday just to get the money, he'd soon change his tune. At least T.C. Kelly
didn't moan when we popped in to buy the batteries, but then again, he didn't have to shift every television set in the shop, just to reach up and
take the batteries down off the shelf behind him.
Afterwards in our back yard, we carefully opened the boxes and took the lights out, keeping
the boxes for when we wanted to store the lights again. I took a good sniff of the new boxes because
it always reminded me of the smell you get on Christmas morning, when you're unpacking all the
presents under the tree. We put the batteries in, and within minutes, Pat had both sets fixed to the bikes; a flashlight in front and a red
reflector on the back of each. But the real fun would have to wait till it got dark, when we would have
to ask our mothers if we could take the bikes out for half an hour or so.
My mother wasn't one bit happy about me going out gallivanting on the bike at that hour of the night, but
after a short sermon from her, and a promise from me to be a good boy and stay in for the Rosary every night from now on, and to seriously consider becoming a Christian Brother,
I was soon on my way out the wicket gate with the bike. There was a fog after falling since I
was last out, and I walked with the bike to meet Pat, thinking that it would be a good idea not to
turn on the lights until we were together, so as we could have our own little switching on ceremony
out on the road.
We were so impatient that we started the countdown from three, and within seconds
there were these two massive, long beams of light coming out from the insides of the flashlights,
and you could see them almost reaching as far as the door of the Station house at the end of the Dead Wall.
We jumped up on our saddles and rode as far as the tennis court gates, watching the sword
fight taking place in front of our very eyes as the two beams crossed each other's path, every time we
turned the handlebars in each other's direction. Other than that you couldn't see much else, but
that's the fog for you; there's some things you can't see at all, but there are other things that look
right only in the fog, like our light beams and the cigarette smoke that the Todd Sweeney was blowing
through his nose, this very night, on his way back from the Legion Of Mary meeting in St. Mary's Hall.
It was getting late now and they would soon be on their knees in the kitchen at home, and I had
a promise to keep.
We spent a few more minutes admiring each other's red reflectors and
decided then to call it a night. First Mass in the morning didn't seem too bad now because we knew the Spirit
stood no chance, as we would be on our bikes, and sword fighting by the time he got out of the chapel.
"Hey Tom, what do you think we'll do with the money from the next load of turf"
"I don't know yet, but for Jazes sake will ya ask your father to make sure and tell that lorry driver to come early next year".
Who The Heck ...? 
Into The West
Old Palace School
The Holy Ground
Music
Now What's He Up To? / The CD Collection
Him In The Kitchen
Croydon Asian Mela
Requiem For Portlaoise
The Quare Fellow
If You Get Bored With All This
The Last Laugh
Goodbye / Visitor's Book / E-Mail