Diary of a new father

Graveyard, among the grave stones.

Evening time

Man stands in front of a gravestone, long dark coat, hat on the grave.

Another man approaches….

A: Hi.
B: How you doin?
A: Ah… sure all right. You ?
B: Yes, all right. What you doin?
A: Tis a cold night comin, isn’t it?
B: Yea, you’re right. Do you mind me asking you what you’re doin?
A: Wet too, by the look of it. You want to know what I’m doin? What does it look
like I’m doing ?
B: I suppose.
A: Suppose what?
B: It might rain. It’s that sort of night. I wanted to know what you’re doing
because it’s my job to lock up. Been here long?
A: You might say that…
B: Are you all right?
A: Oh, I’m all right. Tis him that’s not all right.
B: Look, I’m sorry for your trouble, but there no one else here.
A: I know that. I bloody well know that. You want to know why I’m here? Isn’t it
obvious? Why else would I be here. I’m waiting for the funeral…


B: You family?
A: What?
B: Are you one of the family?
A: Absolutely.
B: I’m sorry.
A: No need. Sure aren’t we all family?
B: What do you mean? He was a fine man.
A: Sure.
B: Were you close?
A: No. I suppose we were as close as we could.
B: Are you one of the Ryans then?
A: We did our best.
B: It’ll be a big crowd.
A: I expect so.
B: Did you say you were a Ryan?
A: We’re not blood.
B: So you’re not from round here?
A: Is everyone round here related to him?
B: It’ll be a grand day.
A: Sounds like you knew him too.
B: Sure who didn’t? You couldn’t move round here without running into him. Aren’t half the people living in one of his houses?
A: And the other half?
B: Yes. Tis a grand family.
A: The best.
B: I’ll say one thing; they know how to look after their own.
A: Do you have family yourself?
B: I have, but I haven’t seen them for a while.
A: They won’t be here then.
B: If they only could, they’d be here.
A: It’s hard to keep in touch these days, isn’t it? I remember the last funeral… all the children crying. There are always children crying.
B: Don’t forget the mothers.
A: They cry the hardest even though they don’t know what they’re missing. I suppose the condition des enfants.
B: Have you been here long?
A: A bit longer than you. My feet are feeling it.
B: Would you not leave it and come back tomorrow?
A: No. I’ve made my mind up. By now it’s in the blood.
B: What?
A: This is the way I do it. It works for me.
B: What do you mean?
A: I have my own way of doing it, and there’s no point in changing now.
B: I still don’t follow.
A: Ah, you follow all right. Aren’t you a homemade follower?
B: Are you sure it’s a good thing for you to be here by yourself?
A: I’m not by myself. Anyway I’m always by myself. There’s no getting away from that is there?
B: You mean you always feel alone.
A: No. I mean I’m always alone. There’s a difference.
B: I’m sure you’re right. But wouldn’t it be better to go off and come back in the morning.
A: And miss the night. I never cut corners.
B: You don’t look like a man who takes things easy, or has much of a laugh. Are you always so serious?
A: Don’t tell me you can’t see that this has to be done properly. Think of what’s at stake.
B: I think the family will rally round. I saw his wife yesterday. She was out with his brothers.
A: I don’t think they knew much.
B: What?
A: You heard.
B: I still think you should go.
A: You just want me off your hands. I doubt it’s for my benefit you’re saying this.
B: Look, I’m just doing my job. I’m meant to lock up here. People aren’t meant to be in a cemetery overnight.
A: Sure, isn’t the place full of people. You wouldn’t want to kick me out would you?
B: Of course not. Didn’t you say you were family…

______________________________________________________


B: Look, I have to ask you to put out that cigarette…
A: Eh… ah?
B: I’m sorry, it’s my job. I have to ask you to put out that cigarette.
A: What? You must be mad. I’m only smoking.
B: I can see that, but there’s no smoking in this cemetery. That’s not my idea, but it’s
policy. You can’t smoke here.
A: Why can’t I smoke? There’s no one round. I’m not going to blow it in your face
am I?
B: Look, I’m sorry. You’ll have to put it out, or I’ll have to ask you to go.
A: I thought you said you had to lock up? Do you mean I can stay if I put it out?
There’s no one here… Anyway why can’t I smoke?
B: You don’t want to know.
A: What you mean I don’t want to know? Of course I’d like to know. Do you smoke
yourself?
B: I’ve got a job to do. Whether I smoke or not is irrelevant. You have to put out that
cigarette or I’ll have to ask you to leave.
A: You were going to tell me why
B: I’ll tell you why, but you won’t like it. You won’t like it one bloody bit…
A: Piss off.
B: The dead have rights too you know. It’s not just living rights. The dead have to be left in peace. What kind of a dead fucker would like to have your fag ash for company? They’ve had enough of that already. They are entitled to lie in fresh air without having all your drugs all over their fuckin face. Some of them didn’t smoke, you know.
A: They never complained… Oh, yea, I’m sure they did. I’m sure he died of smoke in his bed peacefully… peacefully… piece by piece. You are full of such shit. What was the point of asking you?
B: I told you you wouldn’t like it. Someone has to speak up for the dead. Otherwise this place would be full of bloody cigarettes.
A: Swimming in cigarette blood yea… It’s not cigarettes that the problem. It’s people living for the dead. If the dead would just stay dead, we wouldn’t have to be here today.
B: Speak for yourself. I’m just doing my job.
A: They trained you well. How long have you had this job?
B: Why do you want to know?
A: You know why I want to know. Who sent you?
B: You have no right to know. You already know more than is good for you.
A: At least I came.
B: In good time too.
A: I had to get into position. It’s going to be a big funeral….
B: The biggest.
A: Good. He deserves it. Do you know his name?
B: Of course. Of course I know his name. Who do you think I am?
A: That’s your business.
B: Are you sure you’re here for the funeral? You’ve a funny way of showing it.
A: I told you it’s important for me to get into the right position. Ever tried to see from the back? I remember an uncle of mine. I couldn’t see him at all. I couldn’t even be sure he went down.
B: It’s a hard night.


A: What would you know? I told you I couldn’t be sure he went down. There have been fellows who got away that way you know. No one could get up to the front to see properly and they had all their own people there.
B: Are you all right?
A: I’m not questioning your job. You do your’s and just keep out of my way….

Notes?

Signal: were these people interrogators? Competing for promotion?
__________________________________________________________________

A: Evidence? What evidence?
B: The evidence of my own two eyes.
A: You’ve been watching me.
B You know I’ve been watching you. Haven’t I been here?
A: You’re not the only one watching me. I’m on to you. I’ve seen you coming.
Haven’t I been looking out for you?
B: What do you mean you’ve been looking out for me. You’ve never seen me
before.
A: That’s the point. I was looking out for someone I’d never seen before. That was what I had to look out for. In case you’d creep up on me. I’ve read the books too you know.
B: What kind of books are you talking about?
A: Whatever kind of books they are. I bet you didn’t read my books.
B: I suppose you’re in charge of the books?
A: Look, there were books even before you came here.
B: I thought you said you had evidence?

.
A: Do you see that?
B: No
A: What do you mean NO. You see that “IN LOVING MEMORY…”
B: No. I don’t see that.
A: Is there something twisted about your eyes? IN LOVING MEMORY…Now can you see it?
B: I only see the stones.
A: Eh?
B: The stones. I only see the bare stones. I haven’t got an eye for love.
A: Look, I’m not asking you about love. I want to know if you can see the memory? I don’t give a damn about love, but I can’t live without memory.
B: You poor bastard. What’s memory unless it’s stone? It’s only detritus on the wind.
A: That’s shite. I’m here because of memory. If there wasn’t memory…


B: You have a long shadow.
A: Yes, the setting sun dies hard.
B: Long limbs, I suppose. What are your hands like?
A: Chiselled, like every other fucker. We were all cut out for it.
B: How would you know? I remember the fist day you arrived. It was pissing rain.
A: It was a good Friday.
B: And you with your friggin, fresh… appetite. Oh, you used to haunt me, the way you stood over him.
A: Oh, stop being so fuckin maudlin. You knew what you’d got into. What else were you qualified for?
B: I was able to keep it out until you came. You were the first one to make me think.
A: I wasn’t there to make you fuckin think. Whether you think is your business. Purely your business. Who cares what you think? Isn’t that what they told us?
B: It doesn’t matter. We were both in it. Do you think O’Malley cried?
A: Why are you asking me that? There’s no point in going over all that. You’d be better letting it go. Have you given up?
B: How many times do I have to tell you, I never counted.
A: You’re fuckin right, you never counted the number of people you talked to, did you?
B: Talk about the interrogator. What’s the plural noun for clapped-out interrogators?
A: A sinking.
B: What you say? What was your fuckin answer?
A: I’ve come across that trick before. Ask a question that you hope no eejit would bother with…. As if interrogators ever were blessed with a plural fuckin patron saint. They told us we were a breed.
B: Credo in unum deum. That was the breed wasn’t it.
A: I said we were a breed.
B: I said you had a creed.
A: Weedy fucker. Stop making a fuss about nothing.
B: I can’t help noticing your shadow.
A: Good luck. Isn’t it time you went? I assume you have someone to go home to. Didn’t I hear a child crying?
B: I’ll go when I’m ready. You can’t push anyone round any more. O’Malley’s dead.
A: Where’d we put his shadow?

______________________________________________________________


B: They took photographs.
A: Eh?
B: They took photographs.
A: Nah…
They took fuckin photos.
A: For fuck sake. You’re winding me up. How could they have taken photographs? Anyway we were masked.
B: What does it matter. They have them. Who’d believe us. Imagine yourself denying what you did…




B: Why did O’Malley die?
A: Don’t we all die.
B: You’re a callous bastard.
A: Some pot calling this kettle black, eh? He had to die sometime.
B: Don’t you ever think it might happen to you?
A: Why would it ever happen to me? You know how little I know.
B: Oh, yea. I forgot you’re a specialist.
A: O’Malley was some generalist. Was he a friend of your’s?
B: A friend, after what he did? I only asked why was it decided he should die. There are other ways you know.
A: As if I could forget. I’m sure he deserved it. Isn’t he having a big funeral?
B: That’s hardly compensation.
A: Look, it wasn’t my idea.
B: Your idea?
A: To give him a big coffin. I only came to make sure it went all right.
B: Why do you think O’Malley died?
A: Why do you keep coming back to that?
B: Because it’s my job.
A: I thought you’d given that up?
B: You never give up, as you well know.
A: Like a dead marriage.
B: Or a sun rise?
A: Aren’t you the romantic fucker.
B: I still think you know.
A: How many times do I have to keep repeating myself? O’Malley died because O’Malley died. That’s all I know.
B: But that’s not all you know about him, is it? You were well briefed. We couldn’t have done our job without a good briefing.
A: I don’t remember. No one pays me to remember. If I was to remember all I know, I wouldn’t remember my own name.
B: Or his.
A: Look, no one’ll forget O’Malley.
B: Oh he was a real contractor wasn’t he?
A: I don’t want to know.
B: I thought you said you wanted to know why he was having such a grand funeral.
A: Half a dozen priests and a bishop, that’s not a lot these days. I knew a man and the priests were fighting to be at the altar over him.
B: Which bishop was that?
A: How should I know. You know I don’t work with bishops.
B: You might need to.
A: And I wouldn’t know it. I always work alone.
B: I worked with you.
A: Not so. You worked alongside me. You didn’t work with me. I’m too much of a loaner. You all knew that.
B: I worked with you.
A: Go on. Shout it then. Waken the foxes from their dens. Stir the rabbits into action. Set the ferrets loose. You’re a natural fucker. Is that why they sent you here? I bet it’s ages since you spoke to anyone.
B: Wasn’t he a contractor? All building contractors have big funerals.
A: Why’s that?
B: Think about it.
A: I don’t know many building contractors. But I know a shit lot of contractors.
B: It’s closing in. Are you staying here for the night?
A: Yes.
B: And if it rains?
A: What of it? I’ve seen a lot of contractors out in the rain.
B: When did you recognise me?
A: I don’t care about weather.
B: Was it my accent?
A: A bit of sleet never hurt anyone.
B: How did you know me?
A: How do you know me?
B: As soon as I smelt you…
A: Will you always be that clever.
B: You know I’ve never seen you before.
A: This is the way we worked. I knew what you looked like.
B: That’s not possible.
A: I saw you pissing.
B: That Sunday?
A: But I knew what you looked like already.
B: How?
A: Your voice… You can tell people by their voice you know. The sound comes out different if the face is tight and skinny. O’Malley knew you know.
B: Ah, fuck off.
A: He did. He described you to me.
B: You’re a proper bollocks.
A: He knew exactly what you looked like. He was no fool you know… I remember him exactly. Remember how he used to dribble?
B: I have no interest in O’Malley. I’m only here to see it all goes right.
A: That’s two of us then.
B: What did he say?
A: That’s mine to know and your’s to find out. What’s it worth to you?
B: Look, if O’Malley knew what I looked like, there are people who need to know.
A: Always on duty. You always were a goody two shoes.
B: A goody two hoos?
A: Ignorant. Didn’t you learn anything from the other side?
B: Did they throw you out?
A: I won’t dignify that with an answer. You should stick to your fuckin knitting.
B: A dog’s bollocks of a cliché machine. Wind you up like His Master’s Voice.
A: Nothing wrong with the old 33s.
B: I have no time for music.
A: You used to use it.
B: Melody’s a load of bollocks. And all you’re left with is noise.
A: Is it a good job you have? Or are you just looking for attention, like always.



B: Did you talk to many women?
A: Are you being paid for this?
B: What you mean?
A: I mean this is like fuckin work. Did they ask you to talk to me?
B: I’m only passing the time.
A: A funny way you have of showing it. You know the trouble with women.
B: Go on. I suppose you met a few.
A: Tough as fuckin granite. Tears, hysterics, tears… Rivers you could float eyes on. But fuckin granite underneath. You can never trust a woman to crack.
B: I met his sister once.
A: Jesus, was she in?
B: I thought you had no interest in women.
A: Interest… I had no interest in women, that’s right. But his sister, that’s another story. I heard she roped him in after the second bomb.
B: I heard that too, but she was something else. You could light a fag on her breath.
A: Did you talk to her?
B: It wasn’t really my job but I was in on a bit of it.
A: Did they get anything on her?
B: I have absolutely no idea. I don’t even know if they should have brought her in.
A: They had to bring most of them in. Why do you think you had so much work? Jesus, everyone was under suspicion.
B: Oh, fuck that. Thinking about that would do your head in.
A: You were always a narrow-minded bollocks. There we were fuckin into the heads of a shower of fuckin psychos, and you only interested in talking to them. Didn’t you ever think about what they did to other people?


B: You have to be wounded, you know, to do this job. You can’t do it if you’re all right.
A: Who said that?
B: They know. You can’t talk to them unless there’s something wrong with you. I got that from O’Malley.
A: I don’t know.
B: O’Malley knew. He knew he’d only talk to someone who wasn’t really there.
A: You mean O’Malley wasn’t really there.
B: You’re not the only one who talked to him. Don’t you remember?
A: What did O’Malley say?
B: He said he wouldn’t talk to any fucker who wasn’t off his head. He had a nasty smile about him. Twas as if he’d sussed something out.
A: A bloody gaping wound. Jesus, you remind me of the sacred heart.
B: He got fuckin light hearted towards the end.
A: I had nothing to do with that. I handed him over.
B: With his report. I bet you laid it on.
A: It was time to finish. You can’t go on for ever. You have to draw a line. Enough’s enough.
B: Did you get enough out of it for yourself?
A: Did I get enough out of it for myself? Do you have any fuckin idea who you’re talking to? Fifteen years. Fifteen fuckin years. How could I ever forget?


A: I want a drink.
B: You know the pubs are closed.
A: Out of respect for the dead. I’ve always taken a drink before work. What about you?
B: Why should I tell you? There’s no drink here.
A: I needed it. There’s no way I could have talked to one of those bastards without something to dull the pain.
B: Pardon me. I’m sure it hurt you.
A: You’re sure of nothing.

_______________________________________________________

A: I read about you recently.
B: Hu?
A: Nightmare Man
B: You always were a bloody mind reader.
A: You know nightmares are good for you. Jung said it.
B: Oh, fuck me, you’re in analysis.
A: What are you doing with the last half of your life?
B: Having healthy nightmare. Isn’t that what you’re making out?
A: How long is this going to take?
B: How long is it going to take for you to analyse me? About as long as you took with him.


A: Unzips his trousers and urinates into the grave.

B: Stop
A: Fuck off. What am I supposed to do?
B: You have no right. That’s disgusting.
A: Says who?
B: I think you’re fuckin disgusting. Have you no respect?
A: Not for him.
B It’s nothing to do with O’Malley. It’s about respect for the dead. You have no right to piss on a grave.
A: And I suppose I do have the right to piss on the living. You were the one who taught me that trick.
B: Jesus, do you have to go back to that. I thought I could get away from that.
A: That… that… Is that what you call that? That’s one fuckin awful name for that. That was the worst thing I ever did. So I’m not all that bothered about doing that here. I’m just warming them up.
B: You are not. Like shite you are. You are pissing on O’Malley’s grave. That’s no fuckin accident.
A: Since when is it your job to make sure O’Malley can lie in pristine mud?
B: Pristine… Fuck off. Tis a long time since you saw anything pristine. You’re up to your neck in it. I never met anyone who had such a septic mind as yours. Pissing on O’Malley’s grave… I suppose you think that’s part of the after-sales service.
A: You can’t get away from the fact that you’re the one who introduced pissing on people.
B: And you’re the one who perfected it. You know full well, I had no choice.
A: You never had a choice. I suppose you were born that way. Twasn’t your fault you were a fuckin labyrinth of shite, teeth made of maggots.
B: Now who’s calling the kettle black. Do you think I had another choice?
A: You wanted the job. You wore the tee-shirt. You could always have been a priest…


B: I’ll see you in the morning.
A: Not if I see you first….
__________________________________________________________


The Night

Music: Ride of the Valkyries… Heart of Glass… “I only want to be with you” …
Etc… short bursts…

Hours pass…


__________________________________________________________________

Day rise

A: I suppose it was bound to happen. Could see it coming. It wasn’t that stupid…
It always happens… someone… Someone talks. You can be sure of that. Oh yea, you can set your clock on it. I’ve seen it. There’s always someone. And why is it always just one? I suppose if it was everyone, twould be no one. We could have all said the same thing, all talked, all of us together. We could have stuck together. But there’s always one. I’ll be there for that one. Tisn’t every day you get to look down and make sure. Because you can never be sure it’s all out. Jesus, I remember O’Malley talking. We got it out of him alright. Eventually… You could say he was a slow talker. Him with his smart wife and beautiful daughter. I bet they kept him quiet. He had to keep his mouth shut for them. The rising of the sun, it always rises without fail and out it comes, the same old story, piece by piece, mile by fuckin mile. O’Malley sang all right. Why did he have to leave it so late? Twas only worse for himself. Maybe that was his way of getting his own back. He got his own back all right… and they’re all coming to see him for it. Jesus he’ll never get a better audience.


A: You can hear the birds. Crows in unison. Songbirds… If only they were songbirds… They’re the same old parrots sent to sing that same old soldier’s song wrong. It’s all timing. Early in the morning, just as day was dawning… Jack and his fuckin hat. I’ll never forget that grey… They all used to wear them, outside Trinity. Thousands of them. Hats anonymous. All suffering from the same things… soaking it up. I’ve seen the pictures. Even the film. But sure I could have written the film myself, I’ve seen it so many times. And now we’re going to have the credits…

___________________________________________________________

A: Oh it’s you…
B: Don’t tell me you changed your mind and decided to talk?
A: I’ll give you one more chance. Then I’m washing my hands of you?
B: Why are you here? I said why are you here? You’re not looking for another cigarette to expose are you?
A: Silence
B: I see you had a good night.
A: What do you care?
B: I don’t care. I came to see you.
A: You came to see me. You never came to see me. You never came to see me.
B: Forget it. I’m here now aren’t I?
A: You’re not fuckin here. I’ll tell you when you’re here. I know everyone who’s here and I remember you all. I’ll always have your face. Like bloody joined-up dots, I’ll put you back in the frame.
B: Look, haven’t you a job to do?
A: That’s my business. If you ever think I’ll lose your face, you can remember. You can remember, can’t you? And if you can remember, I can remember. It wasn’t that long ago.
B: Do you hear that child?
A: There’s no child.
B: It was crying. It’s been crying for the last forty minutes.
A: What do I care about a child? Aren’t you child enough for anyone!
B: Clever. Clever fucker. You always were a clever one.
A: The child you know, it’s always there. I remember when we put the last one down. There was a child crying then….



B: Jesus, you’ve got a face on you like a wet freek.
A: Thanks.
B: Come on. Don’t go fuckin there. Get out of it.
A: Aren’t you the little psychotherapist.
B: Look, will you bloody well watch it. I’ve seen fellows lose it, you know. Someone had to do it. Come on, come on… You know someone else would have done it if it wasn’t you. There’s no point in blaming yourself. Listen… You did everyone a favour. Think of it that way. You were the good guy. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Someone had to talk to them. Weren’t we told that? It wasn’t your job to judge, only to find out the truth.
A: Oh my god. Do you really believe all that shite, all that fuckin propaganda? Don’t tell me you swallowed it hook, line and stinker?
B: I’m telling you you did a good job and you did a good job well. Everyone knew you were careful. Didn’t you get commended…

_____________________________________________________________

B: They’re coming.
A: I know they’re coming. Haven’t I been waiting for them.
B: You’re not the only one. There’s a lot of people waiting for him.
A: What’s that to me? I told you I’ve come for the funeral. Nothing criminal in that. People come for funerals everyday.
B: Only you’ve not come for the funeral have you?
A: What?
B: I know you’ve not come for any funeral. Jesus, did you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you think I’ve lost my sight as well?
A: I don’t, understand you.
B: You don’t want to understand me. What’s the point? It’s only a job.
A: What do you mean I haven’t come for the funeral? Do you think I’ve been standing here all night for the good of my soul?
B: Jesus, leave your soul out of it.
A: You started it. Go on, finish it. Why haven’t I come for the funeral?
B: For the same reason you weren’t there when they took the remains. For the same reason you weren’t there at the beginning either…
A: I was there. You know I was there. Wasn’t it me who made him talk? Didn’t I get him to open up? I’ll tell you. You’d have been nowhere. You’d have had nothing to go on. I was there. Oh, Jaysus, I was there all right.
B: I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. You were there, only you weren’t there, were you? You know what I said: you were never there. Not like the rest of us. You were always never there. You’re not even here.
A: What would you know about it? What would you know about being there? You were always there and yet…You…
B: Your problem was that you were never here.
A: Here, there, everywhere a … fucking great hole of a man. I’m an O’Malley too you know.
B: I’m not talking about that. Haven’t you a job to do?
A: I told you I’m a fuckin O’Malley.
B: Haven’t you another job now? Didn’t you say you’d come here for a reason.
A: You can ignore it as long as you like, but you fuckin heard. I’m an O’Malley. When’s the last time you talked to your brother? That fuckin family of your’s, I bet they fuckin didn’t come near you. He never fuckin knew. The fucker never knew it was his own brother talking to him. The fucker played games with his own flesh and blood, and never knew the difference. Could you have done that? Could you have done that? No, you fuckin couldn’t. You didn’t have the balls to talk to yourself. Head down. Head down. Head fuckin under the ground. The only way you could do the job. Like a blind bat out of hell. Did you hear what I fuckin said. I tore the fuckin life out of my own brother, and he didn’t fuckin know where he was being fucked from. You were in fuckin kindergarten. And you thought you worked with me… Why the fuck do you think I’ve come to this funeral? One almighty fuckin job all right. Jesus they’d crucify the last fuckin lamb. Sending me to report on the funeral of my fuckin psychotic brother. How many children cried over him? How many fuckin babies left clueless and fuckin bereft of fuckin sense. You know what, you can’t ever tell how that innocent, rosy-cheeked, fuckin toothless smiling infant is going to turn out. Swung a hurley like a god and detonator like an angel. The angel of mercy appeared unto Mary and she was fuckin ripped apart like fig. My own fuckin brother, my own builder of homes for fresh-faced families. The butcher of Bally the fuckin, Bally the fuckin, Bally the fuckin anywhere. A brother who could fight for his country, forward for fuckin liberty and up the republic, and all the fucking time he was raking it in. Swallowing the fuckin blood of innocents and getting drunk on the fuckin silver of Lloyd George. How the fuck was I mean to know that my brother was swinging from both sides? Where do you think all his fuckin money came from? Some fuckin building contractor, my eye. Oh yea, he had a great run with the developers didn’t he? He had the Midas touch all right. Jesus didn’t they look up to him, all those schoolchildren with their fuckin projects on how to build a new land. He had a fuckin landmass all right. One fuckin hill for the republic and one fuckin hill for the family. Some fuckin entrepreneur, making money out of every fucker. You can fuckin put that in your pipe and smoke it. Jesus, I had to draw it out of him. And the bollocks, you know the bollocks was fuckin proud of it.
B: He knew he was gone. I bet he knew it and it would have been just like him to have found a way of making the best out of the situation.
A: Jesus, if you didn’t have a mouth, you’ve have had to invent one. You are so full of yourself. Jesus, you remind me of the brother….





B: He’s here.
A: I can see him.
B: He’s out the back.
A: Where he always sits.
B: Do you think he sees us?
A: It doesn’t matter… now. It doesn’t matter anymore. At least he came.
B: He’s been at all of them.
A: Of course he’s been at all of them. Isn’t that his job? Why don’t you apply for his job?
B: Apply for his job? When do you think that’ll become vacant? You know about his job yourself. You did it for a while, didn’t you?
A: You remember.
B: We all remember you doing that job. You were good at it.
A: I had a book. I used to write it down after. I always had a record.
B: So had we. We knew you’d write it down. I read your book once.
A: Only once? You could have looked at it lots of times.
B: Sure wouldn’t I have only found the same old faces. But you were good, good at keeping records.
A: Do you see him?
B: Look, I don’t even have to look. I know he’s there. There’s always someone there. Don’t they always send someone? I remember when my brother went. They sent a woman that day.
A: I never knew that, and I don’t believe it either. A woman couldn’t do it.
B: Dream on baby. You don’t know the half of it.
A: I’m telling you a woman couldn’t put on the face. You know what that one has to do.
B: Scare the fucking bejesus out of the living. I know. I’ve seen you do it.
A: They know that’s men’s work.
B: And I suppose it’s better they think that…?


A: You know the score?
B: Of course. Do you think I’d forget?
A: No matter. So long as you’re sure.
B: To be sure, to be sure. It’s you I’m worried about.
A: You have no business worrying about me. You know that. That’s our way with it.
B: We were both trained…

_______________________________________________________

C: In anam an athar….
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to lay to rest the body of our brother Sean. We are gathered here to wish farewell to a man we’ll never forget. It’s time now to let him go to his heavenly place of rest….

Written on 16 May 2005

I’m going back to work today after being off for about 5 weeks. I am so much better now, and know I have the strength to be able to cope with it now. Martin O’Flaherty (my second-in-command, training adviser) is back after 6 months: his heart stopped and he had a blood clot. An electric pacemaker later, he’s glad to be working again.

He resumed last week, and Ted, who was doing his job, is back as a driving instructor. There will be plenty to do, and I will need to pace myself well, so that I don’t try to do too much, too quickly. It’s how people will treat me, think of me, that is on my mind.

Now, I feel that work is only one among many aspects of my life, and I am going to keep that in perspective, so that I don’t see whatever happens as the whole picture. Whatever happens at work is only part of my life, and I am a valuable person, whatever transpires.

I will be straight with people and tell an honest story about why I was off. Depression has some stigma, but I think that the stigma is fading fast as there is more publicity about how widespread it is.

Last evening I was talking to my mother, and she told me that B’s mum is in hospital, that she has been depressed, and is taking antidepressants. I think that is the first time that my mother has told me that someone had depression.

The blossom has fallen from the tree. A few clusters remain, and the rest must be on the grass. The wind did it, blew the pink out of the frame. I look straight out the old window onto the blossom tree that gave the house its name, look out also onto the two Saabs parked, one black belonging to Edel, and the other white which is mine.

This writing is a form of limbering up for the day, a way to wake up and a health-giving habit. I don’t think I have any more to add to the poem right now, but yesterday your mum and I agreed that it would be a sonnet I’d write celebrating your impending arrival. The bits of poetry that I have written already will serve as notes towards the poem. I don’t think I am going to be able to confine myself to 14 lines, and may well write a series of sonnets trumpeting your arrival.

Time to shower, shave, dress and set off on the adventure that is this day.
oman

Good morning Itsy.
It’s a good one, no cold wind and sun shining. At 0745 your mother is asleep.

I got kicked out of the bed last night because of my snoring. This is normal these days, though every now and again I get to stay in our bed all through the night. I snore because I am over weight, by about a stone. It’s the tablets I’ve been taking. Known side effects: increased appetite, the munchies, no restraint on the chocolate biscuits, slices of bread with butter, short crust pastry. To combat, or contain this rising weight, which has put at least two inches on my waistline, I have virtually cut out alcohol. However, I had two gin & tonics last evening.

There was a reason for the G&Ts: I played brilliant golf yesterday, shot a 65 (taking my 14 handicap into account), gross 79, with a 36 back 9. For me, this is the best I have ever played at Cumberwell Park. Geoff Thomas and I were playing with Jackie Bartlett and Tina Brady. Both of them are PE teachers, Jackie at a Sports school in Warminster and Tina in Swindon: she drives from Swindon to play at Bradford on Avon because she has friends at Cumberwell. I putted out of my skin. Sank about five 12 foot putts, and three putted only once. I had three birdies on the back nine and thought this was worth celebrating with a couple of drinks.

Edel and I had a lovely meal together: Thai chicken, in coconut milk with ginger, garlic and chilli, with orange pepper and beans. On top of that, there was pineapple, ice-cream and those lovely digestives with caramel and chocolate.

I watched Amir Khan box against Kindleman, the guy who beat him at the Olympics. I slept through some of the contest, as your mum predicted, and the whole thing was a big anti-climax for me. I find it hard to stay awake watching television I slept from 1030 to about 4am, when I went into the spare room.

The house is taking shape now: this ‘office’ is an office no more. There are a few bits to move out, but your bedroom is ready to be accessorised. In future, the computer and study area will be in the spare bedroom, and this room will have new curtains. Stefan (odd jobbing painter) and Geoffrey (professional decorator friend of John Norris) have saved the window from rotting to bits, and now everything is coming along nicely.

Today is great. Today is the day we put flowers in the pots outside. There is a nursery up the road and we should be able to get what we want there.

The poem revisited:

What colour shall we paint the walls?
What’s the colour of the unknown?
Can’t be blue, can’t be pink
Certainly makes you think.

We are getting used to growing
Little kicks and turns
Fingernails showing
Heart burns.

Should we replace the orange carpet
Brown stains and worn down tufts
Threadbare décor?

Your mother is losing her curls
She fears.
Something a girl
Would understand…

Gregorian chant
Yoga
Scented wax
Flame

The cat, the swan, inner breathing

I am getting up early this morning in order to play golf, my great game. It’s hard to say whether golf is a passion or a saviour. Passion, because I think about it. Saviour, because it gets me out of the house when nothing else will. I am going to play today for Itsy, play as if Itsy was dependent on me winning. Joking again, that would be too much pressure. But today is a special day because I am going to putt with my left hand below my right for the first time in my life. I wonder whether Itsy will like golf, will play it, or what will Itsy play? This room is coming along nicely now. Edel has her hands on it at long last. It was my office until now, but yesterday the filing cabinet left and that’s it from the office point of view. You can’t have an office without a filing cabinet. What a remnant… of the mechanical age… electronic now… no more cabinets… no more heavy metal places to store info in. This is the age of the portables. Your carry the info around with you, not in your head but in your Blackberry, or eye pod. What will you, Itsy, be using when you start carrying stuff round with you? I suppose you won’t carry stuff: you’ll access it from the ether. Bill Gates said: people always over-estimate the change that is possible in two years and under-estimate the change over ten years. I heard that yesterday on R4 (Radio 4). Boys names: Sam, Hugh… What else can I remember from our conversations? No, can’t remember now. So I’ll think: Brian, David, Joe, Mike, Eric, Jack – I like Jack, something solid about it. Sean, Michael, Mee Hawl – I don’t want anything Irish, because I have never been a GaelGoer. Bill, Bill Whelan perhaps. Nearly all one-syllabled names. It couldn’t be a Willy or a Sam – the song said. A refrain in the brain. Back to the poem: Heartburning, churning, squirming, Butterfly turning Yearning for rest at your behest You spurt your growth Lie quietly inside for days Then take take take nourishment Rushing like torrent Leaving your holder in its wake All for your sake. Red roses teeter on the edge of bloom. The chill in the air delays the greenfly. We are on the verge of the womb Edging towards third trimester by and by. Doesn’t time fly when you look back on it Like a mountain climb, like landscaped time. It is now 0735, time for a short breakfast, into my messy Saab, off to the course.

A diary for Itsy


This I start as a gift for our unborn child who is due on 31 August 2005, our wedding anniversary. Perhaps I’ll give it to the child someday. Meanwhile, I’ll write whatever is in my head over the next few months – from mid-May to end-August. It can be a place where I write down fleeting thoughts about what it is like to be becoming a dad again, after god knows how many years.

This is like a new start. New, because I have never been here before. I have two wonderful sons, and I guess I hope this time it will be a girl. New, because this time I am with Edel and this is her first pregnancy. New, because this is happening in Bath and last time it was in London. New, because I am now 54 going on 55, and have never been this old before.

This will keep me young, or maybe this will make me younger, or maybe this will keep me from growing old and staid and retiring. Right now I am recovered from a bout of depression which lasted from December to two weeks ago. This week I wrote a poem “Time turning”, all about the experience of being depressed and now seeing some light at the end. Edel suggested, rather asked, me to write a poem for Itsy – she would like me to write a special poem to celebrate Itsy’s arrival, and I have some thoughts and words floating round in the background.

Stuff like :

“What shall we call the baby?
Certainly not Marjory, nor Melanie, even Stephanie
We already have Clancy O’Mahony, even Itsy.
And we might have a boy…”

How shall we name a boy?
Of course it’s fine if it’s masculine.
I have no problem with blue, do you?

I’ll write this bit by bit, as I can fit it in and piece it together…

It’ll be fun adding stuff in as it comes to me. It’ll be fun constructing something from flights of fancy and fantasies.

I have chosen a style for the Diary.

This is where I shall post my diary about becoming a father again, at the age of 54.

I first wrote this diary in May 2005, while I was living in Bath, while Edel and I were expecting our first child.

I am now editing the diary and publishing it here.