TEN PENCE

by
Paul Kavanagh

One of my mother�s gifts was origami. She could make birds out of paper. She was proud of this gift and preformed the feat whenever she could. Once in a hurry to make a bird she pulled a magazine out of Cousin Jimmy�s weekend sports bag. Quickly she ripped a page out of the magazine. He didn�t say anything and she was oblivious in her ebullience. The wings of the bird were the naked legs of a woman. Between the eyes was the clit. The beak was made of the vagina lips. When my mother made the bird sing the lips opened and closed. After much laughter my mother nearly had a heart attack. The opprobrium was too much. She could not believe what she had created and was now holding between her fingers. She threw the thing away with much disgust. It flew and landed at the feet of my grandmother. She picked it and kissed it. She lovingly stroked it and talked to it as though it was a real bird. This is not the memory I wanted to relate.

You and who�s army

I�ll get me dad

And I�ll get my dad

I�ll get me cousins

And I�ll get my cousins

The IRA had just blown up some pub. The chimneys pumped out billowing smoke. The sound of the factory was deafening. Black rain clouds hung like bedsheets from a washing-line presaging rain. Everybody worked at the factory. At the factory they made things out of plastic. The factory was a mass of red brick. At the weekends the Irish families around us got drunk and fought. The police had to come sometimes at three in the morning. Their blue flashing lights sometimes woke me up. Sometimes I was already awaked because of the shouting and screaming. In the morning we would follow the trail of blood to see which house had exploded or imploded. My Cousin Jimmy worked at the factory. Every Monday my Cousin Jimmy ducked. He could be found down at the pub. This is not the memory I want to relate.

If I had the wings of a sparrow

If I had the arse of a crow

I�d fly over

Give me ten pence

I need it for the bus

Give me fucking ten pence.

Football hooligans threw my box at the away fans. It smashed into a thousand pieces. It took down a bunch of them. I didn�t know if to cry or laugh. We would saunter down to the stadium for the last fifteen minutes. They opened the doors and you could get in for free. I would take a wooden box with me to stand upon. For goal posts we used our coats. It always rained but you can�t play football without goal posts. For a football we used a crushed can. A beer can was the best. There was plenty of beer cans in the back streets. Sometimes the can went under your foot and you slipped and banged your head. When this happened the rest of the players laughed loudly. If you could get up you did and fought. There was much elbowing and fouling. The smaller kids were bullied into being the goalkeepers. Everybody wanted to be a forward and if not a forward then at least a midfielder. The can skipped along the road and landed at me feet. I controlled the can as best as I could. I pictured the goal that I was about to score. From behind me I was fouled. I fell and hit the kerb. My front teeth were shattered and my lips were split. I lost the can and John Shepherd went on and scored. I don�t know how I got home. I never went to a dentist. I was sitting in the front room with a bucket before me that I spat in. Cousin Jimmy came through and offered me bubble gum. I had to decline. My grandmother called me an ungrateful sod. She abhorred my father. She suspected he was Irish and Catholic. I went to school and played football with two jagged rocks for front teeth.

You can fuck me for a cigarette

Honestly

But you can�t tell anybody

I won�t

If Jimmy finds out he�ll kill us

I would watch Cousin Jimmy scale the drainpipe. During the weekends he stayed with us. Over his shoulder would be a bag full of sports gear and speed. He would jump on the train and go and dance all night to Sue Lynne, Anne Sexton, Gene Chandler and Geno Washington. Later I would inject the speed into his arm. He said that I had a steady hand. He would roll up his sleeve and sit on the toilet. When the judge sent him down he said that Jimmy Foster was a junky and a habitual thief. He had a blank expression as though he knew it was time.

Ten pence

I can�t

I�ll twat you

I�ve got to get home

I want it now

My mother and father cheered when the first lady got into number ten. When my younger brother stopped getting his milk my mother screamed. Watching the miners get stuck into the police was one of the best things we had ever seen on the television, my father cheered and did some shadow boxing. My Grandmother suddenly realized he was Irish and Catholic. The other was an episode of the Goodies. Later I would follow Cousin Jimmy to prison. Though when I got to Liverpool he had been shipped out. The poll tax riots were funny but not has much fun has seeing cruise missiles exploding over Baghdad.

I�ll tell me cousin

Tell him

I will

Tell him

He�ll drop you

I never liked John Shepherd. When he fucked Cousin Jimmy�s girlfriend he supped Strongbow and kept his socks and shoes on. Sometimes I cried. I don�t know why I cried but I did. The tears flooded my eyes and my heart shrank. John Shepherd carried a Stanley knife around with him. He went to the football with older boys. When he was not fucking Cousin Jimmy�s girlfriend he was sniffing glue or fighting. For a cigarette anybody could fuck Cousin Jimmy�s girlfriend. Sometimes she got a full packet of cigarettes. I have forgot how many times I watched her being fucked. Sometimes the queue was ten deep. Cousin Jimmy�s girlfriend went to the same school as me. She never talked to me. She would snub me. Once she mocked me and stuck bubble gum in my hair. It was my first skinhead. Sometimes after school Cousin Jimmy would pick her up.

Empty your pockets

Wait

Now

Wait

When John Shepherd dropped me I didn�t see it coming. He headbutted me. I didn�t cry. I nearly cried but I didn�t. My nose bled. After he headbutted me he punched me twice. On my walk home I told myself that I should have fought back. Why I didn�t fight back plagued me. The walk home seemed forever. That night I saw John Shepherd fuck Cousin Jimmy�s girlfriend. Cousin Jimmy was down the pub drunk and playing cards. She lay there in the grass. She didn�t move. She didn�t speak or moan. John Shepherd supped his Strongbow from the bottle. He had on those socks and shoes. Their pale almost anemic bodies emanated no pleasure. Afterwards they both stood up and went their own way.

Pass the ball

On me head

Give me a kick

You greedy bastard

After work on summer evenings Cousin Jimmy would play football with the boys. When we had a football we would play in the park and use a football pitch. Even though there were many players the game usually consisted of three or four players. Sometimes the smaller boys didn�t even get a kick of the ball. After the game we would saunter to the shop and buy cigarettes. You could get a single for ten pence. Those that didn�t have ten pence would share a cigarette. They would dance on the spot until the cigarette was theirs. I once danced like that. After football I was thirsty. I told my mother I wanted the pop that was under the sink. She was steadfast and said that I couldn�t drink the stuff in the pop bottle. After much wailing she capitulated. The stuff was green washing up liquid. The whole street bought the stuff from a gypo for cheap. He used pop bottles.

Come here

Did you take ten pence off him

Yes

I�m going to fucking do you

Fuck off

To see somebody get slashed is a funny thing. You expect a big bang like a gun. But there�s nothing. It was like somebody had used a red crayon across his face. It was the best fight anybody had ever seen. Cousin Jimmy bit John Shepherd so many times that they couldn�t count the teeth marks upon his body. The fight started like most fights two peacocks fluffing their feathers but once John Shepherd pulled out his Stanley knife the fight changed. We stopped playing football and milled around them. We laughed nervously. We were happy that it wasn�t us involved. It seemed that all that pent up anger in Cousin Jimmy found a release. He pulled the Stanley knife away from John Shepherd and used it. The laceration ran from his ear to his top lip. We didn�t see much of John Shepherd after that.

� Paul Kavanagh
Reproduced with permission

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