'Home to Derry' by Tomá Ó Canainn

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Extracted from Home to Derry by Tomás Ó Canainn, published by Appletree Press

Chapter One - part 1

It was half past seven on a fresh spring morning – time for himself and Jenny to go out on the streets, collecting horse-dung. Their mother had been brought up on a farm near Dungiven and was a firm believer in the magic power exercised by horse-dung on potatoes and rhubarb. Apart from a few lupins and dahlias, those were the only crops that grew in the tiny back garden of their house in Barry Street. High walls kept the sun away from all but the tops of the thrusting lupins, even in highest summer. Sean stood at the kitchen door and looked at the little yard between himself and the garden, which was closed in on two sides by the white-washed walls of their own house and, on the third, by the side gable of Mrs Park’s house.
‘For god’s sake take that bucket and shovel and get out of my sight this minute.’
Sean’s mother had finally lost her patience with them and he knew well, even if his young sister Jenny did not seem to, that there was no longer any option.
‘I’m sick, sore and tired of lookin’ at the pair of you. The quicker you get started the quicker it’ll be over and I’ll have breakfast ready when youse come back. I’m goin’ up now to rise Brid and the weans.’
His mother turned away from the scullery door, crossed the kitchen, where her newly-lit fire was crackling in the iron range, and went into the hall. He heard the quick creaking of the stairs as she went up. Her voice came back to him urgently: ‘Give that porridge a stir before you go.’ She thought of everything. A widow with five young children probably had to.
He wondered why he and Jenny always got the dirty job of collecting the dung. It needed two people alright, for it had to be done quickly and unobtrusively, lest any of the neighbours might see you. That would be the final indignity. He had to admit that the so-called weans – his younger brother Eamonn and Mary, the baby of the family – were too young for the job, while his elder sister Brid did more than her share of the housework. Still, he wished it could be anybody but himself who was out there shovelling shit before breakfast.
‘Are youse not away yet?’
His mother’s voice came at him from the kitchen. Through the window he could see the weans up beside the fire, shivering and sleepy. Brid was pulling a jumper down over young Mary’s head and the long curls tangled in a button. The child screamed and was suddenly wide awake.
‘Here, show us that,’ said the mother, easing the button out of the long strands of hair. ‘I’ll give it a rub and you’ll be as right as rain in no time.’ She caressed the child’s head and turned to Brid. ‘Get Eamonn’s shoes on him and lace them up.’
Jenny decided it was time to make her last stand against the horse-dung excursion.
‘I’m just not goin’ out there. I don’t care what anybody says – I’m not for goin’.’
She puffed out her cheeks and held her breath till she was red in the face. It was a pose they all recognised and since she always adopted it whenever anyone wanted to take her photograph, it was recorded on every single family portrait in their possession. Photographs were things Jenny did not agree with and her famous ‘puss’, as the family called it, was her gesture of non-cooperation.
‘Would you listen to her,’ his mother said. ‘You’d think the whole of Derry city was goin’ to be out there lookin’ at youse, the way you’re goin’ on about it. You’ll be the sorry pair if I have to rise to you again.’
Sean could see his mother’s face through the window and he knew she meant business this time. Her lips tightened and a muscle moved in the side of her face. He didn’t particularly want to feel the strap stinging his bare legs, but Jenny just stood here, daring her mother to act.
The confrontation was short-lived: his mother moved quickly, bundling Jenny, bucket and shovel out the back door.
‘Go on outa that, you big hallion,’ she shouted, slamming the door and shooting the bolt home with finality.
He thought Jenny was relieved to have escaped so easily but she didn’t say anything as they walked up the back lane together. He stayed on the right, beside the Barry Street backdoors, while she kept to the other side, near the backdoors of Meadowbank Avenue. Between them was the dried-up bed of the streamlet which meandered down the lane on rainy days. At the top of the lane they turned left towards Meadowbank: they would not have dreamed of looking for dung in Barry Street, where they might be recognised by the neighbours. Meadowbank was a higher class street, right enough, but it had two advantages – not so many people knew them there and it was a much steeper street, particularly above the junction with Richmond Crescent, and you’d often find that the milkman’s pony might have felt the need to relieve himself on the way up or down. They were in luck today. The steam was still rising from a newly-deposited prize, right in the middle of the road. Jenny ran forward with the bucket.
‘Put it down there,’ said Sean, ‘and keep nix at the corner. Give us a shout if you see anybody comin’.’
He had become pretty adept at flicking the dung on to the shovel and straight into the bucket. He glanced quickly down the street. Miss Mooney’s cat walked along the low garden wall and eyed him curiously. The cooing of pigeons up at Douglas’s corner was the only sound. The dung smelt strong and sickening. He knew it had not come from the milkman’s puny animal, which would have been incapable of matching this product for quality or size. His mother would be pleased: there was no doubt in his mind about that.
‘Hurry up,’ said Jenny, ‘there’s a man from Governor Road comin’ over the top lane.’
In his hurry he let the dung fall from the shovel. He jumped with fright as a boat on the Foyle blew its horn. The sound jarred the quiet of the street.
‘Where is he now, Jenny?’
‘It’s alright, he’s away down Barry Street: have you not it done yet?’
‘Come over here quick and give us a hand.’
She ran over to him and he handed her the stick: ‘Push it on to the shovel,’ he whispered urgently.
She held her nose, half-closed her eyes and did as she was told.
‘Ugh, what a stink.’ The words squeezed out through her clenched teeth.
‘Come on, keep at it,’ he urged, ‘we’re nearly there.’

Find out how the children coped with their odoriferous challenge here

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