Disappointed when he found out they sucked mud, he still wanted to catch one and remained unconvinced it would taste yucky. He’d spent more hours that evening, looking down from the bridge , watching them swim against the tide, when he should have been at (for him) an unprecedented Saturday evening service at the local chapel. The Chaplin was lispy, the Japanese had cut an adder slit in his tongue, an interesting story of torture which never quiet held his attention through the mass. But the grey mucky mullet in their twos and threes, well he forgot about the Chaplin without ss’s and spent the hour licking his lips at the bridge, knowing for sure they’d taste nice. Later she came looking and found him, he’d forgotten the time and the mass. She thought he’d stopped there on the way back and only later scolded him when he’d said “what mass?”
Her sisters were convinced he’d be a priest, and he’d nod sagely in six year old agreement at the suggestion that he might serve holy orders. And one evening when they were sat in the front room, the room that looked down over the entire village, he mentioned the bishop word and was thrilled at their response. From the mouths of babes in this holiest of houses, it must have been a sign. By times, he was disappointed with the quality of orange drink but not this time as a fresh Taylor Keith was opened in celebration for the wannabe bishop. Some mention was made about a priest’s apprenticeship, but the sugar buzz gave him a direct line to the Arch Diocese and he was bullish about his prospects.
There’s an eternity in a childhood sunny afternoon, and in this place called Corry with the mullet and the swaying weeds which his mother told him near drowned her, all they needed were pinkeen jars and butterfly nets. There was a castle with fairies which they soon got bored with, there’s only so long a child can wait. The river Nanny meandered through the village, yes a river called Nanny which even then sounded embarrassing. And over the rise which they were forbidden to summit, were horses and cross cows. So they sat and used the butterfly nets as pinkeen catchers and created habitats in jam jars. Eventually five, this gaggle of four unusually, never squabbled when left alone and to their own devices. There weren’t any village kids so they had this magical, fairy light, Corry to themselves.
The church choir sang very loud and very proud, but they were all girls and he stayed in the right hand side man place while the lispy tortured Chaplin read out the collection results, “Mrs O’Donovan – two shillings”. He looked to the back of the church and saw the wide Russell boys fidgeting and knew they weren’t going to receive the communion, which ultimately was a dry disappointment to him when eventually he got the rosette and watch. The aged wood shone golden in the old chapel and the girls sang hymns in an intact hymen way and dragged him up the steep stairs to their lair, to learn the words and smell the perfume.