![]() Life's Like That.A Story by Marie![]() The story of two batchelor brothers. One of who lost the love of his life through the disapproval of his mother for his girlfriend. Snobbery was alive and well in those days in Ireland, dear reader...![]() My name is James Shanahan and
my only claim to fame is to be born on Christmas Day, thus sharing the same
birthday as God’s only son, though my birthday came one thousand nine hundred
and sixty years after His birth. I was born in Dublin to parents
who both engaged in farming, but I currently reside at Bric-a-Brac Road,
Tralee, in the lovely County of Kerry. I live with my younger brother John. We
have a sister named Kate and another brother named Tom, both of whom are
married and living up the country, with families of their own. We rarely meet
up these days unless at a family Christening, Wedding or Funeral. I suppose
we’re all too busy getting on with our own lives. Poor John is a bit of a
recluse, rarely venturing out these days. But he is very happy in his own
company while I’m out collecting any little bit of news that comes my way, to
bring home to him. He tells me proudly that I’m better than ‘The News of The
World’ any day. I am five foot 6 inches of pure
male testosterone, with shiny red hair (thanks to ‘Head & Shoulders’
Shampoo), which highlights my sparkling baby blue eyes. Would you believe this,
once when I was going to ‘The Gents’ at our local pub - ‘The Nag’s Head’
(there’s a beautiful portrait of the owner’s wife painted on a metal sign which
swings to and ‘fro in the breeze, just outside the pub door. George, the owner,
called his pub after her I believe), anyway, on my way to ‘The Gents’ I had to
pass by a group of young wans, and I’d almost reached my destination, quite
close to where they were eyeing up the talent that night, when I heard one of
them say, quite excitedly, “O God Majella, isn’t he sex on legs”? In spite of
the hurry I was in, I turned back and though they weren’t looking in my direction,
I couldn’t see another male within an a*s’s roar of where I was, so it had to
be me they were talking about - hadn’t it? On my way back from ‘The Gents’, I
said “Hello girls. How’re ye all tonight”? They all giggled shyly and huddled
closer together. A sure sign they knew I’d overheard their earlier remark. However, it’s a long time now
since I’ve had a female companion in my life. There was ever only one woman for
me, and that was Rose Ryan. Rose had hair as long as the River Shannon and just
as twisty, and her scarlet red bee-stung-look lips used to drive me wild with
passion. When we’d be on a date I couldn’t wait for the night to end, to kiss
Rose's luscious lips. It used to make my mouth water just thinking about it,
still does, truth be told. Anyway, we were at a very serious stage in our
relationship and I felt certain and sure we’d hear Wedding Bells being rung for
us, so I decided it was time to bring Rose home to meet the parents. Dad took
to Rose like a duck to water but Mother was cold and distant, not just to Rose,
but to both of us. Every time Rose spoke Mother interrupted her. Poor Rose
couldn’t get a word in at all, and at meal times both Rose’s and my plate was
landed on the table in front of us with a fierce thump. Our three day planned
visit ended after one. Rose was very cool with me and Mother wasted no time in
writing to me to express her horror at I thinking of spending the rest of my
life married to a woman who made chocolate sweets for a living, and me a
respectable Civil Servant. Mother strongly urged to me seek psychiatric help,
telling me that I was deluded. Just as that letter ended my relationship with Mother,
my relationship with Rose also fell apart and ended abruptly, when shortly
after Rose refused to see me anymore. There’s never been a woman in my life
since Rose and there never will be, well, not in that way anyway. I’m friendly
with all women who cross my path, and I laugh and joke away with them, but it
ends there and I go home alone to tell John all my news for that night. I’m a very quiet man, and I
took early retirement because I couldn’t bear to be in the same town as Rose,
running the risk of bumping into her at some point in time, and maybe she’d
have another fellow with her, in which case, I couldn’t be held responsible for
my actions, when I reacted to seeing them. But I’ve gone back to school again
as a mature student. I’m doing a course in ‘Creative Writing’ at the moment and
I have to admit I’m enjoying it very much. It’s a mixed group of men and women,
some retired like myself, but each with a unique story to tell. We all get
along very well together, like a very loving family. I have no best friends. I have
hundreds of acquaintances, but don’t feel the need to develop any deep
friendships. I prefer to be friendly with everyone and leave it at that. Sure,
I have my brother John and our two boxer dogs, Max and Minnie for company at
home. What more would I want? I walk with a slight limp, due
to an old Rugby injury which I acquired in my prime. I have some bad pain in
the leg in frosty and in rainy weather, so there may some degree of arthritis
there. A few ‘Ponstan’ tablets and I’m right as rain again. I’m also phobic of
people coming too close to me. I often speak of the old days
to John when we’re seated in front of our big open fire on the long Winter
evenings, and we stroll down memory lane and chat for hours on end of the
mornings we had on the home farm, when we were young. Each child in the family
had their own chores to perform before leaving for the two mile trek to school.
Our reward was given each Saturday night after our bath, as we made our way
upstairs to our rooms. Dad would present each of us with a shining silver two
shilling piece. On Sunday after ten o’clock Mass we visited Mrs. Henry’s shop
where we spent our two shillings. We bought a comic, either ‘The Beano’ or ‘The
Dandy’ and spent the rest of the money on enough sweets which usually lasted us
to the following Thursday. There is something indefinable but very special about
the 60’s, which will never be repeated in the decades to come. Tralee is a lovely town, a
bustling hive of activity, and it abounds in funerals. Being a good Christian
fellow, I go to every funeral I possibly can. I like to sympathise with the
bereaved, and the fact that I don’t know them at all makes absolutely no
difference at all to me, nor does it seem to them either. Everybody needs
empathy and sympathy in their sad hour. That said it’s not the only reason why
I go to funerals. If I were to tell you here and now the things I have heard
those in front of me say, as I queued to shake hands with the bereaved, the
hair would stand on the back of your neck with amazement, and it’s not always
about the bereaved they’re speaking. Honest to God, you’d never believe it.
I’ve heard more ‘secrets’ than all the Priests ever ordained have in
confession. Because of my phobia I always stand at the very back of the crowd
and should someone stand behind me, I allow them to go ahead of me. This gives
me a great vantage point for ‘hearing things’. But, I’m not going to spill the
beans here; you never know there might be a few red faces, so I’ll move on the
second reason why I go to funerals. Once the deceased has been
interred, the sympathizers are nearly always invited by the family to a meal,
or at least soup and sandwiches and drinks at a local pub or hotel afterwards,
as a way of saying thank you to those who have attended. Not alone do get a
free substantial meal fit for a king, but also all the Guinness I can consume -
and it doesn’t cost me a cent. Sometimes I get a bit the worse for wear at the
end of a very long day, and some kind person always puts me in a taxi, pays the
fare, and sends me home safely. Such great kindness humbles me greatly and
feeds my determination to attend even more funerals than I presently go to. My good brother John thinks
that’s a great idea, and ‘tis true for him. I get all the food and drink I can
possibly fit into my ever expanding tummy, and sure, as John pointed out with his
usual wisdom, it doesn’t cost me a cent, and it saves him the trouble of
cooking a meal for two and I save the money I’d spend on it. Sure the bereaved are happy, John is happy
and am not I happy too? It’s an unusual situation that sees everybody happy,
wouldn’t you say? © 2024 MarieAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
95 Views
2 Reviews Added on July 23, 2024 Last Updated on July 23, 2024 Author
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|