The Mummblers

Mammie’d put her hand out and touch my head, with the Holy Water from the Holy Font at the door, when we went to Holy Mass. She called it Mammie’s blessing, but I squirmed away from her. I didn’t like it. It was like being washed, and I was big enough to do that myself. I fitted nicely on her square lap and was content there to watch, pull at the cuffs on her green coat, with the big brown buttons, and whisper secrets in her ear, so that the nice people, sitting in their big coats, next to her, smiled, and looked away. I was allowed down, to look through the line of clear -in the frosted- glass in the doors at the big people, jumping up, and sitting down, when the music came on, like pass the parcel. But only if I was very quiet. I was particularly impressed with the half crouching over a seat. We didn’t have anything to kneel on in the little glass box, so I couldn’t practice that.

I stuck my tongue out onto the cool glass, but it didn’t taste much of anything. That was the first time I noticed all the people with their back to me walking up to talk to the funny man behind the railing, which wasn’t much bigger than me. It was then that I had my first revelation.

‘Mammie, Mammie,’ I shouted, ‘the funny man is going to jump over the railing and escape.’

It was Uncle Jeff that called the priest the funny man. He’d say ‘we’re going to see the funny man today,’ so that the first time I’d gotten all excited. Mammie didn’t say anything just rocked in her chair beside the grate, and kept our world in place, with the steady beat of knitting needles, her hands never at rest.

Uncle Jeff had been sitting beside Mammie, at Holy Mass, his hand and knee at play, tapping out that they didn’t want to be there. Mammie smiled when I’d turned around and mouthed my revelation, but it was Uncle Jeff that was quickest.

‘The funny men have got big pieces of elastic attached to them,’ he said.

I concentrated really hard, but it was difficult to see past all the big people, that were coming and going. I’d a better view when they all sat down again, but the funny man was facing us, and he didn’t look very happy. I turned around to see if Uncle Jeff was smiling, to show he was only kidding, but his lips were pouted and he’d one finger up, signalling shusssh, even though I hadn’t said anything. I ran up to Mammie and she swooped me up, and sat me in her lap. She gave me my dummy, out of her big pocket, to chew, even though I was too old for it. Uncle Jeff shushed me again, so I leaned over and hit him. He just laughed and did it again.

‘Mammie,’ I cried.

‘That’s enough Jeff,’ she said.

But I chewed, and watched him closely, just in case I wanted to hit him again.

Now that Uncle Jeff had stopped going to Holy Mass, Mammie always took a seat at the back of the chapel, near the side-doors, that the bad men went out of to smoke. I squeezed safely in beside her with my favourite doll; the one with long cornflower yellow hair, that was going to be the colour of my hair, when I grew up. It was a very smart doll. It didn’t stick up its nose, or say anything much, when I told it this. I shushed it, anyway, because it was a regular wee blether.

We always lit a candle, and prayed for poor people in Africa, that didn’t have candles. I took my time, because I liked the burning incense smell, and the holy flames flickering and waving in their wax cups, trying to escape. I’d hold the taper for Mammie, because she wasn’t very good at that. My tongue sneaked out, as I picked the right candle to light, and Mammie, very quickly, tapped it with her fingers, dib-dab, so that I should have known it was coming, but didnae.

‘Don’t,’ I’d say, in my best huffy voice.

Mammie picked the white burning taper from me, with her chopstick fingers, and shook it smoky black. She swallowed her laugh, at my foot stamping and arm-folding repertoire, because you had to be quiet as an angel, or you’d get into trouble with God.

‘Put the half-penny in the box,’ said Mammie, handing me the coin.

The box was solid gold, with a little space in the top, for eating coins. I thought God he must have been very rich to have all those ha’pennies, and since he knew what I was thinking, that He’d know that He’d need to share. But He didn’t.

Mammie went to kneel at the wee side altar that had a statue of the Virgin Mary, who was looking up, though the church roof, to heaven, but she didn’t look very happy about it. Maybe, it was because she was standing on a fork-tailed snake that was trying to bite her. It was my job to help Mammie up, she’d put her hand on my shoulder and stand up, when she was finished telling God what was wrong.

I liked the hymns, but only if I was sitting beside Mammie. The big organ made my stomach feel all funny, as if I’d been running about too much. Mammie shared her hymnbook with me, opening it up, like a sandwich, at the right page. But there was nothing in it, no pictures of a scary crocodile, only boring words. But there was something even scarier than the crocodile. It was the devil in the stained glass windows. I’d whispered that to Mammie, but she’d whispered back that it wasn’t the devil, just a purple part of Saint Therese’s dress. But I knew, looking at it, that it was the devil. And, holding Mammie’s hand, sticking my tongue out at it, the devil knew it was the devil.

There were two priests that said the mass Mammie took me to. Father Brodrick was very old, at least 1000, and every word droned like a birthday song, we’d need to stop and consider. As soon as he started speaking, my dolly and me would settle ourselves to fall asleep, full of words. Mammie would wake us when it was time to go.

No one could understand Father Mannon’s Galway accent, outside Galway, said Uncle Jeff, and even then, he wasn’t sure those in Galway could understand it either. But Father Mannon, was Uncle Jeff’s favourite. He said it was like going to the races, where Jesus was neck and neck with Jesus, and only Jesus could win. Parishioners stood up, kneeled, sat down, stood up, and suddenly they found themselves outside in the open air, wondering what had happened. Padre-Pio, said Uncle Jeff, had nothing on Father Mannon. But I’d seen a picture of Padre-Pio and Father Mannon looked nothing like him.

Uncle Jeff said the fumes of Mass were enough for a sinner like him. He waited outside for us, with the other smokers. Mammie and me were amongst the first out, because we were near the back. I tried to be as holy as Mammie, and tried not to hurry, but often me and dolly would skip out and wait for her beside Uncle Jeff. He’d ask Mammie if I’d been good, and he’d remind her that she’d just been to Mass, and so couldn’t tell a lie.

Mammie would look down at me. And she’d take in a deep breath. I knew the answer, because I was always good. But I wasn’t sure I’d been good enough.

‘Yes,’ Mammie, said, smiling.

I’d let out my breath. I’d carefully hand dolly over to Mammie for safe-keeping, and take Uncle Jeff’s hand. We raced across Dumbarton Road together, Uncle Jeff holding his hand up to cars to slow down, as if he was wearing a uniform and not a suit. Out of breath Uncle Jeff would adjust his clothing and look in through the wrought metal wiring of Massie’s door, waiting for the next customer to be served. He’d catch the door as the last customer left, reaching up to still the brass bell. I’d follow him into the murky darkness of the paper shop. Massie was half blind so she couldn’t see the dirt. Uncle Jeff would push a few of the empty bottles on the shelf together.

‘How many bottles?’ said Massie.

Massie fascinated me. She was older than Father Broderick, but had the same accent as Father Mannon. She had a big wart on her chin, with a giant hair, curling back towards her face. I was sure she was a witch.

‘Five,’ said Uncle Jeff.

‘What’d you want for your bottles?’ Uncle Jeff asked me.

‘Toffee,’ I said, with my hand over my mouth. I always wanted toffee. Uncle Jeff knew that.

‘So that’s the Mass out then?’ said Massie, putting the Highland Cow toffee face up on top of a stack of papers, ‘you’ve still got a bit left. What would you like?’

‘Ten Woodbine,’ said Uncle Jeff, in what sounded, to me, like an Irish accent.

Massie looked square at him, even though she was blind. ‘I hope you’ve got the money for them,’ she said, ‘you still owe me from last week.’

Uncle Jeff took the toffee and handed it to me, bending down and looking me right in the eyes. He patted me on the head like some auld scabby dog. The bell rang as another customer came into the shop.

‘I’m just out of Holy Mass,’ said Uncle Jeff, in his newfound accent, ‘and I promise I’ll pay the money I owe you. And I’ll give you the money next week for ten Woodbine. You don’t even need to take the money off the bottles for it…’

The other customer tried to squeeze past Jeff, and pay Massie for a paper, but he stood firm, blocking him off. Massie dropped the cigarettes from her palm down onto the lurid headlines. Jeff picked them up and pocketed them in one practiced move.

‘I’d be much obliged if you could add a packet of Swan Vestas,’ said Jeff, smiling his donkey-teeth winning smile, which was lost on Massie, but she gave him them anyway.

‘I’ll be in next week,’ said Uncle Jeff.

Mammie was waiting for us outside. ‘That’s nice,’ she said, ‘Uncle Jeff got you toffee’.