Hot-N-Cold

HOT -N -COLD

"Mark!!" The mother's voice was loud and sharp.

There was a pause for a moment.
"Mark!!!" This time the call a pitch higher.

The child heard the call from his mother and again he ignored it.

"If you don't friggin' come down here right now, I'll give you such a
friggin' belt, you'll think yerr ase is on fire. Now get down
here!!"

He put down the small toy airplane he was playing with and picking up
a comic, went down the stairs to the kitchen. His mother was standing
beside a large bundle off washing; she was tying the dirty washing into
a bundle using a clean white sheet.

"Get your shoes and coat on. Now!"

Quickly he found his shabby black pumps but in his haste to get ready,
for he knew that the 'belt' was likely to land at any moment, he
snapped a shoe lace whilst pulling it tight. He began to whimper in his
frustration at trying to retie it.

His mother came over and giving him a light cuff behind the head,
said, "O gerr-up will-yer."

Taking the shoe of him, she relaced it with what was left of the lace,
put it back on his foot and tied it. She picked him up and putting his
coat on, told him to open the back door and get the pram.

He went to the pram in the back yard to bring it to the door, but the
brake was on and he not could release it.

"Mam! A can't ger-it-off."

"Jesus christ, warr-am a gon-er do with you. Ger-out the way," and
pushing him to one side, released the brake and pushing the big old
black pram to the back door, with seemingly no effort, picked up the
bundle and placed it on the pram and it being so large it overflowed
the sides and front of the pram. She then slammed the door shut and
started off, pushing the pram, with the child holding on to the handle.
They walked along the street, the child waving and calling to his
friends, the mother nodding and saying good morning to her neighbours.
Eventually, after about a fifteen-minute walk, they reached their
destination, the blue and white tiled public washhouse and baths.

As she pulled the pram up the steps that led to the entrance, the child
ran ahead to push open the door to allow his mother easy access to the
building and feel the coolness of the tiled interior as they entered.
As soon as they were inside, he left his mother and ran to the tea
counter, which he could just reach with his fingers by standing up on
his toes.

"Cin i, ave a cup of tea an' four rounds of toast please Mrs. Me mam, s
cumin now. Cin i, ave my toast now."

"Yill, ave to wait till yer mam cums, so shurrop," the woman behind the
counter called back.

The mother pushed the pram across the tiled floor of the entrance
hall, towards where a number of prams were parked in a corner. She
placed her own amongst them, then continued on to the pay kiosk,
passing the women and children sitting on benches set in the room like
pews in a church. The women where congregated together, some drinking
tea and eating toast, several had small children on their knees, other
children sat on the floor, or were squeezed between these mostly heavy
built women. Slices of thick buttered toast were being stuffed into
little and large hungry mouths, the butter occasionally running down
their chins. There was a continues and loud babble of voices, from the
mothers calling across the room to each other and the children running
around, laughing and shouting in there games. Women were coming and
going continuously, all with bundles, most with them on prams, others
carrying smaller bundles on their heads.

"Hello Pat." They called to the mother, each in turn.

She answered with one short nod of the head to each of them and went
on to the pay kiosk and after collecting her tickets for a wash, boil
and dryer, walked back to the women.

"Who am I after?" she asked.

"Yerr- after me Pat," said an older woman standing by the tea counter,
a mug of tea in her hand.

"All right Mary," she answered. "How's your Ann and the baby."

"She's fine and the baby, poor little think. Ugly little bastard, just
like his dad. Just hope he doesn't grow up to be like him. Friggin lazy
basterd.

"Warr's your Ann's feller been doing now," she inquired. Then to the
woman behind the counter, "Cin I 'ave a tea and toast Meg." She felt a
tug on her coat. "Alright, I'm getting it," she snapped at the child,
who was pulling at her coat. "Give him is friggin toast will ye Meg
before I strangle him."

The child was given the toast on a small, thick white plate with a blue
rim, very like the tiles that covered the walls and floor.

"Now shurrup will yer. Am sorry Mary, what were yer saying."

"A was saying. That stupid basted of a son in law is in the Bridewell
again and I don't think he'll fucking gerr-a way with it this time.
Caught him red handed didn't they. Only tried to leave the docks with a
carton of butter in his bag. An yer know him. Doesn't weigh more than
ten pounds himself, so he must have been leaning like a sailor just
friggin landed." Taking a cigarette out of a pack of five Woodbines,
she lit it took a long deep drag then continued. "An Crissy, yer-no,
her feller works the same dock, well, she told me, they've been
watching them all since that New Zealand boat came in. I mean, that
last one, they must 'ave lost half the friggin load. So every body
leaves it. Except that stupid prick! God forgive me. It's a good job
I'm going to confession to night, or ad be to frightened to go to sleep
the language I've used this last few days."

"Never mind girl, yill be alright if yer get Fr. Ryan. Should-ive heard
him down the club last Saturday night. Pissed out of his mind and going
on about the derby match." As she spoke, she looked round for the child
who was sitting on the floor a little distance away, busy eating his
toast, his comic on the floor beside him and already lost in it
pictures.

"That's all he does, read those friggin comics. Al be glad when he
starts school. "

The child heard nothing; he was lost in the comic, and neither the
other children running around, there mothers shouting at them, or the
roar from the washroom each time somebody opened or closed the swing
doors disturbed him. To him there was no sound in the room except the
sounds he heard in the comic. He finished the toast and wiped his mouth
with the frayed sleeve of his jersey, leaving a trace of butter and
mucus across his face. As he sat engrossed in his comic, a boy about
his own age came and sat beside him.

"Cin I, ave a look" he asked, his voice quite and shy.

"No! Its mine, an am looking at it. Get yer own," he answered and
placed the comic on the other side of his legs away from the boy.

"Al swap yer mine then. " Again spoken shyly.

"Wa, av yer got, "Mark asked suspiciously.

"Its a Beano. This weeks"

Mark paused for a moment. "All right then, were is it," he asked, still
suspicious.

"Al go and ger- it." The boy got up and went to where his mother sat,
picked up the comic from beside her and started back.

"Oy, Mickey!" Came a call from his mother, "Wer-a yer goin with
that.

"Am goin-er swap it."

"Like frigin hell you are. I only bought that this morning and your
brothers will wan-er read it, now bring it back."

"But mam!" The boy protested, tears coming to his eyes," A wanner read
his Dandy."

"A don't friggin care. Come back here and sit down, were goin in a
minute."

The boy started to cry and Mark, watching it all and seeing that he was
not going to get a new comic for his old one, went back to his own
comic again.

His mother meantime was getting ready to go into the main washroom. She
took off her coat and piney, removed her blouse and put the piney back
on. She was what you would call a small big woman, no more than five
foot two in height, but big in body. She had large muscular shoulders
and arms, ample but firm breast, and her still beautiful lightly
freckled face, was haloed by a thick tumbling untidy head of bright,
burnished copper hair. She had once been a true Irish beauty, but five
children in as many years had taken its toll.

"Are yer ready Pat." Mary called.

The mother was squatting talking to the child. She looked up and
nodded. "Cumen Mary." she answered and then turned back to the child.
"Now stay here. OK! Al be out in a minute, an don't go outside,
alright."

The child looked up from the comic and nodded his head. As he looked up
into her face he was not really listening, seeing her and yet seeing
someone different now. With a scarf tied round her head, her arms and
shoulders bare, her face clean and white with no makeup and with just a
touch off colour on her cheeks. Her arms and shoulders were the same
pallid colour. She rumpled his hair and left him engrossed in his
comic.

It was maybe ten minutes before he looked up and around for his mother.
Not seeing her he stood and looked all round, still he could not see
her. He walked over to where the women were sitting.

"Where's me mam!" he enquired.

She's gone in," one of them replied. " She'll be out in a
minute."

He turned and looked at the swing doors where she had 'gone in'. A
woman came out carrying a bundle and the noise off the interior came
with her, the doors closed and the sound with it. He looked back to the
woman who had spoken, a frown on his face, he was not afraid but she
thought he was.

"Don't worry lad she'll be out in a minute." And she offered him a
square of milk chocolate.

He took the chocolate and turned away, then stopped and looked back at
the woman.
"Tanks Mrs.," he said and went back to his comic. But he was bored with
it now, so leaving it on the floor he went to the swing doors. He had
to use all his strength to push one side open enough to slip through
and once inside, was met by a wall of sound and hot damp heat coming
from the drying racks that filled one side of the room. The drying
racks traveled in and out of the wall on steel rails a distance of
about eight feet. Standing six feet high and two foot wide, they were
made up of steel bars that the cloths were hung on before being pushed
back into the wall and drier. There were particular machines that were
much favored for their drying powers. In the room were a number of
women emptying or loading dryers. They had to shout to each other to be
heard over the noise of the racks and the sound from the washroom that
even the swing doors that opened to it could not keep out. As he walked
across the room one of the women shout to the other.

"She'll friggin kill you Mary Cavanaugh."

"Lets see her try. They've been dry for ages." came back the
reply.

"A don't care girl, if she comes out and finds her clothes taken off,
she'll go friggin mad, she will. She'll rip yer friggin hair
out."

"Am not frightened of the friggin Swanson's. She should have emptied
them herself." And she continued to unload the dry cloths into the
large wicker basket at her feet.

Unnoticed, he continued on his journey to the second swing doors that
led to the washroom and main hall of the building. He had never before
ventured this far but the women who would normally have seen and picked
him up and put him back into the tea room, were now to engrossed in the
discussion about the Swanson dryer. He pushed against the second set of
doors, it moved much easier than the door to the dryer room. There was
a roar of noise in his good ear that stopped him for a moment and then
he eased himself between the partly opened doors and entered the vast
hall that was the main washroom. The noise was of gushing steam,
clanging metal and shouting voices.

The first thing that caught his eye was the ceiling; it seemed a mile
high and made of glass windows from end to end. Everywhere he looked
there were pipes. They ran above his head like a spiders web, along and
down the walls, continuing along the floor and even beneath his feet,
under the grids along the isles that cut through the maze of boilers
and wash tubs. The tubs, like large kettledrums and the boilers with
lids that came down with a clang and were held by a single large
butterfly screw, hot steaming cauldrons, with the women standing on
metal platforms, about four feet high, encircling the tubs.

He stood mesmerized by a woman close to him. She stood over the tub
like the wife of Desperate Dan. Her skirt tucked into the elasticized
leg of her knee length bloomers and wearing only a vest on top that
because of the damp and sweat, clung to her. The sweat running down her
back and between her ample breasts, they bounced and swung each time
she lifted the clothes out of the tub with the wooden dolly that looked
like a 3-legged stool on the end of a pole.

He was brought back to his surroundings by a loud shout. The woman was
pointing to him and calling to somebody further into the maze. He
stared at her while she stood one hand pointing, the other on her hip,
one breasts protruding from the side arm of her vest.

Around from behind the machinery came a man, his metal studded boots
clanging on the iron grills that ran the length of all the passageways
to drain the excess water and steam.

,"Wats a matter with you now?" he shouted to the woman as he came. "And
stick your tits back in you slut!"

She put a hand under the hanging breast and lifting it, shouted back,
"Hay! If you had a dick as good as my tits, you wouldn't need to worry
wha your May was up to when you're working late. "Cos she'd be waiting
for yer the moment you opened the door, instead of you havin' to go
round the friggin pubs looking for her!"

"Well if I had a dick like your tits, had be fallen over all the time
like you, only not because of Gin - you fat cow!"
It was then that he saw the child standing in the aisle, face covered
in mucous and chocolate and hair and face damp from the heat and
steam.
"What the friggin 'ell are you doin' 'ere" he exclaimed striding
towards the child. Transfixed to the spot, the child could only stare
at this clanging monster coming towards him dressed in baggy greasy
overalls and a flat cap. The man's face was red from being continuously
exposed to the heat and steam in the wash and dry rooms and the giant
boiler house below. The child sat down in terror at this apparition,
then the man was towering over him. Picking him up the man held him in
the crock of his arm.

"Looking fer yer mam eh?" smiling, he enquired of the child.

The child stared wide-eyed into the face of the washhouse fitter, then
turned in a wild panic and struggled to get down.
The fitter held him gently and trying to reassure the child said,
"Cumon then kid let's get you outside 'for somthin' happens to
ya".

He started towards the door, the child struggling in his arms and as he
did so, he heard a scream from the other side of the door and a
crashing of baskets and dryers. Quickly he made his way to the door,
for he had guessed what the noise was about. The sound of his boots
changed from a clang to a clack as they now came down on the tiled
floor. Pushing the door with his left shoulder and with the child on
his right arm still struggling, he entered the room.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he muttered under his breath. "It had to be
one of the Swansones - didn't it?"

Near one of the dryers that had been pulled open with clothes strewn
around it, were two women. The older woman had a tight grip on the hair
of the younger one and was trying to smash her head against a closed
dryer. The young one had one hand in the other's face and one at her
neck pushing her off.

He placed the child on the floor and hurried towards the women. As he
did so the elder stepped back still holding the other's hair and gave a
vicious kick to the shin of the younger woman, who screamed and let go
of the face she had been trying to claw. He grabbed Cissy Swanson
before she could take her second kick and pulled her half way across
the room, her fingers still gripping Mary Cavanaugh's hair and so
pulling Mary off her feet onto her knees and forcing a scream of pain
out of her.

"Fer fuck's sake Cissy let go will yer?" he shouted into Cissy's
Swanson's ear.

Cissy turned and tried to head-butt him. Avoiding it, he wanted to
smack her but held back, knowing what her family where like.

At that moment the child's mother came into the room on her way to
check on him.

"Thank God it's you Pat!" he called to the child's mother. "Give us a
hand will yer, 'for they kill each other! Hal keep old of yer Aunt. You
grab her"

Quickly, touching the child on the head as she passed him, she reached
the struggling threesome with Mary Cavanaugh back on her feet and about
to take a wild swing at Cissy. Pat grabbed Mary from behind with an arm
lock around her neck and yanked her head back. This made her scream
once again, because Cissy's Swanson's fingers were still gripping her
hair in a vice-like grip. This time the sound was choked off by Pat's
arm around her throat, who then with her free hand, gripped the little
finger of her Aunt Cissy's entangled fingers and pulled it back,
bringing a cry from Cissy and forcing her to let go.

Quickly dragging Mary across the room from her enraged Aunt, who was
now screaming abuse at her niece, Pat forced Mary onto the floor and
called to the women watching the fracas.

"Somebody ger' 'er stuff together will yer. An' ger' 'er our of 'ere."
She shouted to them.

"A warned 'er Pat," said one of the women carrying a basket of damp
clothes. 'Av gor-em all 'ere. Hal take 'em outside. Or-right?"

"Yeh! Or-right girl!" Pat answered.
Then Pat spoke to the woman, whom she was still holding in a headlock
as tight as a wrestler. "Am goner let yer-up girl an' a want yer ar-rof
here. OK? An if yer try anythin' al friggin do yer! Know war-ra-mean -
hay!"

By now the woman on the floor was nearly blue from lack of oxygen and
unable to answer, but she understood only too well that the words were
not spoken in jest. Two of the women bystanders came and helped her up
and out into the waiting room. As soon as they had left the room the
man let go of Cissy, who immediately turned and took a swing at him,
but he had already moved away.

"Al friggin kill you Tommo!" she shouted at the man as he moved
cautiously away, not turning and keeping his eye on her all the
time.

"An as fer you Pat Hughes!" She now turned to the mother who had gone
back to the crying child. "Don't you ever again come round to my
house." Her voice was sharp and rancorous as she shouted at Pat. "
Nearly broke my friggin fingers! Don't know yer own strength, you
stupid cow!"

The mother took no notice and picking up the child, who had been crying
since the man had placed him on the floor, held him at arms' length and
they looked into each other's face. His was a mess of mucous,
chocolate, tears and steam, hers bright red from the heat of the
washroom, with sweat running down from her forehead after the exertion
of a few minutes ago.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" she exclaimed. "Look at the state of you! I
told yer to stay where you were - didn't I?" She brought him in close
to her and with his head on her shoulder he felt the sweat and steam of
her bare flesh, his head bumping on her shoulder as she carried him
through the door into the toilets to the large square sink. Briskly,
she washed his avoiding face, using the end of her pinnie dipped under
the tap of hot water. She then carried him back into the waiting room
cradled in her arms. They were both quiet now - both tired. Going to
the tea counter, she spoke quietly to the attended.

"Give us a tea, Meg, Kin yer bring it over, 'am just gonna' ger-im to
sleep".

" OK girl" came the whispered reply.

"Ta Meg." She walked gently with the now thumb sucking child to a seat,
made herself and the child comfortable and began to croon a lullaby to
him.
"Little man your crying
I know why you're blue
Someone stole your kitty car away
Better go to sleep now
Little man - you've had a busy day"

Meg brought the tea and placed it on the chair next to Pat, who nodded
her thanks and continued to sing. The room was quiet now as they all
listened, even the children were quiet. The child snuggled into the
comfort of his mother's breast with eyes closed and soon he was fast
asleep.