Black Mare

Black Mare - 1927
She kicked hard, her feet pounding like frantic paddles on the drum
skin of the water. Her arms dug in and pulled her tired body against
the aquatic barrier. Each stroke was still firm and strong and brought
her infinitely closer to the finishing wall and well earned victory.
Finally, her fingers touched home and she quickly glanced to either
side to make sure that no one had pipped her at the last second.
Satisfied with her success, she stood up and looked around the tiers of
screaming children. She felt that they were all screaming for her.
Eventually, her gaze fell on the one person that she knew was
definitely screaming her name. The smile on her brother's face was as
wide as the pool and, despite the din; his cheers carried plainly and
proudly to her excited ears.
"Well done, Biddy. You're the champion now!"
The memory of the afternoon's events flooded Biddy's head as she
walked, almost strutted home from school. Everyone was aware of her
championship performance because her brother, Patrick, walked a few
yards ahead of her announcing to all and sundry: -
"Our Bid's a champion. School swimming champion - 1927!"
Each friendly face congratulated her and, by the time she reached the
front door, she was beaming with pride.
The table was beautifully set. The patterned plates were neatly laid
with each pattern facing the same way. A gleaming knife guarded each
plate. The carefully arranged homemade cake flared out like golden
brown petals. In their shadow, were plates of precision cut sandwiches,
layered with infinite care and delicacy.
Biddy's excitement erupted in ecstasy as she entered the room and
surveyed the magnificent spread laid out so lovingly on the crisp,
white tablecloth.
"All this for me," she thought, "they must be so proud of me."
She walked slowly round the table taking stock of everything. She
stopped several times to investigate the contents of the sandwiches.
Convinced that they would entice her taste buds, she quickly moved on
to the next bread and butter mystery. Eventually, her patience reached
its breaking point and she dived towards a particularly fine slab of
cake whose cherries glistened with ripe invitation.
"Get your hands off that cake, you thieving monkey!"
The blade of the bread knife slapped down hard across Biddy's knuckles,
cutting into the flesh. She turned to face the snarling, twisted
features of her elder sister, Johanna.
"Stanley's coming to tea. I don't want your filthy paws on anything; I
spent ages making it look nice. So God help you if you touch anything.
And get those stinking, wet rags off the floor!"
"I'll tell Mam about you. You nearly cut my fingers off."
"You touch anything on that table and I will cut them off. All this is
for Stanley and I want him to enjoy it." Despite the fluttering
eyelashes, the threat was very obvious.
"I thought it was for me," Biddy suggested meekly.
"For you? Why should I get something this special for you? There's
bread and dripping for you and Paddy out in the kitchen."
Biddy's excitement completely disappeared as she looked across the
table at the self-satisfied figure who had managed to destroy her
moment of celebration with a threat and a triumphant smirk.
Paddy and Biddy used to joke that their mother must have sucked an
awful lot of lemons when she was carrying their half sister. The only
thing they had in common with her was the same mother. They were
usually the focus of her foul temper and caustic remarks. They pestered
to great effect but often came off worse. They teased, Johanna whined
and paid her rent and the youngsters had no chance. A tanned bottom
always kept the rent coming in.
"Where's Mam now? I'm going to tell her about you."
"She's up the pictures where she usually is. You'll just have to
wait."
The cinema hall was a tall, imposing building. The large grey pillars
framed the stone steps that led up into the dark mysteries of
flickering shadows and jangling music. Biddy gazed up and wondered what
it was like inside.
Her mother was a regular visitor to this establishment and she and
Paddy would relish the accounts of high adventure and slapstick comedy
that their mother would gladly relate.
Now, indignant and upset, Biddy had a story to relate to her mother
and it could not wait until the usual meeting time. Her problem,
however, was going to be one of communication. She could not go in and,
unless her mother was psychic, she would not come out without being
summoned. Her only hope was the ticket collector. The reason would have
to be good, possibly serious. Biddy decided that it was her cut finger
that had brought her here and it would be the cut finger that would
bring her mother out.
She took the scruffy handkerchief that she had wrapped around her hand
and squeezed the last, tiny drop of blood on to the cloth. She then
folded her index finger into the palm of her hand and wrapped the
handkerchief tightly around. At first glance, the effect was
devastating. She looked as if she had lost the top of her finger but
she knew that close examination would soon put an end to that so she
had to make sure that the plan worked first time.
"'Scuse me, Mister, will you go and get my Mam?"
"Where is she, love?"
"In there."
"Sorry, sweetheart, you'll have to wait till the show's over. I can't
go in there in the middle."
"Please, Mister, it's very important."
"I don't care how important it is, I can't go in there now."
"Please, Mister."
"Look, what's so important that you want to drag your mother away from
her little bit of enjoyment?"
Biddy flashed the bandaged hand and gave her best sickly smile, "My
sister's cut the top off my finger!"
Mrs Reardon loomed at the top of the stairs like a bear emerging from
its cave of hibernation. She was a fine, big woman and her bulky, fur
coat made her look even larger. She flew down the steps, the concern
obvious on her face.
"Bridge, whatever's happened to you?"
Biddy unwrapped the handkerchief and waved her bruised, cut hand under
her mother's nose.
"Look what that nasty pig, Johanna, did to my finger. I may never be
able to swim again."
"You may never be able to sit down again when I've finished with you,
my girl!"
Biddy yelled as the wallop almost lifted her off her feet. Past
experiences and common sense told her it was time to escape. She
wriggled free and sprinted well clear.
"I'm sorry, Mam, but she really upset me."
"And you've really upset me. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive
you for this. Unless.."
"Unless what, Mam?"
"Unless you go down Tom McArdle's and get a quarter of pork and a pound
of fat sausages. It's for Johanna and Stanley's tea and supper."
"And if I don't go?"
"I'll burn your swimming costume!"
Thoughts and feelings, all of them nasty, churned around in her head
as Biddy made her way to the butcher's. She had no wish to be on this
errand and contemplated several acts of retaliation, not towards her
mother but to the recipients of this feast. Matters were made worse by
the fact that pork and raw sausages were Biddy's dream of heaven and to
have to carry them back home knowing that the two vultures would
probably devour the lot was almost torture.
The agony was increased as she stood at the counter, gazing lovingly
at the necklace of sausages hanging from the hook.
"Hello, Biddy, what can I get for you?"
"A quarter of pork and a pound of these, please."
The return journey left little time for complex plans. Jealousy was
rising with every step. She could just picture the two of them filling
their faces. She knew it should be her treat to have them. The argument
was plain and simple: -
"Was there any good reason why she should not have a share of these
treats?"
No reason at all.
She feverishly opened the packet of meat making sure that the paper
remained undamaged. The top slice of pork lay there invitingly. There
was nothing else for it, the whole slice had to go. Biddy threw her
head back in appreciation of this tasty treat. As she did, the packet
of meat fell out of her hand and landed, meat first, on the floor She
quickly picked it up and brushed off the marks of the street.
Unfortunately, they did not all come off. What was she to do? She
faintly remembered the creed that her mother kept preaching to her.
"Spit and elbow grease will usually clean anything." She gave it a try.
A small glob of spit was quickly rubbed into the top layer of pork and
seemed to do the trick. To make absolutely sure, she performed the same
operation on the other three slices. Satisfied with the results, she
carefully wrapped up the package and turned her attention to the
sausages. Just the thought that she was enjoying them instead of her
sister made each bite mouth wateringly delicious. She ate three and
decided that she had better stop. To go home with just a few or none at
all would spoilt the caper. The rest of the sausages were stretched and
twisted into a few new ones and the job was complete.
The last few yards to the house were sprinted and Biddy smugly placed
her errand on the kitchen table. Both her mother, who had returned by
now, and her sister were standing there.
"There you are, Johanna, I hope you and Stan enjoy your tea." The
sarcasm oozed with sausage-filled contentment.
"This meat looks a bit flat and squashed. Are you sure there's a
quarter?" Johanna complained.
"That's the butcher's fault. I told him not to slap it down on the
counter."
"And these are the wrong sausages. I told you to get fat ones not
these." Her mother's observation was a hammer blow. "You'll have to
take them back."
"They didn't have any fat ones," Biddy lied
"Then take these back and get the money. We never have thin
sausages."
"The shop'll be closed now." Biddy was desperate.
"No it won't," her mother insisted "Anyway, I've a good mind to take
them back myself. Just look at the state of them. They look as if
they've been stretched and chewed."
The moment of truth had arrived. Honesty would be the best policy in
this situation. Charity and understanding would overlook such a
childish prank.
The walloping was severe even by Mrs Reardon's standards. The physical
pain was nothing compared to the mental anguish of watching her sister
gloat and hearing her encourage her mother to make sure that the
chastisement was hefty and prolonged.
Paddy, who had witnessed the events, comforted her as she made her way
to the bedroom. Sent to bed without tea or supper was deemed a fitting
climax to the punishment.
"Never mind, kid, we'll beat Johanna. The Black Mare's not going to
win!"

The soft knock on the door brought Biddy back to the world of reality.
She had, for several hours shut herself into the dream of past and
future glories. At least it was painless and comfortable there.
"I've got something for you, kid."
Paddy made his way towards the bed but still kept his hands behind his
back. Then, with a gentle smile that spoke of boundless pride and
affection, he slowly produced a string of pink sausages.
"Where did you get those?"
"I went to the butcher's and when I told him you had won the
championship today, he gave me these and told me that every champion
deserved a good feed. Build up your muscles and all that."
Without further question. Biddy took the sausages and quickly began to
devour them.
"The butcher says you've got to eat all of them."
Biddy relished each mouthful but could not help thinking about the
misery that her sister had caused.
"What happened with the Black Mare's sausages?"
"Do you know, I think someone's on our side. Some thieving dog must
have pinched them and then she reckons that the pork didn't taste right
either. Never stops moaning, does she?"
The battered look of the remaining sausages and the little tell-tale
teeth marks could have provided a different explanation,
"Eat them up, kid. You'll need all your strength to beat the Black
Mare!"