Jan 21 2013
‘Ma’ we’re home’.
Do you ever remember coming home from school on a wet rainy day and you drenched to the skin? Well there’s one time in particular that I remember well when myself and the brother arrived home from Finbars School drenched to the skin like two little sponges filled up with water. As we walked along we could hear the squelching of the rain water in our little wellies and our stockings had slid off our feet wrapping themselves around our frozen toes. And the rain was running down the back of our necks, down through our shirts and on down the back of our little legs. We hadn’t an overcoat or a hat to wear for protection from the elements. Our school books and copies were ruined and soggy, not that we really cared about them too much.
When we eventually arrived at our hall door my brother reached up and pushing open the letter box pulled out the piece of string that held the door key. As he pushed in the door he let out a roar ‘Ma’ we’re home’. The Ma’ came running down the hall and started wiping the rain off our faces with her apron. ‘Quick, get them clothes off you or you’ll catch your death of cold’ she said. With all our wet clothes, wellies, socks, trousers and schoolbags left on the bottom of our stairs we ran in our nude into the kitchen area of our house. The first thing that hit us was the smell of home made soda bread that the Ma’ had just taken out of the oven. With our tongues hanging out we made straight for the blazing turf fire to try and get some feeling back into all those little places and things that boys have.
Well do you know what it is, the next thing is the Ma’ puts two big plates of stew on the table for us. Talk about hunger, bejakers it’s great sauce altogether. We were like two little greyhound pups racing after a rabbit across a field as we made a mad dash for the table. While we were gulping down the spuds and dumplings the Ma’ put out a plate of her home-made soda bread on the table. Well now that bread was like nothing on earth. It was almost like we had died and gone straight to Heaven without even seeing Saint Peter himself. There wasn’t a word said between the brother and myself the whole time we sat at the table. When we finally finished stuffing ourselves we were handed two big mugs of hot sweet tea. It really was a meal fit for a king.
Now back then we didn’t wear pyjamas to bed, to be honest we never heard of such things. What we wore were called Shimmies, they were like a long nightdress for boys, well that’s what the Da’ said anyway. So on went the Shimmies and back to the fire we went, fed watered and happy. And do you know what, in next to no time the two of us were fast asleep, huddled up together on my granny’s old armchair like two little kittens. I can tell you now in all honesty, there’s no cooking or baking like the Ma’s, sure she’d make a holy show of all those ones cooking and baking on the telly with their little bits of lettuce on a plate, raw meat and a squirt of HP sauce on the side…‘Thank’s Ma’, you’re great…’