Free The Village by Alice Taylor Page A

only onecold-water tap in the kitchen and an outside toilet, but we were putting wash-basins in all the bedrooms, and showers and toilets throughout. When Lizzy May had the plans explained to her she counted the number of toilets, then shook her head in wonder and remarked: “It would surely be a great place to be if you had taken a dose of salts.”
    The work was done by our local builder, Jerry, and his cousin Davey. Jerry was a small wiry dynamo who worked so fast that you would get a reeling in your head just watching him running up and down ladders and across wobbling scaffolding. He followed the architect’s plan for the most part but when he came across something that he did not agree with he did things his own way. In the plan one long corridor was designed to have three windows. I insisted on the three but Jerry argued determinedly for only two, maintaining that three would weaken the roof. In the middle of the argument he decided that he needed more cement, and dispatched me off to Bandon for a few bags to keep him going until the lorry brought more. When I got back from Bandon the wall was built. It had just the two windows. Jerry smiled wickedly at me and said, “Alice, when you’ll be building as long as I am, you’ll know that I was right.” And he was.
    His cousin Davey was a tall, quiet young man whose tentative manner belied his prowess on the hurling and football fields, where he raced like a hare and fielded like a swallow, winning many a match for the local Valley Rovers. The two of them, who worked wordlessly and speedily, had built houses, pubs and cattle-sheds all over the parish. With them on the job was Charlie, who delivered post in the morning and always had another job lined up for the afternoon. He was a big, hefty man who could mix concrete like a cement-mixer and toss concrete blocks about as if they were tennis balls. For all his size he was a beautiful dancer, and whenever we met in the parish hall I lovedto dance with him as it was like floating on air. From around the corner came Paddy, a quick-tempered, impatient little fellow. He started every morning but sometimes went home during the day if anybody said something to annoy him, though he always came back when he had cooled down. From further up the street came Mike, a light-hearted teenager who was full of the joys of life. He was witty and versatile and a great lad to have on a restoration job as he could turn his hand to anything. The plumbing was done by Kevin, an imaginative storyteller who had an assistant who sang continuously, and as Mike also had a fine voice the whole building resounded with song.
    Every day I cooked lunch for the builders in our small kitchen; they packed into it leaving a trail of yellow mud back through the hallway and sitting-room. It was pointless washing the entire area daily, so we left it till Saturday night and had a big scrub-up then. In the afternoon I brought out sandwiches and tea to the men and sometimes stretched myself to make apple-tarts; they sat around on concrete blocks and bags of cement and while they ate we discussed progress. Because the work was taking place in the centre of the village the neighbours wandered in and out, and customers visiting the shop felt free to come and offer their comments and advice. I began to put a few extra cups in the tea-basket for all the extra advisers on site.
    Our two children had a great time wandering around in the sea of mud, especially the older one. The workmen had erected a pulley system to carry buckets of cement to the top floor, and he climbed up on the scaffolding and rode down in the empty bucket. The baby’s chair was hooked off various support systems and though he began each day clean and pink-cheeked, by evening he was grimy, his clothes covered in a film of dust. But because he was at the centre of all the activity, he was as happy as a pig in muck.
    On the site I became the clerk-of-works, ordering the buildingrequirements and