Free Winter Song by James Hanley

play ducks and drakes with dad. The way she found that savings book and then used his poor little savings to keep the lad at the seminary which he hated. Yes, that’s what I hate about this religion. This mad idea that every family has of producing a priest. I can see all the roads mother travelled for nothing. It’s not much use having a heart and being stupid with it. I am afraid that there are some things that will always lie at mother’s door. The way she married off Maureen to that poor simple mutt, Kilkey, and why? Just because he was a good Catholic. Still I must say he showed guts being a conchie. Yes, by God—she even made him pay for her grand idea. Even his miserable bit of furniture got involved. I sometimes think that my mother was mad.’
    Suddenly he saw her again—he remembered the quiet room, the passing nuns, the scentified air, the quaint crucifix, the statues, that’s where she always belonged. He could hear her talking.
    â€˜I would not see your wife if you brought her here. Nor your son if you had one. They’re a bad lot, those Downeys. I know them all, and you’ll see they’ll end in the gutter. They one and all turned their backs on their beautiful religion, and you disgraced me by going off with her. All she wanted from you was the crown of your manhood. Nothing more.’
    He remembered that, the other things faded away, seemed unimportant, he remembered scraps of conversation—odd phrases—the casual remark.
    â€˜If your poor father were alive to-day, I would not be depending on the likes of you.’
    â€˜I know it is you who is keeping me here—paying for everything and I have to accept it. One time I could depend on your father. Oh yes, I know I treated him badly. I often lied to him—there were times when he infuriated me.’
    â€˜When?’ he had asked.
    â€˜The way he went on. So content. His old pigeon-breast sticking out with his pride in his job, but no ambitions, none at all, and too fond of his glass, too many feelings at the wrong moment, and none at all when he should have shown them. Your father might have been born sightless in those first years after he brought me here, so little did he see—so little did he know—he was always away out of it, hidden in his ships, happy with his mates. I never begrudged him that but he knew little of my struggles.…’
    And so on and so on.
    â€˜True,’ he thought, ‘she had her struggles. So did thousands. I’ve seen it all. That’s why I got away out of it, out of that awful house, that terrible bloody house that simply choked you. And out of this hole called Gelton. Yes, I’ve seen as much as she ever saw. The way she wanted to climb—and didn’t know—couldn’t ever be told, that you can’t climb on nothing. There’s got to be something to climb from. Poor mother,’ and he suddenly found himself laughing. ‘One night I dreamed about her. I dreamed she was Napoleon. She did look so funny to me with her old petticoats flying about her. I’ll never forget that boyhood dream I had. Yes, I’ve got on. I got myself out of the rut, with every kind of hand trying to pull me back. But they missed, and now I’m out. I’ve got where I wanted and there are still other places to go. I’m only thirty-two and I know what I want. That’s why I fought my way to London. What do I want now ?’
    At that moment Father Moynihan returned. He sat down. He lighted his pipe.
    â€˜In half an hour I will take you to your father.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ Desmond said.
    â€˜He has slept most of the day. The rest has done him good. I ought to tell you that he quite lost his memory. Nobody knew who he was. I got quite a deal of information from two men who travelled back with him. They were with him in hospital at Bahia. All their ships had been sunk under them. Your father was found clinging to a spar,