The God Squad by Paddy Doyle Page B

being given six slaps, three on each hand. Then I collected all the letters and left them on her table.
    I was startled the day Mother Paul told me my uncle was coming to bring me for a two week holiday to my aunt’s house in Wexford. I was uncertain about whether I wanted to go or not. On the one hand I was delighted to get away from the almost constant punishment, but on the other I knew I would miss the companionship of the boys. Because I knew nothing about my aunt I was nervous of having to spend a holiday with her. Life in Saint Michael’s was by now familiar. I had come to accept it as normal.
    It was a Sunday. Breakfast was served at eight o’clock instead of seven which allowed time to get to early Mass beforehand. I waited in line with the rest of the boys to have my dish filled with porridge from a heavy stainless steel cauldron. I walked carefully to my place, carrying my bowl with my eyes fixed on its floating contents. My steps were slow and deliberate, I didn’t want to spill it. Having eaten the porridge and scraped the bowl clean, I passed the dish to the boy beside who passed his on until there was a pile of dishes stacked at the end of the long table. The nun in charge of the kitchen served cocoa and bread, and when breakfast was finished, four boys were sent to the scullery to wash up. Any other day I would almost certainly have been one of the four, but as I was going on holidays I had to keep myself clean which meant that I didn’t have to do any work at all.
    At dinner time I was not allowed to eat with my companions. I was told to remain in the yard where I walked around wondering what my holiday was going to be like. I looked up towards the top floor of the L-shaped buildingto the statue of the Sacred Heart. Even in the bright sunlight the building looked cold and grey. I quietly walked up the fire escape so that I could see into the dining hall. Everyone was eating. The orchard was at the other end of the yard. I had often noticed the nuns walking through it as they said their prayers. I walked to its railings and pressed my face tightly against the black bars, almost putting my head through. Amongst the trees and bushes I saw the familiar limping figure of Mr O’Rourke. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a heavy grey stripe through it. He saw me and immediately came forward.
    ‘Well, be the hokey, aren’t you the real smasher today?’ I told him I was going away to stay with my aunt for two weeks. He bent his wrinkled face low towards me and said, ‘Sure won’t it be grand for ye to have a bit of a holiday. I wouldn’t mind an ould holiday away from them nuns meself.’ He laughed. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘for a fella that’s going on his holidays, ye don’t look all that happy.’
    Before I could answer he slipped his wrinkled hand through the railings and unfolded it.
    ‘Go on,’ he urged, ‘them’s a grand goosegog, not sour like they were the last time. Why aren’t ye having the dinner?’
    ‘I’m going to have it with the nuns when my uncle comes.’
    The old man’s face beamed, his smile revealing the only two teeth he had, both badly decayed.
    ‘Dinner with the nuns, begob. Them’s the people that knows how to feed ye, china cups and plates and the best of silver. I had me own dinner with them a couple of times and I can tell ye this, ’tis better than I’d ever get at home. Make the best of it, it’s not often you’ll get the chance.’ I nodded. He turned his back to me and looked round the orchard. ‘When I started here there was nothing, only them goosegog bushes.’ I could feel his pride as he looked around at theapple and pear trees. ‘Them gravel paths weren’t there either, now begob the nuns is using them for praying on. I wonder do they ever think of me while they’re sayin’ the rosary.’ Before we parted, he told me that while I was away my feet would grow, and I would have to have the boots fixed again when I got back. Then he limped away