4 October 2010
311
R. Linda:
I have just heard a name from me past. I have an uncle me sister and I (as kids), referred to as evil Uncle Oogie. He was a character and apparently still is. I thought he kicked off years ago, but no, he's alive and well and still causing a commotion. This guy is me Grandda's bro, but we always called him uncle. Well, he's Uncle Oogie to everyone, but he's uncle evil to me and sissy. You'd like him, make a great Halloween addition to your castle, the man is a freaking disaster, an Ozzy Osbourne type, only with a working brain. Yup. If I can trap him I'll send him to you next Halloween. You'll love him, but don't feed him, he bites.
When in town, he makes the natives restless. Maybe because he has a very, very loud voice. He says hello with exclamations after his hellos no doubt in me mind. What is of particular note is that once Uncle Oogie is in the company of other people (whether he knows them or not), those people will adjust their voices to the same outlandish volume as his own. I don't know if this is a natural tendency in human beings or not, but I do know with a certainty, that when Uncle Oogie speaks, it makes for some wicked noisy conversation. Everyone shouting at each other even if they aren't directly in Uncle O's verbal line of fire.
He used to frustrate me Mam by his inviting anyone he happened upon to tea. Yes, he'd be asked if he had a match for a light and in lighting the fella's cigarette, would ask him to tea! Yes, tea at me house. Once he had the tea partner they'd start for me Mam's door and anyone else, the postal worker, the bin collector, anyone he passed would all be invited. You can imagine me little apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam's reaction to getting her grocery sack ready, her purse on her arm, beginning to exit her home for the market, turning from locking her door to find Uncle Oogie coming up the front walk with everyone in creation to have tea and scones at HER house!
Let it be said as well, that me Uncle O's version of tea was high tea, not the tea and crumpets of the afternoon. No, it was high tea no matter the hour and so Mam would be more not so much getting out the lemon curd and clotted cream, nooo she'd be hurrying herself over a hot stove making some meat and veggie dish to serve his "friends." This he got away with too many times to count. The reason he did, was she was so harassed and busy over the stove, she never took a good look at the crew filling her parlour. Until one day, she was nearly out of everything and me, conveniently not being at home to run to the greengrocers, made her take a look at the crowd and realised they were all strangers and a motley crew of strangers they were and most filthy!
Another one of his awful traits was meeting up with us every summer in Dublin. Me sainted Mam loves Ben and Jerry's Ice cream and that is one of the cities that boasts a very fine B and J's. We'd go in and we'd order and Uncle O who had been in many a time (since he was a resident of that fine city), would order a black and tan. You don't know the looks he'd get. Me Da would say out of the side of his mouth "Oog, we aren't in a goddamn pub in England," but that didn't stop him from ordering such again from the counter person. It wasn't until some years later that I found there really was a flavour black and tan offered at the very fine establishment of ice cream in Dublin! Seems the U.S. makers did not know that black and tan be an infamous moniker for the Brit militia that did its bad work during Ireland's fight for independence. Now the only place you can buy it is in the USA, but I will be honest I have not seen it in New England where the population is mostly of Irish heritage.
Anyway, enough background, it happened just the other day, me Da went to Dublin on business, or into "town" as he calls it. Now I want you to know we live in Northern Ireland, so Dublin is no hop, skip and jump away. It be way way down in the south, far far away from Newry. Anyway, in the conclusion of his business, and because he had time before leaving, me Da went to a small pub he favours when there. And what should he come upon? This wonky guy was swaying upon the tabletop, giving off some address from Abraham Lincoln. "Four score and several beers ago . . ." it went and deteriorated into such mush it was quite funny to me Da said UNTIL he realised the speaker weaving above him was none other than his Uncle Oogie Orgle O'Sullivan in the flesh!
Me Da too had thought the old guy passed years ago and was quite taken aback that he was still amongst the living. Thunderstruck that his very own relative was making a spectacle, he stood looking up with mouth agape, glass halfway to lips and generally unable to move.
"Oogie? Oogie that you?" he stammered.
"Aaa, me nephew . . . what's his name!" Oogie acknowledged as well as his swaying self would allow.
"Oogie, come down offen dar," me dad urged slopping his beer on the counter to reach up a hand to help the old geezer down.
"He belong to you?" The pub keeper asked.
"Uh . . . well sort of." Da stammered.
"Sort of? Wot you mean sort of?"
"Uh . . . well, I 'aven't seen em' in years," and then learning forward with a hand by his mouth he said to the man, "We all supposed he was dead."
The pub keeper nodded in conspiratorial fashion and then sobered.
"Ye need to take em' home and lock em' up, you do. He's a rowdy mess and he cooms in 'ere almost evrah daigh and we can't rid ourselves of em'."
Me Da nodded thinking to himself he'd be gone in a few minutes and Oogie would revert to present status of being an irritation and he could do nothing about it, short of taking him home with him.
"Where ya livin' Oog?" He gently asked shuffling him outside.
"Anywhere and everywhere." This was said with a grand sweeping arm gesture of the immediate vicinity.
"Wot's dat mean?"
Oogie stopped and pointed to the storefront across the way. The pub keeper had come out to make sure Oogie was going and overheard the answer.
"Aye, he sleeps in dat dar doorway evrah night wit a pint. Feel sorry for em' so give it to 'em on the 'ouse before lasts. Den as soon as he sees me unlock da place next mornin' ee's up like a dog and inside me joint. Wot's ee' 105 years? Must ah pickled his liver ta preserve em'self I should tink."
Well, what was Da to do? He couldn't very well leave his paternal uncle to a homeless condition, no, he'd have to take him home, it was the only Christian thing left and me Da, is under that stern exteriour, a softy. So they lurched over to the storefront and picked up Uncle Oogie's small sack of belongings he had hid in the bin outside the place (don't ask) and off he half-carried, half-dragged the old geezer to the bus stop.
Well, you can imagine me Mam's delight at seeing Oogie back. Took her a moment to realise she wasn't staring at a ghost. Not only her, but his sainted brother me father's father who, you will recall, me Da and I made our porch into a bedroom for. Seems Grandda's first thought was having to share his digs with his errant older brother. Let me say this about me Grandda, he isn't exactly a pleasant personage, he is the most cantankerous, cranky old man on earth and it doesn't take much for him to lose it and rail all over everyone about stupid things he has got in his mind he's been personally insulted with or "assaulted" with as he says it. So here was a pretty situation more for me Mam than anyone else, because as soon as an explanation of Oogie's miraculous return to the living was exposed, Da excused himself to go change his travel clothing for something more comfortable, therefore, leaving the weaving old man staring aggressively at his brother, while me speechless Mam blinked as if a twitch was to take her over.
Poor thing! I mean me Mam, not Uncle O. For not a minute had passed at me father's timely exit the old geezers made for each other, both with hands around the other's neck. Me Grandda calling Oog all manner of vile names and rightly so, and Oogie, even more, vile back at his "Toffy pants" of a brother. This broke Mam's reverie to action trying to separate the two. Can you imagine? There were two shrivelled-up old men, both had been 6' tall in their prime, now reduced to maybe 5'10" and me 5'1" Mam trying her best to come between them with a wooden spoon in hand. The only way to get their attention was to swat them rather hard with the spoon and this did separate them for a few seconds before they got their second wind and were right back at it. I will hand it to her she did not shout to me Da for help, instead, she alternately swatted them with the spoon atop their heads, and stamped on their toes until hopping like two jackrabbits around the kitchen she was able to throw one, then the other in chairs at the kitchen table.
"Dat will be enough of DAT sirs! Dis is ME house and while you are both under ME roof because of ME generous nature, YOU will both behave or I will put ye out like the dogs ye are, you do anything or say anything so vile in me abode again!"
May I say me Mam rocks? Both sat quietly as reprimanded children. She put tea and bread before them and had them eat to keep them quiet. When Da finally returned (yes, he did take his sweet time) she made him sit and with glaring eyes set upon him, asked him straight out what HE was going to do about all THIS. She used a sharp gesture with her wooden spoon to encompass both old men and hands went straight to hips when she was done. Now me Da be not a stupid man he knows her well.
"Well, I taught we could find a nice cosy 'ome, I did, for Uncle 'ere and maybe someplace not so nearby." He smiled up at her.
"And Mister where do ye tink dat will be?" She stood over him still, hands firmly on hips, a spoon sticking out from her right.
Da took a deep breath and thought for a moment, then he said, "Per'aps we can git em' inta St. Mary's shelter over dar."
St. Mary's shelter for the Christian poor was three convenient towns over. Yes, that was it he thought, why not?
Now both men are deaf as doorposts so to them, all they were hearing was the clicking of their munching jaws. In this way, neither knew what was being said and it was decided after a little discussion between me Mam and Da, that Uncle Oogie was moving out and that night, it was to be if me sainted Mam had any more to say on the subject.
Me father wanted HER to clean Uncle up before he put him in the motor for the ride to St. Mary's, but me indignant Mam would not hear of it. "You clean em' oop you 'ave a mind to do it!" She said throwing a tea towel at him and leaving him ALONE with the two lovelies.
Now don't think either of them hard-hearted towards me Uncle Oogie. Uncle O had seen the insides of quite a few nicks in his lifetime. Yes, I would be of the mind I be, that Uncle O could write a kind of travelogue telling of the accommodation of each. He was, as a child, a demon of a lad and his own mother finally after sixteen years of vexing behaviour at her expense, gave him the heave-ho. She needn't have worried about his welfare for the one thing Uncle Oogie was besides being clever, and diabolically comfortable in the world of crime, was imaginative. He stole his bread and was proud of it. If he could besmirch the name of O'Sullivan in every part of the UK by God he'd do it and he did! He went South to "sign oop" for the IRA, but we don't think he ever really did, we think he said that to make us all experience heart palpitations once in our lives. Before long in his adventures in the "Repooblic" he was back! Dressed like a dandy he was, and we hardly recognised the rogue for the fancy fashionable coxswain he exhibited himself as. Every girl in the neighbourhood was mesmerised until they realised just who it was in the fancy clothes, and then they all ran. Shortly after the female population mysteriously made itself scarce, bored, he ventured on up to the northern coast and stole a powerboat making his way to Scotland. One can be sure the Scots soon figured out who was selling their stolen scotch whiskey to the English on the border! Shortly after narrowly escaping the Scottish police, Uncle O had to give up his new found occupation of scotch exporter for a sightseeing trip to Wales. What is in Wales you will ask, what trouble could be found THERE? Well, nothing really, there is nothing in Wales except SHEEP, lots and lots of them and to this end, Uncle O threw himself into the agricultural transport of sheep to England. It seems he was long at it for almost a year before someone woke up and figured out where the sheep were going to. Yes, an early morning wake-up call for Uncle as well, when he heard the sirens coming up the old dirt road toward the dilapidated farm he was residing in as a squatter. He narrowly made it over the English border with what clothes he had on his back.
Some years later, we understood his favourite buyers of ill-gotten goods the English, had decided he had overstayed his illegal welcome. We aren't exactly sure of the circumstances, but there were snatches of conversation with Uncle O's name mentioned with the likes of "jewels," "Oogie," "crowbar," "Oogie," "climbing equipment," "Oogie," "getaway motor," "Oogie," "black sheep," "Oogie," "30 years in prison," "Oogie," etc. Need I say more? We heard nothing of the man and rumour had it he passed away either in or outside prison someplace and no one quite knew the circumstances, but all sighed with relief that life and reputation of the O'Sullivan clan was once again restored and upstanding. That was UNTIL the reappearance of Uncle being alive and as evil as ever atop a bar in Dublin expounding on the emancipation of alcoholics from AA programs and the like.
He left the house that night, but not without most of our silverware (what little me Mam had), a salt cellar also of silver, most of me Mam's "good" jewellery, and the one thing that couldn't be more a theft in me Da's eyes, his new CUP. Yes, Oogie absconded with the replacement of the McCloskey cup! Unforgivable! Upon discovery me enraged Da took himself to St. Mary's to retrieve the stolen items. All that rage was expanded when he found out one of Oogie's mates, who had taken up residence at St. Mary's, was so pleased to see his old mate Oog, that after much reminiscing and laughter, got up to old tricks by escaping from the shelter in the middle of the night and heading for "Dooblin" to Oog's old residence across the street from the pub. Such was overheard. But not before pawning off the stolen silver and jewellery for spending money! Where THE cup is, no clue.
Oh the fun, oh the memories! Makes me very glad I be here.
Gabe
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