JOHNJO'S TALE

WORKING FOR THE SUBBY

A monologue

JONJO, almost fifty, sits on a rock on a windswept hillside, a drink in his hand…

You can never go back, they say. And maybe they’re right. They can’t stop you going back in your mind though. And right now mine has me sitting on a hill, looking down on some windswept, craggy fields. In the distance I can see the faint outlines of farm buildings. Our farm buildings.

(sings)

Come all ye loyal heroes wherever you may be

Don’t hire with any Master till you know what your work will be

For you must rise up early from the clear daylight till dawn

Or else you won't be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn

My father was always singing bits of that song. I don't know, maybe he didn't know any more of it, but those are the only words that stick in my mind. I suppose, though, they had a certain ring...Plough...Rocks...Bawn....I mean, look at it...More rocks than bawn...

By God, if I had a penny for every stone we picked...For every furze bush we cut down.

I can still hear him now:

‘Fifty acres, boy...and five of them is a hill. What good is a lump of limestone to a farmer? You can't feed beasts on rocks. By God, if I had my way, I'd blast the whole lot to kingdom come...’

Then he’d be off singing again

I am a little beggar man and begging I have been

For three score and more in this little isle of green

With me skidder-e-idle- di And me skidder-e-idle-do

Everybody knows me by the name of Johnny Rhu.

That was his favourite song He would sometimes sit me on his knee, and while he was reaching behind him trying to locate the drop of poteen hidden under the rock, we would hear my mother calling;

‘ Johhny, Johnny where are you? Out there in the cold with the child! Come on in now and milk the cows...’

‘Shh…we'll be as quiet as two mice, boy…’

He would locate the poteen and take a good mouthful, then rub some on my lips.

‘Better than mother's milk, that is...’

Then he would tell me one of his stories

‘Did I ever tell you about the time Finn Macool picked up The Giants Causeway and threw it into the sea? He huffed and he puffed, and he humped and he jumped...

Anyway, he finally managed to get a hold of the Causeway in his arms and he heaved it into the water. And do you know why? So he could walk all the way to Scotland.’

Then he would laugh. 'Twas a long way to go for a job...’

The laugh would get mother going again.

‘Johnny...what ould rubbish are you filling his head with now...?’

He’d wait until she stopped.

‘All quiet on the western front again. Your mother is like Epsom Salts...best taken in small doses. De Valera is up there now, boy. Sittin' on the throne. The one he's always wanted. I only hope he knows what he's doing. Up Dev.’

That would set her off again.

‘You and your 'Up Dev'. When he gives us the extra land that he promised, then you can sing all about...Mr De Valera.’

‘Have no fear, Dev is here...’

‘Come down from there you drunken fool. And bring the child with you.’

Course the extra land never materialised. Politicians don't change, do they? Oh, some got a few acres here and there. Maybe they knew Dev's mother-in-law, or bought an ass from his cousin. But most, like my father, got sweet fuck-all. Mind you, Jackie Nugent over in Carrickbeg got some. 'How much?', I heard my father ask him one day. 'Fifteen acres', he says...'when the tide is out'

You don’t mind if I take a sip of this, do you? I like a drop of diesel. I always have. There's no harm in having a little of what you fancy. Or a lot.

You can see three counties from here. That’s Tipperary over there... Up Tipp!

And there’s Kilkenny. Ah, Kilkenny…

And in Kilkenny it is reported

They have marble stones as black as ink

With gold and silver I will support her

But I'll sing no more now till I get a drink..

Up the Black and Amber, boys! And them's the Comeragh Mountains there...see? If I reach out I can almost touch them. And up there...look! Crotty's Eye. That's where Crotty, the highwayman used to hide, waiting for his chance to rob the poor feckers passing by below.

I might have been a highwayman in different times. Well, why not? Not much for disenfranchised young Irishmen to do in those days, was there? Not like Crotty, though.

He was stupid; he got hung for his trouble in Waterford City.

The English...they loved hanging Irish people. Still do, given half a chance, I expect.

And there, see...that's Croughamore...all two thousand acres of it. You can just pick out Croughamore House. See...over there, where those trees are...well, what's left of it, anyway. There's no rocks in Croughamore. Least not unwanted ones.

And the grass is so sweet the cows bellies are almost touching the ground...

And Lord Croughamore - or whatever his title was - was an English bastard, born and bred.

D’you mind if I take another drink?

Burn everything British, 'cept their coal - that's what I say...

The Big House, that's what we called it Everyone did. It stood for something. A symbol.

Of...everything English. I would come up here with father and watch him look at it with loathing. We used to throw stones at it...and it two miles away for fuck sake!

I can hear him again:

‘See that place, boy? Your ancestors and my ancestors were thrun off that land by his ancestors. Never forget that. Put out on to the side of the road, and their biteen of a house sent tumbling down behind them There was nearly fifty families received the same treatment...all tenant-farmers like our-selves. Mind you, they did get two pounds each in compensation...

And what was it all in aid of? Greed, boy. The more land they had, the more they wanted.

Not that it's changed much since...Land does something to a man...affects his brain. Men have been known to kill for a bit of ould bog.

Look at the range wars in America...and the wiping out of the Indians and the buffalos...wasn't that only about one thing? Land.

And when countries invade other countries...what's that about only land?

Ah Jesus, boy, I wish I had some land...real land. And when I had it, I'd let no...bastard take it away.’

He was never going to get it...not that he'd know what do with it, anyway. He was a farmer in name only; by nature he was a......I'd say he was a throwback to the Tuatha De Dannan. Able to do many things well...but not farming. He could tell stories; he could sing; he could dance.

(Sings)

Of all the trades a going, sure begging is the best

When a man is tired, he can sit down and rest

He can beg for his dinner, he has nothing else to

But to slip around the corner with his old rigadoo

Mother knew him only too well; I suppose that's why she kept on at him. Who knows what he might have done if she hadn't? The only thing she couldn't control was the poteen and the Woodbines. He'd smoke Woodbines till the cows come home.

Then the war came and everything was rationed. He'd cycle into Town every now and again.

‘ Fifteen miles!’ she would say. ‘Fifteen miles for a fag, and you wouldn't walk half a mile down the road to get a loaf of bread for the table.’

Sometimes he'd be gone for days and I would be sent to find him.

He was usually down by the quay, watching the ships coming and going.

On the rocks...high up. I was always afraid he might fall in...

‘And who'd miss me if I did?’ he would ask, before taking another drink

(sings)

I'm a rambler I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home

And if you don't like me just leave me alone

I'll eat when I'm hungry, and I'll drink when I'm dry

And if moonshine don't kill me I'll live till I die.

I often thought he was thinking about...you know, jumping...but I never let on to mother...

Everything seemed to be going okay until the day we heard the sound of a plane overhead. He got very excited and dragged me with him to the highest point on the hill

‘Come on, boy! That's a German plane, if ever I heard one...’

And he’s away, making firing noises all over the place, running this way and that.

‘That's it...that's your target... the Big House…you can't miss it…’

In his excitement, he tripped over a rock, and crashed head-first into a bigger one.

He lays there, blood pumping from his head. Somehow, I knew it was over.

‘ Daddy! Daddy! Don't die. Please don't die...’

I cradled him in my arms as his life ebbed away and the only thing I could think of was that he had never told me he loved me

... end of scene…………………………..