On my way to the park tonight I
started thinking about an incident from home long ago. It must have been the
mid or early fifties when this happened. I don’t know what triggered it. Perhaps
it was going through the old photos that Brian sent me that made me think of it,
the ones I just recently put on the blog.
I also don’t know what made me think
of dad but he popped into my mind.The image that came to mind was of him getting ready for work. He was out in the kitchen with his shirt collar rolled under to prevent it from getting soaked. He was shaving and we were watching him. He liked to look at himself in the mirror so he studied himself as he shaved. We were very young and I don’t remember who else was there; probably Phyllis or Terry. He had almost finished shaving when we all said “Da, why don’t you grow a moustache? “ He answered with his usual ‘don’t be daft’ but we kept pestering him. We told him he would be handsome with a moustache. He loved that.
After a few more “don’t be dafts” he
told us to go into the front room and stay out of his way. We did just that. In
those days we did as we were told. After
a few minutes the door opened and he stuck his head around. He had that impish
look on his face and he had------- a moustache!!! He had dark hair and he had
shaved it down to a Clarke Gable type of moustache so it was clearly visible.
We all squealed in a mixture of delight and confusion. We had never seen him
like this before.
We told him how good he looked and
how he was like a film star; Errol Flynn was big at the time. He lapped it up
as he walked around with occasional stops at the mirror in the front room to
admire his handiwork. He was beginning to like it. We were delighted and
squealed even more, much to his delight.
“Turn around Da and give us another look” we said. He was very obliging, he did as he was told
and showed us every possible angle.
This was a new Dad and we wanted to
keep him like that because he was different. Although we didn’t know what
dashing was at the time the word summed it up. We had a dashing Da who had just
stepped off the screen.
We should have known that It was too good to be true and he wouldn't keep it , our exhilaration was short-lived and, alas, it was not to be. In spite of all our protests he shaved it off, picked up his keys, put his lunch under his arm and left the house for work.
I don’t know if anyone else remembers
this but I remember it as if it were yesterday. We should have known that It was too good to be true and he wouldn't keep it , our exhilaration was short-lived and, alas, it was not to be. In spite of all our protests he shaved it off, picked up his keys, put his lunch under his arm and left the house for work.
This is the main reason why; years later in Houston when Eileen was living with me she loved to sit and chat to me while I got ready for work. As soon as I was ready to shave I would hide behind the mirror ,cover my face with shaving cream and then stick my head out. She would scream and run around the house with me after her. It never failed. She loved every minute.
It always reminded me of that evening so many years earlier
12 comments:
Makes Da look like Salvador Dali.
I thought the Clark Gable line more 'apropos'.
nice story Jim very well written...i remember in his later years he grew a mustache very very briefly it was a tom selleck one...of magnum fame,,it was thick and broad ...and didn't suit him,,,but i think an Errol Flynn would have
I didn't know that. I don't think it would have suited him.
Colin Walsh wrote:
This comment was was written by Colin and his own corrections were added by myself. A very good job by the way.
The mustache he grew in later years was because he had injured his lip in some way, and could not shave. Do not remember the details. It did not suit him at all, he was much better with a clean shaven look. That is the only time I remember him growing one. Mam was not a fan of facial hair, so I would have been short lived in any event.
I also remember him shaving over the "trow" in the "scullery" as he called them, with the two brass taps sticking out of the wall, with the pipes exposed. He would stand there rushing through shaving with his collar tucked in as Jim describes. I would watch him as he he wooshed the razor across his face, with such practiced motion. It looked so dangerous to me, but he was a dab hand. Finally he reached it, I would stand fascinated, waiting to see the dimple again, and wondering how he managed to shave inside it. It had to be slight of had, as it would emerge from under the soap as naked as my own baby face. And as quickly as it all began, It was done. He would fill his hands with the ice cold water from the tap, and make a noise that was truly his alone as he cleared the soap from his face, undid his shirt collar, turned on his heel and went out into the cold night to work.
Daddy was an older man when I was a boy, he was big and strong and the picture of what a dad should be in my eyes. The other boys fathers were small and meek in comparison, not at all the figure my Da was. The earth shook when he walked, and I was very proud of him. In later years, I would pass him on the street as he rushed to work in his overcoat and cap. Lunch tucked under his arm, shoulders forward with that great and confident walk of his. We would stop, he would instruct me to go straight home in his now hurried tone, and go on with his march as if his path had been uninterrupted. I would often stop and turn to watch him as he went into the night, the heels of his shoes clicking his quick pace long after he had walked out of sight, down windmill road, past Kildare road and then onto Crumlin road where the selection of buses was greater.
To this day I think he is a great measure of a man. We all have our flaws, god knows, but to work so unmercifully hard so for very long, to take care of his family. For his family to all to grow up so well, is a magnificent accomplishment, a measure of success on both his and Mams part that is equal to, or surpasses anyone's idea of success in any other circumstance.
Nice comment Colin. You're turning into a bit of a bard . I tried that straight razor myself years later with disastrous results.
There were days when Dad was the star. Mam was always the director, the producer and the casting executive ..... and star!
That's was lovely Colin I loved me granda
2 penny slotted blade, bits of paper to put on the cuts from shaving , thats how i remember me da shaving, last thing he would do before he went out to work was pull down his jacket and yank up his overcoat at the collar and put his lunch under his arm..
How funny to remember that. The Gillette slotted blade and the couple of little patches of torn off newspaper to cover the nicks, usually on the chin, probably made by an old blade. I remember it well. Yes, it wasn't all film stars and moustaches there was also the search for the keys at the last minute what Mam used to call ' Panic stations' or something like that. The ' look-out' for the 'bus coming down St. Agnes's road and the mad dash out the door for the bus stop. Finally when the door closed and the gate clanged, calm settled over the household. One and ones and long rays were sent for and we all had a sing-song around the fire. Poor Da ! I'm sure he could hear us singing at the bus stop in the cold. God look down on him as they used to say
And also his laces would be missing from his shoes..now who took them i wonder, yes ma would call it panic stations it started by calling him at 10-30pm and went on till around 10 past 11 and then he would either get the last bus on hurried night or the 11 o clock bus on a good night he went to work every Saturday night at 6, he went on the vans delivering to the country that was overtime....never missed one Saturday night ......he was a hard worker and was NEVER out of work sick.
Too true ! They were my shoes by the way.
Post a Comment