Boyne Writers Group

Number 32

Syl saw the figure at the upstairs window in the house across the road when he was taking the dog for a walk. The old lady with black-shawled shoulders looked up from her knitting but made no attempt at acknowledgement.
"Good boy," he hurried after the straining dog.

Next time, he held the distant gaze for a moment or two, then looked quickly away when there was no response. The following day he chanced a slight bow, but she looked away. He wondered what she saw through her lonely window. He looked around: nothing but long rows of houses, no sign of life, and more being built in the next field.

"Lithuanians," was the curt response when he enquired around about the tenants in Number 32.

As it turned out, they were Polish. And Poland was one of the very few words he and Alexis had in common during a futile conversation walking from the bus.

Patient persistence the following week drew a veritable speech from Alexis. "Work on farm. Dairy farm."
"Mama?" Syl ventured one evening, pointing at the upstairs window. The vigorous nod and the smile said it all: "Mama!"

Weeks later, Alexis had an announcement.
"Home," he said. "In five day."
"Ah!" Syl's smile and nods helped the tiny word to convey a world of good wishes.
"You stay home? Or you come back again?" But Syl's enquiry drew a blank look.
"Five day." The repetition emphasised the incomprehension.

That was late October. In the middle of November, Syl looked up at the window and saw a young couple repainting the room to the blare of a radio, too busy to look out.

At home, a pair of eyes met Syl's. "Time for our walk, boy." The ecstatic yelp was all the answer he needed.

Billy

My wife had tears and makeup running down her face. Speechless she turned to me and motioned for a tissue. I was unable to help as I was also touched by what was happening. All around us eyes were full of tears, tissues were in use and there was lots of sniffing. Everyone watched with a mix of horror and admiration at the man they had waited a long time to see. For many (including myself) it was the first time ever.

I wondered why he had this effect on people. How he pressed the buttons to places that I never seemed to reach? and why he wore that stupid, stupid, stupid t-shirt with a even more stupid tail.

He arrived on stage to a warm greeting, everyone laughed and cheered, he said nothing and they clapped, he raised an eyebrow and they cheered. He made rude gestures with his hands at the golf club members and they loved it. He insulted them and they loved it even more.

Billy Connolly was about to give everyone two and a half hours to remember. As one of about nine hundred people at fifty five euro a seat we would also give him a night to remember. This was one of a series of sell out shows in Dublin and I was curious to see what makes him tick.

Rambling stories are his trademark and he swears they are all true . . . well, almost true. He is very fond of using Brian Cowen type four letter swear words, he probably used the Cowenesque Clanger about one hundred times. He forgets himself, and then interrupts himself, so he can be hard to follow. This must be contrived as he is a fine actor and I have seen him in several films where he could hold his head up with the best from Hollywood. The mayhem and lack of organisation made his yarns even funnier.

I tried to picture him with a haircut and clean shaven in a suit as he told the story about being invited as a spectator to an armed robbery in Belfast in the 1970's. I wondered would his story still be funny without the silly T Shirt.

Billy seems to be a great people watcher and his drunken walks were so true to life he must have been a fly on the wall on the odd occasion I was over the limit. It was interesting the way he approached "gayness" and Iris Robinson. After lampooning gays and showing their funny walks he spoke of Iris and how a friend of hers had a cure for this condition. He wondered aloud to great applause if the friend also had a cure for bigotry.

I thought for a while he never condemned people only their actions. Then he lost control and slammed the Nazi Pope and told of priests threatening to shag children. A little over the top I felt as I laughed too. The Pope like all young men in Germany was a member of Hitler Youth, they had no choice, I would have been a member too and so would Billy. It would not have made either of us a Nazi. To tar all priests as child abusers is easy and dangerous.

I have no problem, he can make jokes about anything he wants and he has, remember Ken Bigley's head, but he should take on someone who can fight back. Or maybe that's Billy's problem he won't take on those who can fight back.

Billy talks about his wife Pamela Stephenson, her best seller "Billy", a few years ago painted him as an angel. The only time she saw his halo slip was when he met a psycho ex teacher whom he remembered with fear. She went away regretting she ever came up to say hello after a concert.

Billy says Pamela is too politically correct and he has no time for "all that crap". I don't believe him. I think he is becoming politically correct. Billy Connolly CBE is now part of the establishment and is losing the edge. He doesn't joke about women, the disabled, coloureds or Jews. I wondered was he afraid of them, unlike priests and Nazi Popes they generally have great lobby groups and public sympathy. I know because my silly woman joke in a crowd always provokes outrage. My wife always asks me not to use it as she feels it lets me down.

Iris Robinson wasn't the only one who bothered him, the Richard half of Richard and Judy really really annoyed him. Billy feels Richard has it coming and suggested his shop lifting incident was nothing in comparison to what is ahead. This to me was a puzzle and I think reading between the lines Richard had given Billy a tongue lashing. Billy's ego was a little bruised.

Of course I enjoyed the night and I had a favourite story, one Billy heard from his sister so it must be true. She was on a bus in Glasgow and a dwarf got on but had to stand. A well mannered young girl offered the dwarf a seat and the dwarf became agitated. "You are only giving me the seat because I am a dwarf" she said "now feck off". The young girl sat down as the passengers on the now silent bus looked away in embarrassment. A short time later a large heavy woman built like a Glasgow docker rang the bell to stop the bus. She offered the dwarf her seat as she walked forward. This time the dwarf was not as rude but declined for a more restrained version of the same reason. The woman turned to the dwarf saying "I am offering you the seat as I would to anyone who is standing when I am getting off, your height makes no difference to me love". The dwarf nodded a grudging appreciation and took the seat. "I think you owe the wee girl an apology though" the woman continued "you were very rude and I hope Snow White kicks your arse when you get home."