Mary

My father loved all things, German.  He was a member of the German Circle in Cork and every two years he would travel to Berlin to visit his friend, Klaus and practice his language skills.  In 1979, he brought the whole family.  It was our first time abroad.    

“If you want spending money on this holiday," warned my mother, "start saving your pocket money.”   I went one better.  In Douglas Shopping Centre, one afternoon after school, I saw an advertisement sellotaped to the front door of Quinnsworth, 'Part-time staff wanted immediately.’  I inquired at the information desk and was interviewed by the manager, Tony Keohane.  He offered me a job and I started the following Thursday.  The hours were 6 pm- 10 pm Thursday and Friday and all day Saturday at 9 am - 6 pm.  The uniform was a knee-length orange housecoat and brown trousers. The pay was 40 pence an hour.  That was a pittance even then, but I didn’t care I was earning my own money.  My biggest kick was walking through the white double doors at the end of the shop with a sign that said, ‘Staff Only.

There were two other part-timers, Deirdre Rennie and Mary Russell but they ignored me.

That was fine.  I was put on dairy with Angela Dalton who by a stroke of luck was the most popular employee there.  Her best pal was Anna in Cereals and sitting with them in the canteen during our breaks was pure entertainment.  The TV series, Mork & Mindy had just arrived in Ireland and was a huge hit.  Anna and Angela greeted each other with the split hand signal and cracked up laughing. 

I was in Inter Cert year and the Christmas exams were coming up.  "What’s your favourite subject?" said Anna. "History and I like English too," I said.  "I love reading, but I hate poetry." "Oh," said Angela, "I love poetry." And then standing between the Corn Flakes and the Frosties she declared, “I wandered lonely as a cloud, I wandered o’er vale and hill. And all at once, I heard a shout, ‘Get off me fucking daffodils.'"

Life was good.  It was about to get better.

I had finished my shift for the night and was walking towards the white double doors to freedom.  All at once, I heard a shout, “Hey Ger.”  I stopped and looked around.  It was Mary.  Once she saw that she had my attention, she broke into a run.  She stopped in front of me, smiled and then raising her right hand she slapped me across the face.  Then screaming with laughter, she took off running towards the Pick N’Mix.  I took off after her.  Mary looked back and when she saw me gaining on her she screamed, "Someone, help me."  She turned sharp left at the end of the aisle. Coming around the corner, I found her cowering behind Catherine who was in charge of Fruit N'Veg.  Using the bewildered Catherine as a shield, Mary shouted, “Don’t touch me, you’re mad.” 

“I’m mad?" I said. "You’re the one that just hit me!"

“Yeah, I know” sniggered Mary. "I wanted to see what you would do." 

We became best friends.

It was the summer of 1980, Mary and I planned to go away for the August bank holiday weekend. Her parents said no.  Instead, they invited us to join them and Mary's younger brother, Jerry who was then four years old, in their caravan in Ballybunion in Co. Kerry.  It always rains in Kerry and so I didn't bother to pack swimming togs.  

I was wrong.  With the sun ‘splitting the stones’ I baked in my jeans and t-shirt. “It’s ok," said Mary, "I brought a second bikini."     I didn't trust bikinis ever since I dived in the deep end of Douglas Swimming baths and the bottom half came off in the pool.  I had no choice. It was either the bikini or swelter.   After much encouragement from Mary and her mother Sheila, I put it on.  Itsy bitsy doesn't begin to describe this contraption. It was all strings and triangular patches of cloth.  I felt unsafe. I spent the whole time checking the knots were secure and that the triangles were covering my modesty.   

Sunday morning promised to be a scorcher and we headed to the beach early.  Mary's dad found us a great spot next to a ridge of rocks that served as a back support for Sheila and a buffer from the breeze coming off the Atlantic.  

Mary and I flapped out our towels on the sand and laid out to work on our tan.  By 4 pm, the beach was packed with families and fellow sun worshippers.  Mary said, "C'mon Ger, let's go for a swim."   The tide was fully out, and it was a long walk to the water's edge.  That was OK. All the better to parade our sun-kissed bodies glistening with Tropicana suntan oil.  With my fingers ever running over my body checking the bikini strings, we chatted gaily.   We were two carefree seventeen-year-olds on holiday.  The sun was shining and the glistening ocean stretched out before us. Life was good. 

We had just arrived at the gentle lapping water and were tentatively dipping our toes into the freezing water when suddenly, I felt the bottom half of my bikini being yanked down to my knees.  I froze. Mary laughed and pointed at me.  I screamed in horror and frantically grabbed at the strings now falling to my ankles.   Tangled and furled I couldn't drag it up my legs quick enough.   I ran into the sea, but the tide was so far out it wasn't deep enough to hide my mortification.    I finally flopped into the shallow water.    As Mary waded out to join me, I popped my head above the water and looked up the beach towards her family.   I saw Sheila sitting on the rug, laughing and patting Jerry.  "The little bollox," I said, "Your mother put him up to it."   Mary flopped down beside me and said, "She probably did."

That night with our gorgeous bronzed skins; Mary's golden buttery, mine a few freckles more we went to the local disco.  We had to be back for 11 0'clock.  I wore my lemon-yellow Bermuda shorts bought with my millions working in Quinnsworth.   At 10.45 pm,  we obediently headed back to the caravan park.  Walking through the streets of Ballybunion we came across a parked car.  The windows were steamed up.  The driver's window was open halfway.  We stopped and looked in.  A couple were locked in a passionate embrace.  Without hesitation, Mary stuck her head in the window and shouted, "Cock a doodle doo."  The couple broke apart.  The man glared at us through the steamy window and roared at us to 'fuck off'.  We ran all the way home.