Read on Twitter
1/5 Two memories of my dear da.
He was a semi-pro singer and out a lot at night. We brothers would always listen out for him coming home, lying in the dark side-by-side in the double bed. Up the stairs he'd come and my ma would whisper-shout, 'Archie, don't be waking them kids.'
He was a semi-pro singer and out a lot at night. We brothers would always listen out for him coming home, lying in the dark side-by-side in the double bed. Up the stairs he'd come and my ma would whisper-shout, 'Archie, don't be waking them kids.'
2/5 But in he'd come, tipsily, comically sneaking. He'd lean over the bed in a waft of Red Heart Guinness, Old Spice. We had our eyes closed, too hard, but he didn't notice. He'd push the blankets tight under my chin, shape them round my shoulders. 'Hup, yih boy ye,' he'd murmur.
3/5 Spitting on his hand, he'd wipe my hair carefully into a side-shade. Same drill for the brothers - and out he'd slip...
Thursday afternoon, M1 motorway. I've my feet up on the lorry dashboard, I'm maybe ten. We've 40ft of Kildare Bord na Móna turf behind us in plastic bags.
Thursday afternoon, M1 motorway. I've my feet up on the lorry dashboard, I'm maybe ten. We've 40ft of Kildare Bord na Móna turf behind us in plastic bags.
4/5 I'm thinking about Scooby Doo. It starts around 5pm, I badly want to see it. 'Daddy.' He gives me a sideways glance. 'What time are we gonna be home?' He raises his eyebrows under his cap. 'Drop this trailer off... about four, I suppose.'
5/5 I'm utterly, perfectly happy. It's winter-gloomy. A countrybound lorry flashes its lights at him through the gathering dark and he flicks a reply. It gives me a thrill of pride. Lurgan, Moira, Lisburn. Darker now and we'll be home for four. Just like he said.
I miss you, da.
I miss you, da.
