Wee Davy

Wee Davy
Wee Davy was six foot three, broad shouldered, weather-beaten and no one around the village had a bad word to say about him.

Why was he called Wee Davy? Well, that’s any ones guess, his parents and six brothers and sisters all struggled to reach five-foot-six. Some say it started when his Auntie Mary first saw him in the family box cradle by the turf fire. She lifted the matted knitted blanket and exclaimed “Would you look at wee Davy! Isn’t he a dout” His three and five-year-old brothers took this up as children do and ran around mimicking “Would you look at wee Davy! Isn’t he a dout – would you look at wee Davy! Isn’t he a dout” After that he was always called Wee Davy despite the fact he later towered over the rest of the family.

Davy left school at 13, not because he wanted to. In fact the teacher was all for writing to apply for a scholarship to the big school in Limerick, but his Father Pat put his foot down. “ No, he’s needed around the house and to help work the land”
And that was that.
Davy could read and write and recite the twelve times twelve tables, not that there was a big need for multiplication round the cottage. He had read and enjoyed the few books in what the school called a library –Charles Dickens and Walter Scott mostly. He had found the Complete Works of William Shakespeare hard to understand. It had been donated by a well meaning local clergyman before going to become a missionary in Africa. Sometimes he would get word to come to the widow Gallagher’s cottage to read a letter she had received from her son Willy in Chicago, Illinois. He loved hearing about America. Just occasionally Willy would send a copy of the Chicago Herald Tribune and Davy would borrow it and devour every word. Maybe someday he would go to America and make his fortune but at the age 15, it was more a dream than a plan.

He just had hand-me-down clothes from his brothers and charity – not that he needed half-decent clothes to work in the turf bog and potato field. One pocket of his jacket was torn off, it had no buttons and it was tied round with a piece of fishing rope he found on the beach. The knees of his trousers had big patches and the stiffening had broken through the cloth on the peek of his cap. The only new thing he ever had was a pair hob nailed boots. He was so proud of those boots as soon as he got them he bought a tin of black boot polish from the co-op and cleaned them every week as sure as clockwork. He got them when he was eighteen and had his first winter relief job working on the roads for the County Council. In fact the Council supplied the boots and took two and six pence off his pay each week till they were paid for.

He was just a real steady person who got on with his work, never complained and if you needed help he was the first to offer. His advice when asked for always made sense. He had a gift for knowing how to fix things or at least how to make do and mend for very few in the village could afford anything new.

You sort of knew that Davy had plans although he never talked about them. Anytime you asked he would give a wee smile and mutter “we’ll see about that” And that’s all you got.

He wasn’t one for making a big show if you see what I mean. Anytime there was a dance he would be there but you would never see him the worse for drink or jumping around making a buck ejeet of himself. I suppose you might say he was serious minded but that wouldn’t be right for he enjoyed a good nights craic as much as the next man.

If you were a lucky one and got one of his smiles you would see his whole face light up. It was like a big infectious grin wrinkling back his cheeks and spilling up into two laughing blue eyes.

He kept his biggest smile for Mary Rose Murphy. If you knew when to look you could see that smile when he turned round in Chapel on Sunday and saw her settling into her pew.

After church the two of them would walk out along the beach or sit on the rocks and watch the waves breaking. Every now and then she would tease him and then jump up and run off with Davy chasing after. Of course she let him catch her, that was the whole idea. He would sweep her up in his arms, and she would fling her arms round his neck as he carried her slowly to the sand dunes. She loved the moment their bodies touched for they laughed and hugged and kissed. In those moments nothing else mattered in the whole wide world. After a while they would talk, two serious people planning talk.

He found he could tell her his plans, his inner most plans. She too had plans – plans to do things and make something of her life. He told her all he had read about America in widow Gallagher’s newspapers - the jobs- the railways, the building work – the opportunities – the big money. From that moment they made a pact. They would tell no one until they had saved the fares for two one-way boat tickets to America.

And so, dear friends, when a boy and girl who really truly love each other make a life-changing pact – somehow they overcome all obstacles - and make it come true.
And they did.