Collette Bonnar's short stories: The poor mouth

“Did you hear about poor auld Jamsie Finnegan getting walloped the other night in The Willows,” Maisie Riley said to her friend, Sadie Devlin.

“The Willows?” Sadie squawked. “Sure, there would be no fighting in there. Cliona Hanbury runs a very tight ship; I couldn’t see her tolerating any kind of fisty-cuffs. Besides, Jamsie is as quiet as a mouse.”“He sure is,” Vera Porter, the shopkeeper agreed.
“You wouldn’t get a more civil auld divil than Jamsie. I wonder how come he got whacked?” she pondered.

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“He must have done something. A man doesn’t get a walloping for nothing,” Maisie snorted.A group of the villagers had gathered in the local shop this Friday morning. They’d collected their pensions in the post office and were having their usual chin-wag. The door opened and Tilly Watson swept in, in a flurry of excitement.

“There’s a right snow storm brewing, the sheep and the cattle are all coming down from the hills. Ooh I feel it in my bones, this is going to be a bad one.” Tilly lived three miles outside the village and cycled in every Friday to collect her pension and catch up on the gossip in the village store.

“A snow storm did you say, Tilly?” Mikey Scanlon looked up from the Old Moores Almanac that he was reading at the bookstand. “Aye, I feel it in my bones, Mikey,” Tilly told him.“Ah well, your bones are better than any met office forecast,” said Mikey.

After Tilly’s weather prediction, Sadie and Maisie then proceeded to tell her about Jamsie Finnegan getting thumped in The Willows the previous Wednesday night. Mikey was fully clued in now and enlightened the women.

“I was there when it happened. Aggie McHale landed him a right blow with her handbag.” “Aggie? Never!” The three women chorused.“Why did she do that?” Vera gasped, unable to believe that the mild-mannered little Aggie would raise her hand to anyone.

“Well,” Mikey began in his long-winded way. “You see Aggie is long overdue to have her eyes tested but she can’t afford to go to the optician.

Poor crauter is struggling to live on a small English Pension.”

“Get on with the story,” Tilly urged, while Mikey was side-tracking, she knew that this had to be leading somewhere.

“Hold your whist, and let me tell it. Anyway, I was heading into the gents when I came across Aggie, clattering Jamsie with her handbag. ‘You dirty Peeping Tom,’ she was yelping in that swanky tongue of hers. She went storming off before I had the chance to tell her that she’d come into the gents by mistake.” “Blessed be,” said Vera as she made the sign of the cross. “Her eyesight must be bad. What a fright for the poor woman.”

“Poor woman? You mean poor Jamsie. He got a right bad start taken out of him, with thon tattered handbag,” said Mikey.The talk then turned to Aggie’s financial circumstances.

“She takes the bus into Castlewood every week – free travel,” Sadie told them. “She buys the reduced groceries that are at the sell-by date in BetterValu supermarket.”

“And she’s not a customer of Mattie the milkman, because she told me that she uses powdered milk in her tea,” said Tilly.

“Still, I’m glad she can get to The Willows in the evening for her wee snifter of whiskey, sure it’s all she has in her life,” Vera added.

As predicted by Tilly, the snow storm came with a vengeance the following day. After nine o’clock, Aggie left her secluded but freezing bungalow and headed off on foot to the warmth of the local pub for her nightly tipple. When she arrived into the bar wearing her well-worn woollen coat, Cliona the snooty landlady snidely remarked as she sat down on the high stool at the counter; “I see you’re wearing the good coat every day.”  

“My usual, Mrs Hanbury,” Aggie said, ignoring the jibe. As Aggie was savouring every drop, she was considering whether she’d splash out and spend a further €4 on another half whiskey.

While she was dithering, the affable Tom Ferguson, the local auctioneer, walked in. She couldn’t believe her luck. He signalled to Cliona to put up a drink for the bar. He noticed Aggie’s face light up as he nodded to the top shelf where the expensive liquors were displayed. He knew the impoverished Aggie had a fondness for the Special Reserve Chevas Regal but couldn’t afford it.

It felt good to see the smile on the old dear’s face when the landlady took out a crystal tumbler to pour the expensive whiskey.

“Cheers Aggie,” Tom raised his glass.“Your good health, Tom,” Aggie answered in her cultured accent. “Such a cold night that’s in it.  I feel this going down to my toes,” she said as she daintily sipped the amber liquid.

“Tell me, how is life with you?”“Ah grand, Aggie, never better, got a great surprise this afternoon, the niece and her husband arrived home unexpectedly from England. They’re staying with me for a week, in fact they’re coming in for a few scoops after a while,” Tom told her.

“That’s nice,” said Aggie, her face flushed now as she began to imbibe on her second Chevas Regal, courtesy of the kindly auctioneer.“Here they are now,” Tom said as the door opened and his glamorous niece, Vanessa and her husband, Richard, walked in.“Doctor McHale!” Vanessa exclaimed.

“Nice to see you again. How are you enjoying your retirement…” The younger woman was cut off mid-stream by a hollow greeting from the good Doctor.“Oh hello,” Aggie hedged. “I must be off now,” she blustered, reaching for her gloves she hurried out the door.When he found his voice, a flabbergasted Tom gasped; “Doctor McHale? Vanessa have you met Aggie before?”

“Of course. She was my GP in Devon. Rolling in money, but never liked to spend it. Sure, she sold her beautiful Tudor-style home and it was rumoured she landed a tidy two million sterling for it. And that’s not to talk about the shed load of money she got when she sold her practice.”

A disillusioned Tom scratched his head as he handed over €90 for the two rounds of drinks that included the reserve whiskey for the impoverished Aggie – the poor mouth.