麻豆官网首页入口

Jamesy Todd was unwashed and underfed, and his clothes always looked as if he slept in them. But he didn鈥檛 have to go to school. It was no wonder Jamesy was so happy. I would have settled for half his luck.

The Todds, father and son, lived in a small house on the other side of the street. I doubt if there are any 鈥榮kin-men鈥� alive today but if there are, more than likely they are called eco-operatives or some such fancy name. The Todds made their living collecting refuse - potato skins, mouldy bread, anything that families threw out after a meal. Some people even kept a separate bin and the Todds scoured the town on their horse and cart collecting scraps. This is now the Council鈥檚 job and an old style 鈥榮kin-man鈥� would be prosecuted and have his house condemned as insanitary and a health hazard to boot.

When their cart was filled with 鈥榮kins鈥� they took them home, boiled them up in an iron cauldron and fed the resultant 鈥榮tew鈥� to the pigs they kept in the back garden. The refuse had to be carried through the house as there was no back lane. A sickly sweet smell always pervaded the house. Surprisingly though, the neighbours never complained.

鈥淚t鈥檚 the wee boy I feel sorry for,鈥� declared Mrs Mawhinney.
She wasn鈥檛 a near neighbour but she always liked to stick her nose into other people鈥檚 business.
鈥淚 suppose you cannae blame the da.鈥�
Mr Todd worked hard and long. He was a man of few words and usually the only noise he made was a hacking cough which seeemed as if it would break him apart.
鈥淎 smoker鈥檚 cough,鈥� pronounced Mrs Morrison.
Whatever the cause, it mustn鈥檛 have worried him for he never went near the doctor.
鈥淭here鈥檚 mair sick people in the world than yin,鈥� was all he said.

Sometimes Mr Todd didn鈥檛 go out on the cart and on those days Jamesy liked somebody to keep him company. The cart was never cleaned. What was the point? We had a saying, 鈥淐lean meat never fattened a pig,鈥� which might explain why the Todd鈥檚 pigs were the fattest I鈥檝e ever seen.
Sometimes we were allowed to go down the back garden to help feed the pigs. I didn鈥檛 mind carrying a bucket of boiled scraps but I hated getting too close to the pigs when they were eating. Davy Coffey once told me that if you fell into the sty they would make a meal of you. The pigs were always too busy eating to notice me but that was no comfort.

The constant stench and the fear of infection probably explained why my folks weren鈥檛 happy to see me hanging around the house. The first time I mentioned I was going to see Jamesy Todd鈥檚 pigs you would have thought I was going to rob a bank.
鈥淭hat place is bogging. You never know what you鈥檒l catch.鈥�
鈥淚鈥檓 warning you. If you go anywhere near that place I鈥檒l box your ears.鈥�
I was still puzzling over that warning when I ran into Budgie Mills. Budgie was older and more adventurous than I was.
鈥淒鈥檡e fancy goin鈥� on Jamesy鈥檚 cairt the day?鈥� he said. 鈥淎ll you have to dae is help collect the skins.鈥�
When I explained my problem, Budgie sneered.
鈥淐atch yersel on. Niver mind whut they say. Sure naebody鈥檚 going to tell on you?鈥� Budgie shook his head pityingly when I said no.
鈥淎h well, if you鈥檙e feared ah鈥檒l go on me ane.鈥�
鈥淗oul on. What if Jamesy picked me up doon the end of the street? That鈥檚 weel away from oor hoose.鈥� Budgie rolled his eyes.

Most of the town outside John Street was like a foreign country to me. I had been to Cookstown but I鈥檇 never been to the Back Deed. At ten sharp I joined Jamesy and Budgie on the cart. We headed down Court Street and turned into the Shore Road, with its respectable houses and no skins. Then it was left into George鈥檚 Street, over the Boyne Bridge and down Greenwell Street. We passed a group of rough looking boys playing football in the street. They ignored us while we did the rounds before turning back towards George鈥檚 Street. The old horse didn鈥檛 sound too good as it wheezed its way up that gentle hill.

Soon we were entering completely uncharted territory. It was the Front Deed! Why the Front Deed? Don鈥檛 ask me! But it was a far cry from John Street. The houses were uniformly small. In some places the plaster had fallen off the walls to reveal the coarse cut Scrabo stone underneath. Each had a small window looking on to the street and in some cases a yellowing newspaper served as a curtain.

鈥淩ight boys,鈥� says Jamesy. 鈥淵ouse two collect differint sides. Ah鈥檒l stay on the cairt.鈥�
I picked up the first container, a rusty old bucket with a lid which dripped a foul smelling liquid. I carried it at arms length, but I slipped on a piece of wet road and tipped out the contents.
鈥淵e daft wee ganch,鈥� called Jamesy and proceeded to use a lot of language I never heard at home.鈥滻t鈥檚 well for us, ye didnae throw that on the cairt.鈥�
鈥淵e鈥檝e got to be jokin鈥�,鈥� I choked, trying valiantly not to throw up. 鈥淲ho鈥檇 notice the difference?鈥�
鈥淟eave them yins wi the lid,鈥� explained Jamesy. 鈥淪ome ithers鈥檒l fetch thim.鈥�
I did as I was told, trying all the while not to spill any of the putrid stuff on my shoes. Then I spotted the gang of footballers. I noticed this time that most of them were barefooted. They must have followed us and now they were calling us names.
鈥淭hat鈥檒l dae noo,鈥� called Jamesy.
鈥淪tuck up wee 鈥�..,鈥� called a voice.
I didn鈥檛 quite catch it but it sounded like a bad word.

鈥淓ffin鈥� wee slabber,鈥� they chanted repeatedly. Then they started throwing what looked like rotten fruit. A piece hit me on the forehead and it made my eyes water. I turned and gesticulated but that only spurred them on. Jamesy and Budgie seemed oblivious to what was happening and they were chatting away happily at the front of the cart while I was bombarded. By the time we reached the end of the street I was covering my head with my hands and wishing I was a thousand miles away. I worked out the problem. I was too clean and well fed looking. The journey home seemed to take for ever and by the time I reached John Street I was nursing some dark thoughts about Budgie and Jamesy. However, I didn鈥檛 object when Jamesy said he would drop me off at my place. I just grunted ungratefully.
鈥淚f ye like ye can come agane and dinnae worry aboot them wee boys. Sure they mean ye nae herm.鈥� I jumped quickly off the cart and headed for home.

Mum opened the door. She took one look at me and shouted,
鈥淵ou鈥檙e not traipsing that muck through the house.鈥�
She grabbed my hair and dragged me into the hall.
鈥淩ight,鈥� she said, tight lipped. 鈥淕et those clothes off. You鈥檙e not bringing them into this house.鈥�
I stripped down to my underpants and stood apprehensively in front of the kitchen sink. She grabbed a stiff brush and proceeded to scrub indiscriminately. My eyes had watered earlier but now they literally flowed, as the stiff bristles threatened to tear off my skin. Never mind, tomorrow鈥檚 another day, I thought. But the next time somebody asked to go to Jamesy鈥檚, I鈥檒l tell them where to stick it.

Some time later I heard that the old man was taken sick. The neighbours made sympathetic noises but none of them visited the house.
鈥淚t鈥檚 no wunner the poor man鈥檚 no a hunnner percent,鈥� said Mrs Brown, the district nurse. 鈥淭he hoose is worse than the pig sty.鈥�

I never saw Jamesy after that and the old horse spent its time grazing in Crabby鈥檚 field. The next thing I knew the blinds were drawn in their house. Mr Todd was dead. The pigs were collected in a big lorry and taken away squealing their heads off. Some body said they were headed for the slaughterhouse so it鈥檚 no wonder. I felt sad for the poor pigs. It wasn鈥檛 their fault that Mr Todd had died. Then the house was empty and Jamesy had gone too.

鈥淎 pity about wee Jamesy,鈥� my dad said when he came home from work one day.
鈥淲hy, what鈥檚 happened to the poor soul?鈥� asked my mum.
鈥淪ure he鈥檚 in the sanatorium.鈥�