My mother put people into two categories. You had a heart or you had no heart. So, being very young at the time, my brothers and I would take this very literally. When the local parish priest came for his 'gift' for the church. My mother would exclaim when he left “it’s tickin’ like an old clock but nothing else”. So we would inevitably stare at the old codger and try and visualise the clock ticking inside of him.

Johnny Mac was choking on a bright red gobstopper and Mr. Quilty, the green-grocer shook the living daylights out of him and breathed life back into him. His blue colour eventually turned to bright pink and my mother reckoned that his heart had stopped for some time. So when Johnny blue (the name stuck) grew up to be a notorious wife beater and animal hater, my mother nodded her head and said that the heart had died inside of him that day and there was nothing left. Being older at the time, I would laugh and tell her to stop talking nonsense but deep in my heart, I thought she was not far off the mark.

In my teenage years, many a boyfriend would be scrutinised and would pass over the kitchen floor. My mother would exclaim that he had the rovin’ eye and as sure as God, the boy in question would have told me that he was off to Australia with another woman. Years later, I heard he never settled and was living in Alaska! I met and fell madly in love with a boy from Texas and my mother warned me that he had a heart but had to find it. Sure enough, Davis had come from a very disfunctional family and had a chip on his shoulder. We eventually broke up because I could not breakdown the barriers between us. Then there was Liam, with the pale complexion and my mother piped up that his face was like a bowl of porridge. True to form, he had health problems and we just drifted away from each other.

Many a neighbour would come to my mother for advice and we, as children had to scidaddle out of the place. Sometimes, we would hear snippets of the conversation which we did not understand "He is fed-up with me and the kids. I’m afraid he’s going to go to England"… my mother would take the neighbour's kids for the night and would take a bottle out of our old cupboard and hand it to Mrs… "All he needs is a little spoilin…," she would say. Sure enough, the next day a radiant neightbour would come in and whisper things we did not hear. My father’s drinks cabinet came in very handy on these occasions. It was very funny actually because neither my mother or father drank but being away at sea my father would always bring back bottles of brandy that were given to him. My mother called it the "medicine of the heart".

When my mother was on her deathbed and they had given her a few weeks to live, she told me to get her bedroom ready to take her home. I was very reluctant to leave her but the nurse said that she was grand. She was coming home the next day and my brothers and I wanted her bedroom to be fresh and nice for her. We put a lick of paint on the walls and I bought all new rosy bed linen. I rang the hospital a few hours later and was told to come quickly. My brothers and I got there ten minutes too late. She was gone. The young nurse was distraught and could not believe that she had died so quickly. Her last words were "I wouldn’t have the heart to do it to them". She chose her time to die and did not want to burden us.

She left a small note to ask me to share her last pension money among the nurses. It was tucked neatly in the pocket of her new lacy Marks & Spencers nightie.

My daughter comes home from school telling me what one of her school friends did to her. I listen attentively. I exclaim "Sure your one has no heart…" but then I correct myself. "Her heart is in the right place but she has lost temporary direction." My daughter looks at me as if I am gone stark raving mad. "Mammy, don’t start being the wise old owl…we’re in the 21st century…she’s just a bitch!"

Niamh
 

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