An Irish Country Courtship

  Braised lamb shank for dinner, Barry coping with the patients, Kitty here, and Kinky in her kitchen. Apart from his aching back, as far as O’Reilly was concerned, God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.

  30

  Yet Meet We Shall

  All was not right in Barry’s world. The number of cases of probable ringworm at the school worried him. “You’ve six boys for me to see?” he asked Mrs. Redmond, the principal of MacNeill Primary School, who sat behind a desk in her office.

  “I’m afraid so, Doctor Laverty.” She was a late middle-aged woman. She wore no makeup, her lips were thin, her eyes pale, her nose narrow. She looked falcon fierce and was known as a strict disciplinarian, and yet Barry also knew of her reputation for kindness. She was highly regarded locally.

  “They’re all in a single class,” she said, “so I told their teacher to wait with them in their room until you got here.” She rose and headed for the door. “Come this way, please.”

  Barry walked with the principal down a high-windowed, linoleum-floored hall. Neon strips in the ceiling provided extra light. The walls were hung with photos of girls’ hockey teams and boys’ soccer elevens.

  A cleaner, her hair tied up in a triangular scarf, worked an electrical floor polisher, a “bumper” in local parlance. When she stooped, an ankle-length calico apron brushed the tops of a pair of shiny black brogues. The smell of floor polish was overpowering. She switched off the machine and bobbed in a shallow curtsey. “Mrs. Redmond … Doctor.”

  “Carry on, Jessie,” Mrs. Redmond said.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The electrical motor made a harsh buzzing.

  Not for the first time Barry thought how feudal things were in Ballybucklebo.

  “In here,” Mrs. Redmond said, opening a door with a frosted-glass upper panel.

  Barry found himself at the back of a classroom.

  “Miss Nolan,” Mrs. Redmond said.

  The teacher was in front of a large blackboard, sitting behind her desk on a raised platform at the head of the room. Of course. Colin Brown was in Sue Nolan’s class. The outbreak had probably started with him and infected others among her pupils.

  “Doctor Laverty’s here.”

  “I’m glad he is,” Sue Nolan said. “The natives are getting restless.” She pointed to where six boys, all seven or eight years old, were rising from their desk seats and turning to look at the back of the room in deference to a visit from the principal. “They think they’re being kept in,” she said.

  Kept in. It brought back memories for Barry of his time at Connor House in Bangor, the school he’d attended before he went to Campbell College. He’d not like to think of the number of times he’d been in detention there.

  “You may be seated, boys,” Mrs. Redmond said. “And Hubert Flynn? Stop picking your nose.”

  As desk seats rattled, Barry quickened his pace. He could understand how the boys must feel when all their classmates were outside playing, and they were in here under the eye of the principal.

  Bright pictures done with poster paints, pastels, and potato cuts, all the handiwork of children, adorned the side walls. There was a distinct, well-remembered smell of chalk dust and ink in the air. Ranks and files of single-unit desk-and-chair combinations stood on a planked floor. They were as regularly spaced as a well-drilled army platoon.

  Barry and Mrs. Redmond arrived at the head of the room. Sue Nolan came out from behind her desk and smiled at him. He had forgotten what a startling green her eyes were and how she wore her long copper hair done in a single plait. It shone and brightened the subdued tones of her black blouse.

  Barry said quietly, “Good afternoon, Miss Nolan,” then waited because he was the guest. Mrs. Redmond was in charge.

  “This is Doctor Laverty, children,” she said. “Say hello nicely.”

  Six treble voices piped, “Hello, Doctor Laverty.”

  “Hello,” he said and raised his right hand in greeting.

  “He’s going to examine your heads.”

  Hubert Flynn, the nose-picker, a towheaded boy wearing a navy-blue blazer with the school crest on the breast pocket, held up his hand. The knot of his blue-and-chocolate striped school tie was askew in the V-neck of his grey uniform sweater.

  “Yes, Hubert.”

  He lowered his hand. “Please, Mrs. Redmond, can the doctor start with Art O’Callaghan?”

  Barry saw a smaller boy in short, grey flannel pants and wearing thick-lensed, wire-framed granny glasses turn and stare at Hubert.

  “Why?”

  “Because …” Hubert sniggered, “because Art’s been needing his head examined for months, so he has.”

  Barry found it difficult not to join in with the children’s laughter. He glanced at Sue Nolan. She too was having trouble keeping a straight face.

  Mrs. Redmond was not. Her voice was icy. “You will apologise to Art for that remark, Hubert Flynn. Art O’Callaghan is not stupid.”

  Hubert lowered his head. “I’m dead sorry, Art, so I am,” he said meekly.

  “Good,” she said, “but there’s no need for ‘so I am.’”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Redmond, so I—”

  Mrs. Redmond fixed Hubert with a gaze that Barry thought would have done justice to Balor, a mythical one-eyed figure from Ireland’s past, whose stare could kill.

  “Sorry.” Hubert Flynn seemed to shrink.

  “Accepted—this time, but if there’s any more nonsense out of you, Hubert, or anyone else”—her gaze swept over the six little boys, lingering on each individual for a measurable moment—“I’ll ask Miss Nolan to give you all a hundred lines before you go home.”

  Writing out neatly, “I must always behave in class,” one hundred times must seem like fifty years at hard labour to an eight-year-old, thought Barry, with a stab of empathy for the little boys before him. He hadn’t much liked school himself, and he marveled that he’d made it through his medical training with good marks. Perhaps it had something to do with how interested you were in the subjects.

  “Now, Doctor Laverty, how would you like to proceed?” Mrs. Redmond asked.

  “I’ll examine one to start with, please.”

  “Hubert, come here. The rest of you sit,” she ordered.

  Barry took a quick look. The sore was exactly like Colin’s red-rimmed bald spot. He turned to Mrs. Redmond. “Ringworm,” he said.

  She nodded and said to young Flynn, “Go and sit down.”

  Hubert obeyed.

  Why, Barry wondered, did Hubert’s recent, seemingly mortal enemy Art O’Callaghan now give Hubert a great grin as Hubert passed by?

  “Is it reasonable to assume the other five probably have the same thing?” Mrs. Redmond wanted to know.

  “It is.” He turned to the children. “Stay at your desks,” he said, then looked back to Mrs. Redmond. “I’ll do a bit of production-line medicine.” He remembered O’Reilly lining up a batch of patients and giving them injections one after the other. “Nip round and look at them all.”

  It hadn’t taken long to peer at each pupil’s head and make the diagnoses. All of the boys would require treatment. With the disease spreading so rapidly in the school, he, alone or with O’Reilly, must find the source and try to prevent more cases. “Ringworm,” he said. “I’ll need to write prescriptions and letters to their parents—and will you need a sick line for each of them, Mrs. Redmond?” Barry said.

  “A certificate will not be necessary.”

  “Then apart from the paperwork, I’m finished.” He spoke to Mrs. Redmond, loudly enough so everyone could hear. “I’ll have them out of here in no time.”

  She didn’t object when there was a small cheer.

  “Thank you, Doctor Laverty,” she said, then glanced at her watch. “I’m most grateful. Now if you’ll forgive me, I have to run. Curriculum meeting in Belfast. If you need anything else, I’m sure Miss Nolan can help you and pass on any instructions to me.” With that, Mrs. Redmond strode toward the door.
br />   From the corner of his eye Barry saw the recently chastised Hubert Flynn frown and cross his eyes at her departing back. He heard Sue Nolan’s soft but firm “Hubert.”

  Barry bent, rummaged in his bag, and found his prescription pad. He was vaguely aware of Sue Nolan moving closer.

  “Here,” she said and handed him a writing tablet. “You’ll need this if you’re going to write letters.”

  He looked up and found himself staring into those green eyes. Barry couldn’t help notice her subtle, musky perfume. He accepted the pad, but fumbled and nearly dropped it. “Thank … thank you.” He inhaled. That musk was delightful. “I’ll just be a tick. May I borrow your desk?”

  “Of course. And Doctor Laverty, if you give me the first letter I’ll start making copies for the other parents.”

  “Terrific.” Barry followed her to the back of the desk to two hard wooden chairs. He automatically pulled hers out and waited for her to sit.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she murmured. And not missing an instructional moment, she continued more loudly, “A gentleman should always help a lady into her seat.”

  “That lets you off, Hubert Flynn,” Art said. “It’s only for gentlemen, so it is.”

  She ignored the remark, but said, “Settle down, boys. The sooner Doctor Laverty and I are finished, the sooner you’ll be out of here.”

  Barry sat beside her.

  “Boys in Ulster,” she said quietly, “seem to learn the fine art of mutual slagging very young.”

  Barry thought of all the times he and Jack had traded what to an outsider would sound like mortal insults, but were in fact only banter. “Must be something in the water,” he said and was gratified by her throaty chuckle. “Now to work.”

  He had to interrupt Sue Nolan to ask the names of the other four boys, but in what seemed like no time, he’d finished the sixth prescription and was waiting for her to complete the last letter. Barry looked into the classroom, past where the little boys sat chatting quietly to each other. Each sloping, hinge-lidded desk had a two-inch-wide trough at the top edge for pens, rulers, and pencils, and at the right corner a circular hole holding a ceramic inkwell. He recalled sitting at desks like these, dipping his steel-nibbed, wooden-shafted pen into the well and leaving spidery, blot-marred words on the page.

  “Finished,” Sue said, sitting up from her task. “Sorry I’ve no envelopes, but they can stick the letters in their schoolbags.”

  “You’re a wee glipe, Art.” Hubert Flynn’s voice was clearly audible. “And yer mammy wears army boots, so she does.” There was an edge to his voice.

  Barry looked up and grinned. That was fighting talk. How would she handle it?

  Her voice was soft. “Hubert,” she said. “Hubert Flynn.” She shook her head, and her copper mane tossed back and forth. “Dear, oh dear. Is that any way to talk to anyone? I don’t mind a bit of teasing, but that was very rude, and Art’s supposed to be your friend.” She waited—and waited—her unblinking gaze never leaving the boy’s face.

  Barry saw Hubert lower his eyes.

  “You’ve made me very disappointed,” she said and waited some more.

  Barry watched as the little boy looked up at his teacher. His face was starting to crumble; his lips turned down. She rose and went to him, and to Barry’s amazement she bent and hugged the lad.

  Now the tears did start. “I’m awful sorry, Miss Nolan. I’ll never do it again, so I won’t. Honest to God.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  She gave him a hanky. “Good. Now blow your nose, tell Art again you’re sorry, shake hands, and sit there quietly, and we’ll say no more about it.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Barry was impressed by how Sue handed things.

  “Here, Doctor Laverty,” she said, handing him his own letter and five copies.

  “Terrific.” He compared his scrawled words to her immaculate copperplate. “Thank you. Now I need to tell them a few things.”

  She spoke to the boys. “Doctor Laverty has something to say.”

  Every face turned to him.

  “Boys, when your name is called, I want you to come up here one at a time. I’ll give you a prescription and a letter to take straight home for your mammy. She’ll make sure you’ll be better in no time.” He noticed another boy whispering to Hubert. The other four were intently watching the conversation. Hubert held up his hand.

  “Yes, Hubert?” Barry asked. The boy seemed to be quite recovered from his tears.

  “Please, sir, we’d like to know, like … Colin Brown got off school, so he did?”

  Barry smiled. “He did. And so will you.” He turned to Sue Nolan. “I’m afraid they’ll all have to stay at home for a couple of weeks.” From the corner of his eye he saw Hubert give Art a surreptitious thumbs-up, as if things were going according to plan.

  “It can’t be helped,” Sue said. “I just hope this’ll be the end to the outbreak.”

  “Me too,” Barry said. “Now let’s get them and us out of here.” He glanced at the first letter and called, “Art O’Callaghan.”

  Art came up and Barry gave him his papers. Funny, Barry thought, as he called another name. It’s like Prize Day with me handing out the trophies, and by the looks on their faces you’d think each one had won a prize.

  As soon as the last boy had been given his prescription and instructions, Sue said, “Class is dismissed.”

  The boys made a dash for the door, but young Flynn got left behind. He hesitated to bend down and pull up his left sock, which had slipped down around his ankle. “And don’t forget to tell your mammy to boil your cap,” Barry called to him. The instructions were in the letter, but it didn’t hurt to send a verbal reminder too.

  “I know, Doctor. Colin Brown’s mammy had to.”

  “Fair enough. Go on with you.”

  Hubert tore off, yelling, “Take your hurry in your hand. Wait for me.”

  31

  Considerably Worried and Scratched

  “I don’t want to hold you up, Sue, but could you stay a few more minutes?” Barry said.

  “Of course.”

  “Just a few questions.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Before I do, I must say I was impressed by the way you handled young Hubert. In my day if I’d tried it on like that, I’d have got a swift clip round the ears.”

  “Honey,” she said, “catches more flies than vinegar.” Her eyes, green as fine jade, held a most delightful smile.

  “Thanks for doing the notes. I’m impressed by your penmanship,” he said.

  “I’m learning to do Japanese ideographs too,” she said. “Calligraphy’s a hobby. Completely old-fashioned, useless in today’s world, but pleasant to look at.”

  Barry almost found himself remarking, “So are you pleasant to look at, Miss Sue Nolan,” but instead he said, “I need your help to try to stop the ringworm outbreak from spreading.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Ask the cleaning staff to use Dettol to wash down the desks in here and the basins in the gents toilets. Have all the old towels in there changed, and the used ones washed. You’ve seen what ringworm looks like; I don’t think there’ll be any more, but if any new cases do crop up, shoot them over to us at Number 1 or send for us again.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He looked at her blouse. “I’d suggest you give your hands a good wash before you leave here, and boil that blouse tonight. You hugged Hubert. I’d hate to see you with a bald spot.” The words slipped out. “You do have lovely hair. Quite stunning. It would be a shame to spoil it.” What on earth possessed him to say that?

  “Thank you,” she said, “for the advice. I’d not fancy my hair looking as if the moths had got at it.” She shook her mane. “It took a while to grow.”

  Barry knew he was blushing. He wanted to get the conversation back on a professional footing. He cleared his throat and said, “With a bit of luck I think that should do it, now we’ve sent
all the affected cases home, but to be on the safe side you’ll have to try to keep the children from sharing clothing, combs, hairbrushes, towels. Lots of handwashing.”

  “I’ll see to all that too,” she said levelly. “I really hope the outbreak is finished now. I’d not be happy with an empty classroom. I love teaching here.”

  “Have you always taught here?”

  She shook her head. “I did my practice teaching in Belfast, but the minute I was ready for a full-time job I got out of the city as fast as I could.”

  “Ballybucklebo’s pretty small.”

  “Not to me. I’m a small-town girl. Broughshane, where I grew up, isn’t San Francisco, you know.”

  Broughshane was about seven miles from Cullybackey, where Jack Mills’s family had a dairy farm, and close to the larger Ballymena. Barry knew of the small town in the Glens of Antrim but had never actually been there. He smiled and said, “Ballybucklebo’s no hiving metropolis either, and a ringworm outbreak’s hardly as serious as the 1906 California earthquake, but I still need to get to the bottom of it. That’s where you can help.”

  “How?”

  “Every one of the infected kids is yours—”

  “Doctor Laverty, what do you take me for?” she said, with mock indignation. “I’m a single woman.” She raised her right eyebrow and chuckled in the same deep tones he remembered from the first time he’d met her.

  It pleased him to have made her laugh. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “I know,” she said with a smile. She lightly touched his sleeve. “I was just taking a hand out of you. And yes, it did start with one of my pupils: Ballybucklebo’s answer to Dennis the Menace, Colin Brown.” She chuckled again. “Mind you, Hubert Flynn runs him a close second.”

  “I noticed … Kids.” He shook his head. “My guess is that Colin got infected first, and somehow it was passed on. Boys are always wrestling and grabbing each other by the hair. They probably share combs.” Barry shook his head. “I don’t know yet where Colin got it. Cats and dogs carry one kind of fungus, cattle another, and mice harbour a different strain. Youngsters are usually infected by their pets or farm beasts; then it’s passed from one child to another by close contact. It’ll be hard to find the original source in a rural community. There’re animals everywhere.”