3

A Bit of Irish

THEY spilled over the tailboard of the potato merchant’s lorry and straggled into the field. They were the usual mix of sexes and ages. Tom Murphy was once again the ‘ganger’, and I was glad to see among the colleens the sturdy figure of Sobina. She was a year older, ripening rapidly into splendid womanhood.

‘Hello, ’Bina,’ I called, going up to her. I was a year older myself and just a mite bolder.

‘Hello yourself,’ she replied and made a grab for my trousers. I was unprepared for this amount of friendliness and retreated in some confusion.

From a safe distance I counted heads. There seemed to be twenty-five, a fair squad, and I recognised many from the year before.

Three old ladies were girding themselves with hessian sack aprons and getting their clays filled and drawing well. One held out a blackened stem. ‘Would you like a wee draw, sonny?’ she enquired.

I declined with thanks and went to consult with Tom Murphy about the work.

‘You’ll be carting for us same as last year,’ he supposed, offering me a cigarette.

I nodded. ‘Me and Donald.’

Donald stood, resting quietly between the shafts of the low loader, apparently oblivious to the hubbub around him. Tom, a veteran of many ‘howks’, drew deeply on his cigarette, clapped his hands and said briskly. ‘Right lad, we’d best get started. We’ll have the tatties stacked by the gate; the lorry will be here after dinner to load up. Now if you put the bags round I’ll get the folk sorted.’

‘Tom,’ I said desperately. ‘Can you keep ’Bina off my back? She’s a bit too much for me.’

Tom laughed. ‘She’s a bit too much for most folk these days,’ he said. ‘She’ll have your virginity like a shot if you don’t look out. Look,’ he pointed. ‘See that great brute of a chap over yonder. That’s her boyfriend, or maybe it’s her ex-boyfriend, she’s been trying to get rid of him for a while now.’

‘He’s big,’ I said and made a mental note about not giving offence in that direction.

‘And the wee shit beside him, that’s his mate. A nasty pair taken together, Sobina would be well shot of them. I think she’s looking for a white knight to ride to her rescue.’

‘White knights live in England,’ I reminded him. ‘I don’t think I’m her man, not yet, and I don’t like the look of that pair of villains. Have a word with her, Tom, I’ll buy you a pint.’

At the end of the day Sobina came to help me pick up the last of the sacks, heaving them on board effortlessly. On the far side of Donald, she gave me a cuddle. We were not within the boyfriend’s vision and she did not on this occasion go for the trousers. Her arms were surprisingly gentle and her body soft and yielding against mine. By the time her lips pressed down on mine I was quite helpless and nearly swooning with pleasure.

The spell was broken with the arrival of the merchant’s lorry.

The driver was leaning on the horn. People were scurrying hither and thither collecting their belongings and helpings of potatoes to boil up for supper. The potato merchant’s hutted accommodation was six miles away. I was safe from my temptress until the morning. A bit of a kiss out of sight was all right, but it was never worth getting the wrong side of those two toughs… or was it?

I debated this on the ride home in the cart. It was easy to recapture the feel of Sobina’s arms and the soft caress of her lips, and it was equally easy to picture those two men, one of them at l