Ronan's acting tough on his first day in secondary school, but take it from a certain celebrity past pupil - nothing prepares you for Castlerock
'POOR KIDS didn't have much of a summer," Father McCalman goes. "You might say it was an Iraqi summer - occasionally Sunni but mostly Shi'ite." His voice echoes in the humungous entrance hall and I'm, like, instantly brought back to my own first day here. The big classrooms. The teachers in their gowns. Terrified. Shitting Baileys.
I look at Ronan, stood there in his little blazer, putting on the hard man face, ink spot under his eye. I can't believe we've come to this day already. I ask him if he's okay and he says he's mustard, which is WC for LL Cool.
"No doubt you'll know all about the proud history of the school from your father," McCalman goes. He's walking, like, four or five steps ahead of us, banging on. "Four rugby internationals, five government ministers, two of Ireland's top 20 captains of industry and one Oscar nominee . . ." I notice I'm not included in the list but I'm big enough to let it go. I'm there, "Lot of big hitters, in other words. The important thing is not to be, like, intimidated?"
Ronan's like, "Intimidated? I wouldn't know how to spell the word." Neither would I. Literally. I hope they do a better job educating him than they did me.
We turn into the corridor that leads to, like, the main hall and end up running straight into Fionn. He's there, "Hey, Ross," glasses on him, the usual. "Father. Ronan. Hey, Ro, I've got you for history and English." "Ah, nice one," Ronan goes, not knowing Fionn like I do. He's going to spend most of first year in a coma.
"Remember when this was us?" Fionn goes. "Our orientation day? Top dogs in the junior school, then we came here . . ." I'm there, "Yeah, when you're that age, everyone who's older than you seems like an actual grown-up, don't they? That can be, like, pretty frightening."
"Boys," Ronan goes, "I was there in Albufeira when Fat Johnny Mitchum put six fooken caps in Gull Burden . . ." He means Byrne.
"I helped Winker and Nudger caddy him to the hospital. Lost three pints of claret. Most of it, I ended up wearing.
"I was in The Jolly Hangman in Finglas the night thee sprayed the place, looking to get Nudger's brutter. Bullet split me Selma Blair - me Ma had to toorn it into a side-parting.
"I was there in the back of the car when it all kicked off after Whitney at the Point. On the M50, minding usser own business, when the Westies start squirting metal our way . . ." I look at Father McCalman, who's obviously thinking, what the fock is happening to this school? "Buckets of Blood took four slugs, lost control of the wheel. We ended up getting trun off the motorway into a field. Had to pop me own shoulder back in that night, fook-all to kill the pain except a mouthful of brake fluid." I make a sign to McCalman to say, basically, don't worry, it's all in his head.
"So if you think I'm gonna be scared of a bunch of Tristans and fooken Tiernans . . ." "Come on then," Fionn goes. "Mr McGahy's about to start the orientation address." We stort walking again, the four of us, towards the double doors at the end of the corridor. You can already hear, like, the clamour inside.
"I was there the day Nudger did a runner from the Four Courts. Brief said he was looking at a five-stretch - a five-stretch, for a fooken jump-over? Said he couldn't do any more boord. Two weeks he lived in our coalshed - middle of winter. Law found him. Big fooken muckers. Eight of them to take us down. With truncheons . . ." I look at the photographs lining the walls. Black and white pictures of pretty much every school team going back to the 1920s. My old man's up there somewhere. Me and the goys.
"I was there the day in Dublin Tattoo Solutions when Andy Cahill got fooken shanked. He was getting a dotted line put across his billy goat. Mad, cos Dosser Raymond comes in - the doorty looken doort boord - puts a blade up again it. Phut! Andy's head's flapping around like a fooken windsock . . ." Louder and louder the clamour grows. They're, like, chanting something.
"I've seen things'd make your teeth itch. I was there the day they pulled Jemmer O'Toole out of the canal. What was left of him. Reckon he was alive when they trun him, trussed up like a Christmas toorkey. The fish had eaten he's fooken eyelids, so he's lying there on the bank, just staring up at me. Staring, man.
"Buckets put his hand on me shoulder and says he, 'No one retires from this game, Ronan - this game retires you . . .'"
I can hear it now, that old refrain. "You can't knock the Rock! You can't knock the Rock!"
"Saw Jody Ormonde one time, shopping centre carpark, Samurai sword stuck in his leg. Stuck in his leg! Hit him so hard with the thing, they couldn't get it out. Had to leave it there - two grand's worth of a sword. And Jody walking to the hospital, not a bother on him . . ." Fionn opens the double doors and it's like he's just opened an oven. The heat.
The chanting stops and every single head turns our way. A hundred and fifty kids, like Ronan, storting out on a new road, kacking themselves but not wanting anyone to know.
I watch his shoulders drop. I watch his face go pale. I watch him bite his bottom lip.
There's a roar. "Attention!" It's McGahy.
I tell Ro I'll wait outside in the cor. And I will - even if it's hours.
"Whatever makes you happy," he goes, but he's nodding - nodding like the Churchill dog.
I think, who'd be 12 again?
[ www.rossocarrollkelly.ieOpens in new window ]
TXT ROSS
Some dude called Kev goes, "Ross wondered were u in boomers in clondalkin on tues night to welcom home kenny and d lads."You should know by now, Kev - I'm only interested in sports played by GOYS.
DB goes, "Im going to college - any advice for an 18 yr old rich kid starting his academic career?"There's no shame in Club M on a Sunday night.
Dude called Dermot goes, "Im dating 2 girls seperately, both bang on. Genuinely cant decide which 1 I like most. Wot'l happen if I'm honest an tell them they'r in a competition?"I don't know. But tell RTÉ too. They're bound to want to televise it. With a phone vote, naturally.