‘Big Tom Fallon’ by Kit de Waal

Told as a monologue. Bridegroom Tom Fallon speaking from the heart tells his story. Fallon travels to England to live and work, but after a couple of years finds himself back in rural Ireland, blind in both eyes after an altercation with some yobs’ boots. Through quiet determination, Tom’s friends help him to stop brooding and give him the confidence to continue living. All of which leads up to meeting his future wife and his wedding day. A warm, uplifting story, beautifully written and a pleasure to read and re-read.

“Paulie Nolan is another one I have to thank. I don’t know why and I don’t know how he could bear it but when I came out of the asylum, that good man and neighbour came to sit with me every week while my mother went to work.
‘All right, Tommy, boy,’ he used to say. ‘I cannot get a minute’s peace in my own house so you don’t mind if I perch on this chair and read myself the Evening Echo do you?’
I could hear the paper rustling and he’d talk to himself about the football and the hurling, call down fire on the head of Liam Cosgrave and Paddy Donegan and every other politician up in Dublin that knew nothing of the real world as far as he was concerned.
Talking to himself he was, week after week, a right windbag and blabbermouth. No wonder they didn’t want him at home. Yes, you can all laugh now but its’s what I thought. I didn’t realise his kindness to me, as good as any father, better than some.”

First published in Supporting Cast, Penguin, 2020

‘The Things We Ate’ by Kit de Waal

Kit de Waal was involved in a previous iteration of the project I’m working on, which resulted in this collection of short stories and essays.

Food is one of the things we associate most strongly with home. De Waal’s shortest of short stories is a list of the food that she grew up with:

“Sliceable, fry-able, pink and trembly Spam, steak and kidney pies cooked in a tin that opened with an exciting key. Tinned pork in see-through jelly. Red, molten corned-beef hash, sardines – skin, flesh and vertebrae – and six pigs’ trotters in lemony water, the lungs of a chicken, the neck of a lamb. Ribs.”

The list is full of nostalgia, longing, familial happiness; reading it is like being wrapped up in a warm coat:

“And cocoa with sugar and unexpected, unaccountable heart-lifting chocolate shortbread biscuits after a winter’s night shift from a silent father who thought of his children on his long walk home.”

Collected in Common People: An Anthology of Working-class Writers, edited by Kit de Waal, Unbound, 2019