Read Online Handstands In The Dark: A True Story of Growing Up and Survival by Janey Godley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Janey Godley
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nothing but a common thief!’
She marched the other girl and me up to the school office and told us that, when we had skipped English class, another girl’s sponsorship money had been stolen.
‘You lied about your reasons for leaving class. You did not go to see Miss Stewart in the gym. So I know you are
thieves
!’
I protested my innocence: ‘But I wa—’
The headmistress slapped me hard on the right cheek and the pain rang through my head. ‘You’re a thief!’ she screamed right into my face. ‘You’re nothing but a common thief! That girl collected money for charity and you stole it!’
I turned and ran from the school and belted all the way home. I was in tears when I got there and blurted the whole story out to my Mammy. She looked me straight in the eyes and asked: ‘
Did
you take the money, Janey?’
‘No, Mammy, I never took it.’ I felt my own anger rise at the same rate as my Mammy’s. She lit a cigarette, grabbed her coat and marched me back to confront the headmistress.
At last my Mammy was my hero! She would save the day!
All the way along the road to the school, Mammy was puffing on her cigarette, muttering to herself: ‘Hit you, did she? … Fucking hit you, did she?’ and then she would mutter: ‘I’ll fucking show
her
what fucking hitting is.’
Slowly, it dawned on me that my Mammy was walking so fast and her voice was getting so vicious that she was going to lose her temper completely. I stopped her halfway to the school and pleaded: ‘Mammy, please don’t get too upset. Don’t swear. Remember, I have to stay at the school. Just take it easy, Mammy.’
She paused long enough to take one deep drag on her cigarette and to spit out the words: ‘No one hits my wee lassie. No one! I mean it! And she won’t hit you ever again!’
By now, I was shit-scared of the whole thing and began to wish I had never told her about what had happened. But it was too late. We were already at the door of the school office and she was dragging me in behind her, demanding to speak to the headmistress. Out of the big brown door appeared my dragon headmistress, all long tweed outfit, coiffed blonde hair and polyester white scarf, strutting for a showdown. I stood there as this large woman eyed my wee Mammy. I followed the tweedy woman’s eyes down. Mammy had unkempt grey hair pulled to the side, no make-up on her lined face and wore a very shabby pale blue cotton coat, no tights and cheap brown plastic shoes which her toes had partly burst through. I realised at that moment what other people saw when they looked at my Mammy and for one awful second my Mammy saw the look of distaste in the headmistress’s eyes as well. I felt sad for my Mammy. One disdainful look from this figure of authority and she almost crumbled. Mammy had been about to launch into her big defence speech, but the tweedy woman’s nasty look momentarily floored her.
After that fleeting second passed, though, she pulled herself up to her full height and asked matter-of-factly:
‘Why did you hit my daughter?’
‘She is a thief.’
Both women then dived into a shouting match, accusations flying from Mammy, the headmistress drowning her out with her side of the story; Mammy eventually cornered the woman into a lame admission:
‘Yes, I pushed Janey.’
Mammy took one step back and punched the woman hard in the middle of her face. My elegantly dressed headmistress went flying backwards, hitting and tumbling over a chair to land flat on the floor with her long tweed skirt right up over her chest revealing light brown tights with white knickers underneath. Mammy jumped on her and started delivering more punches into the woman’s head with her wee fists. I stood totally gobsmacked. The school office burst into wild activity and, as Mammy was dragged off the headmistress, the woman lay on the floor, gasping, with her hair pulled up and tufts of it on the floor. Mammy looked down at her snarling: ‘Charge me! Get the Polis! I
She marched the other girl and me up to the school office and told us that, when we had skipped English class, another girl’s sponsorship money had been stolen.
‘You lied about your reasons for leaving class. You did not go to see Miss Stewart in the gym. So I know you are
thieves
!’
I protested my innocence: ‘But I wa—’
The headmistress slapped me hard on the right cheek and the pain rang through my head. ‘You’re a thief!’ she screamed right into my face. ‘You’re nothing but a common thief! That girl collected money for charity and you stole it!’
I turned and ran from the school and belted all the way home. I was in tears when I got there and blurted the whole story out to my Mammy. She looked me straight in the eyes and asked: ‘
Did
you take the money, Janey?’
‘No, Mammy, I never took it.’ I felt my own anger rise at the same rate as my Mammy’s. She lit a cigarette, grabbed her coat and marched me back to confront the headmistress.
At last my Mammy was my hero! She would save the day!
All the way along the road to the school, Mammy was puffing on her cigarette, muttering to herself: ‘Hit you, did she? … Fucking hit you, did she?’ and then she would mutter: ‘I’ll fucking show
her
what fucking hitting is.’
Slowly, it dawned on me that my Mammy was walking so fast and her voice was getting so vicious that she was going to lose her temper completely. I stopped her halfway to the school and pleaded: ‘Mammy, please don’t get too upset. Don’t swear. Remember, I have to stay at the school. Just take it easy, Mammy.’
She paused long enough to take one deep drag on her cigarette and to spit out the words: ‘No one hits my wee lassie. No one! I mean it! And she won’t hit you ever again!’
By now, I was shit-scared of the whole thing and began to wish I had never told her about what had happened. But it was too late. We were already at the door of the school office and she was dragging me in behind her, demanding to speak to the headmistress. Out of the big brown door appeared my dragon headmistress, all long tweed outfit, coiffed blonde hair and polyester white scarf, strutting for a showdown. I stood there as this large woman eyed my wee Mammy. I followed the tweedy woman’s eyes down. Mammy had unkempt grey hair pulled to the side, no make-up on her lined face and wore a very shabby pale blue cotton coat, no tights and cheap brown plastic shoes which her toes had partly burst through. I realised at that moment what other people saw when they looked at my Mammy and for one awful second my Mammy saw the look of distaste in the headmistress’s eyes as well. I felt sad for my Mammy. One disdainful look from this figure of authority and she almost crumbled. Mammy had been about to launch into her big defence speech, but the tweedy woman’s nasty look momentarily floored her.
After that fleeting second passed, though, she pulled herself up to her full height and asked matter-of-factly:
‘Why did you hit my daughter?’
‘She is a thief.’
Both women then dived into a shouting match, accusations flying from Mammy, the headmistress drowning her out with her side of the story; Mammy eventually cornered the woman into a lame admission:
‘Yes, I pushed Janey.’
Mammy took one step back and punched the woman hard in the middle of her face. My elegantly dressed headmistress went flying backwards, hitting and tumbling over a chair to land flat on the floor with her long tweed skirt right up over her chest revealing light brown tights with white knickers underneath. Mammy jumped on her and started delivering more punches into the woman’s head with her wee fists. I stood totally gobsmacked. The school office burst into wild activity and, as Mammy was dragged off the headmistress, the woman lay on the floor, gasping, with her hair pulled up and tufts of it on the floor. Mammy looked down at her snarling: ‘Charge me! Get the Polis! I
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