The winter had been hard, almost as bad as forty-seven, people would remark.
The emergency was over but even in the heart of the Leinster coalfield folk were still feeling the effects of rationing. There was talk of the government lifting the rationing of meat, but without sufficient fuel, there was no way to cook it.
Coal, the black gold was in short supply and hard to come by.
People eked out their ration by dancing the colum, mixing colum with water and using the resultant bombs as fuel. This was a messy business however effective its results.
Pat and his brother Billy had gathered a decent pile of good anthracite and made the trip to Kilkenny to keep a few loyal customers supplied.
They never knew who made the complaint, but the summons arrived, as spring was beginning to reclaim the earth for its own.
Folk were concerned and some even mooted the notion of holding a collection to hire a solicitor, who might speak on the brothers‘ behalf.
Pat the more loquacious of the pair seemed unconcerned. “No need to bother with solicitors and such like, bloodsuckers the lot of them,” he assured his friends. “We’ll be grand, keep yer few bob in yer pockets”, was all he’d say.
The day of the hearing dawned, bright and clear. A small throng had gathered near the front of the
Courthouse. An ass and cart were heard approaching. Just as the Red Sea parted to allow Moses and the Israelites through, the assembled throng parted to allow Pat and Billy access.
They took their places inside and while they waited for their case to be called, they enjoyed the proceedings. Cases ranging from drunk and disorderly to petty larceny were being heard. With his usual innocuous expression lighting his face, Pat was confirmed in his long-held opinion, that the law is an ass.
When their case was called, the brothers stood, caps in hand and moved closer to the bench, when requested.
His Honour looked impressive in wig and gown, hardly recognisable from the previous time the brothers had seen him. On that occasion he’d been in wellingtons, his sparse hair blowing in the wind as he carted a large turkey into an outhouse.
His voice was deep and melodious as he outlined the offence with which the brothers were charged. A baritone, no doubt, surmised Pat, who had a good ear. His musings were interrupted as he heard the Judge ask, “and who bought this coal from you, my good man?”
The brothers took a step closer to the bench. Pat cleared his throat and in a deferential whisper he answered. “your wife, your Honour”. “Case dismissed,” announced his Honour as the gavel came down with a decisive thud.
© Copyright Bernadette Boran / Brennan – 8/8/2018
Berna Boran 