When we got to the hall we gave our copies to Henno and he put them under the front legs of the projector so the picture would hit the screen bang on.

The teachers stood at the side and went Shh all through the films. They leaned against the wall in twos and threes and smoked, some of them. Only Miss Watkins patrolled around but she never caught anyone cos we would see her head on the screen when she was coming up the aisle.

–Get out of the way!

–Get out of the way!

If it was a sunny day outside we could see hardly anything on the screen because the curtains on the windows weren’t thick enough. We cheered when a cloud got in the way of the sun and we cheered when the sun came back out. Sometimes we just heard the film. But it was easy to tell what was happening.

It always started with two or three Woody Woodpeckers. I could do Woody Woodpecker’s voice.

–Stop that! a teacher would say.

–Shhh!

But they gave up early. By the time Woody Woodpecker was finished and The Three Stooges came on most of the teachers weren’t in the hall any more, just Henno and Mister Arnold and Miss Watkins. My Woody Woodpecker hurt the back of my throat but it was worth it.

–I know that’s you, Patrick Clarke.

We could see Miss Watkins squinting in at us but she couldn’t see anything.

–Do it again.

I waited till she was looking straight at us, then I did it.

–WAACAHCAHCAHCEHHHCUH—

–Patrick Clarke!

–It wasn’t me, Miss.

–It was the bird in the picture, Miss.

–Your head’s in the way, Miss.

–Hey; you can see Miss’s nits in the light!

She went down to Henno at the projector but he wouldn’t stop it for her.

–WAACAHCAHCAHCEHHHCUH—

I loved The Three Stooges as well. Sometimes it was Laurel and Hardy but I preferred The Three Stooges. Some of the fellas called them The Three Stoogies but I knew it was Stooges because my da told me. We could never tell what the story was about in their films; there was too much noise and, anyway, all they ever did was beat each other up. Larry and Moe and Curly, that was their names. Kevin poked my eyes the way the Stooges did it—we were in the field behind the shops, all of us—and I couldn’t see for ages. I didn’t know about that at first because of the pain; I couldn’t open my eyes. It was like all the headaches I used to get; it was like the headaches you got when you ate icecream too fast; it was like being hit with a soft branch across the eyes. I had my hands covering my eyes and I wouldn’t take them down. I was shaking the way my sister, Catherine, did when she’d been crying and bawling for ages. I didn’t want to do it.

I didn’t know I was screaming. They told me later. It had scared them, I could tell. The next time I got hurt, when I cut my shoulder on a nail on a goalpost, I screamed then as well. But, because I’d decided to do it, I thought it sounded stupid. I stopped and rolled on the ground, in the wet. My da went down to Kevin’s house when he came home from work and Ma told him what had happened. I watched him from their bedroom window. When he came back he said nothing. Kevin didn’t know what had happened between my da and his da. He’d expected to be killed, especially when he saw the shape of my da through the hall door glass. But nothing happened him. His da did nothing, and didn’t even say anything to him. I told my da this when he was having his tea the day after; he didn’t look surprised or anything.

I had two bloodshot eyes and one black one.

The best thing about The Three Stooges was that there were no breaks. For the main film Hennessey had to change the reel and spin back the old one. The picture would go white with little coloured explosions and the sound would go; we’d hear the film clacking around, hitting against the empty spool. It took ages to get going again.

They turned on the lights so Henno could see what he was doing. We got down off the seats in time. We played chicken; first down was a spa.

Once, during the main film, Fluke Cassidy took one of his epileptic fits and no one noticed. It was The Vikings. The sun was covered by the clouds outside so we saw the whole film. Fluke fell off his chair, but that happened all the time. It was a great film, easily the best I’d ever seen. We stamped the floor to make Henno hurry up when the first reel finished. Then we saw Fluke.

–Sir! Luke Cassidy’s having a fit.

We all got far away from him in case we got the blame for it.

Fluke had stopped shaking—he’d knocked over three chairs and Mister Arnold had put his jacket over him.

–Maybe they won’t finish the film, said Liam.

–Why won’t they?

–Cos of Fluke.

Mister Arnold called for coats.

–Coats, lads; come on.

–Let’s look, said Kevin.

We went up two rows, and in, so we could get a proper look at Fluke. He only looked like he was asleep. He was whiter then normal.

–Give him room, lads.

Henno was with Mister Arnold now. They’d put four coats over Fluke. If they put one over his head that meant he was dead.

–Someone to go to Mister Finnucane.

Mister Finnucane was the headmaster.

–Sir!

–Sir!

–Sir, me!

–You. Henno chose Ian McEvoy.—Report what happened to Mister Finnucane. What happened?

–Luke Cassidy took a fit, Sir.

–Correct.

–D’you want us to carry him, Sir?

–OH YOU’RE ALL VERY QUIET IN THE BACK—

YOU’RE ALL VERY QUIET—

–Shut!—Up! Sit—Down—.

–That’s my place—!

–Shut!—Up!

We were all sitting down. I turned to Kevin.

–Not a squeak, Mister Clarke, said Henno.—Face the screen. All of you.

Kevin’s little brother, Simon, put his hand up. He was way up at the front.

–Yes; you with your hand up.

–Malachy O’Leary’s after going toilet.

–Sit down.

–Number twos.

–Sit!—Down!

The music in The Vikings was the best thing about it; it was brilliant. Any time there was a Viking boat coming home a fella on a cliff would see it and he’d blow the music through a huge horn and everyone would come out of their huts and run down to meet the boat. Whenever there was a battle they played the same music. It was brilliant; you remembered it for ever. In the end one of the main fellas was killed—I wasn’t sure which one—and they put him in his boat and covered him in wood; they set fire to it and pushed the boat out. I started humming the music, slower; I knew it was going to happen in the film. And it did.

I killed a rat with a hurley. It was a fluke. I just swung the hurley. I didn’t know for definite that the rat was going to be coming my way. I hoped he wouldn’t. It was great though, the full feeling when the hurley smacked the rat’s side and lifted him way up; perfect.

I whooped.

–D’yeh see that?

It was perfect. The rat lay there in the muck, twitching; there was stuff coming out of his mouth.

–Champion! Champion! Champion!

We crept up to him but I wanted to get there before the rest so I crept fast. He was still twitching.

–He’s still twitching.

–He isn’t. That’s his nerves.

–The nerves die after the rest of him.

–Did you see the way I got him?

–I was waiting for him, said Kevin.—I’d’ve got him.

–I got him.

–What’ll we do with him? said Edward Swanwick.

–Have a funeral.

–Yeahhh!

Edward Swanwick hadn’t seen The Vikings; he didn’t go to our school.

We were in Donnelly’s yard, behind the barn. We’d have to smuggle the rat out.

–Why?

–It’s their rat.

Questions like that spoiled everything.

Uncle Eddie was in front of the house raking the gravel. Missis Donnelly was in the kitchen. Kevin went to the side of the barn and threw a stone in the hedge—a decoy—and looked.

–She’s washing trousers.

–Uncle Eddie’s dirtied his pants.

–Uncle Eddie did a gick and Mister Donnelly put it on his cabbages.