Ginger Bap

                                                         
                                                  GINGER BAP                                                             
"Ginger bap! Ginger bap! Na,na,na,na,na...”
              The red haired boy stood his ground, glaring fiercely and bunching his hands at the group of boys who were taunting him but just when he was about to launch himself at the nearest boy he felt a persistent tug on the sleeve of his school blazer.         
  "Ach Tommy, don't mind themmuns. Sure they're only jealous because you're top of the class. C'mon...c'mon, (cough) (cough)."
              Still angry Tommy turned to stare at his best friend, Paul Moran. Mary, Paul's sister, stood behind him. She had a worried look on her dark face.         
  "C'mon, Tommy. (cough) (cough). Let's go."
              Tommy relaxed a little, but turned back to give his tormentors a defiant glare before walking away
              As they walked home Paul's continuous coughing disturbed Tommy.         
  "Are you still not better, Paul?" he asked.         
  "Naw. Me ma's takin' me to the doctors tomorrow. I was up all night sick."         
  "A neighbor said it might be his lungs, or somethin' lick that," said Mary quietly.
              Tommy studied his best friend. His usually chubby cheeks were very pale and slack.
              When they reached the corner of the street where Tommy lived Paul said, "I'll not be at school tomorrow, Tommy. Me ma's keepin' me off."                                                                 
  "Yer a lucky duck, Paul," said Tommy. "I wish I could stay off. I'll see ye later on          anyway. See ye Mary."       
  "See ye," chorused Paul and Mary.
              As Tommy headed down the street he was unaware that Mary, with her wide, innocent eyes was gazing adoringly after him. Then when he turned the corner out of sight she sighed then swung around and raced after her brother.
              That evening Tommy stood in front of his bathroom mirror. He glared at his reflection. His red hair, thick and curly shone back at him like a fiery beacon. With a sigh he reached for his toothbrush and began to clean his teeth. When he had finished he bent to the water-tap and with water in his mouth he gargled loudly as he looked into the mirror again. Turning he spat venomously into the sink. "Ahhh," he groaned aloud. "Why me? Why did I have to have red hair?"         
  "Thomas!" His mother called from downstairs. "Thomas!"
              Breathing heavily he gulped, "Yes, mammy?"       
  "Have you cleaned your teeth yet?"         
  "Aye, ma."         
  "Well hurry up and get to bed. It's almost eleven o'clock." 
  "Aye, ma.
              With a final grimace at his reflection he hurried into his bedroom. Kicking his slippers off he bounced onto his bed. Then reaching out for his pile of Marvel comics he thumbed through them. He tried hard to concentrate on the X Men comic he chose but it was no use. With a grunt he threw the comic onto his bedside table with the others and lay back staring at the ceiling. Ginger bap, he thought. What a nickname. He hated it. He hated his hair. Throwing his head back hard against his pillow he tried to block out the thoughts from his tortured mind, but it was no use. If only I could wake up in the morning and my hair would be black, or grey; any color but red. He growled as he stared at his poster of Elvis. The King's hair was a glistening black, combed to perfection. I would even swap my hair for a big nose like Dympna Simpsons, he thought, or a turn in my eye like Joe McCourts. Anything would be better than having red hair. Reaching up he ran his fingers through his thick red locks. Maybe when I'm older me mammy will let me dye it?
              Next morning Paul was marked absent and Mary sat beside Tommy in the classroom. It was a hot, end of spring day and the portly teacher, Mr. Morgan, his thick bulging neck straining at his tight restricting shirt collar and tie, sweated profusely.
              The morning passed slowly, the heat increasing in the poorly ventilated classroom. At eleven twenty, unable to bear it any longer and with his handkerchief soggy with sweat the teacher said, "Class, take out your history books and turn to the Siege of Derry. Read over it. I will return in a few minutes so I don't want to hear any disturbance. Right!" Giving his pupils one of his well-rehearsed glowers he walked to the door. At the door just before opening it he said," Behave yourselves. I'll be back shortly." Then he hurried away to the staff-room for a  cold drink of water and a fresh handkerchief. 
              The rustling of pages and the low whispering of the boys and girls filled the classroom. A minute passed, then suddenly, "Thwack!" An ink soaked piece of blotting paper hit Tommy on the back of his head. Tommy could feel the blue ink trickle down his neck as he reached behind. He stared at the blue ink on his hand. Swinging around, his face white with anger he shouted, "Who did that? Who was it?"                                                               
              A smirk on Buster Mellon's fat face answered his question.         
  "Who did what, Ginger bap?" he sneered rising to his feet. "Did someone dye yer ginger bap for ye? Did they, eh, eh?" Suddenly he began to bang on the lid of his desk shouting, "Ginger bap! Ginger bap! Na,na,na,na,na..."
              Encouraged by this some of his cronies joined in and soon the classroom resounded to the thudding noise as more pupils began to jeer Tommy. The noise grew louder until it was almost deafening.         
  "STOP IT! STOP IT!"
              The sharp squeal penetrated the din and startled most of the pupils stopped. Everyone stared at Mary, for it was Mary who had screamed and she was now standing on top of her seat, her eyes filled with tears.
              Just then the door opened and Mr. Morgan entered. His greasy hair was combed into place. The smell of perfumed talcum wafted around the room.         
  "What's all this, Mary? Sit down." He glared at her. "Now," he said as Mary very embarrassed sat quickly down, "Let us continue with your history lesson."
              After school, Tommy and Mary walked home together.         
  "I hope Paul's alright, Mary. Tell him I'll be over tonight."
  "Sure, Tommy," said Mary with a shy smile.
              As they passed the long red-bricked wall that ran along the edge of the school Gaelic pitch they spotted Buster Mellon and three other boys.         
  "Look!" yelled Mellon. "There's Ginger bap. Hallo Ginger bap, How's it goin' eh?"
              The four boys gathered around Tommy. One of them pushed Mary out of the way. She watched afraid, as Mellon prodded Tommy in the chest and began to taunt him.                                                                               
              Suddenly, with a snarl that took the bigger boy by surprise Tommy swung his fist and hit Buster high on his left cheek.
              Later, Tommy sat in the kitchen as his mother gently dabbed at his swollen eye and cut lip with a dettol soaked piece of tissue.         
  "It's not worth fightin' about, Thomas," she scolded. "Sure everybody has a nickname. They used to call me, skinny lizzy from the boneyard. God, I was so thin in them days," she laughed, feeling her fat layered midriff. "Ach, sure ye'll soon get used to it. Nicknames don't mean anything. If ye ignore them those boys will soon leave ye alone. They'll soon get fed up and stop, you'll see."         
  "Ach mammy," moaned Tommy. "I get browned off with it all. It's my hair. I hate it. I hate the colour of it. Is there nothin' you can do about it?"
              His mother frowned, trying to understand her son's torment. His hair was very red, but then plenty of people had red hair. "Plenty of people have red hair, Thomas, aye and famous people too. They never let it bother them. Besides, I think it's a lovely color. Yer grandfather had lovely red hair..."       
  "But mammy," began Tommy. Then he snapped, "Ah, what's the use talkin' to you. You just don't understand." Pushing his chair back he rose and stalked to the kitchen door shouting, "I hate my hair! Don't ye understand! I hate my hair!"
              That evening he called to see Paul. Paul's mother, with her eyes puffy and red came to the door. Mary stood behind her.         
  "Is Paul in, Mrs. Moran?" Tommy asked glancing at Mary.
              Mary's mother stared stupidly at him.                                                                         
  "Tommy," said Mary pushing past her mother. "Come on in. Paul's away up to the hospital in Belfast fer a check up. He'll be there a week, fer tests."         
  "Is...is he alright?" asked Tommy as he passed Mrs. Moran and came into the hall.         
  "Come on up to his room," whispered Mary glancing at her mother who was closing the front door.
              Tommy followed Mary up the stairs and into Paul's bedroom. He sat beside her on the edge of Paul's bed.         
  "Me mammy's very upset," said Mary quietly staring at the floor. "The doctor says Paul might have to get radi...radiation treatment."         
  "What's that?"         
  "I don't know, but I hope it stops Paul bein' sick."         
  "I hope so too," said Tommy looking at Mary.         
  "I miss him," she whispered, her eyes glistening.
              Tommy reached out to take her hand but stopped. Embarrassed he said quickly, "Ach, sure it'll only be for a week. Mickey Johnson was in hospital for a whole year and he was OK. Anyway, I wish I could get a week or two off school. Buster and his lot are really gettin' on my goat."
  "Tommy, you shouldn't worry about them callin' ye names. Besides, I like the color of your hair, and ye have lovely eyes...too..."
              Tommy stared at Mary. Her face grew redder and she heaved a silent relieved sigh as her mother came into the room carrying a tray.         
  "I thought yees would lick some biscuits and milk," she said leaving the tray on top of Paul's bedside chair. She gave Tommy a smile then left the room.                                                               
              The following week dragged slowly by. Tommy tried to ignore Mellon's taunts but it was no use. He did however manage to stop getting into any more fights. Then the following Monday..."Tommy, Paul's comin' home today." Mary's excited face beamed at him.               
  "That's great, Mary. I'll call over and see him this evenin'."
              Mary was sitting on the edge of Paul's bed when Tommy was shown into the room. She watched as Tommy's eyes widened with horror when he saw Paul. His friend was propped up on his bed. There were two dark rings around his sunken eyes. His cheekbones pushed sharply on his pale face. On his head he wore his school cap. The sound of his quick breathing filled the room.         
  "Yes, Paul," gulped Tommy. "How are you?"         
  "Not too bad," Paul croaked hoarsely. "I have to get injections. That's the sorest part of it."
              Tommy noticed that Paul was clutching tightly onto his blanket, the strain of talking obviously painful for him.         
  "What's with the cap?" asked Tommy at once regretting asking the question.         
  "Ah it's only the radiation treatment," said Paul. "It's made me lose some of my hair. Do ye want to see?"
              Tommy nodded.
              Paul's breathing quickened as he reached up and pulled the cap from his head. His dark eyes studied Tommy's reaction.
              Tommy gasped. Only small clumps of hair remained on Paul's head and the pale skin that was exposed bubbled with sweat.         
  "Wile lookin' isn't it, Tommy?" said Paul attempting a smile.                                                                           
  "Naw, naw, sure you're sick," Tommy whispered, annoyed at his own inadequacy.
              Mary quickly reached for Paul's cap and put it back on his head. Her brother gave her a grateful smile.
              Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Moran came into the room. "I think Paul needs to get some rest now, Tommy," she said.
                Later as Tommy and Mary stood at her front door, Mary suddenly began to cry. "I don't think Paul's goin' to get better..."         
  "Ach don't worry, Mary," said Tommy gulping, and tears finding there way into his eyes. "He doesn't look too bad. He'll soon be up and about. Besides, the summer holidays will be starting soon. He'll be better then." He reached out as Mary's tears trickled down her sad face. "Don't cry, Mary. Don't cry," He whispered softly and put his arm around her shoulder. This seemed to make Mary worse and she began to cry all the more.
              Later she said, "Tommy, do you know what Paul said to me when he came home and mammy had to get his cap to cover his head..." She sniffed, her shoulders heaving as she cried and the summer breeze blew lightly up the dusty street and death walked into the house behind them.
              Ten days later, Tommy stood with the rest of the class in the cemetery at Paul's graveside. He blinked through his tears at Mary who was standing with her distraught parents. As the grave-diggers lowered the tiny varnished grave into the ground Tommy cried harder as he thought about what Mary had said to him at her front door ten days ago. She had told him that Paul had said he didn't know why Tommy was complaining about having red hair. Paul had said he wished he had red hair. The tears ran down Tommy's freckled cheeks and he raised his head again to look at Mary crying loudly as she clung to her mother. He remembered her words too. "Tommy, you shouldn't worry about them callin' you names. I like the color of your hair, and you have lovely eyes too..."


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