The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [14]
“Well, what do you say to that?” challenged Brother Tobin as he pushed the paper into Brother Loughlin’s pudgy hands. Brother Loughlin and Mr. Pollock went into a little managerial huddle over the paper and read:
We, Fionn and Patrick Sweeney, hereby make known our application for planning permission for development on the site of The Brothers of Godly Coercion School for Young Boys of Meager Means at Greater Little Werburgh Street, North, in the city of Dublin (Lot #867-3D/9A, Folio 4287 of the Register of Freeholds) for the construction of a storage and warehouse facility to service the nearby port and docks on this day of September nineteenth …
“This is outrageous,” blustered Brother Loughlin. “This cannot be right. There must be some mistake. We’ll get to the bottom of this and there will be no more about it!”
“They’re out to destroy the Brotherhood,” hissed Brother Boland.
“Who’s they?”
“Those Sweeneys and their cronies, whoever they are.”
“Probably with the Labour Party.”
“I don’t remember ever teaching any Sweeney at this school.”
“Brothers, Brothers, stop this nonsense! I will take care of this. It is some silly clerical misunderstanding. I’ll get to the bottom of it,” cried Brother Loughlin above the din.
“When?” asked Brother Boland, unconvinced.
“Now! So please get back to your duties and I will take care of mine.” Brother Loughlin waved his hand imperiously toward the door.
“I don’t like the sound of it, I tell you, not one bit,” worried Brother Boland as he left.
“No, that’s fine, I’ll wait … Yes … Thank you,” Brother Loughlin muttered into the mouthpiece of his telephone. This was his fifth call.
Mr. Pollock paced the room nervously and looked out through the wire-reinforced glass onto the drab street and the burnt-out garage across the way. Brother Loughlin was finding the slow, badly oiled wheels of local government a little trying. He was on his third cigarette already and he normally waited to smoke until after lunch when Mrs. Broderick brought him his two o’clock cup of tea.
“They’re putting me onto someone higher up,” he informed Mr. Pollock, who was not at all concerned by this apparent threat. He was convinced it was a prank. He just wanted to be sure so they could wholeheartedly get back to dealing with McDonagh, Bradshaw, and Slater. It was the best excuse for vindictiveness that had come his way since May and he was not going to let it slip by. It was always healthy to start off a new year with a good punishing of recidivist troublemakers.
7
Right then, you ungovernable rabble. Settle down!” Brother Kennedy strode up and down in front of the boys. He was not at all happy about this, but the Conclave of Brothers Superiors had decided that if the Department of Education was going to insist on Physical Education classes, it could not be trusted to a lay teacher to administer them in a manner guaranteed to preserve the Brothers’ ethos. Brother Kennedy had been selected by lot. His knowledge of Physical Education was limited and extended little further than the precepts laid down for the Brothers in a recent circular from the National Conclave that exhorted them to abstain from:
1. The use of intoxicating drink.
2. The wearing of soft hats (berets and birettas excluded).
3. The public fondling of young boys.
4. Peering into trams, omnibuses, hansom cabs, taxis, or other public conveyances likely to cause impure thoughts.
A quick survey of the list left Brother Kennedy with two fairly uncontroversial if useless principles to impart as a philosophy of Physical Education.
“How many of you here wear soft hats or peer into trams or buses?” he asked suddenly. No one moved. Experience had taught them that open-ended questions without clearly defined consequences attached to the answers