"A Coffee-Can Story"
©2003 by Paschal Ryan.
It was the year 1942 in Ireland when Paschal and his classmates were taken to the country on what was supposed to be a therapeutic lesson on religious education.
Brother Curry was our teacher. The kids called him "The Count" as he looked so skeleton-like he was the spitting image of Count Dracula.
The Count took his class out to this Religious Ruin, way beyond the Cement Factory on the Dock Road.
Just before entering this Religious Ruin, The Count told us to visit a spanking new small building. It was a modern lavatory. The lavatory had no channel to pee in, as like the others back in the City. It had something sticking out of the wall, with pipes and stuff.
"What is that?" said Gerry Hannan, at the thing sticking out of the wall.
"It's a Urinal," The Count, said.
"What is a Urinal?" the inquisitive Gerry asked.
Sure, none of us had ever seen the likes of such a thing sticking out of the wall of a lavatory; it was the usual channel the class was used to.
"This new thing, Urinal, is for pissing in. Now get on with it, we are going into the Religious Ruin next."
The class was amazed at this funny looking thing sticking out of the lavatory wall. It gave Gerry Hannan something to think of.
"What is it, Hannan?” asked the Count. “Something bothering you?"
"I was wondering, Brother, how the girls were going to use this thing. Us boys can't even sit on it."
"It's not for girls, you stupid nit-wit. Now fire away, we have to be going.
Gerry Hannan couldn't take his eyes off that thing sticking out of the lavatory wall.
"Now what?" said the Brother to Gerry.
"Well, Brother, if the Corporation went to so much trouble putting in this thing you call a Urinal, while they were at it, they could have improved on it by putting in an arse-rinal instead, something everyone could use."
Once outside, the Count took the class to this ruin.
As The Count led us up the country lane from The Urinal, the chirping of the birds and the occasional "baa", from the lambs added melancholy to the beautiful countryside. The closer we got to the Ruin the more I realized we were closing in on the City of the dead.
Looking at this decay, one can, as though taken back in time, vividly see the atmosphere of early Christianity. Amidst the six-foot tall grass could be seen the remains of various buildings. The architecture was surely of a bygone era. Spread throughout the tall grass, were some beautifully sculptured stone crosses. The carvings of birds, animals, snakes, and people made me think of the First Commandment. With my little knowledge of a religious education, somehow I remembered how the Ten Commandments came about. I could see Study Rooms and Residential Cells. I was convinced I saw the remains of Small Chapels. The largest building, or what was left of it, had a touch of beauty. What looked like a bell tower, only half of it was left, and that infested with rats.
Getting back to the crosses, The Count told us that they dated back to the eight and ninth century. As for the snakes, he told us that St Patrick drove all the snakes out of Ireland, and sent them to a place in America, called New York, to become policemen.
The Count then led the class from the crosses to the underground tombs. They went down an incline amidst the tall grass. The terrain was rocky so we had to proceed with caution. Just ahead was an iron door about four feet high and three feet wide.
Before the class entered this tomb, The Count told then not to worry.
"The people won't bother ye here, but no touching, OK?" The Count said.
Paschal and the kids knew this place was spooky. He thought that in a little while, he might turn this place into a bakery, by putting a cake in his pants, especially since there was no arse-rinal where the new Urinal was.
It took four of the kids to pull the iron door open. Once inside, the door gave a haunted squeak and closed by itself behind them. One of the kids made a face like a stammering Lou Costello.
Looking at the first big room was enough to electrify anyone's nervous system. The ceiling was no taller than the door and the kids had to stoop to prevent getting their heads banged. The more they stooped the more their faces came closer to the skeletons on the slabs. As long as the skeletons didn't move, I was not scared.
The skeletons were the remains of Monks who were massacred by the Norsemen, at least, that's what The Count told us.
The cobwebs were the biggest menace. There were little holes at the top of the walls that made the place look candlelight.
As they left this vault, tomb, whatever, that contained about twenty skeletons, they went down a small corridor that led to four steps down to another chamber. This chamber was in complete darkness. The Count told us to walk around the room with one hand on the wall until we came to a doorway. Someone behind me yelled, "Aaaaah!” then touched me from behind.
That was when the door swung open, revealing an empty coffin on a slab. I thought I saw the face of The Count inside the coffin. Panic? All the kids ran blind and tumbled a few skeletons off the slabs in their escape.
Once we were out by the new lavatory, four of the kids put a cake in their pants.
"Perhaps the Corporation should have put an arse-rinal in there after all," The Count said.