Chapter 8 High Noone

Tommy Can You Hear Me?

By Peter Noone

Tommy Noone

Thomas Noone was my grandfather, and I called him Granddad as soon as I could say it. Until I was 5 he was called GanGan. He was my Dad’s dad, and my dad called him Dad. His wife was Dolly, and she was known as Nanny Noone, and she was my Dad’s Mum.

Tommy was from 4. Mile House, in County Galway, which is a pretty little village in Galway, which has a house, and is 4 miles from Galway, the most beautiful place on Earth. Some people even wonder why it is called 4 Mile House, but as they say in Eire, “I’ll have a John Jameson’s please”.

Like many little Irish men, he was very easy going, and seemed unperturbed by everything that happened around him. He went to work in the early morning on his bike, and I have no idea what he did there. We never talked about his work. Actually we never really talked at all. He was just too kind, and I could get away with anything because he loved me so much, and I loved him too much too. That stopped me from ever doing anything which would hurt him. I never did.

Nanny Noone was pretty aggressive, and was basically the boss in ALL matters. This was very typical in families like ours, but my family never went in for the talking behind each other’s backs, which was what destroyed many of our friend’s families in those days. I was never comfortable in the company of those men and women who say detrimental things about their husbands and wives in the hope of amusing me and each other. I never heard anyone in my family saying “I’m going to the pub with the lads, coz she is nagging again”, and of course I avoid anyone who doesn’t show respect for their partners in that way.

Our family was built on mutual respect, good manners, and trust. The women ALWAYS ran it all. We men were only around to amuse them and provide them with whatever was necessary to make the family successful, whether it be as a plumber (the best), a priest (a pious one), a bricklayer (a straight wall building one, or a father (a hard working, and loving one).

Everyone knew what everyone else was doing all the time. We were a real family, in the truest sense of the word, and the news was all about us. We were a community. Not one relative lived outside this community, and therein lay our greatest power. Auntie Mary’s back pain, Uncle Lawrence’s wife Pat, and cousin Vivian. All were of us.

Tommy was a brilliant musician, and played the church organ at St. Monica’s Roman Catholic Church, and my Nanny Noone was the Choir Mistress. They were a team, in everything. When Nanny said “Let’s” we all did.

They had a tandem, which was a two-seater bicycle and my sister and I would pedal alongside our grandparents and hear Nanny Noone give Tommy directions. Give is not the right word. Scream directions. “Slow down, turn right, watch that dog, watch that tree, faster etc etc” Well she never shouted etc etc but you know what I mean.

This bicycle made for two one day became a motor cycle and a sidecar which Tommy made by hand. The sidecar anyway. Tommy and I would ride the motorcycle, with me hanging onto his back in sheer terror and delight as he vroomed all over the road as my grandmother screamed directions. It should be explained that Tommy was not a very proficient motorcyclist. In fact I was better at it at age 5 than he was. Many times he would attempt to ride the motorcycle and sidecar through spaces which only the motorcycle could pass through, and my Grandmother would scream at him through the plexiglass sidecar window obscenities which I never heard, nor did Tommy over the roar of the Norton 500 cc cycle.

“Look out” she was screaming unbeknownst to Tommy, as he headed down the hill in Cornwall. I was unable to communicate with him from the back seat of the cycle, but I was troubled to see we were all heading straight down the high street hill towards what lay ahead. A china shop, with a huge plate glass window to keep the bulls out. “Oops” I thought to myself, he isn’t stopping. Or even slowing down. Gazing down into the sidecar at my grandmother, I could see that she wanted to say something about our direction, speed, and our imminent entry into the world of broken glass and glasses.

TOMMY COULD NOT HEAR HER. We went up the pavement, and through the window into the shop, much to my surprise, and also making quite an impression on the people in the shop. Eventually coming to a stop, amidst the debris, I was happy to see that my beloved Gran was not dead, and was actually withdrawing herself from the undamaged plexiglass sidecar, and as always, a good sign of all being well, she was carrying her handbag. Just like the Queen Mother. Tommy was very distraught, and was backing out of the store without any thought of payment for the damage, and by now I could see that he was not happy that his beloved wife was not injured, and was actually preparing for a lesson in humility. As he began genuflecting, amongst the damaged Wedgwood and Spode e tea on their little stove, and watch huge lorries drive within a foot of their beach chairs as they said things like “Luvly brew Dad” and “Aye intit luvly”.“Grandma called lovingly to Tommy, “Pull into that lovely pasture right now before I reload my handbag”.

Clear to even me, was the brilliance of her plan. There just ahead was a pasture, with a little gate, which led away from the highway into a beautiful green bull- free field. Unfortunately, Tommy still had not learned to add the sidecar into his mathematically brilliant calculations, and had once again forgotten Nanny N. In the bit that was connected to the locomotive he and I were on. Yes the sidecar was extra.

Of course Grandma, and even young Noone (me) screamed as he tried to maneuver the 3feet 6“ wide motorbike and sidecar through the 2feet6“ aperture known as gate.

Tommy and I sailed through the opening, but in another unfortunate for Tommy oversight, as Grandma and her sidecar arrived at the opening, the very large post stopped the sidecar instantly, and in real proof of her pact with her Maker, she of course sailed onwards at approximately 15 miles per hour, unburdened by the sidecar, all the time screaming those famous words AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.

She made tea on their little stove, and watch huge lorries drive within a foot of their beach chairs as they said things like “Luvly brew Dad” and “Aye intit luvly”.“Grandma called lovingly to Tommy, “Pull into that lovely pasture right now before I reload my handbag”.

Of course Grandma, and even young Noone (me) screamed as he tried to maneuver the 3feet 6“ wide motorbike and sidecar through the 2feet6“ aperture known as gate.

ell alright. Famous word.

I was afraid this time that she was hurt badly, and that she would never get up from the freshly ploughed soil that she had suddenly found herself smelling, but saw that Tommy was even more worried than I, and was in fact deserting his wonderful motorcycle, and was obviously running across the field to call an ambulance. My Gran didn’t want him to call an ambulance, and was dragging herself back towards the remnants of her beloved sidecar, to get her handbag, obviously because inside it, she had the phone number of her Insurance provider. But no. She got her handbag and strangely fastened it and began running after my Grand dad telling him she didn’t think much of his motorcycling skills, and also reminding him all the while that he never had a father. That is when I found out what you called someone whose father was unknown. Tommy.

Chapter 8 High Noone

Tommy Can You Hear Me?

Tommy Noone

—Peter Noone

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