The Logical Song
written by: Patrick McAteer
I left my native County Offaly as a thirteen-year-old together with my brother in 1977 to go to boarding school at Colaiste Threase in Cork. It was there I met him. I must say we did not really get along initially. It was about proving oneself and we ended up in a scrap which was more of a wrestling match. I managed to get the better of the fellow and had him pinned to the ground. I felt a bit sorry for him and as there were others watching, I asked quietly if, he wanted me to let him win. He didn’t. I won and he subsequently lost face. I did however become friends with him. He would write songs on scraps of paper and ask me to come for a walk after school and listen to him. He used to love to watch Top of the Pops. Once, when I was in the classroom with several others about to watch the Incredible Hulk, he came in and was eager for me to listen to his songs. I told him, I would only listen if he paid me to. He gave me a packet of biscuits and so I went out and walked around the farm listening as he sang.
There were still lots of boyish things going on, like a group of boys sneaking up to one’s bed before grabbing it, hoisting it up on two legs, leaving boy and blankets in a heap on the floor, whilst the patter of bare feet drummed out a fast beat on the wooden floorboards. The fellow had a little transistor radio, which he used to switch on after the lights were turned off at night. He ran the risk of having it confiscated plus having to spend the night on his knees in the study if he were caught. The station of choice was Radio Luxembourg. The songs transformed that dormitory for us as young adolescents into something fluid and bright. It was far less likely to get dumped when the radio was on with each person channeling in on the soft tones which began to form mental shapes.
1977 was called the year of discontent in Britain and in Ireland it was not much different. There were now sometimes power-cuts and on one such occasion, we were asked by the order of Presentation Brothers to stay in a classroom with just one candle. A group of boys sat around a desk playing cards whilst the rest of the class watched on under the flickering light. The fellow I had beaten in the fight, had not quite left behind his boyhood and was of the few who still played with toys. He played with a car racing game, called Dragster, which he had brought along. The cars were placed on a grid in a line and a lever was pulled which subsequently released a spring, propelling a ball bearing to the top where it fell into one of four ridges randomly pushing a car down an incline. This process was repeated until a car finally crossed the line at the bottom of the grid. The boy was providing a running commentary on the race and was for all intents, playing against himself, as no one seemed interested in playing or for that matter, watching.
It happened out of the blue, out of a dark corner that there came an almighty loud crash followed by silence. Then they heard some groans until finally the surprised shout, ‘Lacy is under the piano!’ The boys rushed over but were now struggling to remove him from underneath with the most ominous of tones coming from the contraption. The piano had been very unstable in any case with one of the legs broken. It later transpired that one of Lacy’s ball bearings had skipped off the grid and rolled under the piano. In his effort to retrieve it, it somehow keeled over. The boy was writhing in agony as he was then lifted and carried along the corridor where there was just sufficient moonlight through the patio windows to see where to go.
Upon reaching the Presentation Brothers’ quarters, a surprised Brother emerged with a flashlight. He was the principal. The boys used to call him neck as his neck would turn red each time, he got angry. He looked concerned as he shone the torch on the boy and then along the corridor where there was a trail of blood. Another Brother came out and then when one was least expecting it, the lights came on. Lacy was then taken by the other Brother, and the boys were asked to return to the classroom, get the others, and then go to the study hall. One fellow rushed ahead and put the clock an hour ahead but that made little difference. They were still required to sit and study for a good two hours.
Then after prayer, it was bedtime. The boys were surprised to see the injured party lying in bed. There was a bulge at the end of the bed where a cage had been placed to protect his feet. It was clear he was still in a lot of pain. He had been stitched several times between his toes. That night it was hard to get to sleep with his sniffles and groans. This was in stark contrast to the sounds of a transistor radio coming from his bed when the lights would go out at ten o’clock.
***
Some time ago, I was teaching a class online. They were Germans who needed to learn English as part of a course they were doing to become IT professionals. One young lady had difficulty pronouncing the word ‘logical.’ I always feel that hearing a word or a phrase in a song makes it easier to remember and so I quickly scanned the Internet for the song and sent her the link. Having finished the lesson, I began to think of Lacy. I only spent one year at the boarding school. I had not heard from him in all those forty years, but that song was often played on his transistor at night. I began to make queries and discovered to my horror that he had tragically died in an accident at the wooden mill where he worked. He had been hit by a wood loader. I began to think of the piano and how wood had once again visited his life so brutally. The logical song struck a chord with every boy. We all felt that we were misunderstood somehow by adults. Music was and is a great vehicle to connect with both the living and those who have passed. He had leaned out over the precipice with that little radio for our sake and now lies beneath. I hope my little story tickles his spirit just as his radio did for me.
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