Private number

“Mind the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves”… My granny told me this many times growing up. She was the “second in command” in a household of eight, but as we all know, Ireland of yesteryear was run by the “mammy” of the house while the head man was out doing hard manual work over long hours with the obligatory stop off in the village for a couple of scoops before home and dinner.

At that time in Dublin, the economics of weekly survival was in the hands of the predominantly Jewish moneylenders who would deal with the mammy’s every Friday evening. These men were small in stature but they more than made up for it with the power they commanded. The stories about them are not of violence, far from it, you see these men of power used words and lots of them. They were educated men with money and power, they had no need or inclination to resort to acts or even threats of violence; they simply talked their “clients” into submission.

At the same time each and every week like clockwork they would walk the streets of Dublin, where curtains twitched constantly, their heads down looking at their polished shoes, their hands buried deep in the pockets of their long coats and with their hats firmly on their heads. Unlike any other night of the week, the streets were quiet, no children out playing, time stood still until the money collector had been and gone. The mammy’s of course knew he was coming but that didn’t stop them from peaking out the window to watch his progress, “he’s in with Sheila now”, “another six stops until he is knocking on my door”, “five, four, three…”

When the knock came, it was as if the Christ Church bells where inside the house. The mammy knew she had to answer the door she had no choice. With her purse tucked in the apron pockets, children out of sight, doors closed and only the landing light on to illuminate the hallway in a dim glow, the door was opened. “Ah… hello Misses Fitzgerald…” The mammy smiled but not fully, you can’t seem to be happy, you can’t let him know anything or he’ll want more. The money collector was stood in front of the mammy with his little book in his hands, the mammy always stared at it, she hated and feared that book as much as she did the man who held it.

And so with the business completed, off the money collector would go always leaving the mammy with the same words echoing around inside her mind “see you next week”

This was Dublin in the rare old times, but it is also Dublin of the now times. The man has changed, the knock at the door remains but it is now more likely to be the sound of the home telephone or the mobile ringing, constantly ringing. Ringing, ringing, ringing, morning, noon and night. Just like in the past, there are no threats of violence; they simply talk their “clients” into submission. The same clients they advertised too, the same clients that were shown into the private consultation room and spoken to by the highly trained “Mortgage Advisor” The same clients who received the “sign on” gift of a bottle opener to be used on the champagne they would drink to celebrate their new home.

These clients had no idea what was happening at the time when they signed away their remaining independent lives, sure they had a solicitor “working on their behalf” but it was most likely one off a “recommended” list. Speed of completion was top of the agenda for all concerned; any delay would see these people “lose” the new house they had queued up to place a deposit on. The Builders / Developers didn’t like to be kept waiting! Each month the price of the new house would go up, not due to inflation; more likely down to the length of the queues of people the builder could see waiting for the show house to open on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon. The longer the queue, the more the price would rise for the release of the next “block” of houses.

Today, the young couple, the single person, the young family, your friends and neighbours sit in their homes waiting and waiting for the sound of ringing…“Oh… hello Misses Fitzgerald…this is Tina from… I’m calling about your arrears…”