Dublin Folktales (5 page)

Where Paudge had been working, he was now standing beside Johnny who was the spokesperson for the pair of them. Johnny was a taller figure than his partner. He wore a dilapidated chimney hat on his head which stood out among the flat caps of the working Dubliners who were passing by. He touched his hat respectfully as he approached the toll man. He asked how much the price of crossing the bridge might be for a working man that did not earn very much at all, and who had earned even less this week past. The keeper said it was a half penny, as everyone that had any business on the bridge well knew. He looked past Johnny to where Paudge stood with most of their paraphernalia strewn about his person. They travelled light for their work was itinerant and they had no use for heavy tools and had no horse or pack animal to carry it for them.

Paudge tipped his own hat at the keeper to show he was part of the transaction, but he was content to allow the others to discuss the matter between them, as men of commerce might. Johnny asked if there was an allowance for someone crossing on foot. ‘It's a pedestrian bridge,' the busy keeper snapped back at him, all the while watching that nobody slipped past without paying their fair share. Was there any discount if two people crossed over at the same time and did not return? It was well known that tinkers could not keep still, and it would be unusual for one to return over a bridge once he had gone to the bother of crossing over to the other side, in the first place. To make the proposition more attractive, Johnny told the keeper that some day they would be back again and would most certainly use the bridge once more and would pay the toll all over again on that occasion. ‘The toll is a ha'penny,' the keeper replied sternly, to show that he would speak civilly to anyone for a time, but beyond that, he was a busy man.

Johnny stepped away after giving thanks to the man for his forthright answers. He and Paudge then wandered away a little from the bridge to appear as if they were no
longer interested in crossing over. In fact, they did so only to regroup and review the situation now that the reconnoitre had been completed. There were other ways of crossing the Liffey. Other bridges did not require any payment at all, but the challenge was there now and Paudge and Johnny were determined to cross over the Metal Bridge. They were equally determined they were not going to hand over the full amount demanded. For if they were not natives of the city, they were natives of the country and deserved to be accommodated in their travels as much as any local person might be.

They waited until the flow of people had risen up once more and the keeper was busier than he had been all morning. Paudge stepped forward and asked a question of the toll taker. ‘Do you charge anything, Sir, for luggage, or for what a man may carry over on his back?' he asked. The keeper looked at the well-built man in front of him. Paudge was festooned with all the tools of his trade, and held the sharpening wheel in a maw of a hand. The wheel looked like the plaything of a privileged child in a nursery in one of the big houses of Dublin. The keeper responded saying that there was no extra charge for luggage over and above the half-penny toll, but that it must be paid. ‘Thank you Sir', said Paudge and he stepped back a little to hunch down. To the toll taker's astonishment he saw Johnny come running along the path to leap up on the back of the crouching man. Paudge straightened up. His thick arms held Johnny's skinny legs as safely as if they were bolted together. His
hands held their tools and equipment, Johnny's hands held the rest and away they went for the toll bridge like that.

When the toll taker tried to stop them, Paudge reminded him that he had said there was no charge for luggage and poor Johnny, having taken faint, was now his burden to carry across the bridge. As he moved on Johnny dropped the single ha'penny piece into the hand of the astonished toll taker. ‘God bless you Sir,' said a contented Johnny as the pair crossed the bridge. ‘We'll see you the next time we are in Dublin. It surely is a fine bridge you have, God bless it and all who cross over it.' And with that they were gone.

Nowadays, Dublin City sprawls out into the surrounding counties, but these areas were once fields, farms and small villages, where the inhabitants lived a rustic life, within sight of the city. You would not have suspected that a killer once waited for his victims in the quietness of the leafy lanes that led into the city.

There was great interaction between the urban and rural lifestyles, with many of the farm and big-house workers of County Meath and Dublin travelling back and forth to the city on business both social and personal. Life had a slower pace in eighteenth-century Dublin, with public transport very much a thing of the future; people walked, rode on horses, or travelled on carts and coaches drawn by horses, donkeys, or asses. The houses they passed were not new dwellings; they were dwellings of an older stock, some well maintained and some with weathered and peeling fascias in need of attention and repair. Their sagging slate roofs sported tufts of errant green grass hanging over and from rain gullies. Moss spread across old thatch as it willed. Shop floors, in the many small premises along the way, were sprinkled with sawdust, to absorb the muck of a journey.

A journey experienced many times can tire the imagination. Anything that entertains or excites the traveller on the road is to be welcomed. If there is a storyteller, a singer or
someone who would play a tune or two along the way they are greeted warmly and listened to. This attraction to diversion was a flaw that some vagabonds used to their advantage. One such character in the north city used a birth defect to his advantage, in enticing maid servants to halt and to listen to him.

Billy-in-the-Bowl was an unusual man in that he had been born without legs. Since everyone finds their own way of moving about, he developed great strength in his upper body to help him travel around in a large bowl fortified with iron. He was to be seen in the Oxmantown neighbourhood, where, with his personality and his soft demeanour, he charmed maid servants, in particular, coming in from County Meath to the city. Billy-in-the-Bowl found that hanging about the quiet streets of Stoneybatter and the green lanes of adjoining Grangegorman served his purpose best. We do not know Billy’s surname, but we do know that once Billy gained notoriety, many who came after him with a mobility impediment and who used similar ways of getting about were granted the same nickname. Billy-in-the-Bowl became a brand name almost. Though not all these Billys ended their days in ignominy.

As he developed into manhood, Billy made himself available for the amusement of the simple servant maids as they passed by. His good humour and charm were welcomed by the women along the quiet lanes; he was well liked and considered to be harmless enough. So much so, that whenever he called at the back door of a big house seeking a little help, his bowl was filled with beef, with bread, or whatever there was plenty of in the household. The fact that he was already acquainted with most of the young female staff did him no harm.

It was said that nature compensated for his curtailment of movement by giving him fine dark eyes, an aquiline nose, a well-formed mouth, dark curling locks, and a body and arms of Herculean power. His disability, coupled with his
handsome features, touched the hearts of those susceptible to pity and compassion. Many a young woman fell in love with the handsome man so tragically constricted by nature. ‘Would that it were different,’ more than one sighed. ‘It was criminal,’ others said.

Those with a more sober view of life, however, dismissed his charming nature and suggested that it was a cover for his criminal activity. For Billy-in-the-Bowl was suspected of some very strange deeds in the locality.

As a beggar, he frequented markets, fairs and places where the public gathered, where he picked up a good deal of money. In these places, he behaved himself, and showed he knew his place by his talk and demeanour.

However, it was whispered, that there was a darker side to the laughing young man. They wondered if he knew anything about attacks on single women in the quiet lanes leading in and out of Dublin. Someone had taken to hiding in ditches and hedges on the lonely parts of the roads. There he waited until a suitable person was passing. Then, in a plaintive voice, he begged them to assist a poor, helpless man. Naturally enough, a person so addressed would stop to see what the poor man wanted. Sadly, that was their undoing.

Though he appeared to be only a half-man, Billy moved quickly enough to get the better of his victims, using his arms and strengthened torso to overpowering effect. He may not have had legs to run on, but he had enough body strength to overpower his victims, who in
the main were women and likely not to possess his great strength. His victims were undone in one way or another and quickly relieved of anything of value. But this thief was different; for when he robbed his unsuspecting victims, he had no alternative but to do away with them to the great alarm of those who had to take this route home and knew not who or what lay in wait. He killed his victims to ensure their silence.

Ultimately, the beggar’s undoing was his attempt to rob a pair of women who were passing near to where he lay, one fine day. According to reports of the time, the women had passed through Richardson’s Lane, when they saw Billy at one of the stiles between fields. They said they suspected nothing untoward and were not displeased to have encountered such a fine man who seemed to need some assistance, which they were only too pleased to offer. Ordinary curiosity, together with Billy’s coaxing and charming manner, induced them to approach him to examine how he managed to get about in his extraordinary means of transport. They even resolved to offer him some monetary assistance to help him enjoy life a little more. They expressed their admiration and sympathy for his resolve in making the most of his situation. Billy, for his part, was profuse in his praise of the fine ladies who had so mercifully come out of their way to see a poor prisoner of life. One of the ladies bent down to inspect Billy’s conveyance a little closer, while the other prepared a small gratuity that she would drop discretely into his bowl. All the while, Billy’s eyes were noting their gold watches, bracelets, and other valuables that ladies wore to reflect their station in life. With skill acquired from much practise, he attacked them, and, before they could react, he dragged them down to his level where all the advantage of their legs to run away with was swiftly annulled. This sudden change in their circumstance, from being benefactors to a poor invalided beggar, to lying on the ground while his hands were all over them searching, pulling and dragging until it
was no longer possible to know where the assault was going to land next, left both women in a state of shock.

The insistent force he used to possess himself of their valuables rendered them powerless and helpless, at first. Nonetheless, people under attack can sometimes muster strength they did not know they had. At last, they began to struggle and call for help. Nobody was close enough to be of any assistance to them, so they would have to come to their own aid in order not to perish. Billy-in-the-Bowl rolled his reinforced bowl over one of the victims to keep her still while he robbed her companion. The woman saw that despite Billy’s strength, the defect of his lower body gave the companions an advantage over him in manoeuvrability. She seized his curling locks with her hand and she thrust her thumb into one of Billy’s eyes. Billy-in-the-Bowl, unused to such a formidable and forthright response to his aggression, roared with surprised pain, and relaxed his hold of the woman who sprang up and jumped away from his grasp. They quickly managed to back away from the maddened man’s grasping range.

With their hair dishevelled, their ornaments broken and scattered, and their clothes ruined, the two ladies made their escape, abandoning all behind them. Billy-in-the-Bowl, now almost deprived of the sight of one of his eyes, was left in his bowl to lament what might have been, and to contemplate the certain punishment that now awaited him once the law came looking for him. The terrified women returned to their friends in Manor Street, and once they told their story, no time was lost in raising the alarm and pursuing the attacker who had committed this latest assault.