Peter The Pole was a very big man - and a very big man was he/ He called for his pipe and he called for his wife/ And he called for his fiddlers three.
That often ran through my head as I got to know Peter. One of life's natural giants, he commanded respect wherever he went. Like a lot of big men, he knew how to use his size to intimidate and was a bit of a baby inside. He liked to be in charge : if things did not go his way, he was adept at making mischief, at setting one group against another.
Then he would come in as Peacemaker, settle the differences which he had manufactured - and emerge with even more clout.
He arrived with a group of fellow Poles . They were on rent allowances from 'De Social' (Eastern Health Board) which meant regular rent to the Landlord. They kept the apartment reasonably clean, though they never seemed to have much food in the fridge. They ate a lot of crisps and drank a lot of coke Peter was one of the first to get work, being big and strong and able to move girders on his own that usually took two to shift. He could carry a bag of cement under his arm. Within months, he was running his own sub-contracting business. The word had gone out quickly among Irish builders that the Poles would get the work done, were not concerned about unions or "all that health and safety shite" as I heard one local builder describe the legislation.
When a site needed clearing or a house needed gutting - messy, dirty jobs that didn't stop for cuts and bruises - send for Peter The Pole - and his Fiddlers Three. They'd clear a place in no time and took lumps of cash at the week-end, some of which went on a few beers but mostly went home to Poland via post office telegraph.
He threw his weight about in the apartment. I sensed a gloom when he was about , which was mainly at weekends. Weekdays, they worked long hours and it was a case of bed-to-work-to-bed.
"That's my place," he said during one visit, when I (the landlord) unwittingly sat at the head of the table, which had the remnants of a batch loaf and some beers. "Oh excuse me," I thought and moved to another place, to the embarrassment of the Fiddlers Three, used to his domineering ways. The others courteous to the visitor but cowed in his presence.
Still, they paid the rent on time, gave the neighbours no cause for complaint and I was happy enough with them. Peter was married with a wife and children in Poland. He said he was bringing her over "in maybe a year". In the meantime, to alleviate the standard male impulses, he had a regular retinue of women staying overnight. They were of all nationalities, including some natives. He met them on the job, in cafes, in offices and factories he was refurbishing I could imagine how he caught their fancy. Size does matter, I decided, and if they denied that - well I could imagine them tellling themselves they fell for a charming baby smile he could put on , a touch of the little boy lost...
Sometimes he brought home Russian girls he met in a shopping centre on a Saturday. Like most Poles, he grudgingly spoke their language. I gathered he paid the women "basic rates" for their evening acrobatics and I often wondered what kind of historical frissons lent chemistry to their encounters. Poles on top, now, I suppose.
The time came when his wife was due to arrive. He said to me with alarming clarity, "You know at home I do not like her very much, we fight all the time... but now I miss her and my sons. I want them with me ."
He put the Fiddlers Three to work, scouring and re-decorating the apartment, then evicted them before her arrival. They went off to stay with other Poles in overcrowded rooms. As soon as I met her a lot of things fell into place - flashing eyes that missed nothing, gamey and glamorous. More than a touch of the gypsy, but within weeks she had made a warm home of the apartment. Carpets were hung on walls, flowers in corners and elaborate meals in the evening. Peter put on weight.
After a year or so, they bought a house in outside Dublin. I meet him occasionally. He has a van with his company name . Last time he said: "You must visit for meal, you were good to me when I had nothing. Now I have a house . My wife is happy and my children are happy here, they love their teacher."
I will be made welcome. I am not an ethics teacher. I am a Landlord.
