Chapter Four
ALL THINGS
CHOCOLATE & ROCK
……
A Door opened for Cillian with the big break of International Chinese comedian Fu Ling Yu, his clavicle that is of his shoulder when he hit by the seven ten Bubble Tram to Bispham.
A breakthrough of good fortune for some as this was the first big night that this talent of Seaside Memory Man Cillian was first put to the test of theatre notwithstanding the misfortune of others, with the big break from broken bones. Cillian had a footing in front of three hundred of the Bucket & Spade Brigade at the Ocean Sheba Theatre as stand-in for Chinese Comedian Fool Ling Yu who was hit by a tram. This Bubble Tram unable to swerve to avoid Master Fool Ling Yu and this accident was no laughing matter. Driven by conductor Bradley who was not as bright on the brakes as regular driver Toby, who at this time was tanked up at the Cat & Custard. But Foo Ling Yu was fine, as he whispered in Mandarin Chinese the sermon of his well-being to the general practitioners at the track side of any of those who could understand his mother tongue with the sense of the seagulls. As not many people spoke Mandarin Chinese in Blackpool in 1898. As rare as the monkeys at Blackpool Zoo starring in Hamlet at the Grand.
And returning to Cillian’s first inauguration of theatre at the Ocean Sheba of Stew Pit Street. He reflected on some ancient monarch name from the Old Testament that Miss Honeyhole blew into his brain, and from where Sheba brought back memory of a cat lady neighbour called Grotta Thunberg and her miserable most dissatisfied cat called Sheba. Cillian also remembered that she once had a pug called Grumpee, and was such an unsightly mutt. But not every pet can be as pretty as Dumbledog the once legendary vagabond mutt from Tea Lane.
And now back in mind is Cillian at his first footlights in Blackpool, and preparation for his out of the ordinary curious cabaret. This is his first innocent initiation into the beginning of the theatrical Blackpool Grandstands that Barry Barbados had got him all excited about, and the Sheba Theatre was to be a great chapter of discovery. And Cillian had to thank Foo Ling Yu’s manager for this. He was called Master Cornelius Cripples and himself and Cillian in their circle of showbusiness had shared many laughs and occasion of thinking over perpetual bottomless amber brew at Blackpool’s famous All Things Chocolate & Rock Social. What a big bang sideshow that place was, and here Cornelius begged Cillian to not be be a clown and to stand-in for Foo Ling Yu.
Cillian could however hear desperation in his voice, as Cornelius Cripples spoke of some other side acts in petition for this emergency availability. He said that the Invisible Man act was nowhere to be seen and that Freddy the Fly the antipodean pedestrian who walked the ceiling of the Cyclops with his secret foot suction cups was in convalescence when the plaster collapsed above the royal box. So Cillian with his Brain the size a Planet was the last resort and emergency reserve, as not even the eccentric and French themed comical entertainer and exceptional silent performer the famous Un Homme A Terre had a vacancy or was answering his phone.
And Foo Ling Yu was himself a difficult act to replace as his comedy act had depth beyond the heads of the holiday types. Cornelius then joked, “But let’s hope Foo Ling Yu will wok again”.
However this wonderful comedian from Canton, sometimes his jokes crossed the line. Like did you hear the one about the Chinese look-a-like contest, well every-body won. And why do Chinese Children not believe in Santa Claus? Because they make the toys. Or what do you call a Jehovah’s Witness in China! Ding Dong. However his best lines were always about Confucius the philosopher who was the paragon of all Chinese sages, like man with hole in pocket he feel cocky all day.
However an afternoon followed of rehearsal and testing the army of tallow candles, then dressing to prepare Cillian for the Ocean Sheba Theatre. Where in front of him that night will be a sea of faces and they will have an almanac of every Blackpool hotel and restaurant in front of them, and it’s number. Cillian knew them all with his mind in a pleasing perfect way. Every boarding house, anywhere for the holiday experience. Everyday he commits to memory thousands of phone numbers. And even facts and their recommendation of applause from newspaper reviews. Here at the Ocean Sheba, the audience will be invited to audition him. Like a talking parrot, Cillian will say “I invite you to test me with your hotels and eateries, and I will answer you fully and freely”.
So Cillian on his first night in the summer of 1898, and that is one he will never forget. Almost lost in translation, it was the Glaswegian Wake Week and there was this convention and league of Celtic gentlemen. And fired upon with their hotels, Cillian was very skilful and intelligent. He had no fear at all. First there was an almost inaudible accent of Angus from Ayrshire who shouted from the seventh row, “What is the Ash Fool Tide?” To which Cillian replied, “But of course Angus that is two one two five eight at the end of Poco Street by the Bubble Tram stop, am I right Sir!” Always his answer is said in confidence and it is always correct too. But Cillian had great skill with anagrams, It’s his thing. And did not want to spoil the beauty of that first moment when he realised that Ash Fool Tide is an anagram of Load of Shite. So he kept his lighting deduction discreet.
Then Cillian then heard voices round the theatre competing for his thinking and attention. He points to a pair of random excited hands in the middle that he knows to be Rupert and Rachel. “Memory, we are staying at the Benjamin Bear Bed & Breakfast, and does your head know both landlady and line?” They ask. And a second later fixing his eyes on his audience, Cillian said “Of course dear sir and madam as four six four one five is the Benjamin Bear with Miss Martha Mussie and her sister Tussie in the middle of Pilchard Street with their six rooms of love and luxury next to the Chip Ahoy Fish & Chippery.”
Beside Rupert & Rachel, Cillian then sees some dandy called David who asks. “Last night off my face at the Cat & Custard, so what is it’s number as I need to reserve table for there later.” To which Cillian miraculously replies, “Three six one six four and the barmaid Brianna’s a whore!” And composing himself against the mirth of the audience, Cillian looks around the middle of the theatre where this family has gathered his attention. “We are the Fisher Family from Falkirk.” To which Cillian in his role as the entertainer replied quite robustly, “And thank you the Fisher Family, you are all very welcome here tonight. But I know all your names, as you regall I greeted you at the foyer and asked you all your names before the show. Now you are Miranda, but not like Miranda the Monkey at the Zamboni Circus on the Pier. You sir are Jaspar, and these little sweethearts must be Olivia and Sophie.” And the question from the Fisher Family was this, “ Please Sir, we have receipt and pre-theatre meze tonight at the Greek taverna restaurant called Far Corfu of Santorina Street, so do you possibly know the number of which I have on invoice in my hand!” And Cillian as Mister Memory then said, “ I certainly do Jaspar and Miranda Woods and your most delightful children Olivia and Sophie. The telephone number is two five eight one four and I trust you had a pleasant meal with celebrity chef Dennis Letakis from Zakynthos. And again like Stromboli volcano, the audience erupts. They had not seen memory like this before. Cillian then worked the room and knew everything and everyone and made it look so easy, well to him it was. Here Cillian could work the room and move around many people at once.
However Cillian was never one to say a negative somewhat pessimistic review, as he once observed a nasty post about the Far Corfu, as some food journalist fool taking backhanders wrote in the local rag the Blackpool Seaside Seagull Post that only to eat in Far Corfu if you have been shipwrecked on a desert island and have not seen food for a year. And that this Greek taverna was as far away from Athens as possible, maybe the Moon. But Cillian had a lovely way, not like these know-nothings at the Seaside Seagull Post as he not one to advertise some unhappy eaters that frown over their Feta. They should have went to the Bistro Marrakesh next door where they serve monkey brain and Fido shakes in fear.
So after this theatre of the Unforgettable Memory Show where Cillian had amazed the seaside folk of his many routines of mental agility, he went into the foyer to meet and greet with the audience. And even there he knew their names. Many moments of gratitude and holiday well wishes are exchanged. And Master Cornelius Cripples had this sadistic look as if to say that he was actually very pleased that Foo Ling Yu took hit a tram, and offered his spoken appreciation and produced paperwork for a commitment until Foo Ling Yu could walk again. The wok joke appearing once more.
And congratulations continued in the lobby of the Ocean Sheba with Cillian pressing flesh with the public, and during which time one transient tourist with a brain the size a doughnut said in passing in his Glaswegian accent. “Cillian from Emerald Isle as this Unforgettable Memory Show, I know exactly how you know all those telephone numbers I do.” Gathering breath at this genius soaked in Clyde cider, Cillian asked, “Well regale and amuse me of your ideas of my grand secret please.” And the accidental tourist and paying guest of the Ocean Sheba Theatre then said, “You have a good memory sir!” Without ability to talk or reason, Cillian severed connection with this clot from the Clyde. Who was not thinking in the sound mind sense. Cillian immediately escaped to find sanity in a pint of Begger Brew at the Laughing Donkey Ale House next door that made more sense than this muppet from Motherwell. Cillian was thinking that he would have got more sense and feedback talking to the monkeys at the Zamboni Circus on Blackpool Pier. Then pertaining over the first swig of the Laughing Donkey’s strongest ale, Cillian then thought that every village in the Scottish Kingdom has it’s idiot, only this one was exported from a city of shipyards. So somewhere in Scotland, a village was missing it’s moron.
Then around that bar, Cillian was consoled by many of the local entertainers and charlatans who came to say, “Your first big enterprise of theatre dear Cillian Custard, and there was no fooling you literally. And you brought the house down, having no advantage with legions from Scotland and great quantity of Glaswegian verbal from the floor.” Even with this unbiased assurance from fellow entertainers, Cillian was thinking that this type of stupidity has not been invented before yet it somehow flourishes by the seaside.
So next day, Master Cornelius Cripples said that Cillian and him were to meet at the All Things Chocolate & Rock Social. And there everyone in the industry of embezzlement with the visitors gathered.
A quick inspection of Cillian’s mental diary as he never wrote anything down, was his promise of a show at The Ritz Rocking Chair Hotel to a charabanc of Grannies from Garstang. His mind had shown his memory in every corner and hotel in town, but Cillian was not going to miss the promise of more theatre with Master Cornelius Cripples at this sanctuary of seaside confection.
Cillian broke the silence of the great cancellation in person by popping round to Poco Street on his trusty bike Manda Panda. And here he paid tribute to his booking for the rockers at the Ritz, yet he reserved thoughts for a future return if only to just play bingo with them instead. As Cillian is yet to discover parts of himself that even he does not quite know, and this time and alliance with Master Cornelius Cripples he cannot dare share with the booking for that Grannies and Grey Matter show.
So Manda Panda took Cillian down some back lane to All Things Chocolate & Rock Social by the Giggles & Wiggles Joke Shop. Once an old neo-gothic school of art and science by Professor Caractacus Kababs. But now here strong drink was on sale, and it was crowded with numerous alien traders that make a particular impact on the tourist industry. Here there were transients of every ice cream parlour and emporium of rock that Blackpool had to offer.
So seated with Master Cornelius Cripples, Cillian drank and shared their favourite tipples there of Devil’s Tongue and Pink Mess Martini. Around them within visual distance, Cillian’s eyes met Sexy Suzy of the Saucy Ruocco Parlour and Lorenzo of Lollipop Rock.
First words by Master Cornelius Cripples to Memory Man Cillian were this, “So you were no clown, as you brought the house down!” A silence followed then Cornelius asked, “Can I read inside your head and talk about your memory?” And Cillian’s answer was this, “Well Mister Cripples, the last time I did this was with Barry Barbados at the Belfast Crown Liquor Saloon, that led me to Blackpool so let’s drink to that alure of deja-vu!” Cornelius said, “Oh that doughnut from Donaghadee you know, this Barry Barbados he is everyone’s cup of tea. He packs the Odditorium Theatre every season, and opens tea shops and rock factories with his celebrity. And you say he was your guiding spirit to the seaside. Well his show is the wonder of the Wakes.”
Cillian then said to Master Cornelius Cripples, “Our minds met over Guinness one night in some famous bar in Belfast called the Crown Liquor Saloon. And he was the one that enticed me to believe that the streets of Blackpool were paved with gold and opportunity. So I got on my bike and came here. I followed his idea of some odyssey of Unforgettable Memory Show, and it became an adventure of information. It was Barry Barbados that said come to Blackpool. So with our reciprocal ideas and vision, I arrived here.” Cillian had more to say, “But before that Cornelius, I used to work in a tea shop where my Scrooge-like boss paid me in information, not brass. Just facts, no farthings. But I loved my friend Chuck Li and director of Darjeeling tea, who I now hear after his tea and teaching is a great resident surgeon at Belfast General Hospital. And there he fixes the bodies and parts of the prodigious society of Belfast.”
Cornelius he then said, “But back to you Cillian, a great theatre by the sea watched in awe as you somehow knew the numbers of where they were sleeping and eating. Even the day of their birthday, or any date for that matter. And then you asked a hundred visitors to stand up, and you called out all their names. You knew everyone’s name like they were friends for a lifetime, and you never guessed once.”
And Cillian then said, “Why thank you Mister Cripples, the show was fun and we had lots of clowns from the Clyde. And I was even out on my bike Manda Panda going to the Pinky Murphy café next day, and a gang of Glaswegians asked and accosted me with I bet you don’t know who we are! Well those gobs from Glasgow were more shocked than meeting the sea monster of Nessie when I told them their names, as I greeted Angus, Jamie, Fergus, Murtagh, Dougal and Hamish who were all out on the piss and not one name did I miss!”
Cornelius refilling his chalice then said, “But how does your head hold these numbers. These Glesgae’s, they asked you any hotel in Blackpool, and there are at least a thousand I can see and think of. And you even knew the landlords and the owner’s dog. If Bob the Dog that giant Chinese Tibetan Mastiff from the Department of Tea Guest House on Ceylon Street had half a brain, he too would be amazed that you called out his owner’s telephone number.”
Cillian then thought, this Cornelius Cripples he always makes him laugh and it is impossible not to like his silly witticisms. He then asked Cillian about his school days and curious way with the world, but Cillian did not wish to travel down that path so he distracted him and said that he had a Master’s Degree in pulling girl’s pigtails. And even when Miss Honeyhole asked the class what they wanted to do after school, Cillian was always the class clown who wanted to become a brain surgeon so she got the message. But what he really wanted to know was his way of memory. However Cillian had no issue explaining his culture of thinking. As Cillian knows he could tell a thousand people his secret, and even paint it on the side of Blackpool Tower, but still no-one could ever be a success of thought like him.
Cornelius looked up as if to say, “Come on you little bastard, how do you do it?” And this is what Cillian said to Cornelius, his confidant and companion of Devil’s Tougue and Pink Mess Martini. “Bugger it is so easy, my simple philosophy is this. I think in terms of mental pictures. Everything between my ears is the most perfect Lumiere Theatre. Every thought I wish to remember is by association, and let me show you.”
Cornelius moved forward to capture this information, “Cillian, I want to hear the deepest darkest parts of your mind that you rarely share with anyone else. You intrigue me. People frequently drain my soul and sometimes they amuse me. A lot of the time, they irritate me. Yet only a few intrigue me.”
Cillian was deeply touched by this cock and bull from Cornelius and he replied, “Every moment of breath in Blackpool, these pilgrims of the promenade interrogate me in my shows around Stew Pit Street. They ask me all the hotel telephone numbers like as if I am Mugabe the Monkey at Zamboni Circus. They toast my mind out of a book of thousands. They would say what is the Cosy Lil Nest B&B on Swizzel Street of what is the House of the Pops Pub on Wallcorn Way, as I would somehow by a miracle know the number. Some thought I made arrangement with the audience and was sweeting the pot with pennies, but no chance as I really have that unique no frills inner working of fool’s paradise. Half these turkeys where some are so thick, think that this is a trick”
Then Cillian stopped talking for Cornelius to absorb his sympathy, then his serious head came on to explain his technique. “Now Cornelius, this is the process that takes place. When someone asks me a hotel, I see that establishment decorated with pictures. Like the Imperial where the Queen Victoria has her holiday refuge by the seaside with visits from celebrities of the theatres and all those stars of the stage with their names on everyone’s lips. The number is two three nine seven one and looks like some big fairytale castle with turrets. Situated on Blackpool’s glorious Stew Pit Street seafront where you wake up to the waves lapping the shore outside the windows.”
And Cillian after that creative description of the Imperial with it’s great luxury and throne hall décor, moved forward to describe to Cornelius how he remembered it’s number. “It’s easy as stealing candy from a baby. I see imposed in the structure two Rinkha of Rowland Ice Cream Parlours as it’s designer Giuseppe Leonardo arrived in Oireland in Eighteen thirty nine, and seventy one is my Granma Nanabanana playing the Bagpipes in a parade. The picture I see is of two giant turrets of Rinkha Ice Cream with Nanabanana star cabaret in the ballroom with her torturous Irish Uilleann Pipes that once bellowed over Belfast. Sometimes he thought it was not the potato famine that evacuated Oireland, but it was Nanabana playing her bagpipes in the band.”
And Cornelius replied, “ So I see young Cillian, it is like a million theatres in your head and you are built like this by nature with the assistance of a system.”
“Exactly,” said Cillian, I have pictures for everything. Each portrait of memory has it’s own unique charm and character. And many contain sexual liaison. Those two of the Rinkha of Rowland and Nanabanana’s Bagpipes are but the tip of the iceberg. I have an alphabet of a hundred that work as perfectly as all the moving parts of those new internal combustion engines that Daimler and Benz are knocking out. I shall tell you more about the creative process.
Cornelius then said, “Go on Cillian, I am not going anywhere. I have made no plans to read Clarissa or the History of a Young Lady by Samuel Richardson today.”
Cillian said, “Thank goodness for that Cornelius, that book is a blast. Nine hundred and fifty thousand words I believe published in seventeen forty eight, yet I have never counted. But don’t ask me to explain it all, I shall stick to telephone books. However my eye for numbers as for instance. Thirty nine and seventy one we have covered is for the Rinkha of Rowland and Nana-banana’s exceptional musical skills on the bagpipes. Let me show others and how magical they are and that work exclusively for my mind. For twelve I always see Charles Dickens the noteworthy English writer and social critic. His birth in Hampshire of the year eighteen twelve cements the number twelve in my memory. Then Daisy Doughnut my much loved anthropomorphic doorstop doll that was bought from the Belfast Love Shop for Stuffed Toys in eighteen sixty-nine, she or it becomes that visual impression of sixty nine. This endless alliance of mental connections goes further when I think of my most attractive neighbour Miss Ophelia Benedetto who showed me her collection of jugs and eighty four teapots amongst other things one day. So drinking tea with Ophelia or even the Mad Hatter becomes the effigy of eighty four. Sometimes I See her jugs, and further endorsement for this number is that Ophelia is a waitress at the Vico Ristorante. Working with cheese there is no fragrance of Guerlain designer perfume with this lady. Her specific beauty always awesome, yet working with cheese her essence of Milan Gorgonzola sometimes Cambridgeshire Stilton is more torture to the nostrils than being locked in the stocks. Her dress dripping in melted cheese. And there’s more. I remember I was once nearly hit by the ninety seven tram that carried the most appetising advertisements for Hovis. And this dastardly gondola full of workers from the Brookfield Flax Mill nearly squashed me in Shaftesbury Square. So the dangerously driven tram with the squealing brakes is that design for ninety seven. My mind sees ninety seven with every occurrence of fresh bread and pasta. And even the screams from the Millies on the top deck shouting something like get your butthole out of the way. And one more to amuse you in this comic book of mental life is the number thirteen. According to Fairytale Land of the gospel, the Last Supper as Judas the two-faced biblical bastard had table reservation thirteen. Here I picture a banquet of food to arouse the senses. And now Cornelius you know how I hold these telephone numbers. Like last night when someone asked me the Mister Stink Cosmetics back of Stew Pit Street near the Tower. I said three one two nine seven, and while the audience were going hurrah, I had just seen three versions of Charles Dickens nearly glanced by a tram that looked like a Hovis bread roll.”
“What a buzz Cillian, your brain is a cloud buster,” said Cornelius. “And that last one as the aura of Hovis fills the air. I can see how these pictures can be played and tailored to suit your mind’s eye with these telephone numbers. But how do you create out of thin air so many private illustrations that collaborate association.”
Cillian then answered, “Well Cornelius, these essential pictures and alphabet of dreams they have emerged from much practice at Nothing Normal House were as I said each number of one to a hundred is married to a vision. And the simple system of all these chic all the rage unions of this personal visual alliance can be anything I like. And the last time I once read in the London Early Bird Echo some scientific back-page story that there were one and a half billion people on this third rock from the Sun in orbit moving at breathtaking unthinkable speed, and that for all these souls there was not a single one that shared the exact same cognitive ability. So this journalist writer from some learned sanctuary in London said that when dressed with this fact, everyone of us is a genius. Be it Isaac Newton, or Fergus who climbs like a monkey and paints the Blackpool Tower.”
Cillian so understood that every thinker travelling like light in time is alone and unique. Every mind works different. Some dangerous and stupid, yet a few if any are exceptional. He also knew that you cannot switch your mind or senses of like a phonograph. And if you see Pocohantas riding a Unicorn in Trafalgar Square or Jules Verne eating Ice Cream on top of Blackpool Tower, you cannot unsee. A crash of thoughts like this will water the mind of a mnemonist.
And so forth here at this eerie spectral home of Nothing Normal House is exactly what Cillian does. This old asylum yet a mile from the seaside, he keeps separate from this land of enterprise with visitors from every shire of the Land of the Rose. Nothing Normal House was a fascinating gothic house of turreted roofs with ornate crocketed pinnacles and ship’s timber bow windows projecting space. Almost inspired by every romantic movement in architecture.
And talking of such romantic movements, it is where Cillian first met Miss Cora Vine. His knockout Mancunian love interest with beauty and amazing charisma, and certainly not a silly girl with pinkness and a library of shoes. She was a one of a kind golden cloud and soul mate of his cleaner Miss Henrietta Fussyfeathers herself an inner child of art. And since he actually gets to shag this woman, he has in his many moments considered sending God a bottle of wine.
But back to the Nothing Normal House that is a far cry from Funny Floor Cottage, as his new foundation and base in Blackpool. It is manicured to precision by his cleaner and lady of substance this Miss Henrietta Fussyfeathers. And with her skill or introduction, she was the one who made social engagement for Cillian Custard to meet Miss Cora Vine at some backstreet tea shop called Star Schmucks of Wig Lane. That was their dating debut, and then their hands and hearts gathered and soon Cillian and Miss Cora Vine walked Stew Pit Street then Blackpool Pier to watch all the fish in the sea, and there were plenty. Later they would return to Nothing Normal House that is merged with gorgeously weathered farmhouse furniture. And centrepiece of this workshop is this great table with chunky wooden turned legs for his thoughts that stand miles apart. This ancient table was a noted designer piece by the famous Cornish Carpenter Clive de Cats, but no-one knows how it made it’s way here. With this table it was an inviting place to think and invent the most impossible mnemonics.
Cillian was at the stage in his life almost in a period of deprivation that was compressed with experience and self-discovery. All the things that no books can ever give you. Soon he was to find that even covering Foo Ling Yu for a short season at the Ocean Sheba was not enough to ensure success in this society of drunk holidaymaker industries. He even felt that Bubba the donkey on the beach had more brains. Cillian had a show whose magic was as worthy as the science of Isaac Newton yet it was almost like taking a comedy gig at The Cheapo Seato House.
The Blackpool Circuit relied on connection or which one of the Zamboni Circus daughters you were boning. They were the walking porn of the Prom. Words and wisdom alone from Master Cornelius Cripples or even the direction of Barry Barbados were not enough to establish a career as a Memory Man in a place where you want to leave your brain behind once you see the Tower and the Taverns on Stew Pit Street. Cillian was at that moment in life when he began to see that Blackpool’s main throughfare that was decorated with entertainment and mystery was not really poetically named Stew Pit Street just because it had pits of charcoal cooking stew.
But Cillian had everything a mind could want. The seaside people from the Planet Cotton Mill had no grasp on memory nor mathematics. Not even the nature of Cillian’s cursive mirror writing. Those theatres that Barry Barbados gave voice to over Guinness in the booths of Belfast’s Crown Liquor Saloon, they gave the impression of playing to the rank of many then celebrity. But Cillian found that at the seaside visitors are more interested in drolling over Lotta Crabtree’s posterior or listening to local singer Vanessa de Bimbo sing after Bingo at the One Little Duck Hall of St Annes than what is the telephone number of the Speaking of Secrets Magic Shop or the Bronte Sisters Book Shop. As the great Unforgettable Memory was to many quite easily forgettable. Those without brains had no liking for this theatre of thinking.
Cillian in this area had not done his homework and was unsure if he was following in the footsteps of some historical prodigy, but he had never before heard rumour or reputation of a seaside memory man in Blackpool before. There was no true market here for his Brain the Size a Planet, but there were lots of bearded ladies and even an audience for the cruel terminating the ducks gun stalls to win a goldfish.
But Cillian was never one to give up. It was natural for his soul to explore other uses for his mind and even the Unforgettable Memory Show as inspired by his hypnotist friend Barry Barbados was just the first step. That brand of seaside act that they both ingeniously invented and fudged together over Guinness one night. It was in their eyes a great brand and business concern, but not for the showboat of Blackpool in it’s current form. And crossing paths in Blackpool with Barry Barbados had not happened yet. They had somehow not rubbed shoulders again in all the corridors of cabaret.
And now with a rich legacy of ideas and belief, Cillian continued to knock hotel doors to express the advertising of his act. One or two, in fact many. Had heard about the Ocean Sheba and how Cillian from the backstreets of Belfast had a miracle mind without a translator in a theatre full of Glaswegians, but there were hundreds of hopefuls on the circuit at the seaside. You could tell everyone you were a leading Light at the Winter Gardens, and they would think you were an usherette. The town was full of theatre has-beens that are no longer popular. And there was a notorious cavalry of the never-was.
Cillian was still invisible and unknown from where the Ocean Sheba nights were but a flicker of their thoughts. Even as a stand-in for Foo Ling Yu who was fortuitously battered by a bubble tram. These thoughts and whispers travelled the town. Cillian knew that his memory show needed a greater platform of introduction and not just the mercy and divine will of the bubble trams. It was a prolific and dynamic society of dancing and beer around the Blackpool seafront flea-traps and boarding houses. Most had a tavern and a show room, where Cillian could busk and sell the carnival of his recall. His first days in Blackpool, Cillian had to work small smokey rooms not of guru’s but of guzzlers. The Wino’s no match for his wisdom nor niche. What was Cillian actually doing here, he asked himself many times. Yet this is where he learned. These were real people and they created a host of experience that gathered rehearsal for places like the Beach House Theatre or the lights of The Lost Empire.
And Cillian with his enormous inventory of telephone numbers in his head, it was like a neurosis of screw the Earth I am much smarter than you. And with Bell & Edison these telephone exchanges were popping up everywhere. An enormous catalogue of hotels and eateries thrived on this new technology of the nineteenth century. And the town alone had a few thousand or so of these comfortable communication tools for everyday commerce like for example Sonia Spud of St Annes who ran a cake shop in the square could now talk to her sister Cynthia Colada of Fleetwood in ten seconds rather than taking a series of trams that would rattle through Bispham and Cleveleys for more than two hours. The magic of the electric mouth had arrived. The World somehow a smaller place.
Lots of simultaneous conversations were now possible, like those Clairvoyants on Stew Pit Street and the Thompo’s Funfair pretending to talk to the dead. This seaside town alone had a few thousand of these telephones, so Cillian sat down one week on his arrival and learned them all. The Belfast phone book was not a blessing in Blackpool, and he sensed he had to do something better and more local. And being a seaside with all it’s silly sideshows, their description of names were rolling of the tongue like the hot sauce of zingy lemon tart. There were hotels and theatres with quirky names that Cillian fathomed to make associations. How easy was it to burn midnight oil and absorb their trade names like Laughing Cow Cottage or Great Escape Guest House. There was even The Dull Men’s Club, Beautiful Words Bookshop and the Tooth Fairy Teashop. Even The Happy House Hall. All their numbers were imagined in Cillian’s mind and berthed in his brain until hell freezes over, as their pet names marketing their product to perfection and helping Cillian’s memory too. As you could hardy forget a perfume shop if it was called The Malodorous Mrs Stink.
But back to that epic first night of success at the Ocean Sheba. In that other world of small hotels in the backstreets of Blackpool. If Cillian was to error, the visitors would take great pride and pleasure from that and would proudly dignify in some consequence of grandeur that they were the one that tripped up this Cillian and his Unforgettable Memory Show. The visitors somehow attained great pleasure from a mistake, yet these bubbleheads at the seaside were not the ones that had to sit around the fire all night and let these statistics sink in with their spitting image cartoons. So Cillian and his Unforgettable Memory Show for the Bed & Breakfast market sometimes sank like the Girona, as Moonshine and Memory were not great in federation together.
Besides Cillian so loved his Lemon Cake and his rooming at Nothing Normal House. So his days in the hotels earned a crust. He would without ceremony appear at some prosperous elbow to elbow filled to the rafters room and offer his services as entertainer unpaid and free of cost and contract to the Governor of whatever oobydooby guest house. His way with it’s wealth to be covered later. Cillian would once pedal past their curtains and candlelit fronts on Gass Brother’s Manda Panda that had taken him to Blackpool through that blizzard of snow and that love-in with Linda. And while on this beautiful bike he would scout for opportunity to first see the makings of an audience that would lead him to a token reimbursement. Cillian had a routine of stunning psychological pleasure of a simple seasoned show for twenty minutes. First the faces. He would ask the room to give introduction with the quality and class of their name. Names as we know are an important part of our identity. They help us define who we are, and Cillian could easily learn every gathering of faces, and if they had features like a cartoon in the Illustrated Police News then Cillian would remember them forever. It was this simple instant theatre that kept Cillian in the circuit of hotels. Who were his bread and butter, and yes Lemon Cake. And his cabaret was laced with satirical Irish humour. It was such an amazing turn of events that in every audience and company of hotel, that they enjoyed his dry and provincial Irish jokes, droll and ridiculous as they were. But no association or offence is ever taken as every nationality it seems has it’s own intellectual underdogs.
Cillian lost count of the hotels he appeared in as he passed around the almanac and directory of a thousand kindred hotels. They were as random and routine to Cillian as Latte and Lemon Cake at Pinky Murphys. It was the same show every night. Their names, the Blackpool & Fylde telephone book, tell him your birthday, ask Cillian to multiply some big sums, count cards like at the Blackpool Palace of Chance Casino and then to write something cute and funny in reverse to show against the candlelight.
And sometimes to gather their interest, Cillian would offer his telephone numbers answers against the wager of an Indian Pale Ale, as numbers to most are boring like the poor chap from Inverkeithing who has the most meticulous painstaking job of painting the Forth Railway Bridge. And the birthday sideshow too. Every night by the seaside Cillian would just ask in his satirical manner, “Does anyone in the room have a birthday this year?” And of course their drunken troubled faces would look up as if to say, of course we blood and thunder do.
One sample to quote on behalf of Cillian was this. A one of a kind Miss Jennifer Jellybum at the front of the Pink Rinso Hotel, she shouted. “The year eighteen sixty four of the month October and date twenty seventh.” To which Cillian instantly replied, “A Thursday a Leap Year and that was twelve thousand two hundred and thirty six days ago in our history. And on that day in America a confederate ship Albemarle was torpedoed, am I right Miss Jellybum.” Well Miss Jellybum looked up like she was in one of Jules Vernes books, and that she had been probed by Aliens. She was not to know how many particular days she had shared oxygen with the human race or what boat sank in any history of the Confederate Navy. But she did know her bingo lingo names. That information of the ship to the brain of Miss Jellybum was as much use to her as a chocolate steam engine. But her birthday was a Thursday, and that she magnanimously agreed, as most people know their birthdate when they confide with their parents. And with this part of the show, Cillian always enjoyed his Irish Joke about the two Irishmen who were in court for stealing a calendar, and on their appearance at the local magistrates they were given six months each.
The birthday calculation was always a jubilant event. And more on arithmetic that Cillian could do bigger and faster than anyone. He would invite his audience to throw big numbers at him, and he would multiply them with actions faster than thought. Grandiose numbers were his speciality and a natural savant system that Cillian was first taught from his faithful family friend Patrick O’Trachtenberg from the Falls Road. But never ask Cillian to explain his ingenious system where he took on many ordinary numbers and arrived at the much larger almost draconian answer. In Cillian’s head one night when one scary lady called Agatha said seven thousand four hundred and thirty one, then a pleasing young child called Clementine said five thousand six hundred and thirty eight. Cillian asked Matilda the landlady and others to check them on a small chalkboard as he said forty one million, eight hundred and ninety five thousand nine hundred and seventy eight, that were multiplied together in Cillian’s head faster than she could decorate her lips or try on a new hat. But to Cillian in his wonder years, this ability to do numbers was always another sideshow at Little Heads of Belfast School with his master of ceremonies Miss Honeyhole, who was always flouting his calculations to wake up the class. Once or twice Cillian in these Wonder Years tried to explain to the class that you had to break a big sum up into lots of easy little sums and carry them across. But it was useless giving away his ideas as Cillian got more sense talking to Cornetto and Jellycat who where the two most enchanting cats cosmetically decorating the door at the Rinkha of Rowland.
It was easy working numbers for Cillian. And great thanks once again to Patrick O’Trachtenberg for this calculus, his faithful family friend from the Falls. He was some pioneer of Evangelical Reform Movements when he was not providing this great assimilation of information that provided intellectual stimulus to Cillian. Many times he would talk of his extraordinary algebraic explanations in a world that went mad with war and belief. This genius took place with Cillian while Fred & Flo with Nanabanana emptied barrels of Guinness down their throats at their second home the Lily Bar. So much beer in his Dad’s brain, that Cillian worried next day would his ship the Big Fish be built back to front.
Every night at the Lily and they were always coming home steaming like the actual ships. Even Nanabanana and her brilliant mind was screwball with the Sambuca when she managed to put her Guinness down. And this time with Paddy O’Trachtenberg was much more productive at bedtime than the readings of Rumpelstiltskin and Little Red Riding Hood. To Cillian it was like a new language that took time to practice and naturally cultivate as he explored all the ways of his mind. In the mental justice of a savant, this was much more natural and successful to learn than the basics at Little Heads of Belfast. All of Cillian’s genius and conditioning took place outside the classroom. To the wise man Patrick of West Belfast, Cillian would constantly congratulate his genius yet he would question his platform of politics and spectacular lectures around the pubs. Even the police and military were sniffing around at his every soap box appearance.
And the coinage, how was the most primitive Cillian and his Unforgettable Memory Show around the hotels with all those indiscriminate audiences monetised in those first days around Blackpool you may ask. As Cillian was not some philanthropy or straight forward speaking feed the poor charity. Which is where his next gift is priceless. As Cillian has this peculiar propensity of mirror writing as his brain falls among the science of cerebral disorders. He could write perfectly backwards in reverse with his left hand. No optical tools can see inside your head or have ways of looking at a mind like those telescopes and glasses of that invention by Hans Lippershey the Dutch eyeglass maker that can now look at Mars. But the two halves may be wired together, some doctors in hypothesis might come to say.
However Cillian with his exhibition of backwards ink, he would at the end of every show ask the audience who were some lost assemblage of Blackpool filled with beer to say some words of constitution. Cillian then produced a writing board, a big sheet of paper with a heavy pencil and ask them to say some words or any implication of innuendo. Then he would write in reverse, and remove the paper to turn the document against the candle pilot lights. The audience could then read their words. Whatever words they chose, it was always holiday horseplay in that grateful folly of their message. And the best message at end of night was to come. Cillian was certainly not backward in writing in his backward font these words after every short show words to the effect, “Let’s have a whip- round for Cillian Custard the Memory Man!”
Basically Cillian was begging and busking, but not like the Ventriloquist Monkey show outside the Tower. A hat was presented and the shillings are summoned, and soon Cillian could pay his rent and cook more Lemon Cake with sauce. His handwriting was such a neurological reflection like on the reverse scripts of his hero the Italian Polymath Leonardo da Vinci, as he too was treasured with language centres in both sides of his brain. Cillian was also sure that this great painter of Mona Lisa and all his insights, he too must have thought that this life can rarely be understood with anything of this skill to write backwards. However just saying it must be lived forwards. This writing a natural lingual process in a different quieter part of his brain that thinks to write in mirror, seeks nothing to do with his mindset that was a wealth of lessons accomplished a century ahead of it’s time. So a resume of a fortuitous hundred nights of hats and happiness followed. Somewhat truly blind unprocessed entertaining with many human twists. A real feel-good life of day by day animal instinct survival where Cillian returned home excited with experience and new ideas everyday to Nothing Normal House. However this is not anything close to his determined quest to take matter of discovery into his own hands, as destiny has other plans to take Cillian and this myth of memory to other very unexpected places. As this way of life could not continue forever And fate with the famous seaside nemesis, as then unheralded and out of the blue one blustery night. Life threw Cillian the favourable circumstance of a meeting with the mythological Midas of the Music Halls. A meet with agency of the great Jehanna Rocket to put money in his pocket and take Cillian the Rinkha Thinka to immortality. Working the boards of the Beach House Theatre and the Lost Empire as a leading light, and certainly not as some version of usherette much as his appetite and amour of Ice Cream required. Jehanna Rocket was the plausibility of that connection and advocate opening of Blackpool banking and wealth. Soon to meet the English Manager of Barry Barbados, the Rocket Man as the one that runs the shows and is possessed of the ability to rouse the height of every plan and inspiration in Blackpool. His management and social skills are seemingly autonomous, and through his eyes the seaside resides for the simple minded. An unpleasant representation as he allegedly describes the witlessness of the working class. And since Cillian knows from experience that human beings are not in Darwin’s plans actually designed to be intelligent, then certainly no concession to this will Cillian ever dare to compromise or conciliate. His evolution is with The Unforgettable Memory Show. When will it or he be discovered, or will Cillian from this studious life continue to get more sense conversing in Latin to the Lobsters at Fleetwood Fish Market. His new friend and right-hand man Cornelius Cripples was good as helping Cillian Custard learn the first footsteps at the Ocean Sheba while Fu-Ling-Yu learned to ‘wok’ again but Cillian and his Brain the size a Planet needed the working of a master manager. And one night by the luck of the Leprechauns they met.