Читать книгу Life in the Frame - Ken Doherty - Страница 8

I’ve been lucky to have made good money playing snooker and I now live in a lovely house in Dublin with my wife, Sarah, and our young son, Christian. I can appreciate some of the material luxuries we have these days because I certainly didn’t have them as a boy. Life was pretty tough for my parents.

I’m the third of four children. My brother, Seamus, is eight years older than me. Anthony is five years my senior and my sister, Rosemarie, is the youngest by two years. I was born on 17 September 1969 to my father Anthony and mother, Rosemarie. They both worked a multitude of mainly low-paid jobs to provide for us as children.

My first home was in Swan Place in Donnybrook. We lived in the back of a sweet shop owned by an elderly woman until she sold it to a young couple, Mr and Mrs O’Connor. They decided they could make a profit by selling it on but would first need to get rid of us, and so it was that they made our lives a living hell.

One of my earliest memories, when I was about three, was of the landlord coming in and kicking my toys all round the room. It was the first time anyone had been mean to me and it will always live with me. One Sunday we went out and by the time we returned they’d changed the locks so we couldn’t get back into our own house. There was a window where the latch would fall if you kept on pressing it so we were able to climb through there, the only way we could enter. I have only vague memories of this but there is a photograph in the Irish Times of my mother holding me as she climbed through the window. That was the first time I ever appeared in a newspaper.

They kept on threatening us. One of them told my mother, referring to me, ‘I hope your little bastard dies.’ I don’t understand how anyone could be that cruel, especially about a young child, but if their behaviour showed up the worst of humanity, my parents and the strength they showed in the face of such hostility emphasised the best. They refused to be bullied or let the constant intimidation prevent the family from living as normal a life as possible.

Eventually it went to court and they gave us compensation of £2,000 but you needed £3,500 to buy a house. We were given a deadline to leave but had nowhere to go so were facing an uncertain future. My dad’s family home was owned by a guy called Mr Cook, who also owned a couple of properties in Ranelagh, a district of Dublin, and he heard that we were in trouble. Someone who lived in the top half of one of his houses had just died so he offered that to us. So we moved from a small dwelling to an even smaller one.

Our new house had three rooms between the six of us. There was a lounge room that was also a kitchen, so small that the stove was out on the landing, and there were two bedrooms. The toilet was outside and we had a bath out there once a week, one after the other. That might sound grim by today’s standards but I remember being a happy child. I didn’t know any different and had nothing to compare it to. Thanks to my mother there was always food on the table and we were always well clothed. My parents struggled all their lives for money. At one stage my mother had four jobs and also had to look after the four of us. I didn’t know it then but when I look back I realise that they were hard times, but at least we were together as a family.

My mother was relentless in trying to find us a new house. She had left home at 18 to join Muckross Park convent and had made connections there. The daughters of various politicians went there and she lobbied anyone she knew after hearing that the Dublin Corporation were building four new houses. It was down to her that we got our new home, a much bigger one than the first two, complete with a letter from Charles Haughey, who would go on to become Irish prime minister. It read: ‘Dear Mr and Mrs Doherty, I hope you will be happy in your new home.’

My mother would do anything for anyone. If someone was suffering she would be there to help. She used to make dinner for people who lived on their own, put it on a plate and get on her bike and take it round to them. She’d take people in who needed a bed for a few nights. She was tough, because she needed to be, but was also caring and couldn’t bear to see anyone going through a bad time. She taught me to consider other people and to be grateful for what I had.

I looked up to Seamus, particularly after our father died because he had to assume that fatherly role. He was 21 when our dad died and had to become head of the household. He was the one who first took me to Jason’s, where my boyhood enthusiasm for snooker blossomed into a lifelong passion. You would only be allowed in with an adult so if he hadn’t taken me with him I might never have got the chance to play snooker regularly. He actually won the first snooker trophy ever brought back to our household. I’m still close to him now and ask him for advice and wisdom when I’m in a spot. He’s very easy to talk to and always ready to help.

I never got on with Anthony at all when I was growing up. I used to fight with him all the time and was forever teasing him. I think he felt I was just constantly out to wind him up and in a way that’s true. To me, it was just a bit of a laugh but he didn’t always see it that way. In fact, when I’d go to the bus stop for school he wouldn’t stand next to me. He pretended that he didn’t know me, let alone that he was related to me. He’d even walk to the next bus stop rather than be seen with me. We’d be endlessly arguing and scrapping but when I got a little older we became close. We’d go out drinking together and have a really good time because Anthony is such great company. He’s a little off the wall but very funny and all the old stuff from childhood is forgotten, or if we do talk about it then it’s to have a good laugh.

I spent a fair amount of time with Rosemarie when I was a young kid because we were close in age but as we got older we developed our own interests and had separate circles of friends. For me it was sport and she wasn’t that interested in all of that. She has a lovely family of her own now and we talk often on the phone. We were all raised as such a tight-knit unit that it’s not surprising we should remain that way, even though we’ve all got houses and lives of our own. We live reasonably close to each other and know that if any of us needs help with something the others will come running.

I don’t think I was a badly behaved child but I got into scrapes. One time, we went to the Isle of Man on holiday. I would have been seven years old. We were staying in a bed and breakfast and I shared a room with Seamus. One night he got up to go to the toilet, which was out on the landing, and I thought it would be funny to lock the bedroom door. That might have been a good joke except that I got back into bed and immediately fell asleep, so when Seamus returned he couldn’t get back in. Being a considerate sort, even as a teenager, he didn’t want to wake anyone else up so he gently knocked on the door and whispered for me to open it but I didn’t hear him so he started banging on it. That still didn’t wake me but it did wake the landlord and the other guests, who by now were all out on the landing, demanding to know what the commotion was all about. I think I may have eventually woken up but by then I was too scared to open the door.

On the same holiday, myself and Anthony spent a lot of time messing around, giving each other stick and doing things like kicking each other under the breakfast table. It got so bad that we’d have to sit at different tables – my father with Anthony and my mother with me. I had this ball and I kept throwing it at Anthony’s head to wind him up. He was going down some stairs and I threw it at him, catching him full on the head. So he picked it up and came after me, throwing it in my direction. Then I threw it back at him, but instead of hitting my brother it caught a porcelain plate on the wall, which smashed into several pieces on the floor. It cost my mother £15. Bearing in mind the most she would have had to spend during the week would have been £50, it wasn’t a very enjoyable holiday after that.

People often ask me how I got the scar on my face. It happened at a birthday party for Donal O’Sullivan, a neighbourhood friend of mine, when I was seven. He had a shed at the end of his garden and we’d sit on the roof and enjoy the sunshine. On this day we were messing around on the top of the shed as kids do. My cousin was spitting at my feet and I was walking backwards to avoid it into what I thought was the side of the house. I was expecting a brick wall to be there but I was faced round the wrong way and, in fact, there was nothing there at all except a solid drop.

All I remember is falling backwards and then later being brought round. I had fallen into an old tin bin full of bricks and junk and broken my arm in three places. I must have put the arm out to break the fall, which probably saved my life. If I’d gone in head first I would have been a goner. I caught my face on the jagged edge of the bin and that’s how I cut it and eventually got the scar.

The father of the house picked me up and carried me down to my mother’s. I’ll never forget what happened when she opened the door and saw me there all bloodied. She screamed and screamed and my father laid me down on the couch. We didn’t have a phone but one of the neighbours did and they rang for an ambulance. I don’t remember everything that happened next because I was only semi-conscious. I know I was sent to hospital but they said I’d have to go on to the children’s hospital and, as they didn’t attend to the cut immediately, the scar formed. Looking back, I was lucky I wasn’t more badly injured or even killed. It’s certainly something I won’t ever forget.

There were a few guys in Ranelagh who got in trouble with the police and they would show you how to shoplift from a local store. A few times I stole, helping myself to sweets and biscuits. It wasn’t high-level crime but it was still wrong and I’d die if my own son ever got involved in something like that. Eventually my mother caught me with bags of sweets in my coat pocket and as she knew I couldn’t have afforded them she set about dragging the truth out of me. Finally she got me to admit that I’d stolen them and then scolded me with a wooden spoon. She was disappointed in me because she had had to work so hard for everything that she had, which wasn’t much, and everything she’d given us. It made me feel ashamed and I never did it again.

I was lucky that I had snooker. It was something to focus on and a way out of a life of trouble that I could quite easily have drifted into without anything to concentrate on or strive for. I was mad into football as well, playing as much as I could, but had to make a choice when I was 15 between the two sports because there were snooker tournaments on Saturdays and they were beginning to clash with football. I was captain of the Rathmines Boys side but I also wanted to play in the snooker events. I knew that if I was going to be serious about one of them then the other would have to go. And the great thing about snooker was that you didn’t play in the rain, you didn’t exhaust yourself and there were no hard tackles. I was also starting to earn money from winning snooker tournaments. Looking back, it was only pennies but it felt like riches to someone who had never had any money before. I’d turn up at school with a load of sweets that I’d bought, not stolen.

I went to the Westland Row Christian Brothers school and loved my time there. It’s often stated that proficiency at snooker is the sign of a misspent youth but it wasn’t true in my case. I worked hard and genuinely enjoyed it. Both my parents drilled into me the importance of doing my school work. My mother said she would let me play snooker as long as I got my homework done first. She said that if my grades started slipping she’d take my snooker cue away from me, which was the worst punishment I could imagine. And it worked because I did knuckle down and did all the work I had to. I never missed a day of school through illness or skiving off in my life, even though I knew I wanted to be a snooker player. Education is the cornerstone of your life. You never stop learning and I’m glad I did work hard, unlike a lot of the boys at school who had no interest in it at all.

I loved history, chemistry, French and Spanish. They were my best subjects and I did seven Highers, although I had to drop down in maths because it was just too difficult – I never have been any good at maths. I only got a C in the end but I passed the rest with honours. The teachers were good to me as I got older and my career developed, and would let me take time away if there was a big amateur tournament to play in. One of them, Paddy Finnegan, was doing a roll call once, going through the names, and he turned to me and said, ‘Doherty, I notice you missed about 20 days last year playing snooker. I hope we’ll see a bit more of you this year.’ I replied, ‘Well actually, sir, I’m off to New Zealand to play in the World Amateur Championship, so I won’t be around for the next three weeks.’

I had a lot of mates in school. One of my best friends was a guy called Derek Davis, who suffered from epilepsy. We played football together for Rathmines and had been in school with each other right from our primary days. Sometimes I used to have to take him home after he’d had a fit, although he faked a few as well if he wanted to get out of a lesson. He died aged 28 – he’d been to a party and had a fit when he returned home. It was unbelievably sad.

The only thing I disliked about school was getting up early. I haven’t become much keener on that as I’ve got older, but I knew I had to work hard because there was no guarantee back then that snooker would be a career for me. I was doing well as a junior but the professional game is a completely different proposition and I couldn’t be sure I’d turn out to be a success. Even in the late 1980s and early 1990s the financial rewards lower down the ranking list were meagre. You had to be a top player to earn any sort of living and little has changed.

I learned my trade in Jason’s, which was round the corner from where we lived. It wasn’t just a club: it was a meeting place and a crucial part of the Ranelagh community. They had a jukebox in there that played hits of the 1970s and early 1980s and the kids would hang around it, putting on songs and messing around. There were also space invaders machines, pinball and table football. To me, it was like another world. It was full of life and adventure, noise and people. I was so excited that they’d let me in and went on to spend a huge amount of my adolescence in there.

At that time Jason’s had mainly pool tables. There was one snooker table and rather than have a light above it, as is normal practice, it was next to a window, so the sunlight lit it up. That’s how I started playing. I was so short I’d have to stand on a biscuit tin to reach the balls. I used to get off the 48A or the 44 bus from school. I’d pass by my house, go straight into Jason’s, put my school bag and coat under the table and then I’d have to clean out the ashtrays and sweep the floor. After I’d done that Ambrose Collins, one of the guys that ran the club, would let me play a game of snooker with him, just one frame. Then I’d be allowed to play a few games of pool and space invaders. That’s what I did every single day.

My first final was the Evening Herald Under 16s. I lost 2-1 but people were starting to see I had potential and that was mainly down to Jason’s. I owe the lads there a great deal. I couldn’t have improved as a player without their help and kindness. The club was run by two brothers, Derry and Jack Cosgrave, and they did so much for me, giving me a chance. It was just an hour each afternoon but it brought me on considerably and kept my enthusiasm for snooker simmering. I kept a book of who I played and what the score was so that I could record my progress. I couldn’t have afforded to play that often and may well have drifted away from snooker without the regular practice and the support I was getting.

I was coached by Paddy Miley, an international player who organised handicap tournaments. Paddy had great knowledge of the game and also the experience to know how to approach matches, especially when it came to the tactical side of snooker. He would teach me that you didn’t need to go for everything, you didn’t have to pot them all in one go. You could play safe, be patient and force mistakes from your opponent. It was a valuable lesson to learn and gave me a clear advantage as an amateur because I was playing guys who didn’t have that insight into match-play snooker.

I played my first snooker against a professional at Jason’s when I was 13. Eddie Charlton, the great Australian player of the 1970s and 1980s, came to do an exhibition and I played a frame against him. It was ironic because I would go on to play him in my first televised match eight years later.

The exhibition was at 11 o’clock on a Saturday morning. I used to play football on Saturdays so I came in with my gear in a bag, put a football under the table, played Eddie and then went off to soccer. I enjoyed playing Eddie and I gave him a good game before he beat me on the blue. He was a great character who was known for cursing under his breath. If you got a bit of luck against him you’d hear him mutter, ‘You lucky bastard!’

Eddie was known for being hard as nails in a match situation but in the exhibition he was good value. He was very funny and did an impressive trick-shot routine, including shots I’d never seen up close before. I was disappointed because the lads from Jason’s were going out for lunch with him afterwards but I had to go to football. I’d have loved to have heard some of the old stories because I’d watched Eddie on Pot Black and it was exciting to meet him.

In that small way it gave me a taste for the big time. When Eddie came into the club everyone knew who he was, because he was a well established player who you often saw on the TV. He’d won Pot Black and been runner-up in the World Championship three times. I suppose as a 13-year-old I looked at the regard he was held in and fancied a bit of that myself. Of course, I would have to work for it.

My mother wasn’t so impressed with the time I was spending in Jason’s. Many a time she’d come in brandishing a wooden spoon and threaten me with it if I didn’t come home. She’d send my sister round to tell me my dinner was on the table and then if I didn’t come home she’d come down herself and chase me out. When you’re involved in a game, you don’t want to stop and there were times when I’d try and hide from her in the club, although she’d always find me. One time she threatened Derry Cosgrave with her wooden spoon. She told him: ‘If Ken fails his exams, I’m holding you responsible.’ This to a grown man!

I don’t think she believed snooker would ever be a career. She’s always been a worrier and can’t bear to watch me play. Even when I won the World Championship she had to go out because she got too nervous watching on the TV. She once came down to Goffs in County Kildare where they used to play the Irish Masters but spent the whole match out in the car park with her rosary beads. She wanted me to succeed but was worried for me in case it went wrong. She’d rather I got a proper job, one that wasn’t so risky and uncertain.

But I knew snooker would be my life. My first century was 100 bang on when I was 15, which is late by today’s standards, and my first title was the Irish Under-16 Championship. My mother still has the trophy in her kitchen to this day, alongside all my other trinkets.

My only sadness is that my father wasn’t alive to witness my rise to the top of snooker. I was 13 when he died in June 1983. We’d not long moved into our new council house and were all excited by the change in circumstances. It felt like it was a new start for the family but my dad died just two years later.

I was in Jason’s playing snooker and someone I used to play pool with came in and said, ‘Your father’s been taken to hospital.’ I ran home and my brothers told me that Dad had had a heart attack outside a shop in Ranelagh. He suffered from angina and had a clot in his leg. He’d been waiting to go in for an operation but they didn’t have a bed free. So he waited and waited and still there was no sign of the operation. It went on so long that my mother actually told him to go out and feign a heart attack, just so he would finally be treated, but he was too proud to do that.

Dad was taken to St Vincent’s hospital on the Wednesday evening where he underwent emergency treatment. It was a horrible couple of days because we didn’t know whether he’d pull through or not. We all went to the hospital but I was too scared to go in and see him, which is one of the few regrets I have in life. Nothing had prepared me for something like this and I didn’t know how to cope with it. I was frightened beyond belief: the happy little bubble in which I lived my childhood had been shattered.

On the Friday afternoon we went back to the hospital but by the time we got there he had died. I remember just standing outside with Rosemarie, both of us bawling our eyes out through shock and disbelief. He was only 58. We were all devastated. My mother had to take Valium to get her through the next couple of weeks. She had lost the love of her life. After going through so much hardship, things had seemed to be turning round for Mum. She had the new house and four children but to lose her husband was a terrible blow. Typically, though, she was determined to do the right thing and she took to bringing us up on her own, using her inner strength and moral values. I don’t think she could have done a better job. I’ve no doubt we were a handful at times but we had such love and respect for her that we stayed in line most of the time. She did everything for us, took us swimming or to tennis, for days out, for a picnic. We’d have a holiday every year at Butlin’s and though we weren’t well off, we didn’t go without love.

All you can hope for in life is that your children turn out well, that they’re happy, they’re safe, they have a good job, a family and stay out of trouble. I only really understand this properly now that I’m a parent myself. I’m far more unselfish now that I have a son because all I’m concerned with is his well-being, and my mother was the same when we were young.

After my father died I felt that everything I did was for my family and he was the first person I thought about after winning the World Championship. He’d bought me a six-by-three-foot table for Christmas but never really saw me compete because I didn’t become a serious player until after his death. The guys at Jason’s saw how upset I was and could not have been more helpful. They gave me free practice at the club and then started sponsoring me to enter events. Eventually they gave me a brown envelope each week with twenty quid in it and I’d use the money to try and hustle and double it up. I’d come home late at night and rub the money in Mum’s ear. I was determined to repay what she’d done for us.

My biggest challenge, though, was to persuade her that I should leave home and move to England to pursue a career as a professional – a big, daunting step for me and my family and not one my mother liked at all.