A Son of Aran (37 page)

The next letter from Vincent arrived sooner than expected. ‘Hurrah,' he wrote, ‘congratulate us! Chrissie and I have bought our new home at a price that is more favourable than we could have hoped for. Transfer documents are to be completed next week. After that we are free to move in—you and Eileen must come and join us at an early date. I need your advice on a number of issues relating to cultivation and cropping—after all, Seosamh, following your work with the Spanish smallholders, you are an expert in these fields. For a start, Chrissie and I will give the cottage the once-over, making whatever short term alterations we see to be necessary. General cleaning, scrubbing of ceilings, walls and floors, hanging some fresh curtains, installing a few items of furniture and bed linen, will leave the house ready for occupation. We are both excited at the prospect.'

‘Do you think we should visit Chrissie and Vincent?' Seosamh asked, after some weeks had elapsed. ‘I am dying to see their new place while summer days are still with us. Now that they have moved in, Vincent will be anxious to plan a cultivation programme ahead of next spring. It would be easier to go across by boat than to undertake the longer route through Galway and Oranmore. We might tempt Peadar and Máirtín to take us to Kinvara in the hooker?'

‘I wouldn't bank on that, Seosamh. You know that Peadar has become averse to seafaring; Máirtín cannot afford to be away from Sorcha for very long. We can ask, if you wish, but don't be disappointed if they decline. Taking the sleeper van on the ferry to Galway may be a little awkward, but we will have the use of it while we are on the mainland; that will save us from hiring alternative transport and accomodation.'

‘Problem solved, we'll not impinge on Peadar and Máirtín—all we need to do is book our passage on the Dun Aengus and we're away. What would I ever do without that sensible head of yours?'

‘This trip reminds me of the evening my dad took me out of Galway in the hooker to keep me from being kidnapped by the Spaniard.' Eileen reminisced. ‘I wasn't old enough then to know what was going on between him and my mother—it all came out afterwards. I cried bitterly when my mother's body was taken from the sea. Dad wept too. I remember her funeral Mass and the stony soil rattling on her coffin when she was being buried. People came up to shake my father's hand, and to pat me gently on the head. Women hugged me and offered kind words—all I wanted was to get away from them and be alone with my dad.'

‘You've put all that behind you now, Eileen. The wheel has turned full circle. What was, for Peadar and yourself at that time, a dreadfully traumatic experience, gave rise to an extraordinary series of events that brought you unbelievable fame and fortune. It's a long road that has no turning. Where would you, me, and the children, be today were it not for the change of heart and benevolence of Carlos? Do you remember what he said to us from his sick bed as we left to return home from Spain?

‘When your craft approaches the islands of Aran, please pay a lingering farewell to Galway Bay that I loved so well, into which I will never again steam'.

‘It was pitiful listening to him. Wherever he is now, I hope he is happy. The mills of God grind slowly but they grind exceedingly sure.'

‘Seosamh, you have paid a heavy price for our good fortune. If we hadn't gone to live in Spain you would still have the use of your limbs—how can we balance your loss against the wealth we have acquired? There is no answer to that enigma. In a way, I feel it's my fault'

‘Don't blame yourself on my account, Eileen. Amn't I lucky to have come out of the accident with no worse injuries? We win one, lose one, that's the way life goes. When I worked in Galway I saw men in the hospital who had no legs—they didn't complain. When I asked one of them what happened to him he told me:

‘I was caught in an air raid in Coventry during the war. A huge bomb came down on top of the shelter—several people were killed. One man was hit by shrapnel that penetrated his brain—he was never the same again. I was one of the lucky ones—I only lost my legs. It's all a matter of comparison.'

‘Seosamh, you are very brave. We'll count our blessings. Let's thank God for keeping us together and for giving us two beautiful children.'

The sea was calm; the summer sun shone brightly as the sleeper van was unloaded on the quay at Galway. Stopping only to buy a house-warming present for Vincent and Chrissie, they were soon on their way through Oranmore, Clarenbridge, and Kilcolgan where they veered right towards Ballindereen and Kinvara.

‘This is where I spent a great day with Treasa at
Féile na Bád'
(the festival of the boats), Seosamh teased. ‘She hadn't any interest whatsoever in boats—she wouldn't know a rowlock from a rudder. I can see now how she manipulated things to get into my good graces. Learning Irish at the centre in Dominick Street was just another strategy. I was naïve—an island lad was no match for the city girl. Amn't I glad I got her hooks out of me in time and came back to my own dear Eileen.'

‘Enough of your palaver, Seosamh—I don't want to hear another mention of Treasa. We should be getting close to Bellharbour at this stage. The road is winding; distractions are a danger to the driver. I am responsible for the safety of all of us. How would you like if we finished up in the tide?'

Vincent and Chrissie were profuse in their welcome. ‘Let me look at your two gorgeous children,' Chrissie exclaimed. ‘Come on until I give you the grand tour of our new dwelling.'

Vincent and Seosamh remained out of doors where they viewed the patchwork pattern of fields bordered by stone walls on the thirty-acre farm. These were complemented by a range of well maintained barns and out-buildings.

‘These will come in handy for storage,' Vincent suggested, ‘an asset in preparing produce for the market when conditions outside are unsuitable. I have thought of turning one of them into a workshop where I will be able to make seed trays for the nursery and window boxes to be planted for sale in summer. I have many plans—the ones I mention are but a start. In July I intend to have two of the fields ploughed and cultivated for crops of winter cabbages—cauliflowers, kale, brocolli, and spring hearting Early York. Later in the year I will get some ground ready for potatoes, and for sowings of peas, beans, leeks, parsnips and carrots. These should do for a start until I monitor demands on the market. Chrissie will bring produce to the market beside Saint Nicholas' Cathedral in Galway every Saturday. We still have to explore outlets for deliveries on other days of the week, greengrocers, shops and hotels. It's going to be a busy time all around.'

‘I congratulate you, Vincent, on your ambitious plans which will, I feel sure, prove highly successful under your expert guidance. Do you see any situation in all of this where I might be of help? Despite the handicap of the wheelchair, there are several things I can do, like preparing seed trays, sowing seeds, potting plants into containers—you name the task, I'll have a go at it. I'm talking in the context of our coming to live on the mainland, something that Eileen and I have been discussing. It looks like the Spanish situation will not improve until Franco falls from grace which may take years. Meantime we have the childrens' welfare to consider. We are of opinion that it would be more conducive to their upbringing if we were to reside in a rural community where they can mingle with other children of their ages and attend school at local level. You might be on the lookout and let us know of any vacant property coming on the market—we ourselves will check with estate agents in the area and see what may come up. In view of our previous relationship, I take it that you and Chrissie would like to have us near at hand.'

‘Of course we would, Seosamh. Chrissie will treasure Eileen's company; I will appreciate your help and guidance in the projects that I undertake. I wish you every success in your search for suitable accomodation.'

Their month-long stay in Belharbour was a delight for all. On some days the ladies, accompanied by Carl and Eileen Óg, were free to visit the Burren with its array of bare rocks, stony fields and hosts of rare alpine plants. They picniced in warm sunshine and viewed the scene from Black Head to the Aran Islands with Galway City and the hills of Connemara in the background. Vincent and Seosamh kept house in their absence; in turn they viewed, in the distance, the plethora of ancient cashels, megalithic monuments, rock formations, the unique landscape of the Burren, and visited the ancient monastic sites and round tower at Kilmacduagh. The experiences were new to them both—such magnificent beauty, so unspoilt yet undiscovered by many of their associates—they would have many stories to relate.

H
AVING SPENT AN ENJOYABLE TIME IN BELLHARBOUR
with Vincent and Chrissie—Eileen, and Seosamh returned to Aran to find Peadar in a downbeat mood. In the meantime Sorcha had passed away without warning. Máirtín was devastated. Peadar, his lifelong friend, took her death to heart too. Sorcha and Máirtín had always been there for him when he was in any kind of trouble.

‘Is this what life is all about?' he asked himself. ‘We grow to love people, but just when our relationship has blossomed, they are taken from us. Wasn't it the same with my own mother and Saureen? Why can we not enjoy one another's companionship in peace and joy? When close friends and associates have departed, there isn't much left to live for. Good luck to Eileen and her fortune. I've had many pleasurable experiences arising from her inheritance, but these have not brought me happiness or contentment. After all our travelling, I am back where I started in my native Aran, without the consolation or support of a female companion. Scripture says it is not good for man to be alone but, at my stage of life, I have outlived the urge for romance. What is there left to live for here? Maybe I should follow in my father's footsteps and try to find that mysterious Isle of the Blest. Oisín found it once and lived there for many years in the company of the beautiful Niamh Cinn Óir. He hadn't a care in the world, his every wish granted. He never grew old or lost the agility of his youth. Despite all the attention focused on him, as time went by, he became restless for his Fianna companions and the old ways of living that he knew so well. Against the counsel of Niamh, he returned to look for his pals; nobody he met remembered Fionn, Diarmad or Goll Mac Mórna—all had died many aeons before. In frustration he dismounted from his white steed. When his feet touched the ground he reverted to a withered old man and died of loneliness.

‘If only I had a
gleoitog
(hooker type boat) that I could sail on my own, I think I might have a go at finding Hy Brasil. I must have been close to it when I drifted in the Atlantic storm until I was taken on board by the African smugglers? On one occasion I thought I got a fleeting glimpse of land away to the west. Did I really see it? Was I hallucinating? I'll never know unless I go back and find out. Out there in the middle of the broad Atlantic, it wasn't easy to establish bearings—even if I tried, the boat people wouldn't allow; they didn't want me to know where we were or what they were up to. I'd like to recap on that location. It would be a wonderful feat to reach the island of Hy Brasil that every fisherman talks about but no one ever found. I might get to know if my father reached it and lived out his life there as my dear mother believed.

‘I'll keep my thoughts to myself—if Eileen or Máirtín were to hear me talking this way they'll say I am losing my mind.'

Before they returned to Aran, Seosamh and Eileen received tidings of a house being offered for sale at Owneenard close to the town of Ardrahan. They took advantage of the visit to their Coughlan friends to go and see it. A two storey manor house in its own grounds approached by a winding avenue, it comprised three bedrooms, a sittingroom and a dining room cum kitchen. A panoramic view from the upper windows encompassed the stone walled fields of south Galway, the round tower of Kilmacduagh, the rock strewn plateau of the Burren to the south, and their beloved Galway Bay nestling in the west. In the summer sun the place looked idyllic. Adjoining it were fenced paddocks and a range of stables and outbuildings—the previous owners had kept ponies for the enjoyment of their children until the young people had outgrown gymkana pursuits and followed careers away from home. The asking price did not appear exorbitant, the place looked promising; Seosamh and Eileen didn't want to act too rashly. ‘We will consider the proposal and let you know our decision,' they told the agent.

‘What do you think?' Eileen asked, as they drove away.

‘It looks like what we have been searching for,' Seosamh replied. ‘The asking price is reasonable—land and house properties here are, apparently, at a low. Vincent told me a story about a farm of four hundred acres in Donegal that was sold recently for eleven thousand pounds. Another family of his acquaintance purchased their first home—a manor house and twenty acres on the edge of a county town for two thousand pounds. Money is not a problem for you and me if we find the place that suits us. From what I have been able to see, it looks fine. Its location, alongside a town and close to the main road to Galway, is convenient. More importantly, it is not far from our friends the Coughlans. The privacy it affords would be a haven for young Carl and Eileen Óg— wait until they are old enough to ride ponies!'

‘OK, Seosamh, let's get a solicitor to check the title and obtain an engineer's report on structural condition—we'll wait for their recommendations. We would have to make some alterations to accommodate your wheelchair—those should not present a problem if everything else is in order.'

‘Eileen, amn't I the lucky man to have you taking all the decisions. Where would I be if we hadn't got to know one another all those years ago back in Aran?'

Peadar listened when, on returning from their mainland trip, the two related with great gusto, the story of their findings. His reaction was muted.