The Hounds of the Morrigan (62 page)

Cúchulain at length put them down and Angus Óg came to them and they looked into his eyes. These lovely eyes had the blue of a bluebell wood trapped in them and his gaze held them while everything darkened about them. And with a wonderful, tender love he gently made them forget, until very suddenly the bubble was no longer there and everyone was gone.

The children stood wondering why they were in the field with the tumbled stones and why they felt so happy. Brigit’s schoolbag was lying on the ground. She was surprised by this and by the fact that the strap was broken. When she opened it, she was not at all surprised to see that it was empty.

They set off for home, but their eyes were bright and dancing and they were full of joy.

When they got home, there was great excitement in the house.

Sally was back and she was jumping all over them and licking them.

‘We think she was in the horse-box and slipped out before we noticed,’ Michael, their father, explained.

But Auntie Bina was even more excited about some travelling-people that had called to ask for a little food. She had invited them in for a cup of tea; and the woman had sung songs and played a banjo first and then a concertina; and the old man had danced while holding out the tips of his coat-skirts. The old woman had told Auntie Bina’s fortune and had left presents for Pidge and Brigit, for she had seen that they existed when she read Auntie Bina’s hand.

‘It was the greatest fun; what a pity you missed it,’ Auntie Bina said.

For Pidge they had left a glass snowball with an alpine scene inside it; and for Brigit there was a penny whistle and a whole set of china. There were six egg cups in the set; the china was decorated with dandelions and daisies and Brigit loved it at once.

Sometimes Pidge would see a frown of concentration on Brigit’s face as she tried hard to remember something that she couldn’t name, and he would frown and try to remember with her. Other times, he would feel something in his mind, a picture that wouldn’t quite form, and he would try to grasp after it, finding as he gave up, that Brigit would be staring at him at such times, with a great frown of effort on her face too.

And there were times when Pidge shook the glass and, as the snow was falling and beginning to clear, he fancied that he saw strange yet familiar things through the snow, but only briefly, and never long enough to be certain of anything. It was intriguing and mysterious, and he was always excited when it happened and called Brigit to look.

And from time to time they would both meet a dog-fox; the same one every time, they were sure. He would stand and let them come quite close before walking away. They knew that he was not afraid of them at all. Every now and then he would stand still for a long time, and they would all three look at each other with puzzlement and affection and feelings of
knowing
that could not be explained by the children. If ever they went on a picnic, he would appear. They would throw food near him which he accepted and ate with perfect ease. On winter days, they particularly went for his sake and he was always waiting for them. In time, to their delight, they found that he trusted them enough to eat the food from their hands and even let Brigit stroke him. One day they found out by accident that he relished sausages above everything; and Pidge never forgot to buy some especially for him, whenever he was in Galway.

They often heard him bark in the night.

There were times as well, when they were aware of faint, mystifying and joyous echoes that made them stop in the middle of doing something to gaze at each other.

And whenever Old Mossie Flynn spoke of his former lodgers, the children were always deeply interested in what he said, and would sit silently and stare at him with widened eyes.

And on windy days there was a kite. It was splendid and always flew beautifully. There was a picture of an old ship painted on it and it had long ribbons of violet satin flowing out from it and these always danced in the breeze and sometimes glittered as though with silver. Pidge had made the kite himself. He had found the design and instructions in a book that he had happened on in the library in Galway. Auntie Bina gave the ribbons. She had found them at the bottom of an old trunk, and said at the time, that she didn’t even know that she had them. Brigit always said that the kite was hers and that Pidge had made it especially for her. Somehow he never minded, when she said this.

Many times later he tried to find the book again but he never could, even with the librarian’s interested help. It wasn’t in any catalogue and all trace of it had vanished.

Last of all were the rainbows.

From that time out, they always saw lots of rainbows; and occasionally when they were with other people, there would be one. If it were particularly magnificent, they would cry out:

‘Look! There’s a rainbow!’—and the other people would say:

‘Where? Where?’

And the children would be surprised.

W
HEN
the Sergeant fell he had dropped onto the entangled nests of waterbirds. Over the years the flat nests had come away from their moorings in the reeds at both sides of the lake during storms, and drifted to land at this spot, carried by a current that was changeless. They were massed in a great bed at the Sergeant’s feet, like a raft. He had landed on his back, legs in the air, still clutching onto his bike by the handle-bars. The wheels continued to spin gently as he slowly floated across the lake.

Now when the Sergeant came to, he was on his bicycle and riding in circles round the stones in Shancreg. From the deep grooves his wheels had made in the ground, he concluded that he had been foolishly cycling in this way for some time. He pulled himself together, dismounted and wheeled his bike across the field and he lifted it over the wall and went out onto the road.

He was thoughtful as he cycled back to the Garda barracks in Galway.

The young Garda was surprised to see him and remarked that he hadn’t been gone long. The Sergeant reached over to pat the young man on the shoulder and he was cut to the heart when the young Garda flinched and drew back. He was stricken with remorse for the harshness he had shown in the past, and from that day out he became the nicest Sergeant that the world has ever known. Hardened criminals used to break down and cry in the streets when he passed; and in later years, people were known to say that when God made that particular Sergeant, he broke the mould.

Only once did he mention something of his experience to another person. He confided in his Lovable Auntie Lizzie. He described with tears in his eyes how the beautiful woman had been stricken with a most terrible disease. Auntie Lizzie made him put on a warm dressing-gown at once, and to comfort him she broke bread into a bowl and sprinkled spices and sugar over it. Then she covered it with hot milk and stirred it with a big spoon.

‘Eat your goodie, child,’ she said.

‘I wonder where she went?’ the Sergeant said in puzzlement, after a while.

‘I think that she went off round the world to forget you,’ Auntie Lizzie said, looking at him fondly.

‘Do you know,’ The Sergeant said, knitting his brows: ‘I never even knew her name.’

He finished his goodie and licked the spoon.

‘I think… .’ he began, and broke off with a bashful look.

‘What?’ Auntie Lizzie asked encouragingly.

‘I think I’ll call her My Angel,’ the Sergeant said shyly, and he blushed.

I would like to thank Roger Langley for his unfailing encouragement and enthusiasm, also Barbara, Ruth and Eric. Danny Rigby, my young reader, deserves thanks too, as does Maggie for her practical and invaluable help.

Books that have helped:

Celtic Heritage
by Alwyn Rees & Brinley Rees.

Thames and Hudson, London 1961.

The Celtic Realms
by Myles Dillon & Nora Chadwick.

Weidenfeld and Nicolson Ltd., 1967.

Irish Folk Ways
by E. Estyn Evans.

Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd., 1957.

The Mountains of Ireland
by D. D. C. Pochin Mould.

B. T. Batsford Ltd., London 1955.

Cúchulain of Muirthemne
by Lady Gregory.

John Murray, London 1902.

(Lady Gregory’s book is a translation of old Irish manuscripts. A lot of the description of how the Seven Maines and others were dressed, and, various horse-trappings etc., comes from that book).

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To show pronounciations, the words have been broken into parts. This shows syllables only, so if you decide to try saying the words, say them quickly by running the parts together. For example: Millskuhuch, Bowrawn, Knowneenee, and so on.
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