A Son of Aran Page 15

  ‘Micilín, you’re big enough now to take on some work on the farm. I’d like to devote more time to fishing on the bád mór with our cousins. Come with me and I’ll show you how to sharpen a scythe and teach you how to mow. There’s nothing to it when you get the hang of the job. I’ll cut the first swathe and you can take over after that.’

  ‘Why would I want to learn how to use a scythe? Did you not hear that Seán O’Griofa is after buying a mowing machine? It came across on the boat a few days ago; he used it yesterday in his own meadow. It cuts more in an hour than a man would cut in a day with a scythe. As far as working around the farm is concerned, I’m well able to look after the cattle and the pony; mother has taught me how to milk the cow. You can go fishing with the cousins every day if you wish. I know you didn’t like having to stay at home to help us after father died. You don’t have to worry about that any more; I’m going to stay here and be a farmer; I’ll look after mother too.’

  ‘That’s the best news I heard for a long time,’ Seosamh told Eileen when they met the following week. ‘Now that I’m free of responsibility for my family I can run my own life again.’

  ‘And where do you think you’ll go?’ asked Eileen. ‘Will you go back to your job in Galway?’

  ‘I’m sure that opening is no longer available—the Misses Folan couldn’t wait all of this time to replace me. Do you think I might get into the Technical School where I could learn a trade and maybe do some study as well? In that way we’d be near one another again; you might help me in getting back to school—it’s a few years since I last sat at a desk.’

  ‘Seosamh, I think that’s a great idea. Of course I’ll be glad to help you in any way I can. I’ll be able to keep an eye on you too in case Miss Moylan casts a spell on you again.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Eileen, I’ve got Treasa out of my system long ago. She didn’t care enough to write me a note or sympathise with me on my father’s death. I’m sure she has made another conquest by now. If ever we meet I’ll be all sweetness and smiles but that’s as far as I will go.’

  ‘I’d like to share our good fortune with our friends by throwing a party for them,’ Peadar announced to Eileen. ‘What do you think about the idea? After all, it’s your inheritance we’ll be celebrating. Apart from Máirtín, his mother, and Seosamh, we don’t have many close friends here in Aran. I thought we might have the party in Galway where it would be convenient for Festy, Rhona, my work mates in MacDonacha’s, the Claddagh fishermen I used to meet with, and of course your own friend Chrissie, her parents and any others you would like to invite.’

  ‘Sounds fine to me,’ replied Eileen, ‘we should choose a venue that isn’t too sophisticated. Most of those you mention would feel out of place in the Great Southern or the Eglington. How about Rhona’s café? We could arrange to have it all to ourselves for a night—I’m sure Rhona would appreciate the custom. I’ll have a chat with her when I go back to Galway. If she agrees we can pick a date and give her advance notice.’

  ‘That’s the husband of Saureen who used to work here one time,’ an older hand in the café said to one of her work mates when Peadar came to make final arrangements for the party. ‘He was a fine cut of a man at that time; he looks a lot older now; I’m sure Saureen’s death took a toll of him. Drowned off the coast of Aran she was—no one could know how it happened. Her husband was accused of murdering her but the case against him was dropped—it seems he wasn’t even on the island when it happened.’

  ‘Didn’t she go around with a Spanish sailor when she worked here? I wonder whatever happened to him? There’s a daughter too, a lovely girl of twenty-one; she’s up at the university studying to be a teacher. I’m told she has been left a fortune by somebody in Spain—that’s what they’re aiming to celebrate next week. Some people have all the luck. How is it nothing like that ever happens to you or me?’

  ‘Ah, well, I wish them luck. There’s more to life than money. Anyway, who’d want to live in Spain? Sure that country has been torn asunder with war and disturbance this past twenty years. I’d rather my own little nest in Shantalla, a cup of tea with the neighbours, and a night out with himself at the Hole in the Wall.’

  ‘Don’t look now—the daughter of our old friend Saureen who used to paint the town red twenty five years ago, is sitting at the table behind you with some friends.’

  The group of fashionably dressed women sipping coffee in Lydon’s were all eyes and ears: ‘She’s a beautiful looking young woman, tall, dark, and slim as a herring—where would she leave it and the fine cut of a father she has? She had a tragic childhood—what with her mother drowning, and being reared alone in Aran by her father. I believe she is studying at the university now and she is regarded as a top student; my daughter knows her; she has great praise of her. I wonder if she has a boy friend! One of the waitresses in Rhona’s café told me that her father is throwing a big party there some night next week. Where is all the money coming from? Maybe she’s becoming engaged! In that case her fiancé is probably covering the cost.’

  The women took a good look at Eileen, Chrissie, and Seosamh, as they left the restaurant.

  ‘There’s a story there if we can find it,’ one woman said. ‘We’ll have to make a few inquiries.’

  ‘You left it very late to enrol,’ the headmaster of the technical school remarked—’term is half over.’

  Seosamh explained that he had just come from Aran where he had to spend time with his mother and siblings after his father died. He would like to be allowed to join a class even at this late stage. He would endeavour to make up for lost time by studying really hard. The headmaster was sympathetic. Having given him some tests to ascertain his level of education, he accepted Seosamh’s application and placed him in charge of a teacher at grade three. Subjects on the curriculum offered a choice of mathematics, languages, geography, nature studies, and history. He could take either woodwork or mechanical drawing as a practical project. For a start he chose drawing, geography, rural science, and Spanish, and settled immediately into studies at the school in Father Griffin Road. In order to maintain himself, he worked evenings in a store in Shop Street rearranging books and papers and stacking new deliveries on the shelves in preparation for the next day’s opening. Nights were reserved for study and for meetings with Eileen who introduced him to Spanish that she herself was reading at college. While walking on the promenade at Salthill one Sunday, they came face to face with Treasa. She looked through them and passed on her way without as much as a sign of recognition.

  ‘The same to you, Treasa,’ Seosamh muttered under his breath as she passed out of hearing.

  ‘Cén scéal é seo a chualas faoi Pheadar Ó Flaithearta?’ (what’s this story I heard about Peadar O’Flaherty?) one island man asked when, with a group of his fellow parishioners, he stopped to chat outside the chapel after the last Mass on Sunday.

  ‘Deirtar liom go bfuil sé ar tí dul a chónaí sa Spáin agus go bhuil a iníon ag imeacht in éineacht leis’ (I’m told that he is going to live in Spain and that his daughter is going with him).

  ‘Ní dóigh liomsa gur fíor an scéal sin. Céard a dhéanfadh Peadar sa Spáin? Níl aon eolas aige ar an teanga—ní bheadh sé in ann béile bídh a sholathair dó féin.’ (I don’t believe that story. What would Peadar do in Spain? He has no knowledge of the language—he wouldn’t be able to prepare a bit to eat for himself), another replied.

  ‘Bheul, sin mar a chualas—ní bhíonn deatach ann gan tine,’ (Well, that’s what I heard; there’s no smoke without fire).

  ‘Chuala mé freisin go bhuil sé ar tí parti mhór a thionól i nGaillimh chun slán a fágáil ar a cháirde. Cad faoi sin!’ (I heard too that he is throwing a big farewell party in Galway for his friends—how about that!)

  Discussion about Peadar took pride of place that morning over the more usual topics of weather, crops, and fishing. His private life style, the tragedy he suffered many years earlier, and the way he succeeded in rearing his young daughter with
no woman about the place to help him, were commented on at length.

  ‘I’d be sorry to see Peadar leave the island,’ one man remarked. ‘His family have been here for generations. ’Twill be lonesome to see the house closed and the currach pulled up on land. Too many people, young and old, are deserting the island; in a few more years there won’t be enough able-bodied men left to bury us. What put this idea into Peadar’s head in any case? Wasn’t he doing all right with his bit of land and the fishing?’

  ‘It’s his daughter I’m told that’s bringing him. She has a good education. I suppose she’s anxious to see more of the world,’ another suggested.

  ‘And how will Peadar occupy himself in Spain? He doesn’t know much about farming apart from looking after the few rocky fields he owns, and rearing a few cattle for the fair in Galway.’

  ‘That’s what has turned him against Aran,’ another retorted. ‘It angers him greatly to see how island men are cheated by tanglers at the fairs in Galway. If they can’t sell their cattle, as so often happens when the fair is bad, the ‘daylin’ men know they can’t send them back, and they buy them at their own price. Peadar can’t stand that kind of knavery.’

  ‘Maise, wouldn’t he have been as well to sell the cattle to a dealer on the island or to the local butcher—that way one of our own would reap the benefit,’ a third man interposed.

  ‘Anyway those of us who have to stay in Aran may as well enjoy ourselves. Who wants to come to the pub for a pint before our dinner?’

  Seosamh found digs on College Road. The window of his room at the rear of the house overlooked Loughatalia, where the tide rose and fell in harmony with Galway Bay. It gave him a feeling of belonging. On his journey to the technical school on Father Griffin Road each day, he passed by the inner dock where cargo ships were berthed—loading and discharging cargo. The Limerick Steamship boat arrived every week with supplies of merchandise for local shopkeepers and traders. Fishermen from Aran on visits to the city, tied up their boats there too. Seosamh was always glad to meet with these and to get the latest update on events back home. Bigger vessels brought cargoes of heavy goods, timber for local merchants, fertilisers for MacDonacha’s, iron and steel for the building industry. The docks were a hive of activity whenever one of the larger ships arrived. Dock workers lined up in anticipation of being hired, cranes delved deep into the holds of ships, delivering cargo onto waiting carts. Drivers vied with each other for position in the waiting queue.

  On one occasion Seosamh noticed a ship into which sacks of potatoes were being loaded. He stood to watch as, sling after sling carrying ten bags at a time were hoisted over the deck into the hold below. Lorries and carts quickly emptied and hurried away to renew their loads. Climbing on board, Seosamh watched a man standing on deck as he tallied each sling that went over the side.

  ‘What kind of potatoes are these? There seems to be an awful lot of them. Where do they come from? Where are they being sent?’ his questions came fast.

  ‘Two thousand tons,’ the man replied, ‘of Irish certified seed potatoes destined for Spain and Portugal. They are grown all around county Galway—in Turloughmore, Athenry, Monivea, and other districts. Read about them yourself,’ he added, as he handed Seosamh a card that had become detached from one of the bags.

  ‘This card is in Spanish,’ Seosamh protested. ‘I’m afraid I’m not able to read it.’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ the man said, ‘I can’t read it either; a card like that goes into every sack.’

  Meeting with Eileen that evening, Seosamh related his conversation with the man on the ship. Together they endeavoured to translate the script: ‘Estas batatas de semende certificado d’Irelande’ (these are certified seed potatoes from Ireland ………………..)

  ‘Begorra, I never thought we had such an important export,’ Seosamh declared. ‘I wonder why the seed is in such demand abroad. Do you think, Eileen, do the farmers around Estat de Tirelle grow them? Maybe we should talk to them about that when next we meet them.’

  ‘You’ll need to become more fluent in their language first. Let’s get out those Spanish lessons and see how far on you are with them.’

  Seosamh talked with his headmaster about his new experience. He asked him if it was possible for an individual to send potatoes abroad. The master wasn’t conversant with regulations in this regard. He suggested that Seosamh might have a word with one of the exporters whose premises were located on the dockside. The master remarked that he noticed Seosamh’s special interest in rural science and asked if he had leanings in that direction.

  ‘I want to get to know more about farming,’ Seosamh answered. ‘What I have learned from our little farm in Aran is inadequate. I would like to be able to run a big farm, to know about cultivation, which crops to plant, and how to look after them.’

  ‘Would you think of spending a year at an agricultural college?’ the master asked. ‘There you would receive expert tuition in farming at theoretical and practical levels. A limited number of scholarships are awarded every year to promising candidates. Let me know if you are interested and I will obtain details of next year’s course and the relevant application forms for you to complete.’

  Seosamh approached the proprietor of McGoarty & Company, agricultural produce merchants, New Docks, to ask if he could visit some of the farms where seed potatoes were grown. He wished to ascertain also the possibility of sending some potatoes abroad.

  ‘There is no problem in regard to seeing how crops are grown,’ the man said. ‘The manager of our country branch in Monivea will be only too glad to introduce you to some of his growers. They will show you their crops and fill you in on regulations laid down by the Department of Agriculture in regard to growing and packing of certified seed. They might even invite you to help with the work at busier times of the year. With regard to sending potatoes abroad, this can only be done under license. Certified seed is marketed by the Potato Marketing Board to which we ourselves and other merchants subscribe. Potatoes are consigned in bulk for sale to trade associations in Mediterranean countries where demand arises. As you have specifically mentioned Spain, I would suggest that the only means of getting access to Irish seed there would be through local retailers.’

  ‘We grow great crops of potatoes in Aran by planting them in seaweed and sand,’ Seosamh said, ‘but the farmers that I am concerned with in Spain don’t have access to those materials.

  ‘I am conversant with Aran produce,’ the man replied. ‘From time to time we purchase your surplus potatoes which find favour with chip fryers here in Galway—large, clean skinned tubers are in demand in their business.’

  ‘Aren’t you the enterprising boy,’ Eileen remarked when Seosamh filled her in on his investigations. ‘I believe you can’t wait to get your teeth into farming at Estat de Tirelle. Soon you’ll be telling me how to conduct my business over there.’

  ‘Forgive me, Eileen, if I’m jumping ahead in my enthusiasm—remember you did ask me.’

  ‘Tell me, Seosamh, what is this about attending a course at an agricultural college? What have you found out about it?’

  ‘The headmaster in the technical school has given me details of a course at Athenry Agricultural College commencing in October. I’m going to try for a scholarship to go there. If I am successful I’ll avail of it—how else am I going to learn to manage a farm?’

  ‘I’m delighted at your enthusiasm, Seosamh. Between learning about agriculture, and brushing up on your Spanish, you’ll be ready to accompany me to Spain next year.’

  Peadar’s party in Galway was acclaimed by all as a great night. Determined to make the most of their trip, he and Máirtín sailed the hooker into the Claddagh Basin, where they tied it up for the duration of their stay. They took with them a supply of poitín which, together with supplies of brandy and wine that they brought from France, contributed to the atmosphere of the event. Roast lamb cooked on a spit, served by Rhona’s staff, proved to be second to none; washed down with lashings of win
e and spirits, it served to raise the hearts of all present. Peadar, in his beautiful tenor voice, entertained his guests with renderings of Annach Cuan, Fáinne Geal an Lae, and Cruacha Glas na hEireann.

  ‘There’ll (hic), be no (hic) fishing for us today,’ Máirtín stammered as, with the sun already rising in the eastern sky, and arms around each other for support, they staggered along Henry Street to their accommodation.

  ‘That was a night to remember,’ he added sleepily, when they awoke next afternoon and headed for Raven Terrace to avail of a ‘hair of the dog that bit them’ at their friend Mike’s pub.

  For Seosamh, life in the agricultural college was an eye opener. For the first time he became associated with aspiring young farmers from other parts of Ireland—counties Clare, Kerry, Limerick, Mayo, Sligo, and Roscommon. Two other Galway lads helped to make up the complement of twenty-four students. Divided into groups of twelve, they alternated on a daily basis between class and outdoor work. A rota, affixed to the wall of the common room, indicated the role to which each student was assigned and the relevant hours of duty—cow byre, poultry run, piggery, fattening yards, garden, stables, etc. Following breakfast at seven o’clock, clad in heavy boots, breeches, and leggings, they commenced their allotted tasks at eight. Lunch at midday was followed by field work—gathering potatoes, snagging turnips, harvesting sugar beet. At four they returned to the byre where forty cows had to be milked by hand. The milk was carried to the dairy for cooling and separation of cream; milking utensils were washed, scalded and put away and the dairy was sluiced down under the supervision of the Dairy Mistress. At six o’clock a substantial evening meal was put on table, after which students were free to socialise and enjoy their respite. Supper at nine was followed by prayers and lights out at ten.