A Son of Aran Page 28

  ‘If only I could entertain you with music,’ Seosamh apologised to those assembled—’my repertoire on the tin whistle consists of two airs only, The Dawning of the Day, and The Stack of Barley.’

  ‘Bravo, Seosamh,’ all said, ‘we couldn’t have done better ourselves. ‘Tis great to hear Irish music played by a native Aran man. For far too long, we’ve had no traditional music except what we heard on the wireless—it’s no substitute for the real thing. Keep up the good work, Seosamh, you’re doing fine.’

  Peadar, in his fine tenor voice, obliged the company with renderings of Down by the Glenside, The Valley of Knockanure, and The Shawl of Galway Grey.

  ‘Go mairmid go deo (May we live for ever),’ they chanted as, falteringly, they dispersed to their homes when day was already breaking. All agreed that it was a great celebration as they shouted, ‘long life to Seánín and Cáit; may their only troubles be little ones.’

  Peadar’s search for a suitable house proved more difficult that anticipated. Máire O’Connor was favourably disposed to long term letting, provided a rent could be agreed. She pointed out that seasonal lettings to tourists for the holiday months were very profitable—Peadar would have to match these.

  ‘Money will not be an obstacle,’ Peadar said to her. ‘There is, however, a question of access for Seosamh’s wheelchair, and downstairs sleeping accomodation for him and Eileen. Outer and interior doors are not sufficiently wide to cater for the wheelchair; renovations will have to be done if a letting is agreed.’

  Máire was reluctant to allow renovations to be carried out on her house—a stalemate arose. No, she would not agree to any disruption.

  Apart from custom-built upmarket guest houses that were unavailable for letting, similar entrance dimensions applied to most houses on the island. Another solution would have to be found. Peadar came up with an idea:

  ‘If I were to adapt our own house by widening the doors, wouldn’t Eileen, Seosamh, and the children have sufficient space for now. With help from Micilín, and Máirtín, I could add another room or two in quick time. In the meantime, I would sleep in the motor van. In that way we would be together for eating and conversing, and the children would have the benefit of seeing everything that was going on around them.’

  ‘Living in the sleeper van is not an acceptable arrangement, Dad,’ Eileen remonstrated. ‘We can’t evict you from your bed. If anybody has to move out, it must be Seosamh, me, and the children. In any event we wouldn’t be able to stay in the cottage while renovations are in progress. Let’s put up with the limited accomodation that the cottage provides until an alternative solution is found.’

  Vincent and the Coughlan girls had never been to Aran. When they were told of Seosamh’s predicament, and that the family had returned from Spain, they immediately made plans to visit.

  ‘Seosamh and Eileen, we are extremely grieved to learn all that has happened to you since our time in Estat de Tirelle,’ Vincent said. ‘As friends, we would like to help to relieve the situation for you in any way that we can.’

  ‘We have a big house in Offaly where we would be glad to host you if you are willing. Now that our parents have retired from active farming and the girls come home from Dublin only at weekends, we have lots of space for everyone. In the farming situation, our rear door is wide enough to accomodate a tractor—there would be no limitations of access for a wheelchair. I would dearly love to have Seosamh on hand for discussion about my future career in agriculture. If you can see your way, please consider our invitation.’

  While Seosamh took care of the children, Eileen toured the girls around Innis Mór, showing them all the notable sights. Vincent stayed behind.

  ‘You remember the conversation we had in Spain about your plans to enter farming. Did you take any steps in that direction?’ Seosamh asked.

  ‘Yes, I think I now have a clear insight into what I will do. In return for a cash settlement, I will cede my right of inheritance to the home farm. With the proceeds, I intend to purchase a smaller holding, say twenty to thirty acres, within reach of a market town. I will go into market gardening and fruit production, with the object of supplying local demands for potatoes, vegetables of all kinds, and glasshouse crops—tomatoes, gourds, sweet corn, and such like. I figure that, with hard work and dedication, I will be able to apply to advantage the teaching that you and I received at the agricultural college.’

  ‘Bravo, Vincent, I am delighted for you. I agree that huge acreage is not necessary to earn a good standard of living from land. Have you got any location in mind for the project?’

  ‘I am working on that at the moment. Strange as it may seem, despite working our butts off gathering potatoes, and harvesting sugar beet at the college at Athenry, I acquired a liking for the west of Ireland. If I am successful in purchasing a suitable holding of good land in the vicinity of Galway City, I will settle for that. I have engaged an auctioneer to look for potential sites. I have a consultation with him next week before I return home—he may have some places for me to view. ’

  ‘Can I ask you something, Vincent? Does Chrissie fit into your plans?’

  ‘You have keen perception—I was going to tell you before I left in any case. Chrissie and I have been seeing quite a bit of each other since we met in Spain. We have reached an understanding; she is fully behind me in my market gardening proposal.’

  ‘Let me shake your hand. I knew you would put your agricultural education to good use. Heartiest congratulations to you and Chrissie. May you be successful and fulfilled in your new roles. Eileen and I will be thrilled to have you within easy reach as long as we continue to live in Ireland— we will visit one another from time to time.’

  ‘Can I ask why you suddenly decided to abandon your Spanish interests and return home?’ Vincent asked.

  ‘We had a number of reasons. Spain, under Franco’s regime, has become unsavoury for many of its residents— particularly those who decry the oppressive treatment doled out by his henchmen to people who do not agree with him. As strangers in the community and inheritors of a sizable estate, we incurred the wrath of various unidentified sources, prompted, no doubt, by jealousy and avarice. We were subjected to threats. My own misfortune, when I was pushed off the road by two men driving a heavy vehicle, was no accident—we took it as a fnal warning to us to get out of Estat de Tirelle. There will be no stability in Spain until Franco recinds power to a democratically elected parliament—probably many years from now. Meantime it would be an uncomfortable situation for us foreigners and a constant source of danger to us and our children. Eileen has made arrangements with Salamanca University for use of the property in our absence. In the light of our present circumstances, it is possible we may not return there at all. An invitation to Peadar to act as best man at Seánín Mhicil Dubh’s wedding was timely. It gave us an opportunity of leaving without attracting undue notice from the establishment. I am delighted that we are back in Aran.’

  News reaching Eileen from Spain was not encouraging. Santa Clara reported that, soon after they had left for Ireland, the Guardia Civil paid another visit to Estat de Tirelle. They asked many questions of Jago and herself. ‘Where have the owners gone? Why did they leave? Did they suffer pressure from local people? Had they received threats? Did these come from coloured people? Was there any evidence of subversive activities in the neighbourhood? Apart from you who work here, who will occupy the house in the absence of the owners? Have you any fears for your personal safety?’

  Some days later, without prior consultation, a notice was affixed to the front door of the mansion:

  The civil authorities have decided that, in the interests of public security in Tirelle district, a detachment of Guardia Civil will occupy these premises until further notice.

  A further missive from Father Benedictus informed Eileen that the authorities had scrutinised the university’s lease of lands at Estat de Tirelle. They inquired as to the purpose of their research. To date there had been no indication of their reacti
on to the arrangement entered into with the college, but one never knew from day to day.

  ‘We can only wait and see,’ he added, ‘the Franco regime is devious and unpredictable.’

  ‘So much for Spain and its government,’ Eileen remarked. ‘I’m glad we got our heels out of the place in time.’

  Vincent appeared excited when he wrote to thank Eileen and Seosamh for their hopitality and kindness to his sisters and himself on their recent visit to Aran. He had enjoyed the exchange of views with Seosamh, the girls were enthralled by the island, its people and its array of ancient heritage sites. They would come again, without doubt, when he had found a site for his farming project. He and Chrissie looked at a place near Bellharbour on the northern coast of Clare, which the auctioneer indicated was for sale. The farm of thirty acres was laid out in fields of around three to four acres separated by dry stone walls. The place had a southerly aspect and was sheltered from the west and northwest. It had recently been cropped with barley and potatoes; the soil was fertile and easily cultivated. A neat white-washed cottage and some outbuildings were included in the sale. Subject to agreement on a price which, he reckoned, will not be beyond their reach, they have made up their minds to purchase. They should know in the course of a week or two if their offer is accepted.

  ‘Bellharbour, on the Galway-Clare border—what a location!’ Seosamh exclaimed, ‘only a short distance across the bay from Aran, if we used field glasses we should almost be able to see one another; it is but a short journey in the hooker if we decide to visit.’

  ‘I am happy for them,’ Eileen added, ‘especially for Chrissie; she was a good friend to me during our days in Carna; she deserves all that is good in life. She couldn’t have found a nicer partner than Vincent.’

  ‘Have you ever seen so many unattached men as we have here in Aran?’ Eileen remarked to Seosamh one night as they lay awake in bed. There’s our friend, Máirtín Neachtan, Cáit’s brother Thomasheen, your own brother Micilín, and Peadar. They are the only ones we know—I am sure there are others around the island. Is it any wonder that the population of the island is declining all the time? Would you know why so many men choose to remain single when they could have the comfort and companionship of a woman?’

  ‘I asked that question of a man once,’ Seosamh said. ‘Would you like to hear the answer he gave me? ‘Why should I make one woman unhappy when I can make so many others happy?’ I am not suggesting that this is the reason so many men on Aran remain single, but his reply set me wondering if I had missed out?’ Seosamh said teasingly.

  ‘You’d better watch your conversation if you want to sleep with me,’ Eileen retorted. ‘You’re a little unfit for the market in any case,’ she added. ‘It is I who should be on the look out for someone to keep me happy.’

  ‘Never fear, Seosamh is here,’ he replied laughingly, ‘turn over to me and I’ll give you as good a squeeze as any man on the island.’

  ‘Seriously, Seosamh, if we are going to be in Ireland for the long haul, do you think we should remain in Aran? Instead of enlarging Peadar’s house, maybe we should look for suitable accomodation on the mainland. You need to have access to physiotherapy for your back and to hospital treatment at close range if that should become necessary. Here on the island we are relatively isolated from those facilities. If Vincent and Chrissie settle down near Galway we would have their company. You would be able to give some assistance to Vincent with his glasshouse crops; I could become involved with teaching French or Spanish in my spare time. We’ll not find until Carl and Eileen Óg are at schoolgoing age. They are country children—for their sakes it would be an advantage to have them attend school on the mainland when the time comes. We will talk the whole thing through with Peadar and see what he has to say. Meanwhile, good night lover boy.’

  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 s
ea 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.’