A Son of Aran Read online

  ‘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.

  VIII

  HAVING 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.

  ‘Just as I figured,’ he thought to himself. ‘I am about to be abandoned, left alone and isolated here on the island, while they carve out careers for themselves on the mainland. I can’t blame them—they must live their lives; they don’t need my help or guidance any more. I’ll not complain. I’ll work things out my way—maybe they’ll get a surprise when they hear what I’m about to do!’

  ‘Máirtín, I don’t like to trouble you so soon after the death of your mother—God rest her soul. Now that we are both on our own, why don’t we visit each other every day? We could double up on food instead of having two of us cooking separately for ourselves. In the meantime I’d like to buy a gleoietog—would you have any tidings of where I might find one for sale?’

  ‘Can I ask what you want with a gleoiteog?’ Máirtín said. ‘I can’t see any problem in getting one, but I’m curious to know what use you intend to
make of it. The emphasis on these boats has declined over the years—they are considered too small for use, apart from a bit of inshore fishing; not many Aran people opt for that kind of activity now. Our fishermen prefer to make use of the bád mór (big boat) to bring them farther out to sea in pursuit of hake, cod and larger species. What use will you make of a gleoiteog?’

  ‘It’s just a fad of mine, Máirtín; I’d be able to handle a small boat on my own; it would be useful for going to Galway to see my old friends, and for taking an odd trip across to Kinvara, near where Eileen and Seosamh are planning to settle. It might even serve to take me to Kilkieran to visit Tadhg whose health, I have heard, is not good at present.’

  ‘A gleoiteog wouldn’t be my preference, Peadar, but I wish you luck; I’ll make a few inquiries and see what I come up with. How about coming with me on the hooker for a turn or two? The mackerel season will start soon; a few pounds could be earned if we land a good catch.’

  ‘After the experience I had some years ago, I made a resolution I’d never go fishing again. However, I reckon that is all in the past. When I was adrift in the South Atlantic I discovered that great big fish could be caught there—halibut, tuna, dogfish, porpoise, bottle nose whales, and other species the names of which I never discovered. Do you think the hooker would be fit to sail that far from home? Now that we have no domestic attachments, we could stay away for months at a time and sell our catch in foreign ports. That way we’d get to see a lot more of the world. Think about it and let me know if you make your mind up.’

  ‘I think Peadar is going off the deep end,’ Máirtín said to himself following their conversation. ‘Doesn’t he know enough about sailing a hooker to realise that it was never designed for a journey to the open Atlantic. When Peadar was shipwrecked and drifted, as he claims, in a southerly direction, it belies belief that he was anywhere in the latitude of the South Atlantic. West Africa, where he was hospitalised is north of the equator. He was in no fit state of mind at that time to determine with any accuracy where he was picked up. He has a fixation about finding this island of Hy Brasil that he is constanly talking and singing about—how can I convince him that the story is only a myth? If no one ever found the place, we can assume it doesn’t exist except in the imagination of the narrator.’

  ‘I know it’s out there somewhere,’ Peadar protested when, after a lapse of a few weeks, Máirtín raised the topic again in an attempt to disuade him. ‘At one point I got a glimpse of land rising out of the mist away to the west, in the middle of the ocean where no country is known to exist. I was privileged to see its dim shape through a haze of what looked like dust. I must pursue my search; it is my destiny; it was for this I was saved from drowning. I will now reveal to you in confidence the full account of that escapade at sea that I have told to no other person. After I fell overboard from the hooker, I was carried away in the storm clinging with both hands to what I thought was a spar of wood. It sped through the waves at such incredible speed that I found difficulty in maintaining my grip on its slippery surface. Tossed hither and thither by the strength of the waves, it took a while before I realised it wasn’t a timber spar I had caught, but the tail of a giant seahorse. On and on it went for what seemed like an eternity until I lost all consciousness of time and fell into a deep stupor. I dreamt I was a child again, sitting beside the hearth fire, listening with open mouth to a neighbouring fisherman as he told the story of Mongán, the son of Manannan Mac Lir, the ancient sea god, and how on many occasions he saved sailors from perishing when their boat was tossed about like a cork in a violent storm and all appeared lost. In my subconscious state I heard the seahorse speaking to me: “Peadar O’Flaherty, I have saved you from drowning for a purpose. You, a worthy son of the great O’Flaherty dynasty, are destined for greater things. You have three options—whichever one you opt for will lead you to great fulfillment here and happiness in a future existence. You can be reunited now with your deceased mother and wife, you can have your life and health restored, or you can attempt to discover the legendry island of Hy Brasil and live there for evermore.”

  ‘The choice wasn’t difficult. While I dearly wished to be with my mother and my beloved Saureen, I reckoned that, in the course of time, le cúnamh Dé (with the help of God), that will happen in any event. I didn’t want to die just then; I longed to be back with you, fishing in the hooker and looking after my little fields here in Aran. In choosing to be restored to life and health, I figured I’d have the opportunity to search for Hy Brasil during my time here below, and to be reunited with the others in the afterlife. It was like getting two dinners for the price of one. I chose to live. The story of my eventual rescue and repatriation is already known to you. My present ambition is to take whatever steps are required to pursue my quest for Hy Brasil. Ancient sagas are there to guide me. Saint Brendan, in a boat made from hides, spent several years searching without success. With some companions he set out again in a wooden ship. They reached what he referred to as Paradise, but the saint decided they wouldn’t stay. He returned to Ireland where, in pursuit of his calling, he spread the gospel and founded monastries. We are told that in the past, fishermen saw an island appear out of the sea only to disappear when they approached it. Those who tried to find Hy Brasil never had enough time or energy to pursue their quest—their livlihoods depended on bringing catches of fish back to port. In my case I don’t have to fish any more. I have money to support me while I pursue my search.’

  ‘I wish you luck, Peadar, but I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that a gleoiteog or, for that matter a larger hooker, is of no avail in searching the Atlantic for this fabled island that you speak of. It would take a boat bigger than the Gráinne Mhaol to make such a hazardous journey.’

  ‘Máirtín, I know you would like to discourage me from undertaking this task. Nevertheless I am determined to continue with the search even if it’s the last thing I do. There has to be some means by which I can get near to the place where I first got a glimpse of the island. During the time we spent in Spain I heard of Portugese and Basque fishermen, great sailors, who go far out into the Atlantic Ocean in pursuit of bigger species. Some say they were fishing off the northern coast of Canada before Columbus landed in the southern part of the American continent. If I could only get in touch with some of those Basque boatmen I might succeed in taking passage with them on some of their outings. Like the Celts, they too have legends of a magical island somewhere out in the ocean. Each tradition has its own name for the place—Atlantis, Hy Brasil, Glasinnis—what difference does it make which name it is called? Fishermen speak about it and would like to find it; why shouldn’t I join in the search?’

  Seósasmh took care of Carl and Eileen Óg while their mother busied herself with negotiations for purchase of their prospective new home near Ardrahan. These involved numerous trips to Galway on the Dun Aengus to consult with the estate agent, the engineer, and their bank manager. On one of those occasions she made an appointment to meet with Bernadette, Philip’s sister, who was anxious to hear again about the ordeal of her brother’s death. Eileen recapped on the details insofar as these were known to her—the coincidence of his introduction to members of the Basque community while recuperating in the hospital in San Sebastian, subsequent visits to the Basque region, how inadvertently, he became involved in gun running for ETA with fatal consequences. Having visited Philip during the early stages of his confinement in the psychiatric unit of the hospital and having spoken with his doctor, Bernadette had acquired a certain insight into the circumstances that gave rise to his mental breakdown. Although she knew of Eileen’s association with Philip during their student days at Galway University, she didn’t appear to be aware of Eileen’s role in her brother’s dilemma. Thankfully, she made no reference to this. She said that when the story of Philip’s death was finally broken to their mother she had, through time, become calm and peaceful. Now that the trauma of uncertainty had abated, she was resigned to God’s Will in all that happened.
Father McHugh’s help in talking them through their grief had been a source of great consolation to the family.

  Vincent and Chrissie, already settled in their new home, were delighted when news reached them about the purchase by Eileen and Seosamh of a property close at hand. Having got a contractor to plough and cultivate some of his fields in preparation for planting potatoes and vegetables, Vincent, as an interim investment, purchased a two wheeled ironshod tractor and attachments for use in follow up maintenance work, thereby dispensing with the need to keep horses on their limited acreage. He and Chrissie had erected a small glass house for production of early seedlings, halfhardy flowers, shrubs, and vegetables. Things were looking up for them—their farming project was rapidly coming to fruition.

  ‘We hope that Seosamh and you will be able to come to our wedding,’ Chrissie announced to Eileen when they spoke. ‘The date isn’t fixed yet—hopefully it will be in mid-September. The ceremony will take place in the ancient abbey at Corcamroe where my mother grew up—won’t that be nice! Vincent wants Seosamh for his best man, don’t tell him, it’s meant to come as a surprise.’