A Son of Aran Read online

  ‘Of course I’ll not tell him but, by that time, we shouldn’t have far to travel. From the accounts I have been getting, we will be in residence in our new home by July. The atmosphere in Aran is dull at present—I look forward to a more exciting social life on the mainland. I am pleased to know we will be living close to each other.’

  Máirtín asked Eileen to come and see him when she got back to Aran. Having chatted about plans by Seosamh and herself to transfer to the mainland, he spoke of how they would be missed on the island. He talked about Peadar in particular, and asked if he intended joining them in their new abode or, had he decided to stay in Aran on his own?

  Eileen paused before she responded: ‘I’m afraid, Máirtín, I can’t answer that question. My father has been in a strange mood lately. I am at a loss to know what has brought this on. He won’t be drawn into conversation about our purchase of the property near Ardrahan; he doesn’t appear to have any interest in what we have done. I watch as he sits in silence beside the hearth like he was in a dream. Do you think he might be suffering from amnesia or some form of brain damage? I sense that something is weighing on his mind. I am very worried for him but there is little I can do unless he confides in me. In the light of your long friendship, if you can lead him into conversation, maybe he will open his heart to you.’

  ‘He has already confided in me, Eileen, which is why I asked you to come and see me. Your father believes he was saved from drowning by Mongán, the son of Manannan Mac Lir and that, as a member of the ancient O’Flaherty clan, he is destined to achieve great things before he departs this life. He says that, in a mental stupor before he was rescued from the sea, he had a vision of three options open to him: to be reunited with his mother and your own mother whom, despite her infidelity, he dearly loves, to be restored to his former good health and return to life on Aran, or to find the legendary isle of Hy Brasil.

  ‘He opted to have his health and wellbeing restored in order that he might return again to Aran. He figured that with renewed life and energy, he would be able to pursue the search for Hy Brasil at his leisure—he appears to regard this as his destiny in life. At the moment he is considering how he will return to the broad Atlantic where, he claims, he got a fleeting view of an island where none is known to exist. This would explain the preoccupation that you have observed recently. I have tried to reason with him, telling him that the legend of Hy Brasil is a fisherman’s tale that exists only in the imagination of those who believe the story. He refuses to accept my theory and produces numerous arguments in support of his own ideas. I suspect that, without our knowing, he has been reading accounts of old mythology and regards these as fact. When I called to his house unexpectedly on a night recently, I found him pouring over an atlas that we had in sixth class at school. He put it away rather furtively when he saw me; I hadn’t an opportunity of seeing what part of the world he was scrutinising. He won’t thank me for telling you all this, but I feel you should know.’

  ‘Thanks, Máirtín, for putting me in the picture. I’ll try not to let him suspect that we have been talking about him. Inevitably, some event will arise to provide an opening for me to ask questions. I’ll wait and see what he tells me then.’

  During days that followed, Eileen and Seosamh couldn’t help noticing some unusual habits that her father had developed in recent times. In his daily outings, in place of walking through the fields in pursuit of the cattle as had been his wont, he spent a lot of time down by the pier at Kilronan.

  ‘What,’ they wondered, ‘was this newfound interest? Apart from the Dun Aengus, which discharged its usual party of trippers, and unloaded sundry items of supplies for the island, there was only a limited traffic of trawlers and smaller boats. He seemed to be holding deep conversations with some of the skippers. Since his ordeal at sea, until now, he hadn’t shown any interest in the comings and goings of boats. What kind of information was he in the process of gathering?’

  Some weeks later, Peadar announced that he was going to Galway for a few days to visit Festy, to see some of his old comrades from the Claddagh, and to talk with his former workmates in MacDonacha’s fertiliser factory. Eileen was concerned, but she saw no reason to object:

  ‘After all,’ she thought to herself, ‘my father has been half way around the world on his own—what could possiby happen to him in Galway?’

  Peadar hadn’t revealed the real reason for his trip. Having disembarked from the Dun Aengus, he strolled around the docks taking note of ships tied up along the quay wall discharging cargo or taking on goods for export. He recognised some of the dockers that he had worked with when they unloaded fertilisers for MacDonacha many years earlier. As quitting time arrived and dockland activities started to shut down for the night, he accosted the stevedore who vaguely remembered Peadar until he introduced himself.

  ‘Can I offer you a drink for old time sake,’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t see why not if that’s what you’d like,’ the man replied. ‘It’s been a bitch of a day with so many ships loading and unloading at the same time. I remember a time when the arrival of one ship a week was big news; now boats have to await their turn in the roads until they get a berth.’

  ‘I remember that time too,’ Peadar replied, ‘in fact there was a period during the war when no big boats arrived at all; the dockers had no work—unemployment benefits were unknown—without a doubt, it was a lean time for them.’

  ‘And where have you been yourself all this time?’ asked the stevedore, ‘I haven’t seen you around here for years.’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Peadar volunteered, ‘I’ve been out of the country for most of the time. I am at home in Aran at present, but I have a notion of taking off again if the opportunity arises. Can you tell me where ships in dock at the moment come from? What kind of cargos are they carrying?’

  ‘It’s hard to keep track—there has been such a resurgence in trade in and out of the port recently that I’d have to consult my log book to recap on them all. A big one unloading today has come from Morocco with phosphates for Mac-Donachas, another has a cargo from Canada for the big timber yards in Galway. The coaster that’s berthed over at the Limerick Steamship sheds is discharging general merchandise, and the big ship on the opposite side of the dock is loading peat moss for Saudi Arabia.’

  ‘And what about the ships that aren’t yet docked, where have they come from?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that—I don’t get their inventory until they have tied up in port. The Harbour Master’s office will be able to tell you. You may remember the secretary, Miss Leedon—she is still there. She should have information on every vessel destined to arrive in Galway for several weeks ahead.’

  ‘I’m glad to have met with you again; I’m grateful for the information you have given me. I’ll tell you something—not every person I have met in ports around the world has been as accomodating as you. We’ll have a deoch a’dorais (a drink for the road) before we part.’

  ‘Nice work,’ Peadar smiled to himself as he went to look up some of his friends. He’d be sure of a bed in Festy’s house for tonight; tomorrow he’d have a chat with Miss Leedon in the harbour office.’

  Festy himself had never worked on ships, but he was able to recount stories about men he knew who signed on with merchant shipping lines, became deck hands, security staff, and in a few cases, ship’s officers.

  ‘They tell me,’ he said, ‘it’s a great life. Confinement on board during long voyages can be difficult at the outset, but work is routine and light except in times of emergency. Shore leave is allowed when in port, where you get to meet and experience all nationalities and creeds, and you see the world at no cost. I often wished I had signed on when I was young—I’m too late now.’

  ‘I wonder if I am too old to be offered employment on board ship,’ Peadar commented. ‘Although I experienced a lot of trauma when I was lost at sea, I would still like to travel and to see more of the world. How did your friends go about getting em
ployment?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know the details, but I am aware that shipping agents have a role to play in recruitment. A couple of agencies have offices here in Galway—maybe they would be able to answer your questions.’

  ‘Thanks, Festy, I’ll pursue that avenue. Enough about my plans—come with me to Peter’s and we’ll have a couple of pints. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with you for a night or two.’

  ‘No problem at all, Peadar, that’s what friends are for!’

  ‘So you’d like to enlist in the merchant navy. Might I say you appear a little mature for such an assignment! Have you ever been to sea? What experience of seamanship do you have?’ The shipping agent whose office Peadar visited had a lot of questions. With great confidence, Peadar recounted his life as a fisherman, his familiarity with tides and swells in the seas off Aran, and his acquaintance with luggers and bigger boats that plied in and out of Kilronan. He told of his escapade in being lost overboard at sea on one occasion and his ensuing experiences in foreign ports.

  ‘I have no fear of the sea,’ he added. ‘I want to experience life as an ocean-going seaman and see a bit of the world in the process.’

  ‘Interesting,’ the shipping agent commented. ‘Can you provide references from reliable sources—previous employers, garda siochána, etc., and a certificate of health from your doctor to support your application?’

  ‘I don’t anticipate any difficulty in those respects,’ Peadar replied. ‘I have never been in trouble with the authorities and I have always enjoyed good health.’

  ‘OK, if you will be good enough to complete this form of application and give a current address at which you can be contacted at short notice, I will submit your case to some of the shipping lines and let you know their response.’

  First step taken, Peadar chuckled to himself as he left the shipping office—now for a chat with some of the travel agencies. I’d like to know about world travel as a tourist (or maybe a helper) on the Cunard and P&O lines—maybe even the Queen Mary. I remember when cruise ships and transatlantic liners called regularly at Galway; that traffic ceased during World War Two and never resumed since. As a young lad I loved to watch big liners plying close to the Aran Islands and standing off in Galway Bay while passengers boarded and disembarked from them by tender. It’s a shame that this trade was suspended—it would be most convenient at a time like this instead of having to travel to Dublin or Southhampton to catch a boat for abroad.

  ‘Miss Leedon, I don’t suppose you remember me—my name is Peadar O’Flaherty from Aran. A number of years have gone by since I worked for MacDonacha’s here on the docks unloading cargoes of fertilisers. That was before the war when a regular rota of ships came into Galway. It must have been a slack time for you between nineteen thirty nine and nineteen forty six, when scarcely a big ship arrived. I pity the dock workers who were left in a bad way without employment—it was a tough time for them. I was lucky to be able to occupy myself fishing off Aran until things returned to normal. I went to Spain for a spell too; I have only recently returned to Galway. The scene around the docks has changed a lot since I last saw it; there’s great activity down there now with big vessels coming and going all the time. My reason for coming to see you is that I am interested in joining the crew of a merchant ship, preferably one that plies in the South Atlantic to Brazil and Argentina. I’ve been reading about those countries and the number of Irish people who emigrated to South America over a hundred years ago. I spoke with a man who spent ten years in Argentina; he told me the descendents of those early emigrants are as Irish as their forefathers. Although they became big landowners, they held on to the faith and still send their sons to a college run by Irish priests. These young people would be eligible for Irish citizenship if they could find evidence of where in Ireland their forefathers originated. I’d like to meet some of them and dialogue with them—maybe I’d be able to help them in sourcing their Irish ancestors! Pardon me, Miss Leedon, for rambling on—I would like to find out what merchant ships are due to berth in Galway in the near future. I want to make contact with some of the captains in the hope that I might be allowed to sign on for one of their long voyages. With my experience of the sea, I would like to expand my knowledge of places around the world before I trim my sails for the last time.’

  ‘Mr O’Flaherty, you have come to the right place. For what it’s worth, I will give you a list of all big ships due in port over the next month—here is a pen, you had better write down their names and places of registration for they are difficult to remember. I wish you luck in your quest. If I were a younger person, I’d follow your lead in order to get out of this office where I have worked far too long. What would I not give for a six months voyage around the world! I don’t suppose there’s much chance of that at my age; anyway I’ll be pleased if you will let me know how you get on.’

  ‘Dad, it appears you have become a celebrity,’ Eileen said, when he returned to Aran after a lapse of a week. ‘Letters have been arriving in the post for you every day since you left. Some of these bear logos of shipping companies and world tour operators. Are you going to tell us what is happening? Has news of your traumatic experience at sea got around? Are tourist organisations pursuing you to enlist with them on some of their world tours? We’re agog with excitement to hear what’s going on—when will you let us in on your secret?’

  ‘The picture is not yet clear, Eileen. I am in consultation with a number of agencies with a view to taking trips to distant places around the world, as crew hand on a merchant ship, or as helper on board a luxury liner. My track record as a seaman should be an advantage in seeking such a position. The unique story of having been shipwrecked and subsequently rescued would go down well with wealthy folk who spend lavishly on long voyages— people love to hear stories of personal experiences. I might even get a post as courier, explaining to patrons the intricacies of navigation, the influence of winds and tides, all the wonderful sights that are to be seen, and the magical undiscovered island that I want to find. I want to travel the Atlantic Ocean, north and south of the equator, chart the path along which I was carried by the storm on that fateful night from the time I was washed overboard until I was finally rescued from the sea weeks later and taken into hospital in Africa. While I was drifting, I recall getting a fleeting view of an island to the west. I am convinced it was the legendary Hy Brasil that fishermen speak about but nobody has ever found. I want to be the first to identify that island and to go ashore. Who knows, I might find my own father! He would be an old man at this stage but, like Oisín, maybe people don’t grow old there. Now that I have revealed my plan, I want you to give me your support. I need to withdraw money from our account in case I incur expense on the way.’

  ‘What can I say, Dad? You are my father, the best friend of my childhood years. Of course you have my support in whatever interests you choose to pursue. I am concerned for your safety as you traverse the seven seas. I don’t have to tell you that life out there in the big, bold world can be dangerous, not so much while you are at sea but when you disembark in foreign ports. Rambling around on your own, as you tend to do, you are open to all kinds of chicanery and treachery. Would you think of taking somebody along for company? There’s safety in numbers.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Eileen, but I can’t think of anybody who might be available and willing. Máirtín has his farming and fishing to look after, Seánín has only recently taken on marriage responsibilities, Micilín has to look after his mother—I don’t know of anybody else that would be compatible. It’s not everyone I would like to have with me on a long tour—it would have to be somebody that I get along well with. Can you suggest somebody?’

  Responses from shipping companies to which Peadar had applied, proved to be rather negative. While the replies he received were plausible and complimentary, by and large they conveyed the same information: ‘It is customary to recruit crew members for our vessels only at the end of each voyage. We have, at the moment, a fu
ll complement of seagoing personnel; we do not anticipate any vacancies arising in the immediate future. Should the situation change we will be pleased to contact you further.’

  A flood of promotional correspondence arrived from cruise companies, offering berths on luxury liners operating out of Liverpool, Southampton, Glasgow, and other ports, at prices so exorbitant they left Peadar bewildered.

  ‘Catering for the wealthy who have no better way of spending their millions,’ he remarked. ‘Not a word about a job on board for a seaman like myself who could entertain them and teach them a thing or two about life. There must be a less costly way of getting around the world, particularly to that Atlantic zone into which I was carried after being shipwrecked. If smaller boats and fishing yawls are able to negotiate those seas, shouldn’t traditional Aran craft be equally reliable? I must investigate the possibility of transporting a currach (small boat) to a destination close to the area I want to explore. I recollect the bearings given to the rescue craft that day before they took me to hospital. The radio operator repeated the location several times before he got a reply. Even though I lay semi- conscious on the deck, I remember the directions he gave—30.35N 22.40 W. That’s where I must commence my search for the island of Hy Brasil. A personal approach to the captain of some of the ships entering the port of Galway might bring results. I’ll look again at the list of vessels that Miss Leedon gave me, some one of them might ply close to that location.’

  Back in Galway, there was little joy for Peadar in his quest among ships arriving in the port. Most of them were coasters, subsidiaries of bigger vessels that plied in and out of Liverpool and The Thames from African, Carribean, and South American countries, carrying cargoes of beef, bananas, cane sugar, coal, fertilizers and timber. In the major ports, cargoes were unloaded from large ocean going ships and transferred to smaller vessels for discharge at shallower berths around the British and Irish coasts. Captains of coasters were not in a position to advise on the recruitment of crew members for parent ships that undertook long sea voyages. For information in this regard, Peadar was referred once again to merchant shipping lines in Britian and America. In consequence, postal deliveries to his Aran address kept increasing, to the consternation of Eileen and Seosamh. Máirtín, in concern for his friend, maintained a watching brief.