A Son of Aran Page 31

  ‘A temporary setback only—I’ll not admit defeat yet,’ Peadar said to himself, as he poured over maps of the Atlantic. ‘Where are the nearest landfalls to zone 30.35N. 22.40W? The Canary Islands, Madeira, Cape Verde Islands off the African coast, were possibilities—how could I get transport to one of those locations?’

  Recalling previous encounters with fishermen and traders, it appeared that his best hope of a starting point was in some of the coastal resorts of West Africa—how was he to get to one or other of those places? How could he find out in advance if local fishermen spoke English? He didn’t want a repetition of the language problem that previously arose. He thought of the ship that brought him to England: ‘The Atlantic Mariner—surely there was a possible solution? A service between Portsmouth and places on the West African coast would suit him admirably. Some of those countries were former British colonies—people there were bound to have learned to speak some English.’

  ‘I’m going to England for a week or two,’ he announced to Eileen. ‘I’d like to visit Portsmouth and Southampton to see if I can be accommodated on a large intercontinental merchant ship—in that way I’d get to foreign places at less cost. I might be lucky enough to get a trip to South Africa or Argentina that would take me along the route I have in mind—Madeira, the Azores, Cape Verde Islands, Sargasso Sea. If that doesn’t work, I’ll see if I can get a berth on the Atlantic Mariner or some similar vessel that calls at ports on the West African Coast. There I might find local men who fish in that particular zone. With my experience at sea, I’m sure I’d be an asset to fishing craft that would take me far out into the Atlantic. Latitude 30.35N 22.40 W would be within their range.’

  ‘What can I say, Dad? You’re away out of my depth. If I were unattached I’d go with you for company but, as you know, I can’t desert Seosamh and the children. If you go off on your own I’ll be terribly worried. Remember what those rascally pirates did to you when first you were taken from the sea—they used you and, when they no longer needed you, they threw you back into the water without mercy. Could the same thing not happen again if those you ship out with prove equally unreliable?’

  ‘Eileen, you can’t tar them all with the same brush—remember the next crew that found me looked after me until they succeeded in getting me to hospital. Seamen in general have a sense of loyalty to their own in times of trouble— they realise it might be their case next time around. If I can find a suitable crew, I’ll take my chances with them—the worst that can happen is I may die before I find Hy Brasil but, with God’s help, that will not happen.

  Peadar didn’t reveal the contents of a letter he had received from Miss Leedon in an earlier post—’Mr O’Flaherty, the following announcement has come to my notice in a shipping bulletin—it might be of interest to you:

  In the aftermath of recent volcanic eruptions on the island of Tristan da Cunha, a party of international seismologists and marine scientists has been detailed to undertake a survey of sites of similar origin in the Atlantic Ocean, with a view to establishing a deeper understanding of the factors which give rise to such disturbances and to formulate a warning system for potential future occurrences in the area. As a prelude to organising this expedition, it is proposed to recruit experienced seamen who will man an exploratory vessel on what is likely to be an extended voyage. Service on board will be voluntary; accomodation and food will be provided; no remuneration is payable apart from a stipend to crew members who go ashore at permitted locations.

  Interested parties are requested to submit details of their qualifications and availability to the undersigned c/o The Abercorn Voyager, Canada Wharf, Southampton. Subject to being considered suitable, they are requested, to attend for interview on board ship, at 10.00 a.m. on Wednesday August 30th 1961. Advance notice of intention to be present would be appreciated.

  Charles Hocster (Facilitator)

  ‘Máirtín, I don’t know what to do about my father—he keeps rambling on about going in search of this island, Hy Brasil. Nothing I say will deter him; now he says he is going to England next week in an attempt to make contact with a shipping line that would bring him to the west coast of Africa where he thinks he might find a fishing crew that would take him way out into the Atlantic. He has a fixation about the zone from where he was rescued; he contends he got sight of an island and he wants to go back to pursue his search. He says it is his destiny and that, even if it costs him his life, he must find it. I think he may be losing his reason. I fear for his safety but there is little I can do about it. On account of Seosamh’s disability and my need to be with our children, I am unable to accompany him to England. As his lifelong friend and companion, you may be in a position to talk him out of this foolish proposal. Would you mind going along with him to keep an eye on events? In that way he’ll be forced to return home with you before he takes any further drastic steps. If you can see your way in going with him, Seosamh and I will be forever grateful to you. I’ll get Seánín to look after things for you until you get back.’

  ‘Of course, Eileen, I’ll go with him if he allows me—it isn’t easy to put one over on Peadar. I’ll let him think he’s doing me a favour. I’ll tell him I’m in the process of buying a bigger fishing boat, and would appreciate his advice on what I might find across the water. When I’ve had an opportunity to talk with him I’ll let you know the outcome.’

  ‘Which route will we take?’ Máirtín asked, as the two prepared for their journey. ‘Your goal is Southampton on the south coast of England—I would like to pay a visit to some fishing ports on the west coast of Scotland, Ardrossan, Ayr, and Largs. I’m told the boats used by fishermen in those centres are way ahead of ours in design and equipment. If I put my eye on a suitable craft, with the help of Micilín and his cousins, we could bring her across by sea. I am told Donegal fishermen do this all the time—they buy a boat in The Orkneys or Lewis, in the far north of Scotland and sail it all the way home to Killybegs or Greencastle.’

  ‘I don’t care very much which route we take, Máirtín. All I want is to be at Southampton on August 30th. I have an appointment for interview that morning on board a ship called The Abercorn Voyager. A group of scientists are recruiting staff for a lengthy voyage to the South Atlantic. With my experience of the sea, I’m hoping they’ll take me on. ‘Twould be a great opportunity for me to get close to the area where I was lost a few years ago, and to see if I can trace that fabled Isle of the Blest that I caught sight of then. I’ll not get any pay; food and accomodation will be provided—that’s enough for me. I don’t need the money.’

  ‘I am delighted for you, Peadar—I wish you every success in your interview. If it weren’t for the old homestead in Aran, I’d have a shot at going with you. If you are away from home for a long spell, however, will you not be lonely for Eileen and the children? Separation for such a long time can be difficult.’

  ‘Eileen and her family have their own lives to live; they don’t need me any more. Aren’t they planning to set up home on the mainland very shortly; what will I do then, living on my own in Aran? I’ll keep in touch with them when we dock in some port or other—I’ll be able to send post cards from exotic places like Madeira, the Azores and Cape Verde.

  ‘Sorry, Máirtín, I’m talking as if I had already been offered a berth. With my long experience of the sea I’m confident they’ll take me on. I’m keeping my fingers crossed; I hope for the best.’

  On the cross-channel boat to Liverpool, Peadar behaved like he was one of the crew. He scrutinised every aspect of the ship, from the wheel-house to the dining area, the galley where food was prepared, and the lounges where passengers sat around. He took stock of where lifeboats and life saving equipment were stowed, studied how long it would take to get people on deck, and reckoned how quickly life jackets could be distributed in an emergency. In his mind, he was already acting as a crew member of The Abercorn Voyager. Meanwhile, Máirtín sat on a stool in the bar below deck where he entered into conversation with fellow passenger
s.

  ‘I’m afraid my mate has deserted me,’ he told them. ‘From the way he’s wandering here and there around the ship, examining everything, you’d think he was never on a boat before. We may as well have a couple of pints of Irish Guinness before we reach John Bull’s country. Did you notice it never tastes the same over there?’

  ‘We’ll head for Southampton first, Peadar, if that’s all right with you,’ Máirtín suggested. ‘Your appointment is more urgent than mine. We can take all the time we want in Scotland where, if I don’t succeed in identifying a suitable boat, we might spend a few days in the Highlands. I’m told there are small distilleries in that region that produce the finest Scotch whiskies. I’d like to visit some of these, get a guided tour, study the process they use in distilling, and see how it compares with our own. Free samples are usually given to tourists—to show goodwill, we’d be expected to buy a bottle or two. When we have drunk these, we mightn’t want to leave the place at all.’

  ‘I’m with you all the way,’ Peadar responded absentmindedly. ‘I am already savouring the bouquet of a glass of good Scotch malt.

  The night mail to London gave little opportunity for contemplation or sleep. They availed of bar facilities to drain a few glasses before they settled themselves into the sparse comforts provided by adjacent vacant seats on which they stretched their weary limbs until disturbed by the guard. Darkness precluded a close-up view of brightly-lighted towns and cities that flashed past as the train gathered speed. Apart from some grunts of discomfort and complaint emanating from time to time, no serious dialogue took place between them. Before changing trains at Victoria Station in London, they were able to obtain food and refeshments. In the early morning air, following a wash and shave, attitudes became more ameliorated. As they approached Southampton, Peadar introduced the topic that had been closest to his mind throughout their journey.

  ‘What sort of questions do you think the examiners will put to me?’ he asked Máirtín. ‘When we were leaving home, I thought I had covered all angles of my knowledge and experience of boats—now I’m not so sure. If they question my acquaintance with liners and big vessels, I’ll have to admit I don’t know anything about how crews operate on these. How do you think they’ll react to a situation like that?’

  ‘I’ve never had to undergo an interview like this, Peadar, but I feel your best strategy is to be straight with them as to what you are familiar with. Don’t attempt to bluff. If you don’t know an answer, simply tell them so, adding that you are willing to learn. Honesty and straightforwardness will win in the end. The people who ask the questions are no fools—they can spot a conman pretty quickly. Don’t get agitated—act calmly and collectedly and, for your life, don’t allow yourself to display attitudes of anger, resentment, or antagonism towards people of any race or creed. A lot depends on the standing of the other applicants, how many are in competition for the assignment, and how you compare in the opinion of the selection team. Knowing your prowess as a seaman, I have the utmost confidence in you. I am sure you will acquit yourself very well.’

  ‘Thanks, Máirtín for your words of comfort. Win or lose, I’ll give it my best shot. If this opportunity doesn’t work out, I’ll have to try some other avenue.’

  ‘Mr O’Flaherty, your letter of application states that you have comprehensive experience of going to sea as a fisherman. Can you tell us more about this? Fishing for herring and mackerel tends to be a relatively inshore occupation— what was the greatest distance you sailed from the Irish coast? Did you experience any emergencies in the course of your seagoing? How did you deal with these?’ The questions were searching and to the point.

  Clearing his throat, Peadar regaled his interviewers with a detailed account of being fifty to one hundred miles from base when they fished for hake and halibut. He related the saga of his shipwreck in a sudden hurricane, how he was carried still further out in the storm when he held on to some solid object, how he was rescued half dead by smugglers who used him to help in repairing their ship that had been battered by the same gales, how they threw him back into the water when the job was done, how he was again rescued in a disorientated state off the west coast of Africa by some foreign fishermen, and admitted to hospital where he was nursed back to health.

  ‘What type of work have you done since then? What has been the state of your health?’ one man asked. ‘Can you supply a certificate of fitness from a medical practitioner and a testimonial to your character from previous employers or other persons of standing, such as clergymen and police.’

  ‘No problem at all,’ answered Peadar. ‘In the meantime I have travelled extensively to England and Spain where my daughter has inherited an estate. I have been employed by the University of Salamanca as assistant in an agricultural research project. My health during that time has been one hundred per cent, a fact that doctors in Ireland and Spain will confirm.’

  ‘One last question,’ the examiner said, ‘what has motivated you to volunteer for this assignment in the Atlantic?’

  ‘Three reasons,’ Peadar replied. ‘Firstly, as a man of some means, I don’t have to work for a livlihood any more. Secondly, with a lot of time on my hands, I want to experience seagoing on a larger scale and to study tides and weather conditions in the broad Atlantic. Thirdly, I am interested in the research you propose to carry out on volcanic sites under and above sea level. I would like to be in a position to prove or disprove ancient stories of a legendary island that is supposed to have been seen by fishermen on various occasions, although none have been able to approach it or go ashore.’

  ‘Extraordinary interests,’ one member of the interview board remarked to his counterparts.

  Following muted discussion, the chairman spoke: ‘Mr O’Flaherty, we would be pleased if you would supply us with letters of reference and a medical report as soon as possible. In the event of these being found satisfactory, you should hold yourself in readiness for a sudden call to join The Abercorn Voyager for a voyage which will last at least six months, possibly longer, depending on research findings.’

  ‘Moladh mór do Dhia (all praise to God)!’ Peadar shouted at the top of his voice as he rejoined Máirtín outside. ‘At last, I have realised my dream. I am to join the research vessel The Abercorn Voyager for six months in the Atlantic Ocean; it won’t cost me a penny. Wait ‘till I tell Eileen and Seosamh. Come with me, Máirtín, my good friend, we must celebrate this occasion.’

  Peadar displayed little interest in helping Máirtín to identify a suitable boat in the Scottish ports they visited, nor was he enamoured at the suggestion that they should visit distilleries in the Highlands while they were in that part of Scotland. His sights were firmly set on getting back to Aran as quickly as possible to tell Eileen and Seosamh of his good luck, and to pack some things in anticipation of a sudden call from Southampton. In a desire to keep him onside, Máirtín decided that they would take the shorter route from Stranraer to Belfast and thence by train and bus to Galway.

  ‘We’ve been hearing a lot about Belfast this while back,’ he said to Peadar as they entered the city. ‘While we have the opportunity, do you think we might take a turn down the Falls, or across the Malone Road—I’d like to be able to tell people in Aran that we had been in those places, to observe for ourselves the carry-on that goes on there every night between the Protestants and Catholics. We might even experience some disturbance.’

  ‘No way will I go to any of those places, Máirtín. With our west of Ireland accents, we’d be sitting ducks for one side or the other. What would I do if I got hit by a brick or a petrol bomb? I can’t afford to get injured at this stage with my medical certificate in the balance. We could be pulled in by the police too on suspicion of being here on subversive activities—it wouldn’t do to have a charge like that on my references at this critical stage of my career. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer that we didn’t delay in Belfast but get away as fast as we can. I’ll not be content until we cross the border into our own country.�
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  Boarding the train in Belfast for Derry, Peadar, conscious of his broad west of Ireland accent, glanced furtively to left and right before occupying a corner seat and concealing his face behind a copy of The Belfast Telegraph which he pretended to read. Headlines and accompanying photographs of rioting in Ballymurphy the previous night did little to dispel his anxiety. He remained silent for the duration of the journey. As they left Derry en route to Sligo and Galway, the bus approached the frontier post at Kildrum on the border with County Donegal. Taking its place in a lengthy build up of traffic, progress was slow. Peadar grew aprehensive when he saw the tall steelmesh security tower manned by an armed sentry. Flanking the road to either side, British soldiers, in combat attire, trained their rifles on each passing vehicle while two of their colleagues questioned the occupants.

  ‘What will the British army do to us?’ he asked a Donegal man seated next him. ‘I have never been in this kind of situation before. Will they take us out and search us? If they find the bottle of Bushmills whiskey that I am carrying, will they arrest me?’

  ‘If you have nothing more explosive than whiskey, you needn’t fear the army—they’ll not search you unless they have suspicion of you. When the army officer approaches, appear unconcerned. Look him in the face but don’t make eye contact. I reckon you’ll get through without any difficulty.’

  ‘That wasn’t too bad after all,’ Peadar commented as the bus was waved on, and the blood returned to his face. ‘We’ll be in our own country in a few minutes.’

  ‘That’s true,’ replied the stranger, ‘but you’re not out of the wood yet. The Irish customs post is up ahead. You’d be well to put that bottle of whiskey inside your shirt or it will be confiscated. Better still, if you uncork it, and drink some of the contents, the customs officer will accept that it is for your own use and he’ll let you take it through.’