Kildare Village in the Sunshine

We pulled up in front of the shopping centre, just off the motorway.  Its buildings, white and impressive, reminded me of a large club house, where cricket or golf is played.  The buildings stretch out. As you walk towards the shops, mostly designer, with a few coffee shops like Starbucks, you can rest for a while on the benches here and there.  It has a fountain in the centre, like the Trevi Fountain in Rome, where people toss in coins.  My granddaughter, Aoibh, threw a few.  They made a splash when they hit the surface before sinking to the bottom.   Then she made a wish.

It was a weekday so not very busy, though some people sat outside coffee shops in the sunshine, looking very relaxed.  My daughter was there to buy sandles in Clairks, for her young three year old.  They are cheaper than the regular Clarks shops in town.  She also bought a tan handbag at the same shop.  I bought a jumper in Hobbs.  Was only going to window-shop, but couldn’t resist a bargain.  We walked from shop to shop thinking how you could spend a fortune if you had it. It’s a small enough area but everything is within easy distance.

Afterwards, we went for a coffee and then to the playground to let Aoibh have a little freedom.  While there, I took my young grandson Eoin for walk in his buggy along the wooden walk-way that stretches out away from the shopping village, but with the playground still in sight.  Rolling grasslands spread out to the left, and more to the right where shrubs had been planted along the perimeter of the walkway.   Some areas still had to be finished.  Across to the left was an old ruin and in the distance a square building of a school could be seen.  It must have been lunchtime, just after noon, as the sound of laughter and shrieks carried on the wind.  You couldn’t see them, but they seem to be having a lot of fun as their voices gave an atmosphere of moving here and there, up and down.  What a joyful sound, familiar, as you would hear passing any playground on a summer’s day.  A church spire could be seen far into the distance.  In the forefront was a statue of a lady, her face lifted towards the sky with her hands behind her back.  She stood on a large globe of the world, copper maybe, green markings.  Her stance seemed perfect on the day that was in it, facing towards the warm sun.  You could almost feel the heat on her features.  A clock peered through, part of the main buildings, stretching upwards, taking pride of place.  I came back and sat on one of the benches, while my daughter waited for Aoibh to venture down the slide.

As the sun warmed my face and I waited with my grandson, along with other people and small children, I thought how much I wouldn’t usually notice around me.  Today I did.

Josephine Nolan

Two Women in the Snow

He stood before them with his Kodak

Can I take your photo ladies?

Without a word they stopped and stood there

Boots and headscarves, shapeless coats,

Weighed down with all their shopping

Footprints in the morning snow

Fresh and flaky, silent steps

Finished yet, before we freeze?

Picture perfect, scene of Bray

Wishful Thinking

It was so long ago. George was the last boy I went out with in Australia before my return home.  He was supposed to follow.  I didn’t hear from him for a few months, then the letter finally came.  He couldn’t get out of his contract.  He wasn’t coming home.  My dad found me crying in the front room, George’s letter on my lap.

The following summer, myself, my sister and two friends decided to go to Ostend in Belgium for a week.   We were dithering for a while about where to go, and finally picked Ostend because it was ‘abroad’ and cheap.   All the shops, restaurants, pubs and night clubs ran the length of a long street, parallel to the beach.  We decided to have a night out at the White Horse Inn.  There were rows of long tables.  People were served large tankards of beer.  Waitresses were dressed like Frauleins, wearing pretty head-dresses and short frilly skirts.  They made it look easy carrying their heavy trays of beer.   It had a Bavarian beer garden atmosphere. The band on stage had the boisterous crowd swaying from side to side to the music.

I saw him on the other side of the room.  He looked exactly like George, tall, dark haired and that lovely face.  I kept looking at him. Willing him to come over.  He was moving in my direction.  Oh my God, my heart was racing, what would I say to him.

I introduced him to the girls.  He told me his name, but I’ve forgotten. I’ll call him John.  The following day, he took me on a bus tour.   The countryside was very flat, pretty houses, lace curtains that didn’t come down fully to the bottom of the window.  We held hands as we walked around.  I thanked him for a lovely day and kissed him, very quickly.  That was it.  I think I told him we were leaving the next day.  Going home.

Anyway, my mind had played tricks with me.  I wanted him so much to be George.  I’d lost my reason the moment I saw his face.  He looked like George.  His smile was warm and welcoming.  He responded to me as I caught his eye.  John was from the south of England.  He spoke with a Somerset accent, you know, “where the cider apples grow”.   George was from Edinburgh.  I loved his accent.  It was soft and wrapped itself around me.

The bubble burst when I spoke to him.  How crazy was I to expect to hear a Scottish accent.  He was a nice boy, but he wasn’t George.

Chips

Chips, hot, soft, crisp edges

Reminder of Brighton Beach when we were teenagers

Sunny, windy, cold and stony

Sunbathing on the beach in our clothes

Refreshed back on the coach after fish and chips

Now reminds me of Bray Beach in Wicklow

Two daughters, five grandchildren

Getting late, everyone hungry

Queue up for bags of chips

Mouth-watering aroma wafting from the Take-a-Way

Salt and vinegar, almost drooling

Chips so hot the children have to blow on them

Shrieks when young William drops his on the sand

Minor disaster

Squalls of seagulls swooping down on the fallen chips

To the roars of delight from the children

As the birds duck and dive for the feast left behind

Josephine Nolan

The Grass is Greener

The farm had been left to Michael, the eldest son, after his parent’s death.  His father had died within twelve months of his wife.  It had been a shock to everyone.  Michael’s younger brother James continued to help run the farm.  Michael had a wife, Sara and three children under seven years.  Sarah did what she could, but it was James who did most of the work. There were times when James and Michael disagreed about how things should be done.  James felt resentful.  He didn’t want to be a farm hand for the rest of his life. There was a lot of tension.  It was time to move on.

It was a warm Spring morning.  The cows had been milked and were out in the near field. A few chickens were picking at tufts of grass here and there.  Jack, the black and white collie, followed James to the car.  He patted the dog’s head. Jack put his nose into the car, thinking he was going too.  James pulled him back and said “Goodbye Jack, be a good boy”.    Sarah and the children stood at the door waving. She tried not to show it, but tears stung her eyes.  He gave one look back and then it was time to go.

Sonny King, who lived nearby, gave James a lift to the station. Sonny was in his usual good form. Every now and then James responded with “ya, that’s right” or “sure thing Sonny”. He was only half listening as he gazed across the fields to Lough Key beyond. The ruin at the bottom of the hill had once been a stately home.  It had employed some of the elderly neighbours years ago. On the way down the hill, they passed a few more houses. Jim Doyle waved as they passed, his faithful old dog by his side. Then they were on the main road, heading towards town and the station.

The train was on time. Battered old case in hand, James had enough time to find an empty carriage. He pushed his case under the table, next to the window. The argument he’d had with his brother the night before played over and over in his mind. Part of him was sorry they had parted on such bad terms. He rarely lost his temper. When everyone had gone to bed, James threw a few clothes into a case and took his Sunday suit out of the wardrobe, and his overcoat, and threw them on top of the case. He was still simmering when he went back into the kitchen and took his father’s gold pocket watch from the mantelpiece, and emptied the tea caddy full of twenty euro notes.

Clickety click, on and on along the tracks. Passing town after town. Sadness descended on him as he viewed the fields of cattle and sheep, not knowing if he would ever be back again. James must have dosed off. Then he heard the announcement that they were arriving at Heuston. By this time, the carriage had filled up. James followed the throngs out to the street, took a bus to Bus Aras and then to the airport. His heart sank as he watched the coastline slipping away, and the patch-work fields fading into the distance.

When the train pulled in at Victoria Station, James never felt more alone in his life. He bought a cup of tea and sat for a while to get his bearings. He put his hand out a few times to try and make enquiries but he might as well have been invisible. People rushed by, every race and colour, accents he had never heard before.

That evening, he found a B&B near the station. Next day he found a pub nearby. The few people who were there looked up as he came in, but soon lost interest. He ordered a pint. The barman made small-talk for a while. After that James sat with glazed eyes watching racing on the TV. Today he had no interest. He’d spent enough money on horses, more times than not leaving his pockets empty. His guilt at taking the money from the tea caddy fuelled his determination to somehow make something of himself. One day he would give back what he had taken. He would do it for Sarah and the kids. His fight was with Michael, not Michael’s family. James had another pint and asked the barman about work in the area.

Weeks turned into months. James found a decent enough one-bed flat in a large Victorian house near the station. For a while he worked on a building site. As winter approached, he helped renovate old houses, painting and papering, and watching tradesmen at their work. He was learning the tricks of the trade. It didn’t take him long to see who was making the money.  He knew what he had to do if he was to succeed in this business.  James worked all the hours God sent.  Within a few years, he had banked enough money to buy a small house, renovate it and sell it on.  He was on his way.  He sent home the money he owed Michael.  There was no contact between them.  His life was here now.

Michael continued working the farm alone after James’ departure. Sarah did what she could, bringing the cattle in for milking with her youngest child on her hip. She cooked and she washed and she cleaned. The discovery of the empty tea caddy, and Michael’s litany of curses, shocked her and the children, but the silences and tension were worse. She wished she could turn back the clock to that day when Michael found Sarah and his brother in an embrace. There was nothing more to it, but Michael wouldn’t accept her explanation. James had found Sarah in tears on his return from the fields. She was worried about how distant Michael had become, how they were going to keep the farm. James had simply put his arms around her and said “I’ll always be here to help”. That night Michael and James had their worst argument ever, and Michael’s accusations about Sarah had been the last straw. Sarah thought James was right about renting some of the fields and investing more to improve the farm. Michael was stubborn like his father, and wouldn’t admit it might be a way out.  Sarah had to find a way to convince her husband. It wasn’t going to be easy.

As the years went by, Sarah and Michael were barely scraping a living out of the farm. The children were getting older, and couldn’t ignore the arguments they heard from the kitchen at night. Most evenings Michael drove into town, leaving Sarah to while away her time, listening to the radio, sewing and mending clothes. She felt she had to make the most of it for her children. They needed her.

Michael’s drinking got worse, along with his health but he wouldn’t see a doctor. Late one winter’s evening there was a knock on the door. Sonny King’s face was ashen, as he told Sarah there had been an accident. Michael’s car had skidded on the icy road, and had somersaulted into a field. “It doesn’t look good Sarah, I’m very sorry” he said.

It was all a bit of a haze for the following week, as Sarah went through the ritual of making funeral arrangements and comforting the children. Neighbours helped every way they could. Sarah and her children stood at the grave-side.  People had come from far and wide on that bleak and grey January morning. A decade of the rosary was said.  “Ashes to Ashes” the Priest said as he sprinkled the holy water over the coffin, and a few bits of earth were thrown on top. Some of the mourners turned around when they heard a car approach, but Sarah stood motionless, staring into the cold earth, Michael’s last resting place.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your troubles Sarah, I had to be here”. She lifted her hand over her eyes as she squinted to see who it was. James gently took her hand, and said “I’ll do anything I can to help”. The sun was just breaking through the grey mist.

Josephine Nolan

The Man in the Boat

Kathy was the only girl with two older brothers, Padraig and John. She had the dark features of her father, with long black hair often worn in a ponytail. After leaving the convent school, she went to Dublin for a while and did a secretarial course, but she missed the rolling hills and lakes which surrounded her home in Leitrim. The young people were leaving in droves. She didn’t want to be one of them. After getting her qualifications at the secretarial college, she returned home. It was early Spring.

After helping around the house in the mornings, she took her pony and cantered through the meadows. Sometimes she sat by the lake, her chestnut horse “Honey” grazing under the shade of an oak tree. She was an outward going person, but loved the solitude of the countryside and took photos of the changing seasons. She could hear the crickets in the grass, and birds singing their little songs in the branches.

Today the lake was flat and clear, with little bubbles appearing here and there. The sun cast shadows of silver ribbons in all directions. A small rowing boat came into view. Kathy took the camera from her rucksack. There was someone sitting in the boat, a hat covering his head. He was fishing, but her lens couldn’t distinguish who it was. She took a photograph of Honey as he moved to the lake for a drink, his silhouette perfect against the water and blue sky. She lay back on the grass, hands behind her head, and thought how lucky she was to be in this beautiful place.

Kathy knew change had to come. She had to make her way in the world. She couldn’t depend on her parents forever. Certainly no eligible farmer had caught her eye so far. If she went to England for a while, it was only a few hours flying time from home. Her friend Angela, whom she’d known from school, was home on holidays. Kathy arranged to meet her for coffee at “Snacks” in town, just over the bridge. “Hi Kathy” said the owner, Mary Lenihan, as she entered the café. “How’s all the family? Havn’t seen you for a while” prompting Kathy for some news. “All grand, thanks Mary” said Kathy, looking around for Angela. “She’s over by the window” said Mary, disappointed at Kathy’s short answer.

Angela stood up and gave Kathy a hug, as Mary approached to take their order. “I suppose you’ll be the next one to leave us” Mary said, addressing Kathy. They ordered coffee and a sandwich each, and Mary retreated. She wasn’t getting much news from those two. Their heads were bent close together, talking and laughing like old times. Angela gave a great account of how she was doing in London. When they left the café, Angela unlocked her bike, and they arranged to meet for a night out before Angela returned to London. Angela suggested Kathy might think of going back with her. “You could stay with us if you decided to come over. There’s plenty of room” she said with a grin. After Angela’s holiday was over, Kathy decided she would give London a try. Her parents wouldn’t stand in her way, though she knew it was a big wrench, especially for her mother. It didn’t have to be permanent. The few weeks flew in and it was time to leave.

When she reached the station, she was having second thoughts about going at all. She stood with her case, her mother and her brothers by her side. It had been an emotional farewell with her father. The whistle blew. She threw her arms around her mother. Her brothers squeezed the breath out of her. “Look after Honey for me” she said to Padraig, the eldest brother. She waved to them until they disappeared out of sight. The fields and towns rushed by. Finally the train journey was over, and she got the bus to the airport. As the plane took off, she watched the coastline disappear. Her heart was breaking.

When she arrived at Heathrow, she felt a chill as she crossed the tarmac. Kathy followed the crowd to the carousel to collect her case, and walked into the Arrivals. Angela and another girl were waving to her. She forced a smile and waved back as she walked towards them. The flat she shared with Angela and two sisters, Pat and Eileen, was in a Victorian house near Bayswater. The rooms were large with high ceilings and they shared the use of the garden with a married couple upstairs. Kathy moved into Angela’s room. It only took a few days to feel comfortable with them all.

The first day Angela took Kathy around to get her bearings, and then to an agency to register for a job. She couldn’t believe how quickly she got an interview and started the following week as assistant secretary in a trade association. She wrote home to say how well she was getting on at work and with the girls. She never mentioned the pangs of homesickness she felt. Her boss was from Cork and had been in England for over twenty years. He was very encouraging and sometimes they chatted about ‘home’ which she found comforting. “It takes a while to get used to the place”, her boss told her,” but there’s plenty of opportunities here if you work hard”. He had a wife and two children and lived in a semi in Romford, on the outskirts of London.

The first weekend, and almost every Saturday night after that, the girls got themselves dressed up and went dancing. Most week days after work, they shared cooking and talked about the kind of day they’d had. It was easy to be with them as they shared the chores and the shopping. They played records or listened to the radio. It was 1975. Rod Stewart’s “Sailing” was in the charts at the time and played constantly on the radio. On the outside she was ‘funny girl’ but her heart was still, as the song said, ‘home again, cross the sea’. It was December and the girls were making plans for Christmas. Angela was going to her sister’s in Scotland, along with her parents and brother. Patricia and Eileen were going home to Kerry. Kathy had already booked her flight, and bought presents for her family and the girls in the flat. They all had a big night out the Saturday before Kathy was going home. She took photographs in the restaurant and a waitress obliged them by taking one of the four girls together, happy smiles, their arms around each other.

Padraig was at the airport. She dropped her case and ran to meet him. Kathy relaxed into her seat, talking non-stop about all that had been going on in her life in London. “You’ve picked up a bit of an accent”, her brother said, joking. “No I havn’t” she said with a frown. As she was glancing in his direction, she thought she could detect something in his expression. “Is everything alright at home Padraig” she asked. “Ma’s in hospital. She had a stroke”. “What! Why didn’t someone tell me, you could have phoned me at work”. “There was no time, Kathy. There was so much going on. We’re told it will take time. Da’s in bits. We knew you’d be home soon and didn’t want to worry you”. For the last half hour of their journey, they fell into silence. The wipers swished back and forth and in the darkness the headlights cut through the lashing rain.

Her mother arrived home and took up most of Kathy’s time trying to nurse her. They were all praying that she would return to her old self, but it looked less likely as the days went by. One day, their mother was particularly bad and agitated. The doctor was called. Instead of Dr. O’Driscoll, a young doctor by the name of Kevin Delaney called. He was new to the district. As he took his hat and coat off, Kathy noticed his lean features. He was handsome in a boyish kind of way. She was making him a cup of tea after settling her mother, and they got talking. He told her he loved fishing when he got the time, and weather permitting. “I sometimes go out on the lake in an old boat Dr. O’Driscoll has at the end of his garden. It’s so peaceful out there.” He said. “Do you ever fish near Maxwells old house?” Kathy asked. “Yes, I think you can see their house through the trees. It’s a whitewashed two story, isn’t it? They keep horses I think“. “Do you ride?” Katy asked. He smiled at her and said “No, but there’s a first time for everything”.

Padraig and John had cut down a big fir tree and brought it into the house. Kathy decorated the tree. With its lights switched on, it shone like a beacon from the window, when darkness fell. She put the rest of the decorations around their big kitchen. A crib her father had made years ago was placed on the mantelpiece, surrounded by holly. She made a wreath from the left-over holly, and entwining it with red ribbon, attaching it to the front door. Presents for the family were placed beneath the tree. With the glow from the fireplace and a red Christmas candle on the table, the kitchen was as she always remembered as a child. This Christmas wouldn’t be the same though. Her mother wouldn’t be in a flurry shopping and cooking as she did in previous years. Kathy never imagined her mother getting old. As she sat by her bed the night before Christmas, she prayed to God that her mother would get better.

Her father and her brothers took it in turns to sit with her, even while she slept. Katy cooked the Christmas dinner. Anne, John’s girlfriend of four years joined them in the evening. In spite of the feast, the celebrations were very low key. Over the Christmas, friends and neighbours called in to see how Kathy’s mother was. She spent a lot of time in bed, but in the evenings Kathy’s father carried his wife up to a chair by the fire. One evening Kathy was showing her mother some photographs she had taken while she was in London, explaining who everyone was. There were a few taken before she left for London. The photos were passed to Padraig and her father, sitting on the other side of the fire-place. “For all the time he spends on that boat, I don’t think Kevin Delaney has caught a sprat” said Padraig with a grin. “Let me see!” said Kathy as she took the photograph from him. “Is that him, Padraig?” She was looking at the photograph she had taken of the boat on the lake before going to London. “Who’d sit for hours in a boat without catching anything” said Padraig. “He must be waiting for the fish to hop in beside him!”. “He often enquires after you Kathy” said their father, with a smile. “He was asking if you’ll be going back to London”. Her father was curious to see Kathy’s reaction. “There might be a job going at the surgery” he said. “I hear Mrs. O’Shae is retiring”. Kathy looked at her father. She knew he would love her to stay. She thought she saw a fleeting smile on her mother’s face. “He’s the only eligible bachelor around here Kathy. He’d be a good catch” said her father, with a grin. In spite of herself, Katy thought the idea not entirely disagreeable.

The weather turned bleak after Christmas. Kathy wrote to Angela and to her boss explaining the situation at home and told them she would be unable to return to London. Her mother, after another attack, deteriorated rapidly. On a cold February morning, the family attended her funeral. There was a mist hanging over the graveyard as people gathered from miles around to comfort and support the grieving family. Kathy shook hands as people came up to offer their sympathy. Her father seemed to have aged overnight as he stood, head bent, the drizzle and cold seeping into his bones. His sons, in their black suits, tried to shield him as best they could under umbrellas. Kathy took his arm and led him back to the car, her pale completion and hollow eyes hardly speaking as people approached them.

Although their mother had been sick and inactive for a good while, the house seemed desolate without her. Kathy took over cooking and cleaning. Her brothers did what needed to be done around the farm. Although her father wanted to do his share, he hardly had the energy. He sat near the fire a lot of the time, and every evening, deep in his thoughts. Spring turned to summer. With the bright mornings and longer evenings, some sort of vitality returned to the family. The hay had to be saved. Turf had to be cut. Katy took Honey out and lost herself riding through the fields. Sometimes she stopped and put her arm around his neck. She often talked to him, or cried into his golden mane. Her family were never very good at sharing their ‘feelings’, except her mother. Now there was no one. She crossed the fields and decided to take the road back to the house. She had just rode across the bridge where a slow moving stream flowed beneath. Suddenly, Honey reared as a car appeared in front of them. Katy came off her horse, but managed to regain her balance and hold on to the reins. “What the hell at you doing” she shouted at the driver. “Surely you could see us coming down the road”. It was a steep incline. She couldn’t see around the bridge, but an approaching vehicle would see what was up the hill ahead of them. The driver got out of his car and started to apologise. He took his hat off and she realised it was Kevin Delaney. “Are you alright Kathy” he said. “No thanks to you I am” she said with an edge to her voice. “Look where you’re going the next time” she said, as she mounted Honey and sped off, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.

“I think I’ve sprained my ankle” she said to her father the next day. She was limping while she was getting breakfast for everyone. “Sit down Kathy, we’re all big and ugly enough to get our own breakfast”. She tried to protest, but he pulled a chair out and made her sit at the table. Kathy hadn’t said anything about the run-in with Kevin Delaney the previous day. “It will be grand tomorrow” she said, “I must have twisted it somehow”. The next day it was the same. Her father took matters into his own hands, and got the doctor to come out to the house. Kathy was mortified when, on hearing the dog bark, she saw Kevin Delaney’s car coming through the open gate. “Dad, you haven’t called the doctor?” she said. “Sit quiet Kathy. He’ll take a look at the foot and make sure nothings broken”. When Kevin Delaney entered the kitchen, he blushed slightly when he saw Kathy. “How is our patient today” he said, trying to sound detached. He sat opposite her, and asked her to lift her foot. She couldn’t meet his eyes. His hands gently pressed down on her foot, then her toes. “Does that hurt” he said. “Of course it hurts” she snapped, looking up at her father. “You must have twisted your foot when you came off your horse the other day” Kevin Delaney said. “You fell off your horse?” her father said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”. “It was my fault Mr. Shanahan” said the doctor. Kathy had to explain as her father was totally bewildered, but this time she wasn’t entirely blaming the young doctor.

Kevin Delaney assured Kathy there was nothing broken. He bandaged her foot and told her to rest it. He said he would call out the next day to see how she was. He called out a few times that week. Kathy thought his visits were unnecessary. Kevin Delaney’s excuse was that he was passing the house anyway. The weeks went by and she was soon back on her feet and doing what she could around the house and farm. The good weather got her back on her horse, enjoying the meadows and valleys. The countryside was at its most beautiful, lush and abundant. The fields, every shade of green, stretched out in front of her. Cattle and sheep looked motionless and tranquil. Sometimes she stayed out long enough to take photographs of the sun setting over the hills, colours of blue, yellow, pink and crimson. This was why this place would always draw her back. Padraig was out in the fields most days working around the farm. John, the youngest brother, had decided to do an agricultural course and was away all week. Padraig had the running of the farm now, trying to spare their father the hard work. Never one to be idle, her father milked the cows and feed had to be brought in. Kathy and her father went to town once a week to get groceries, and whatever else was needed. They would stop for lunch at the Central Hotel, which was something he once shared with his wife. It was a day out for them. People stopped to talk, or came over enquiring how they were.

Kathy always lit a candle in the church and she knelt with her father for a while. They called into the surgery to get a prescription for her father’s blood pressure before heading home. Kevin Delaney was speaking to a patient in reception as they walked in. door. When he saw Kathy and her father, he waved them to a seat with a broad smile. “I’m just here for a prescription, when you have a moment” her father said, as they took a seat. “Come in and I’ll take your blood pressure” Kevin Delaney said, when his patient left. “Where’s Mrs. O’Shae?” asked her father? Kathy remained in the reception area. “She’s just out for coffee, but she will be retiring in a week or two. Hanging on, as I haven’t a replacement yet. What is Kathy doing these days? “Ah, just keeping things ticking over on the farm. She misses her mother terribly, as we all do” her father replied. Kevin Delaney looked down at his watch. “I’m due out on a call Mr. Shanahan. Would Kathy be interested in working for me? “Why don’t you ask her yourself doctor, no time like the present”. Kathy’s father rolled down his sleeve and put his jacket on. Kevin Delaney opened the door and seemed to take a deep breath. Kathy stood up and they

were about to leave. “Kathy” Kevin Delaney said. “I’ll be needing a receptionist in the next few weeks. Is there any chance you’d consider the position. You’d be doing me a huge favour. Think about it and give me a ring”. “There”, thought Kevin Delaney,” it’s up to Kathy now”. Kathy’s father left the surgery smiling to himself. It was coming towards the end of summer. There was a chill in the evenings. Soon the trees at the front of the house were shedding their leaves. Kathy had started work and looked forward to each day. She used her mother’s old car to get in and out of town. Once a week, Kathy’s father joined her and had lunch with his daughter. If he was free, Kevin Delaney joined them, or would have coffee with them.

Mrs. O’Shae had stayed on a week to show Kathy the ropes. Dr. O’Driscoll still had his own patients, though he was semi-retired now. Kathy was good at her job, and enjoyed hearing the latest gossip and meeting the characters who came through the door. Word was getting around about the new doctor and the practice was expanding. John, Kathy’s young brother, decided it was time to get married. He had been going out with Anne for about four years. They would build a house on his father’s land. In early Spring of the following year, when the apple blossom was in full bloom and the daffodils danced in the garden, John and Anne walked down the aisle. Friends and family gathered in the Central Hotel, and later sang and danced until the early hours. Kathy invited Kevin Delaney, but kept close to her father, knowing how much he missed his wife. It seemed cruel that she was not present to see her first child married. “Ah, she’s here alright” Kathy’s father said, taking Kathy for their first dance. The bride and groom spent their honeymoon in Malta and returned to see the foundations laid for their new home. Anne moved in with the family while the work was going on. Kathy was glad of her company, though she still missed her mother’s presence in the house. Towards the middle of May, the weather turned very severe. Hail and rain battered the car on her way home from the surgery. As she turned off the main road, she swerved to avoid a stray cow, ploughing into a ditch. She woke up in the local hospital, her father and brothers by her side. “We thought we’d lost you Kathy, her father said, kissing her hand. “Thank God it’s only a broken bone in your foot, and a few scrapes and bruises”. Kevin Delaney called in every day. After a week she was discharge, and he insisted on driving her home. Her leg was in plaster and she was on crutches. “Won’t be dancing for a while” she said, as he helped her into the house. “You’ll stay put for the next six weeks, and that’s an order” he said. Kathy was surprised at his authority. “Mrs. O’Shae will take over until you’re well again”.

“You don’t have to come out so often Kevin” Kathy said after a few weeks of Kevin Delaney’s visits. “You’ve enough to be doing with real patients”. “You can’t get rid of me that easily Kathy Shanahan” he replied. Kathy cast a look in her father’s direction, who was standing in front of the fire. He smiled over at his daughter, and gave her a knowing wink!

Meanwhile

Meanwhile, the sun was shining.  She stood by the grave.   Her dearest friend would be lowered into the earth.  Family and friends stood around, solemn.   A sprinkle of rain fell.  One or two umbrellas went up, but there was really no need.  It was a soft late summer’s morning. The sun had its way of appearing again.

Meanwhile, she was back in her own house after all the goodbyes and promises to keep in touch.  She stared at the few photographs she had taken out the night before.   Her friend was always making faces for the camera.   She could hear her voice – “now you have it!” her friend would say, when you ‘got’ what she was trying to describe.  With eyes stinging, she gave a deep sigh.  She rested back into the armchair.  Her mind flitted from one memory to another, recalling all the years they had been the best of friends.

Meanwhile, the world would go on without her.

The Camera

Everywhere I’ve travelled, since I was a young girl, I’ve always carried a camera.  There are photographs of teenage years at home with my family, Mum, Dad, Aunt Lilly, my three sisters younger brother and our dog.  We are all in the back garden, posing.  Dad looks very serious, but Mum and Aunt Lilly, are smiling as are my siblings.  Rory, our black and tan Manchester terrier which we got from Battersea Dogs Home a few years before, sits in the middle looking at me.  Perfect!

Continue reading

A Special Christmas

It was the first white Christmas in years.  The children helped carry the Christmas tree

from the garden centre.  Angela, who was ten, unraveled the lights and the two other

children put the decorations on the tree.  Gwen was twelve, and had a better reach. Their

mother stood on a chair to finish the decorations, stretching to place the angel on top.

David, who was eight, put the little red bows and tinsel on the lower branches.  He

couldn’t wait for Santa. He was a true believer.  The excitement was contagious as

Christmas songs played from the radio in the background.

Margaret was separated from her husband.   Their father, Jim, had moved to England.

He had arranged for someone to bring presents home to Dublin for the children. With

all the shopping done by Christmas Eve, Margaret and her children braved the snow and

cold and headed for the train.  They skidded along the paths where the slush was turning

to ice. Not being familiar with the area, Margaret had to ask for directions. Eventually

they found the house.  Margaret took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. A light came

on in the hall.  A lady opened the door and frowned when she saw them.  “Can I help

you” she said.  Margaret explained why they had called.  “There’s no presents here!” she

said with a scowl, and promptly closed the door.  By the light of the street lamp,

Margaret looked again at her husband’s letter. Yes, they were at the right address. Her

heart sank.  The children looked at her, disappointed and downhearted.  “There’s

obviously some mix-up”, she said.  “‘I know what we’ll do.  We’ll get some chips and

warm ourselves up before getting the train home”.  David was happy with the thought of

a treat but the girls could not be so easily cheered up.

When they reached their destination, people poured from the station laden with

Christmas shopping.  The snow, now grey and slushy, was piled against the curb.  Buses

and taxis were lined up outside.  Breaths almost froze in the cold night air. The trees

along the street sparkled with white fairy lights.  Decorations on Main Street welcomed

the festive season.  An old man sat huddled in the doorstep of a shop, now closed. How

would he possibly keep warm on this cold night?

The children were now asleep and the house quiet.  Biscuits and a drink had been left by

the fireplace for Santa. Margaret prepared the last of the food for the Christmas dinner.

The trifle was placed in the fridge.  The Christmas pudding was left on the worktop,

ready to be heated once the dinner was served.  The vegetables had been prepared, and

the turkey stuffed, left in the fridge ready to be cooked on Christmas morning, before

they all went to church.   Margaret took the presents out from their hiding places and

wrapped them up, placing them under the tree.  The old Christmas stockings with the

children’s names on them, almost faded now, were placed by the fireplace.  It was well

past midnight.

The two girls were up with the lark and ran into their mother’s room on Christmas

morning. Margaret couldn’t believe it was morning already. “Happy Christmas mum”

they said in unison. “Happy Christmas girls” she replied, slipping out of bed and

throwing on her dressing gown. It only seemed like an hour since her head hit the

pillow. David was hot on their heels. The children headed straight for the front room,

while Margaret went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She put on a CD of Christmas

carols and joined them. Gwen was handing the presents out from beneath the tree.

Wrapping paper flittered the floor. “This is your’s mum, from all of us” Gwen said. “Ah,

thank you everyone. You really shouldn’t have” but couldn’t wait to see what was inside

the shiny red wrapping paper. She gave each one a big hug and kiss. To her surprise,

she found a beautiful marcasite watch. She had lost one years ago. It had been a 21st

birthday present. The children stared at her to see what her reaction would be. “I can’t

believe you remembered!” she said, full of emotion. “You deserve it mum” Gwen said.

As the children continued to open their presents, their smiles and screeches drowned

out the Christmas songs in the background. Their dog sat in the middle of the chaos,

looking from one to the other. The leggo lay on the floor, waiting to be opened. A train

set, Barbie dolls, jigsaw puzzles, some books and crayons, and a Walkman for Gwen. The

hats and scarves for the cold weather were left to one side! What a joy it was to see the

excitement, and how glad Margaret was that she had bought presents as she could

afford them, since November. She had also found a few extra presents hidden away in

the wardrobe on Christmas Eve.

She left the children to play in the front room and started to stuff the turkey. Her

parents were coming over to join them for dinner after church. Margaret was humming

to “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby, getting the potatoes ready for roasting. Gwen

arrived into the kitchen laden with wrapping paper for the bin. “Mum, can I help?” she

asked. “You can set the table Gwen, so all is ready when we come back from church”.

Margaret had all their best clothes laid out for them.

The grandparents arrived, with more presents for the children and hugs all round.

Finally they arrived to a packed church. They had to go up to the balcony. The crib had

been placed at the front of the alter this year. At the end of the service, the choir sang

“Oh Holy Night”. The congregation had joined in the other hymns, but for this one,

there was a hush. The beautiful voice of the Soprano filled Margaret with emotion. She

felt a wave of sadness, but checked herself. “This day is for my children” she though. As

they left the church, as if on cue, a fresh downfall of snow fell on the heads and

shoulders of families heading home. It was magical to watch the delight of the children.

When they opened their front door, they could smell the turkey roasting in the oven.

It was warm and snug inside as coats were discarded and they all finally sat around the

table. The red napkins and sprigs of holly that Gwen had placed around the Christmas

table made it all very special. How grateful Margaret was, as she looked at all the happy

faces, that they had survived to another Christmas.