The 2008 downturn in the economy seems a long time ago. By 2014 Bray Council was re-located to Wicklow. The beautiful summers of 2013 and 2014 saw the country coming out of its worst economic down-turn, thanks mainly to inept government intervention, greedy developers and bad planning laws. The banks were the biggest culprits, responsible for ridiculous lending and corruption. A few years later, the Flood Improvement Scheme had finally been completed after many delays. The people of Little Bray felt secure from the angry waters that had invaded their homes for so long.
Short Stories
Diary Entry
God, how could I have been so stupid! Went around to check Breda’s house. She asked me to check her house as she was going to England for a week. She was nervous she might leave something on, like the cooker. “No problem”, I said. Around 4 pm, I thought, “I’ll do it now”, and take our dog for a walk at the same time. The house is just around the corner, no problem. Managed the keys alright. Dog lead in one hand and keys in the other. Once inside, I left the keys down on the worktop. I had a quick look around to see that everything was as it should be. I decided to wash the breakfast dishes and leave them to drain on the rack. I Glanced around again, switches as they should be. Yes, all seems well. Pulled the door shut behind me. “Christ” I thought, “I’ve left the flaming keys inside”.
Good Neighbours
In 1978 we moved to Bray and bought a small terraced house in Ardee Street. The original house had 3 rooms and a scullery with a back yard the size of the house itself. Ardee Street was bleak in some ways, with no trees to offset the greyness . Opposite our house was a coal yard and further down, standing back from the road, was Burna Fireplaces, which is still there. They were mostly single storey terraced houses, with a few two storey houses at the top and bottom of the road.
Its saving grace was the People’s Park, stretching the length of the Dargle Road, from the Bridge at Castle Street (the town end) to Murphy’s Pub at far other. It had been left to the people of Little Bray by the Brabazon family. The plaque still remains in the park. It is lined with beautiful old trees including Oak and Horse Chestnut, with an amazing view of the Sugar Loaf Mountains at the Murphy Pub end.
Its beauty is dazzling on a bright Spring day, and also in the Autumn, as the leaves turn every shade of brown and orange, leaving a carpet of multicoloured leaves on the path. It has a children’s playground, changing rooms to facilitate the football matches played at weekends, along with various activities during the summer, like the dog show. Two of the local residents planted daffodil bulbs the length of the park, which spring up every year. Years ago there were a multitude of flowers in the park, attended by a Park Keeper who lived in a large Tudor-style house on the grounds. It was demolished about 20 years ago when it fell into disrepair. Young and old alike enjoy this treasure in Little Bray.
Dancing Queen
It was nearly midnight. My head was beginning to throb. It was the 21st birthday partyof my friend Nancy’s daughter, Amanda. I said goodbye to her parents, then to Amanda. “Thank you for inviting me to your party, Amanda, it was a great night”. ‘‘So good of you to come Alice’ she said and kissed me on the cheek. My bones creaked from sitting so long. “Ah, you’re not going yet”, Nancy said. “It’s been a lovely night Nancy. Amanda looks gorgeous. Steve seems a nice lad”. Steve was Amanda’s latest boyfriend. I thought he was a fright, spent most of the night propping up the bar. Nancy had raved about him, his great job, well to do family. That was Nancy.
Disruptive Passenger
We were ready for take-off. ‘Fasten your seatbelts please and switch off all mobile phones’.
A hand went up and a voice said ‘I have a rabbit’.
‘I’m sorry there will be a few minutes delay’
‘You’re not allowed to bring animals on board’ I said, as I confiscated the rabbit.
I took the rabbit and picked up the phone to ring security.
‘Would you please come and take a rabbit away’
‘Thank you, we are now ready for take-off’.
Again a hand shot up. ‘I have a giraffe’
‘I’m sorry about this ladies and gentlemen, there will be another short delay’
With a struggle I managed to get the giraffe into the aisle.
I picked up the phone and rang security again.
‘Could you please come and take a giraffe off the plane’
‘Again, I must apologise for the delay, which was due to a disruptive passenger’
‘ME!!!’ shouted my 3 year old granddaughter Beth, as she shot her hand up in the air again.
She was sitting on our landing in our imaginary aircraft!
I’m not who you think I am
When Alison first moved to Dublin she stayed in a hostel for a while. She eventually found herself a job in Swords. It was a very progressive multinational company where she worked for the Financial Controller. Sometimes she had to work late, but it was a means to an end. She felt like she was starting from scratch but she put her skills to good use, and soon felt she was really fitting in. She moved from a bed-sit to a comfortable flat in Drumcondra. Money was tight after paying the rent, but she still managed to socialise at weekends with a few of the girls from work. Two evenings a week she worked as a waitress at a local hotel. She put on her uniform, a black dress and little white apron tied around her waist. They were mostly corporate functions and dinner dances. It was hard work but she liked the other women and enjoyed the banter. The evenings went by quickly. Although she didn’t finish until just after midnight, it was only a ten minute walk to her flat. She didn’t tell anyone at her day job what she was doing. It was no one’s business. Allison was managing week to week, but she realised the importance of having money put by for a rainy day.
A Visit to the Garden Centre in Bray
It was Thursday. My son Dylan asked me if I wanted anything in Woodies on the Boghall Road, Bray. He was going to buy paint to finish the last bedroom in the house he shares with his wife Jenn. I was being brought along as there’s a 10% discount for pensioners on a Thursday. I said “yes” as I needed to get a special paint for a few damp spots at home. Upon arrival we meandered between the paints, garden equipment, furniture and rows of everything you could think of to do with your house and garden. Other people were wandering around, picking up things and inspecting them, putting on reading glasses to look more closely, moving at a leisurely place. A few were already at the checkout, decisions made.
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
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.
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
josephine nolan 