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