Helen is the eldest of a family of three girls. Her two younger sisters emigrated. Betty, married, is living in Chicago. Jane, also married, is now settled in Toronto. To Helen, who was never outside the country, Chicago and Toronto are magical, far-off places. Being the eldest, she was more-or-less expected to stay at home, to look after her parents when they got old, and to inherit the land. Unfortunately her mother, a reasonably young woman, died suddenly from heart failure. This event, naturally, had a devastating effect on the family. To compound matters further, her father, an extremely heavy smoker, contracted cancer shortly after. He never got over the unbearable, tragic loss, of the woman who meant everything to him. Her father fought bravely and Helen spent all her time looking after him. It was an extremely difficult period as he required constant care. As well as this upheaval in her life, Helen had to adapt quickly to running the financial side of things. It was during this period that she decided to rent out most of the land. Her father finally passed away peacefully.
When her father was active and able she enjoyed working with him. He was a pleasant man and they got on well together. That cancer is an awful cross to have to bear down on anyone, she silently contemplates. Invalided and all as he was, when he died she missed him hugely. Tears often flowed as various memories flooded back. The times they spent together, out in all kinds of weather. The winters could be very harsh on this high ground. The cold and frost tended to linger. Those particularly cold periods, when the east wind whipped across from the snow-capped Comeraghs. The loneliness was now also beginning to get to Helen. She’s heard all the scary stories about break-ins in isolated farmhouses. As extra security she decides she’ll have to buy some more strong locks. Ireland has become more opulent, but far less safe. It appears all the old values are being cast aside, gone with the four winds.
Helen now decides she’ll have a last look at the animals before retiring indoors for the night. She is very much attached to all the livestock on the place. She has a pet-name for each of the eleven cows and looks after the lot extremely well. Satisfied that everything is in order she pauses, studying the yard, the shed, the few small out-houses and the dwelling itself. She sighs a little as she looks about, resigning herself to the fact that a lot of improvements could be done to the place. If only I had the money! Her faithful dog Glen is sitting at her feet, looking up into her face. She pats his head a few times. She decides that tomorrow she’ll give the yard a thorough cleaning. She recalls when she was performing this task back in early April. In fact, the memory remains vividly etched in her mind…
Betty had written to say that herself, her husband Dave and her two young daughters were coming to Ireland on vacation. Dave had always wanted to visit Ireland, and they had booked into an hotel in Killarney. The letter stated that they’d be arriving in Shannon on Saturday the fifteenth, and that they intended calling to the farm the following Tuesday. Betty had also telephoned to confirm this. Helen remembers being very excited—but also in a slight panic—over the news. In all the years, Betty had been home only once, briefly, for the funeral. Dave couldn’t travel at that time as he was away on business in South Africa. Now she was finally visiting, with her husband and two little girls, Jenny and Rose. Helen remembers how nervous and apprehensive she was as the visiting time approached. She wondered what Dave and the girls would think of the place. She resolved to spend all day Monday cleaning up the yard.
She was engrossed in this task, pushing a wheelbarrow of farmyard manure across the yard when who should arrive along but her American visitors—a day early. The big car swung in the gateway, and she hadn’t a chance to run, to wash and change her clothes. (Big cars and other large vehicles used the yard to turn, as the space in front of the house was too narrow.) Red-faced, sweating and flustered, she greeted everyone, after first wiping her hands on her overall.
“Oh God!” she now says, putting her hands to her face, flinching, again experiencing the embarrassment of that occasion.
It all came back to her: straight away Dave had struck her as being a very nice individual. He stood there smiling, a happy, boyish looking, tanned American. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. Betty hugged her close as well. Betty looked great, laden down with jewellery, as slim and attractive as ever. The years had been kind to her. Betty was the youngest of the three girls, always the prettiest and most popular member of the family. Without it being in any way intentional, Betty, for some reason, always made Helen feel inadequate. They had hired out a car and decided to tour the country a day early. Betty said she had phoned a few times but there was no reply. Helen silently remembers cursing her stupidity for not giving her mobile number.
Then Jenny and Rose: Helen was acutely aware that the two young girls, glancing down at her not-too-clean Wellington boots, were unimpressed either by herself or the appearance of the place.
They had looked at her with a sullen expression, refusing any body contact. In fact, they cowed away from her as if she were some kind of ogre. After blurting an apology for the state she was in, Helen couldn’t wait to get inside, to quickly wash, change her clothes and tidy herself.
The bathroom door was ajar, and she remembers hearing Rose say, “She’s gross.”
Jenny said, “The whole place is gross.”
Their parents reprimanded them crossly. Betty said, “For God’s sake, behave yourselves! I told you what to expect on a farm.”
“That’s right,” Dave concurred, “and be careful what you say. Remember that’s Mum’s sister you’re talking to.”
“She’s different,” Rose said.
Jenny piped up, “Mum, sure we’re not going to eat here? I’ll get sick.”
“Oh God, what are we going to do with them?” Betty said in despair.
Then when Helen returned to the kitchen, Dave said, “Helen, we’re sorry for crashing in on you like this. Now you mustn’t put yourself to any bother over us. I’ll tell you what we’ll do: we’ll go in to that little town—Dungarvan, isn’t it?—and have a nice lunch in the hotel.”
Helen remembers explaining that if she knew they were calling that day she’d have had a meal ready.
“At least now you won’t have the bother,” Dave said.
The meal in the hotel was fine and nicely served, but Helen didn’t really enjoy it. She recollects the way she felt shabby, in her dated green dress, aware of the contrast with Betty’s stylish, fashionable ensemble. She was also conscious of her rough, large, work-lined hands. The two girls hardly ever took their gaze off her, watching every morsel she put into her mouth, masticated and swallowed.
After lunch they strolled around the town before returning to the farm. Dave commented on how beautiful the scenery was, how it was true about everyplace being so green. How he couldn’t wait to travel around this beautiful country. How Killarney was truly out of this world. He was happy snapping away with his new, top-of-the-range digital camera. He explained the workings of this new technology to Helen. The two girls fell in love with the calves. The calves were tame and allowed themselves to be petted. Glen was suspicious at first, but then seemed to enjoy the attention he was paid. He followed Dave, Rose and Jenny, when they went off through the fields to view the little stream and the lake. Dave brought his binoculars, saying they might spot some wildlife in or about the lake. He said he loved nature in all its habitats.
Helen recalls how she was glad to be finally alone with Betty…
Concerned, Betty said she thought Helen looked tired and drawn. She suggested that maybe Helen was working too hard. “Take things easy,” she had said. “What’s the use in wearing yourself out, getting old before your time? And listen, you’ll have to come over to us now, for a good long break. You’re entitled to that much. You have no excuses this time. Hire someone to look after things here.” Betty had asked her before, but understood that she couldn’t travel on account of their father’s ill health.
Helen said she would go over, but in truth she couldn’t see herself travelling to
Chicago. She imagined herself being awkward and ill-equipped for that type of adventure. She had no experience of big cities, apart from what she saw on television. All this flooded back into Helen’s mind. The way Betty quizzed her about people they knew years ago. How was so-and-so getting on? Did she ever marry? The questions kept flying. And then the turn the conversation took: Betty asking her straight out had she any romantic attachment. Did she have a man in her life?
“A boyfriend?” she had replied.
“Yes, a boyfriend.”
“I had one.”
“Only the one.” Betty sounded surprised. “When you say you had one, you’re talking in the past tense. So what happened?” she persisted.
“It ended.” Helen didn’t want to pursue the topic. “It just ended.”
“Was it because of the way you were tied up here? You could go nowhere? Was that it? He just got fed up?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“It probably was… I’d say it was.” The way Betty had studied her face. The way she continued with a somewhat guilty tone to her voice. “Maybe we should have sent on money? Or worked out some arrangement. Done something. Now I feel—”
“There’s nothing you could have done, honestly,” Helen had reassured her.
When she had said, ‘It just ended,’ she may have sounded bland or blasé. It was anything but. In fact, at that time her world collapsed beneath her. Jamie was the one bright spark in life that offered her hope. Then all the lonely nights after it ended, crying herself to sleep. Over time she had, more-or less, come to terms with the inevitable.
“Did you like this fellow?”
“I suppose I did, he was nice,” she remembers saying.
“And now you have no-one?”
“I think I’m gone past it at this stage.”
“Don’t say that! I hate that defeatist expression.”
“Anyway,” Helen had added, “I’ll let you know if someone turns up. Miracles never cease. But you met a really nice person in Dave. He’s very pleasant.”
“He’s a kind person, and a good provider. I was lucky. You know, life is funny,” Betty had continued, “When Mam died so young I felt angry with the whole world. I couldn’t get to grips with anything. That’s why I went to America—to get lost, to try and get away from it all. To be on my own. Then, the way things worked out, if I hadn’t gone to the States I wouldn’t have met Dave. Who knows what twists and turns life would have taken. Or is our destiny preordained for us, I wonder?”
“Dave is very handsome,” Helen had commented. “And the two girls are very pretty.”
“Very bold at times too. They’d have you fit to be tied. Helen, I’m sorry if they upset you.”
“No, they didn’t.” Betty didn’t miss much.
“It’s just that they’re not in the habit of something a bit on the yucky side—like a farmyard.”
“I could tell that.”
“Not the way we were brought up, remember?” Betty reminded her. “We had to pull our sleeves up. Nothing was too hot or too heavy for us. Oh, listen—Jane said she intends coming over.”
“Did she? That would be a surprise. How is she?”
‘Healthwise, she’s fine. Her marriage is going through a sticky patch at the moment. Don’t worry, it’s not the first time. I was in touch with her. I thought she might have been able to make it—to come over with us. We’d all be together then, like old times… A pity the way things turned out, with Mam going so quick and everything. And then the cancer. Not a day goes by but I think back to the old days.”
“I know.”
“Not a single day,” Betty had repeated, eyes downward.
The time had passed rapidly and the visitors were getting ready to depart. Dave and Betty hugged her again. Dave said they had a marvellous time. After being well tutored Jenny and Rose said, “Goodbye Auntie Helen.” The way Betty—before she climbed into the car—had thrust three crumpled one-hundred euro notes into her hand. Helen remembers standing at the gate, watching the big car edge up the lane. Hands waved out the window and she waved back. A sudden surge of sadness had washed over her. She wondered when she would see them all again. She also experienced some relief as, by and large, things hadn’t gone that bad—apart from the attitude of the children, which stung a little. They had caught her at her worst and she wondered what Dave really thought. Whatever it was, it was a secret he would keep to himself.
When the car had faded from view she acknowledged to herself what a lucky person Betty was. She had a grand husband and two fine healthy children. She had looked down at the notes in her hand and experienced a tinge of self-pity. She remembers a tear running down her cheek.
She recollects going back inside to change her clothes —the evening’s work still lay ahead. She had found it hard to concentrate on her tasks, her mind still preoccupied with what went on before. She wondered how Betty would react if she had to go back to this type of work. Probably all right, she was that type of person. One thing for certain, Betty would never experience that empty pang of loneliness, that all-embracing emptiness. Having finished the chores Helen had gone inside, accompanied by her solitary companion Glen. Another night stretched ahead, just sitting there, half her mind on a magazine, the other half on the television.
She remembers the presents again, standing there on the table: the box of biscuits, the flowers, the large box of Black Magic. She remembers half-filling the vase with water and putting in the flowers.
At Twenty Paces
There are dogs and dogs in it. Some dogs are called names like Spot, Shep, Patch, Brandy, etc. Other dogs are called abbreviations of Christian names, such as Sam, Ben, Jack, Timmy or, as in this narrative—Bobby.
Whatever line of mongrel breed begot Bobby it meant he inherited the long legs of the greyhound in conjunction with the tough upper-body strength of the terrier. It also meant he was a deadly hunting dog, combining the fleet-ness of the hound with the ruggedness of the terrier. Bobby had the ability to pick off a rabbit in full flight. Not many dogs could out-sprint a rabbit—even the greyhound, over a short distance. On the odd occasions when the rabbit had too far a start the poor creature still didn’t make the safety of the briar fence as, invariably, he was shot dead by Bobby’s master, Darkie O’Rahilly.
Darkie’s real name was Cornelius O’Rahilly, but Cornelius was a somewhat difficult word for people to get their tongues around—and they couldn’t very well call him Corny. The main reason he was called Darkie was on account of his jet black hair and sallow complexion. Darkie and Bobby were a lethal combination as far as the rabbit population of Portlaw was concerned.
Darkie had long since given up any form of regular employment. That type of back-breaking work was only suitable for ‘fools and horses’, as he often joked. He discovered he could make a far better living selling rabbit meat to his appreciative customers around the village. An oven-ready rabbit netted him half-a-crown. He sold, on average, around sixty rabbits a week. It meant he had an income of close to eight pounds, far more than he’d earn working for the farmers—or even that much sought after job in the local tannery.
“They can stick their bloody job,” he often said to his friend and accomplice Fat Ned. Edward Dempsey was nicknamed Fat Ned because of his propensity for devouring large quantities of fat meat at the various thrashings around the parish. He was especially partial to fat bacon and cabbage. Fat Ned, whenever he could make the time, accompanied Darkie and Bobby on their hunting excursions.
This suited Darkie fine, as Fat Ned was the one delegated to carry the rabbits. His shambling hulk could be heard panting heavily as he brought up the rear, rabbit carcasses slung over each shoulder. The local housewives were delighted with the arrangement. Rabbit meat was used for stewing, baking, frying, or whatever method was favoured by the cook. The ladies became expert at turning out wholesome cheap dinners. Darkie was on hand to advise them on the various mouth-watering recipes he had picked up on his rounds. A substantial, healthy
stew could be served up for the whole family centred round the rabbit, adding in potatoes, carrots, onions and perhaps some other vegetable of choice.
Fat Ned and a couple of other men helped Darkie spend some of his weekly largesse in the local hostelries. When he had a few pints inside him he usually began to laud the praises of Bobby, saying there never was a dog like him in the village of Portlaw.
“That dog is worth his weight in gold. I love that dog.” Then he’d add in a slurred voice, “I love that dog a lot more than any of you sons of bitches.”
Then someone might laugh and say, “You’re some old son of a bitch yourself, Darkie. Anyway, give him another pint.”
Fred Crawley, the pub owner would retort, “Sure, maybe he have enough—he won’t be able for them hills tomorrow.”
Blackie would then look up under his eyes, snorting, “You shut up! You shut your big fat ugly gob, you hear me?” Nobody minded this turn of phrase. This type of banter was par for the course, not to be taken seriously.
Darkie might then put his arm around Fat Ned’s shoulder saying, “Poor old Fat Ned here is me best friend,” giving him a shake, “aren’t you?”
An event occurred at the weekend which was a cause of distraction and disruption to Darkie’s routine: Word arrived that his older brother, Billy, had died in Manchester. Darkie hadn’t seen him for over ten years but it was decided he’d travel over for the funeral.
Tales of the Bright, the Dark & the Bizzare Page 2
