The Tour

by Jean Grainger

  ‘He sure did have an eye for women, and I guess he was a handsome devil but I am surprised that such a Catholic country would overlook his colourful love life,’ Bert chuckled.

  ‘Ah sure don’t you know the women always turn a blind eye whenever it suits them,’ Conor said, giving Bert a sideways wink. ‘Anyway, he’s safe up there beside the Pope and the Big Fella,’ Conor nodded in the direction of the Michael Collins portrait. ‘You can tell the politics of a household by who they have on the wall of the living room or the kitchen. This is a Fine Gael house no question.’

  Bert looked totally baffled.

  Conor explained: ‘After the War of Independence, Michael Collins and others went to London to negotiate a peace treaty with the British. As Ellen will know, the outcome of those negotiations caused a deep divide in the country. What was decided was that the twenty-six counties in the south of the country, now known as the Irish Republic, would become a free state, and the six counties of Down, Derry, Antrim, Armagh, Fermanagh and Tyrone would remain part of the United Kingdom. Those who had fought in the War of Independence were deeply divided, with Éamon de Valera on one side and Michael Collins on the other. The rift resulted in the formation of two major political parties, Fianna Fáil on the de Valera side, and Fine Gael on the Collins side.’

  Just as Conor was finishing his brief history lesson, the woman returned. ‘He won’t be long now, he just has to bring the cattle in and he’ll be down to ye then. Ye’ll have a cup of tea while ye’re waiting?’

  Ellen and Bert were just about to refuse, not wishing to put the woman to any trouble, but Conor got in there before them. ‘That would be lovely, thanks very much.’

  ‘Grand so, I’ll just put the kettle on,’ she said, and she was off again.

  ‘It’s considered rude not to have a cup of tea when it’s offered,’ Conor whispered conspiratorially. ‘It kind of relaxes an atmosphere and it’s what we do here. Don’t worry, it’s no trouble. In most Irish houses the teapot rarely goes cold.’

  A door on the other side of the house slammed and was quickly followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, they saw who they assumed was Eamonn, a short, thin man standing in the doorway. It was difficult to guess his age: it could have been anywhere between sixty and ninety. Out of the pockets of his ancient-looking waxed jacket peeped newspaper cuttings, raggedy brown envelopes and various bits of paper. Both his corduroy trousers and navy woollen jumper looked like they had seen better days. He had big shock of iron-grey hair and hand-knitted socks on his feet, presumably having just removed his wellington boots. ‘Eamonn O’Riordan is the name. You’re all very welcome. Julia tells me you’re looking for some information about a family that lived around here.’

  Ellen felt that she should speak first. ‘Yes please. I don’t know if you can help, but my name is Ellen O’Donovan and I was born in the village of Inchigeela on the 18th of December 1920. My father was called Thomas O’Donovan and he had an older brother, Michael, and a younger brother Sean. My mother’s name was Bridget and she died when I was born, I believe. My father brought me to America when I was a baby and I haven’t been back here since then.’

  Eamonn’s face broke into a smile. He crossed the room purposefully and, clasping Ellen’s two hands warmly, he said: ‘So you came back to us at last. They always said you would. Welcome home Ellen.’

  As Julia served tea and scones, Eamonn spoke at length: ‘When I was growing up, I remember the older people around here would often speculate about what happened to Tom O’Donovan and his baby girl. Michael O’Donovan was a quiet man, kept himself to himself and, of course, in those days, feelings ran very deep about all the trouble that had gone on. The War of Independence, the Civil War and all that. So, most people felt that what was done was done, and was best left alone.’

  Ellen looked stunned. This man actually knew people who knew her father. What on earth was he going to come out with next?

  Eamonn noted the flabbergasted expression on Ellen’s face and decided to continue anyway. ‘Let me think now. Your father was older than me and was a long time gone to America before I was born. But I grew up here and everyone for miles around knows your Uncle Sean. He’s quite a character,’ Eamonn said, registering a new expression on Ellen’s face, this time one of shock. ‘Were you expecting that you would have been forgotten?’ he smiled gently. ‘The thing is Ellen, nothing gets forgotten around here. That’s sometimes a virtue, but other times it’s not. Your father was a young man when he left and the circumstances were difficult, God knows, but his family stayed on in the parish. In fact, you have quite a few relatives not two miles from this house. As you sit there now, I can see the look of Mary O’Donovan about you.’

  Ellen gaped at him, completely nonplussed.

  ‘Mary is one of Sean’s daughters, married to a Casey man back the road here. Their farm adjoins mine. A grand woman altogether. She would be a first cousin to you.’

  Ellen’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry Eamonn,’ she said. ‘I just never thought for a second that there might be someone… I thought maybe a grave or something… but I didn’t dare to hope, it’s so long ago you see…’

  Bert squeezed Ellen’s hand. ‘I’m overwhelmed,’ she stated simply. ‘I’m sorry Eamonn, please continue.’

  ‘I would have to research my papers but, as far as I understand it, your grandparents were farmers who had a few cattle, and your grandmother kept geese and hens. They supplied all the turkeys for Christmas too. Or so I believe anyway. They were blessed with three sons who were grand lads. Michael the eldest, who got the farm of course, and Tom, your father, and Sean the youngest. He was a bit of a surprise I’d say. He was a good bit younger than the others. Again, I’m not too sure by how much, but the 1911 Census will tell us all that. The family weren’t political as such. At least I never heard that they were. But your mother’s family, they certainly were. There were mixed feelings at the time about the IRA. A lot of the local people around here supported them wholeheartedly, but there were quite a few others who felt that they were only making a bad situation worse. It led to a lot of bad feeling I can tell you, especially in such a small community where people relied so much on their neighbours. Not like the way it is nowadays.’

  Eamonn seemed to hesitate at this point, noting her look of confusion. ‘How much do you know about your father Ellen?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Just that he took me to America when I was a baby, and that my mother died. What’s all this about trouble?’ she asked.

  A shadow of concern crossed Eamonn’s face. ‘I’m sorry Ellen, I don’t know what I’m blathering on about. Anyway ‘tis your Uncle Sean who’ll tell you anything you want to know. He’s getting on for ninety-two or three now, though he wouldn’t admit that in a fit. He’s as sharp as a tack. C’mon let ye, and I’ll bring ye up to meet him.’

  Ellen began to tremble, her cup rattling audibly on the china saucer. ‘Sean is still alive?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Eamonn, ‘I thought you knew that. Though now that I come to think of it, if you did know that already, you’d have come looking for him, not me. Anyway, yes, your uncle Sean is still very much alive and completely with it. He lives with Mary just over the road there.’

  Ellen suddenly felt quite weak.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but do you think I could just go outside for a moment? I need some air,’ she said, moving in the direction of the door. Bert instinctively followed her and didn’t say a word until they reached a secluded corner of the garden.

  ‘I had no idea…never dreamed Sean was alive. But to discover this…Bert …what should I do?’ The usually composed Ellen looked at him with real fear in her eyes.

  Bert turned her to face him, resting his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘What is it that you’re afraid of Ellen?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I …don’t know,’ she said, searching for words, ‘I suppose this story was always in the past and so I could imagine
it as I wanted it to be. I think that is why I feel more fear than excitement. I mean what if I don’t like these people? Or what if they don’t like me? What if the reason my father didn’t keep in touch was because of something terrible that someone did? What if there’s more to this story than meets the eye…what if the reason he never told me was to protect me from some horrible truth?’ she said, panic evident in her voice.

  ‘Ellen, no one is going to force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but I’ll say this, and I hope you won’t mind. We are neither of us getting any younger and you don’t know if you will ever get this opportunity again. You know how it is. There comes a time when long-distance travel just isn’t an option any more. You can walk away now, get into that fancy coach over there, and we can forget this ever happened. But I think it would be a mistake. You’re a gutsy lady, and Lord knows this must be an emotional rollercoaster, but I think you didn’t come all this way to turn back now. So, I’m going to go back inside now and you take your time. Decide what you want to do and whatever that is, I will accept it and be there for you one hundred per cent. You’re right though: once you open this door it will be tough to close it again. If there are things you’d rather not know about, it might be best to leave now. So just relax on the seat there, and let your intuition decide. You know what’s best for you. Try to focus on what your heart is telling you to do.’

  Eamonn seemed upset when Bert arrived back into the room.

  ‘I’m very sorry if I gave Ellen a terrible fright. I just assumed she knew Sean was alive. I should have been a bit more sensitive the way I just blurted it out. I don’t know what kind of an eejit she must think I am.’

  Bert smiled and placed a hand on Eamonn’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it, you’ve been great. She just needs to decide what she wants to do next. I think we all imagine the past and how it was, but she’s having to face the reality of it all for the first time. I guess she’s just a bit wary of what she’s about to be revealed. If you know what I mean.’

  The three men stirred nervously as Ellen entered the room.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘I want to meet my uncle.’

  ‘Maybe we should give them a ring first,’ Conor suggested, ‘rather than land in on top of them unannounced…what do you think?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ellen, ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps it won’t suit them to have us visit today.’

  Eamonn smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Julia has that in hand. Ye can be sure she’ll have phoned Mary the minute ye arrived. I’d bet the farm on it,’ he winked and then added in a whisper, ‘a mad one for the gossip is my Julia, and herself and Mary are thick as thieves. I guarantee the good skirt is being dragged on and the good china is being dusted off up there as we speak. Baby Ellen O’Donovan back after all these years? Sure ye’ll be the talk of the parish for years.’

  Heading for the Land Rover parked around the side of the house, Eamonn muttered: ‘The state of me from the cows. I’d only destroy the seats of your lovely bus. I had to have strong words with a particularly recalcitrant heifer that was refusing to go into the stall this morning. Let’s just say she didn’t hold back in showing me what she thought of her new accommodation. Give me ten cranky men over one cranky cow any day. I’ll take the Land Rover. Let ye just drive behind me. Is that alright?’

  Ellen settled herself into the coach for the short journey up the hill, a whirlwind of emotions engulfing her. Not only was she in fear and trepidation at the prospect of meeting her family, and possibly finding out something unsavoury about the circumstances surrounding her father’s departure to America, she was also feeling a little foolish about her reaction to the news that Sean was alive. She had never been one for big scenes and she had very little patience for those who did. She mulled over the information Eamonn had revealed. What exactly was he driving at? Her father had never given her the impression he had been involved in anything political, but Eamonn seemed to be hinting – more than hinting, in fact – at something like that. Tom O’Donovan had never been a chatty man, but neither had he ever given her the impression that he was hiding some big secret.

  Eamonn’s Land Rover turned into a long lane leading to a remarkably clean farmyard with newish-looking machinery and pieces of equipment visible here and there. The farmhouse, while obviously very old, possibly Georgian Ellen thought, was beautifully maintained, with hanging baskets and window boxes bursting with trailing begonias and geraniums, all apparently trying to outdo the other in terms of colour display and profusion. Just as Conor pulled up to the front door, a woman of about seventy appeared. Small and slight, she was smartly dressed in a navy wool skirt and cerise linen blouse, her white hair swept up in a stylish chignon. Ellen took a deep breath and walked slowly and as steadily as she could down the steps of the coach.

  The two women stood looking at each other for what seemed like a long time before breaking into broad smiles. Mary O’Donovan made the first move. Arms outstretched, she embraced Ellen as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Bert wanted to say something but was feeling too choked up to speak. Sensing this, Conor said: ‘It’s uncanny isn’t it? They could be sisters they’re so alike. Same hair, same build, same look around the eyes. It’s just remarkable.’

  Bert nodded in response. It was true. Mary and Ellen were as alike as any two people he had ever seen. The snow- white hair, the way they moved with virtually identical grace and elegance.

  Ellen was the first to speak. ‘I never met anyone who looked like me before,’ she said with quiet wonder. ‘I had no idea what it felt like to have someone say “you have your mother’s eyes or your aunt’s hands”, or anything like that.’

  Mary beamed with delight. ‘Well,’ she said in a soft voice ‘I have loads of relations all over the place, but not one of them looks like you, so it’s an unusual feeling for me too, I can tell you. I remember my father talking about Tom and his little girl over the years, but we never could find out what became of you at all. I think Daddy said the last time he heard from Tom was back in the fifties sometime. We assumed he died, although we never got any notification of it or anything. Those were different times, of course. It’s not like now with computers and mobile phones and all those things, where we can talk to everyone no matter where they are in the world. Anyway, Ellen, you are very welcome here. Even if it’s nearly eighty years since you left. Daddy is inside, so I’d better take you in to him. Not be keeping you out here in the yard.’

  Ellen glanced back to the coach where Conor and Bert stood looking nonplussed, unsure of what she wanted them to do. Ellen beckoned them over. But before she had a chance to introduce them, Mary exclaimed ‘Lord, what must you think of me at all? I’m so sorry. Ye are very welcome too. I was just so overwhelmed to see Ellen that I forgot to introduce myself. Come in let ye, and we’ll have a cup of tea and we can all relax.’

  ‘Tea! Tea! she says!’ a voice could be heard booming through the open door. ‘There’s no way I am greeting my niece home from America with a watery auld cup of imported leaves. She’ll sit here by the fire and we’ll have a glass of whiskey together at long last.’

  Mary ushered them into the kitchen door and introduced them to the owner of the booming voice who was sitting in an easy chair in front of a glowing turf fire and looking a lot younger than his alleged ninety-two years.

  ‘So you came home at last. Somehow, I always thought you would. Mind you, I was starting to worry. Thought I’d be gone by the time you got around to it. How old are you now?’

  Smart and all as he was, it never entered Sean O’Donovan’s head that this was a rude question to ask any lady, and particularly a lady of Ellen’s years. ‘Stand into the light there, so’s I can have a look at you,’ he almost barked, without giving her time to answer his original question. ‘By God hah? You’re the head cut off my Mary here. Isn’t she Eamonn?’ he asked his neighbour.

  ‘She is indeed Sean.’

  ‘When did Tom die?
’ the old man enquired. ‘I wrote to him alright, back years ago, but after a while the letters got sent back with a note on them saying “not known at this address”. I could never understand that. I mean surely to God even if he was moved or something, the neighbours would have known where he’d gone to.’

  Ellen smiled at the very idea. Things didn’t work like that in the apartment in the big old house that she and her father had shared. She recalled the Polish couple downstairs, who never even said hello, and the Jewish widow upstairs, Mrs Greenberg, who had designs on her father, as a result of which he avoided her like the plague. No, Ellen thought, when we moved house, none of the neighbours would have had a clue where we had gone to.

  While Ellen was only too delighted to embrace her cousin Mary, she felt no such need in the case of her Uncle Sean. She was fascinated by him certainly, but she felt more comfortable viewing him from a distance. That seemed to suit him too, so as Mary bustled around directing the others to chairs at the large pine kitchen table, Sean didn’t budge, preferring to remain in his usual spot beside the fire.

  Ignoring the two men, he shouted: ‘You’ll have a drop of whiskey.’ Ellen wasn’t sure if this was a question or a statement, so she made a non-committal gesture.

  ‘Well I don’t drink that much to be honest. Usually…’ ‘Usually, I don’t either,’ Sean interrupted her, ‘but this is no usual day. So put away the teapot and bring out the glasses Mary, like a good girl.’

  Chapter 20

  ‘What can I do for you today?’ the young hairdresser asked Corlene as she sat in front of the mirror. Corlene had chosen this salon purely on the basis of a conversation she had overheard in a shop earlier that morning: two women discussing their mutual hairdresser who was having problems with her credit card machine. A problem with the phone link to the Visa centre in Dublin, or something like that.