When Tom returned with the drinks on a tray Nole noticed there were three pints of Guinness and a glass of lemonade and immediately remarked, “You’ve got three pints of bainne dubh, Tom. Are you feeling extra thirsty this evening?”
“No, that extra one is for you with the compliments of Ben Murphy, the barman, for the inspired pet name for Guinness, which, he said, will go down in history as having been baptised with the name here in The Roosters’ Rest in Graig-óg by you, Nole. Now what do you say about that?” Tom posed the question.
“I’m speechless with surprise,” Nole replied, and after the initial shock added, “that was thoughtful of him. I’ll have to remember to thank him later, and in the meantime I want to share my prize with you, Tom. So, when you’ve got halfway down your pint I’ll top it up with this free pint,” Nole suggested.
“Well, for fear of offending you by refusing your kind offer, Nole, I accept, and I’ll always remember this occasion of the baptism of the Guinness with the pet name bainne dubh,” Tom congratulated.
After a brief lull in the conversation Seán asked, “Did you remember to bring the vegetable seed lists with you, Tom?”
“I did indeed, Seán. I have them here.” Plunging a hand into a bag slung from his right shoulder to his left hip he withdrew a bundle of printed pages and passed one each to Seán and Nole saying, “Have a look and just tick whatever you need.”
“Kerr’s Pink, King Edward, Record.” Seán spoke the names of potato varieties and made his decision. “I’ll have two stone of each of them. Is that OK with you, Tom?”
“Kerr’s Pink and King Edward, yes, but Record? Well, they might not be available even though they are the most cultivated potato, and I believe you know the reason why, Seán,” Tom reminded.
“Yes, the potato-crisp conglomerates and the appeasement of the demon, greed,” Seán declared.
“Yes, that about sums it up precisely, I suppose,” Tom agreed and continued, “and what might be your potato choice, Nole?”
“The same as Seán’s and instead of the most likely unavailable Record I will have two stone of Desiree.”
“Yeah, I believe they are plentiful,” Tom assured.
“I’ll have two stone of Desiree as well,” Seán added.
“Right, just tick what vegetable seed and quantity you need whilst I leave this bundle of lists on the bar for other interested clients,” Tom announced as he stood upright and moved towards the bar.
“Have you turned your vegetable plot over yet, Seán?” Nole asked out of curiosity.
“Yes, my father and I started it at the beginning of the month and we expect to have it ready for potato planting from mid-April onwards as is the usual plan, weather permitting. And you, Nole?”
“My father and I have our plot partly dug over, but there’s no rush. Just pace along like the day at your leisure, as my father always says.”
“That’s the ideal way to deal with life. This ‘rush, rush, rush’ trend that’s gathering pace these days is driven by greed and the truth is we are going nowhere fast,” Seán philosophised.
“Come to think of it now, you’re right, Seán. How do you manage to see the truth behind all these goings-on? I don’t know how you do it,” Nole remarked.
“Scientific simplicity, deep thought, that’s the way to the truth, Nole, and simplicity is the result,” Seán stated.
At that moment Tom returned and sat down. “I haven’t missed anything, have I?” he asked.
“No, not really, Tom. We were just talking about the increasing pace of life,” Nole informed.
Tom took a long drink from his jar of bainne dubh, and when he replaced it on the table Nole promptly topped it up from his free one and poured the remainder into his own jar.
“You’re certainly a man of your word, Nole. Thanks. And regarding the increasing pace of life, that hasn’t gone unnoticed by me, and I’ve been thinking lately of investing in a motorbike to keep up with it - the pace of life, that is. What do you two think? I’d appreciate your advice.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tom; have you considered the implications involved?” Seán advised and questioned.
“What implications?” Tom enquired, obviously not having thought beyond the advantage of having a faster means of travel.
“A motorbike comes under the ‘motorised vehicle’ classification, which means you will have to get a licence to use it and insurance to cover yourself for accident injuries, plus road tax and plus fuel to propel it, and, alas, you will also come under the alcohol restrictions imposed when in charge of such a vehicle,” Seán explained.
“Ah well, I will make sure to stay under the limit of alcohol allowed when using it,” Tom assured.
“And so said a lot of men down through the years who are now prematurely imprisoned in the long sleep in graveyards all over the country,” Nole chipped in to remind Tom of the danger associated with drinking and driving a vehicle under the influence of alcohol.
“Well, they were probably travelling too fast and brought it upon themselves,” Tom argued.
“That is exactly what alcohol makes one do. It dulls the senses and slows down their reactions, so that when something unexpected happens, like you with the fox, the driver is denied the precious seconds to take evasive action because of the speed of movement, and it’s speed that kills.” Seán emphasised the danger.
“You wouldn’t want to suddenly depart from this life and deprive Nora and your children of your presence for the rest of their lives, would you, Tom?” Nole stressed the possibility.
Tom thought for a moment before answering, “Well, no, I would not and I doubt whether any other man in a similar position would either.”
“True, Tom, and yet sadly and unintentionally, through drinking and driving, many have done just that,” Seán reminded.
“So you are both advising me not to invest in a motorbike, then, is that it?” Tom asked.
“No, Tom, we are not advising against buying a motorbike, but we are advising you, if you decide to get one, not to use it whilst under the influence of alcohol. Would you agree with that, Nole?” Seán asked.
“Absolutely! I couldn’t have put it better,” Nole agreed.
Tom fell silent for a long moment before suddenly announcing, “Thank you both for your advice, and I’ve decided not to invest in a motorbike after all.”
“That’s a wise decision, Tom - congratulations,” Seán commented.
“And likewise from me, Tom. I’d hate to be tormented by the thought of having to go to the graveyard to have a silent chat with you,” Nole remarked. He continued, “Drink up now and we’ll have a celebratory toast before we leave for home.”
“Will you be coming with us, Tom?” Seán asked and suggested, “If you are you can put your bike in the back of the van and climb in with it and I’ll drop you off at your house on the way.”
“Yeah, I will, Seán, and thanks for the offer. You always make sure I get home safely when I’m in your company and even, at times, when I’m not. You’re very kind, Seán, and I appreciate it.” Tom expressed his gratitude.
“Oh, think nothing of it, Tom. It’s no great effort, and, after all, shouldn’t friends help each other?”
“Yeah, they should, Seán, but since the pace of life began to speed up friends and friendships are becoming overstretched and people are more and more preoccupied with their own self-interests.” Tom identified the problem in modern-day society.
“You’ve highlighted the truth there, Tom. The community spirit in society is like a fading flower,” he elaborated and added, “and it’s being replaced by a more austere side of human nature that is fuelled by corporate greed and manipulated by false fear.”
“That’s a fact, Seán,” Nole agreed. “The growing trend nowadays is to get the maximum out of life
for the minimum input - a recipe for disaster if ever there was one.”
“Yeah, no doubt about it, Nole, and it’s causin’ a malaise to spread through society. It doesn’t bode well for the future,” Tom predicted.
“Well, we three seem to be, more or less, of the same opinion concerning the changing state of society, and I would describe the mood of people in general as one of spreading discontentment,” Seán concluded.
Tom and Nole agreed with the latter, commenting, “Neatly summed up, Seán,” before he headed for the bar for a round of drinks.
People had already begun filtering into the lounge, and some wandered into the concert room to settle down for the evening’s entertainment provided by any one of a number of band groups from around the county and hired for the occasion weeks in advance.
“Will you and Maura be here on Sunday, St Patrick’s Day, Seán?” Tom casually asked.
“We usually are on St Patrick’s Day and I expect you, Nora and the children will be here too?”
“Oh yeah, Nora, the children and I will be here for the parade and whatever takes place afterwards, but the evening craic I’ll have to miss after having digested all that advice you and Nole have given me here this evening. The way I feel now I’m afraid to use my bike again after a few drinks,” Tom confessed.
“That’s good news, Tom. It means the reality of the effects of alcohol and the associated danger have sunk in, so congratulations!” Seán stated.
“Well, yeah, you’re right and I see the logic, but it’s a long haul home in the dark on foot and just as dangerous,” Tom remarked despondently.
“Do you go out every evening for a few drinks, Tom?”
“Oh no, but I like to go out on a Friday evening such as now for a couple of hours to enjoy a drink and a chat with you and Nole when one or both of you are here. I like to do the same on Saturday evening and that’s about it.” Tom explained his routine.
After a moment’s contemplation Seán said, “I can solve that problem for you, Tom. I usually call here on a Friday evening, as you know, and I can pick you up on the way and drop you off at home again on the way back like I’ll be doing tonight. Then on Saturday evening I take Maura for a night out here, but I don’t drink and drive as I said previously. Instead I order a taxi, so we can still pick you up en route and drop you off at home again on the return trip. What do you say, Tom?”
Tom hesitated before replying, “Well, it’s very good of you to offer, Seán, but... I don’t like putting you to the trouble. I feel-”
“There’s no need to feel self-conscious about it, Tom,” Seán interrupted. “It’s no trouble to help a friend, and besides I’d feel that I was helping Nora and the children as well and that would make me feel good.”
“Well, in that case I accept and I’ll square up with you later, Seán.”
“There’s nothing to square up, Tom. Friends should help each other when the need arises. I suggest we put the plan into action starting tomorrow evening. Do you agree?”
“Done!” Tom exclaimed, and smiled his relief while holding his right hand out to Seán, who grasped it in a handshake of agreement. “You are a rare breed, Seán,” Tom complimented.
“And so is God,” Seán answered, smiling.
Nole returned with the drinks and the news that the band’s equipment was all set up for an eight-o’clock start.
“Good, we’ll be able to listen to a few of the old-time favourites for half an hour or so,” Seán contentedly remarked.
“It’s not far off eight o’clock now,” Nole reminded with a glance at his wristwatch.
“I like listening to the old favourites. They recall the memories that stay forever young,” Tom reminisced wistfully, and as though a wish had been mysteriously granted the band burst into life and the vocalist sang the words of ‘The Galway Shawl’ that echoed round the concert room and infiltrated into the lounge.
“That’s one of the best, if not indeed the best in waltzing airs ever composed, in my opinion anyway,” Nole stated.
“I wouldn’t argue with you over that, Nole. It has a unique-sounding melody that strongly appeals,” Seán agreed.
“It always reminds me of my wife, Nora, and the first time I met her after plucking up the courage to ask her to join me on the dance floor to waltz to the sound of ‘The Galway Shawl’. And before you two ask me I’ll tell you, yes, I was slightly intoxicated and I can’t remember how I performed, but she told me later that I had wandering feet. And I never asked her what she meant, but I had the feeling that it wasn’t a compliment.” Seán and Nole were moved to laughter and when it subsided he continued, “I always remembered the song as a heartstring plucker.”
“Yeah, I like the description, Tom. It has a kind of a-”
“Nostalgic appeal,” Seán intervened with the assist.
“Yeah, yeah, exactly that - a nostalgic appeal - and it somehow reminded me of that great old film Gone with the Wind with Clark Gable playing the main role. Do you remember it, Tom?” Nole questioned.
“I do indeed. It was a great film, but I wouldn’t compare my romantic life with his. I was more of a pampered version of Gable,” Tom modestly described the romantic period of his life and there was an eruption of laughter from all three.
“I have to give you credit, Tom - you can certainly raise a laugh,” Seán commented, still laughing. When the amusement ran its course the three concentrated on listening to the succession of songs that followed until 8.30 p.m. when Seán reminded, “Well, I think it’s time we were heading homeward.”
Tom and Nole finished off what remained of their bainne dubh and the three slipped away unnoticed as the lounge was filling up with Friday-night regulars.
Chapter Two
Once outside The Roosters’ Rest Tom retrieved his bike from an outhouse behind the pub and attached to it. The barman, Ben Murphy had previously given him a spare key so that Tom could secure his means of transport whilst he enjoyed the comforts of the pub.
Seán had fitted an unwanted two-seater settee against the panel dividing the front area of the transit van and the spacious rear. He was standing by the open sliding door on the nearside of the vehicle when Tom appeared with his bike.
“You climb in, Tom, and I’ll pass the bike in to you,” Seán suggested, and after a few seconds Tom and his bike were loaded, the latter lying flat on the floor and Tom resting comfortably on the settee. Seán then closed the sliding door and climbed into the driving seat and called out to Tom, “Are you resting easy in there, Tom?”
“I am as comfortable as a stone in a plum, Seán, with room to spare, and who would dare ask for more than that?” Tom assured.
“Well, I’ve never known you to complain, Tom, but I know plenty who would,” Seán remarked.
“I can well believe that. Some people get some kind of sick contentment out of forever complaining.”
“I hope you’re not goin’ to fall asleep on that settee, Tom, because you snore like a dinosaur,” Nole reminded with a laugh.
Tom laughed too and replied, “Well, I’ll say one good thing about snoring, it never bothers the snorer.”
And he laughed again and the other two joined in with Nole commenting, “Yeah, that’s a fact, Tom.”
Seán started the engine and a moment later the van was en route for Tom’s home about fifteen minutes from Graig-óg. They crossed the Barrow river on the edge of the town and recrossed it after about a mile or so. Then after another mile Seán turned left off the main road on to the narrow tarmac lane that led to a cluster of country cottages of which the first was Tom’s abode. The lane was only about a quarter of a mile long. The van had only progressed a hundred yards along the unlit lane when Seán glimpsed a shadowy movement on the grassy verge. The shadow suddenly moved from the verge and out into the path of the van and hesitated.
It was too late to brake, so all that Seán could do to avoid running over the creature was to instantly swerve on to the opposite verge, and in that same instant Nole called, “Look out!”
Seán struggled to keep control of the van, which a second later ploughed into a ditch alongside a hedgerow on the inner side of the grass verge, where it came to an abrupt stop, tilted sideways and facing downward into the ditch. For a moment silence prevailed.
Both Seán and Nole were rendered unconscious by the accident. Nole’s head and body were leaning against the passenger door and window and Seán’s head and body were thrust forward and slumped over the steering wheel. Tom was conscious, but shaken up a bit and shocked. He had been protected by the settee. When he recovered his composure he called out to Seán and Nole several times, asking if they were OK, without reply. So he stood upright on the settee and looked over the dividing partition. The interior of the cab was partially illuminated by the light from the van’s headlamps, still on and reflected by the hedgerow and the ditch.
On seeing his two friends in an unconscious state he became quite worried and agitated, mumbling to himself, “Oh, mother of God, I hope they’re not dead. I have to go and get help. Oh, Lord God Almighty, don’t let them die. They’re my two best friends.” He managed to slide open the side door of the van and keep it open with the help of a spare wheel. He then climbed out and pulled his bike out as well. “I’d better rush up home and phone the police and ambulance service,” he muttered to himself, still in a state of shock. “Oh, mother of God, I pray they’re still alive. Oh, please don’t let them die.”
When he got up on to the lane he got on his bike double quick, due to his sudden sobriety, and cycled as fast as he possibly could the 200 yards to his house.
Shortly after Tom’s departure from the scene of the accident Seán became spiritually conscious and quickly realised his situation. He was aware of himself sitting upright, but noticed that his still unconscious body was bent forward with his head resting on the steering wheel, and the thought suddenly struck him spiritually without any emotional effect, “I died in the accident and this is my spiritual self sitting upright out of my body. I can’t verbally speak without my physical counterpart, so I can only communicate now telepathically or silently like my mentality did when I was housed in my living body. I wonder if Nole died too. I’ll speak to him spiritually and see if I can get any response. Nole, Nole, can you hear me? Yes, his spiritual self is manifesting itself by sitting upright from its reclining body. How do you feel, Nole?”
The Crooked Road to Heaven Page 2
