“You are in a funny mood today, brother,” she said. “It must be the Christmas spirit that is getting to you.”
The three of them laughed at that.
Ballinashee was a little old lazy looking town even at its best. A group of houses thrown together in an ugly hollow; a road coming down one hill and up another; a Catholic Church to the east and a Protestant Church to the west.
There was a good crowd in the town, and even though the day was cold they were happily going in and out of shops buying their little bits and pieces for the Christmas. There ware miners from Gleann Ceo there, because the work at the mine finished at noon that day.
The Cornell’s shop was the biggest shop in the town, and it was there that Triona went to transact her business. No matter what was required it was always available at the Cornell’s shop. The shop was packed with people this evening, and some of the people over where the barrels and the bottles were, were inclined to talk a lot.
“I’ll leave my basket of eggs in here,” Triona said, “and I’ll go up as far as the drapery woman with this parcel.”
“Do that,” Feargal said, “and we won’t leave here until you come back.”
“How much have we now?” Peadar asked, when she left.
“I have nine pound here yet, brother.” he said.
“On my word it is a mighty lump. What do you suggest we buy?”
“Before we do anything else I suggest we buy a pair of low Sunday shoes for Triona; and a pair of boots for poor Una, who has her toes out through the old things that she has. What do you think? Half the money is yours, you know.”
“It doesn’t matter who owns the money,” Peadar said, “we will buy the shoes; and what about a pair of slippers for Mhorai? She often says that her feet are sore with the heavy old shoes she wears.”
“You are right.” Feargal said. “Move, or Triona will be on top of us before we have half of this done.”
Who was at the shoe counter but the Mistress? Of course they had to tell her what they were going to buy; because the Mistress was as good as a mother to all the scholars, and they didn’t hide much from her. She gave them the two pairs of girl’s shoes that were both stylish and practical, and a pair of comfortable slippers for the old woman. As well as that each of the boys had to accept a shilling from her.
“Happy Christmas,” she said.
“What should we buy for the old man?” Peadar asked, and they looked around the shop.
“I was just about to ask you that question?” Feargal said. Couldn’t we buy a wooden pipe, and a penknife? His mouth is burned with that old dudog; and I noticed him cutting tobacco with his nail a few times.”
“Dammit you are right! And we will get him a piece of tobacco and a lid for the pipe. What would you say to a little drop of spirits for the two of them? It’s Christmas?”
“We will bring a noggin-that’s a glass each.”
They were finished buying all these things when Triona returned. They took her into a small snug/ drinking room, where the three of them warmed themselves at the fire, and where they ate sweets and biscuits, as well as the oatmeal bread sandwiches which Triona had brought from home. They opened the parcels and they showed her what they had in them, and she was as excited as a child with her low shoes.
“And now,” she said, when they were finished talking about the presents, “what did you get for yourselves?”
They told her that they were in no rush for a while. Each of the boys kept a half crown, as well as the shilling each that the Mistress had given them. And after all that they had a pound to give to Triona to put with the money that she already had. She knows best what to do with it. She knows what little things to get for the old pair and for us all, to make us happy.
They had never seen Triona so happy. And that was enough of a present for them.
“You two are the best boys in Ireland,” she said. “We will have as good a Christmas as anyone in Gleann Ceo.”
“In spite of Mac Alastair and Eoin an Droighead.” Feargal said.
Just then Seimin Ban, and a tall young fair -haired man, with a long step and a smile on his face entered the shop. Seimin was quite drunk.
“Maise, is this where you are, Triona Guildea!” he said. “And if I am not mistaken these are my two drawers- the best pair of miners that you have so far Mr. Mac Alastair. And the same pair have the reputation of honesty and fair play. I’m telling you, sir, that when their grandfather, Big Conor Guildea was in his prime, there wasn’t a man in Gleann Ceo, or in any other Gleann, either, that was equal to him with a pick.”
“Is it possible,” the other man said, “ that he was the man who was on Inis Colman last night?”
It was to Triona that he addressed the question; and if he was a son of Mac Alastair’s a hundred times over, she thought, it would be difficult for anyone not to like him.
“It was him, sir,” she said.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that he has no reason whatever to be grateful to my father. But I hope that he has no hard feelings for me. Old people are stubborn, you know, and I have no power over the things that my father does.
He laughed innocently, as he sat down on a stool in front of the fire.
“What is your name, young girl?” he asked.
“Triona, sir,” she said, and she had to smile.
“Well, Triona,” he said, “since we met on Christmas Eve night, we must drink each other’s health, to show that there is no animosity between us. Now, do not open your mouth to refuse me, I really don’t believe that you have any hard feelings towards me.”
No one could refuse this young man. He strode away out to the shop, and he wasn’t long gone, when he returned with a loaded tray. There were glasses of whiskey on that tray, glasses of wine, bottles of lemonade, biscuits, sweets, and apples.
“Here’s honey from the bees and plentiness of food, to you, young maiden of the nut brown hair,” he said, as he offered a glass of wine to Triona. “I bet you never heard that song in Gleann Ceo, Triona Guildea”
“My grandmother has all of it,” she said.
“She has! Well that’s the woman that I would like to meet. Have you the third verse, Triona? I have failed to get any part of that verse apart from the last two lines.”
“I’m sure she has it, if anyone has it,” Seimin Ban said, as he took the glass of whiskey.
“I’m afraid I haven’t much of it,” she said. I have a great interest in songs as Gaeilge, but I am afraid that I never paid much attention to the one you mentioned.”
“On my soul you have it,” Seimin Ban said, “if you would only study yourself properly.”
Seimin was quite drunk.
“I don’t know if this is part of it?” she said:
I saw her coming towards me, among the mountains,
Like a star through the fog.”
“Good girl yourself,” Marcus Mac Alastair said with delight. “Did you hear that, Seimin Ban? ‘Like a star through the fog’ Where would you get better than that, east or west? I surely thought that I had lovely lines, such as for example:
‘Her cheeks like the sun at the dawn of day,
That would banish anguish with her laughter, and,
Petal of the morning her fresh skin, and,
In what country in the world were you born, shining star?
But where is the line that is better than,
Like a stat through the fog?”
Devil the much sense you have, either.” Seimin said.
“It won’t be long until I pay a visit your way, Triona,” Marcus said. “But maybe you will set the dogs on Mac Alastair’s son if you see me coming.”
“No dogs will be set on you, sir, Triona said. “You will be welcome a hundred times any time. But I am afraid that my grandmother may not have very many songs to give you.”
“Now, friend, you said that she won’t put me from the door, of course if she hasn’t songs, she might have stories.”
“Stories, is it?” Se
imin Ban said. “If it is stories you are after, sir, The Greasai is the man for you to meet. Devil the like of him ever I heard telling stories. You would sit up all night listening to him. Devil the story from Ceis to Carn that the Greasai Rua does not have. He would put the hair standing on your head.”
“I’ll spend a night with him before long,” Marcus said; “ but that does not mean that I will not be paying you a visit as well, Triona.”
“Any night that you come, you will be more than welcome,” she said.
“I knew that you had no hard feelings towards me. I am sorry I must leave, friends. And I cannot leave without giving a little Christmas present to these two young boys, who are going to be the two best miners I ever had.”
He gave them a half crown coin each. Then he looked at Triona with a happy smile on his face.
“I am not going to give any thing to you, Triona,” he said. “You are not a child any more, are you?”
“I am afraid I am,” she said, and she looked straight at him, laughing.
“Like low water running over sand, her bright soul shone, he said in his own mind.
“Move it, Seimin! The night is approaching. Happy Christmas to you, friends.”
He strode out with his long steps. And Seimin Ban staggered out after him.
“Seimin will have work to do getting home tonight,” Triona said, “if he drinks any more. You boys can stay here where it is warm, while I do what I have to do in the shop.”
When she had all her shopping done the assistant passed a heavy parcel across the counter to her.
“This is for you, Triona,” she said. It is ham-twenty pound of the best ham we have. The gentleman who just left the shop ordered it to be given to you. On my soul, not every girl has a friend like him!”
For a minute or so, Triona was not sure whether to accept the parcel or not but then she thought that refusing it would do more harm than good; and she accepted it as any person would accept a Christmas present. Their steps were light and filled with delight as they returned across the mountain in the moonlight.
“Mother of God, children, you have a right load with you,” the old woman said, when they reached the house with their limbs aching after carrying all the parcels.
“You must have found a pot of gold somewhere.”
The old woman had the kitchen clean and tidy, the dishes arranged well on the dresser, a candle lighted in every window, a right good fire in the grate, the kettle boiling on the crook, and herself and the old man sitting down one each side of the fire. As for Una, she never stopped moving from the fire to the door once twilight dawned. She went to meet them the minute she heard them coming. And no sooner had she unwrapped her new shoes from one of the parcels than she had them on and the laces tied loosely. When the old woman saw her slippers she was even more excited than Una. And the old man was nearly as bad when he got the stylish wooden pipe, his penknife and the piece of tobacco.
Triona filled the lamp without any fuss and lit it. She put a new cloth on the table. She went ahead with her chores in the kitchen with any fuss whatsoever. Her pleasant voice and happy conversation could be heard all through the house as she went, from the dresser to the table, and from the table to the fire, without resting or stopping, almost as if she was taking no interest whatever in the conversation. And before any one noticed she had the supper ready, and she asked them to sit in. They hadn’t seen the likes of this supper for many a day. After the meal Big Conor gave praise to God for the food and their health and he said it reminded him of the feast the Greasai Rua’s grandfather got the night he went astray in the fog, and fell among the little people, in their castle under the ground in Dun le Grein.
Shortly after the supper, when the old pair were sitting contentedly, one each side of the fire, Feargal came down from the room with two mugs of punch
“A little drop to warm your hearts,” he said.
The old pair were as excited as children.
“Devil the likes of this night ever we seen here,” the old man said, with an innocent look on his face, as he watched the steam rising from the mugs of punch.
“Feargal, son,” he said,” give me your hand. I always knew that you were the makings of a great man; but I never expected it to happen so soon. My seven blessings on you son, and you little Peadar, come here to me for a minute.”
Peadar came over to him, shyly. Big Conor left his mug on the hob, and he gave a hand each to Peadar and Feargal.
“May God bless my boys!” he said. “May God be good to your father and mother, I am sure that the two of them know that you are good to us this Christmas night. Who can say that the creatures are not looking at us this hour, and listening to us? And if they are watching, how proud they must be tonight? Thanks be to God that we see this day, after all the hardship we have endured. Your grandfather and your grandmother are happier tonight than we have been for a long, long time. This time last night, as I returned to this house, I heart was bitter after my visit to Mac Alastair, and to Eoin and Droighead. But praise be to God it is solace we have tonight in place of the sorrow. There are foods in this cabin tonight that I haven’t seen for a very long time. There is a fine goose hanging down there for roasting tomorrow. We have a fine coal fire, and myself and my old lady, sitting each side of the fire with a mug of punch each. May God bless you, boys, and long life to you! Here’s to your health, all of you,. and may we be alive and well at this time next year.”
He put the mug on his head, and drank it.
“Devil the likes of a speech,” the old woman said, “Big Conor has left nothing for this old woman to say. My blessings on my boys! Long may you live. This is a good drop. My life on you my pets, it is a poor Christmas we would have only for you two.”
Just then Triona and Una came in from the byre after milking the cow.
“Good luck to you,” she said, “sitting comfortably by the fire. God save us, but the cold tonight is fierce. Una, love, close the door tightly behind you.”
They all sat around the fire, and before Triona sat down she hung the kettle over the fire.
“We will make another drop of tea,” she said. “And while the kettle is boiling, get the flute, granddad, and play a few tunes for us.”
The old man looked at the flute that was up behind the rafter. He hadn’t played a note since his son had died. He seemed to be of two minds.
“Do Conor,” the old woman said. “Play a few tunes for us since she has asked you.”
“Maise, I won’t refuse her,” he said. “It would be difficult for me to ever refuse Triona.”
The flute was taken down, cleaned, and a mug of water poured through it, then it was given to Big Conor. He put it to his mouth and he threw back his head. He began with a hearty tune taping his foot, and he moving with every note. The music also got to the old woman who was sitting opposite him, and she began tapping her feet, and keeping time with her shoulders, her head and her bosom. Eventually she began to sing with the music. It was wonderful to watch the joy on her face as she gazed into the fire, as if she was remembering the crowds of people who used to be in the rambling houses when she was young. The music had given her a pleasant memory of her youth; and she was trying to keep the whole memory together for as long as possible on this Christmas night.
Big Conor was getting short of breath, so he had to stop playing for a while, and that put an end to the old woman’s dreaming.
“Good luck to my old man,” she said.
“Ah,” he said, “age is leaving me short of breath.”
“Maise, there was a day,” she said, “when you had plenty of breath. You were able to knock music out of that flute that would rattle the rafters.”
“Grandmother,” Triona said, “do you know what you should do? Sing Pluirin na mBan Donn Og.”
“Maise, I thought that you had no interest in that song,” the old woman said.
Peadar and Feargal looked at Triona. She blushed more than ever before and Peadar made a little cough.
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br /> “It is as well for you to be practicing it, Morai,” he said, “because a gentleman will be calling here soon to learn it from you.”
The old woman looked at the three of them to see if they were teasing her.
“Mac Alastair’s son said that he would be coming this was some day to get that whole song from you. I told him that you had it.” Triona said.
“Maise, I’ll give it to him and welcome,” the old woman said. “If that is the kind of person he is, I’ll give him all the songs he wants. I don’t believe that any one, who has an interest in songs as Gaeilge, could have any harm in them. It is difficult to believe that Mac Alastair could have produced such a son; but they say that one bird deserts every clutch.”
“Take my ear off, if one bird hasn’t done that in this case,” Big Conor said as he lit his new pipe.
“Now, Grainne,” he said, when he had the pipe reddened to his satisfaction,” Give us a verse of the Pluirin na mBan Donn Og.”
THE NEW BROOM
The thaw started between the two Christmases, and on this morning after New Years Day, all that was left of the snow in Gleann Ceo was on the top of Sliabh an Iarann, and an odd patch here and there in places where the sun did not shine. A bitter north wind was sweeping in across the bare hills, and gales swept down the Gleann. After his breakfast Seimin Ban was sitting by the fire, smoking his pipe before going out about his chores. His wife was sweeping the floor, after she had put out the ashes. She was a thin wisp of a woman, who looked as if it wouldn’t take much to draw angry words from her. She was from the town, and the only name she was ever called since arriving in Gleann Ceo was Sile an Cairn, so as to distinguish that she was born and reared at the foot of Cairn, a place that was outside the hills, a mile outside Barr an Gleanna. Seimin Ban had taken her in twenty -five years earlier, and they were married seven years before Nansai was born, the girl who was in her service with Mac Alastair on Inis Colman at this time. People used to say that Seimin Ban did her a great favour by marrying her, because she would have remained at the foot of Cairn otherwise. It was also said that Seimin Ban could get any woman he wanted in Gleann Ceo; but the Greasai Rua always maintained that there was no interest in Seimin Ban until he got married. Let that be lies or truth, there was a lot of rash judgement done on Sile an Cairn. And they had decided that she was the boss not Seimin; that she was a severe housekeeper; that she would change ten shillings for a farthing; that she would draw the red knife from your heart to satisfy herself; and that she would have the two sides of the Gleann locking horns every day of the week, if any one passed any heed to even one tenth of her stories.
West, in the Foggy Valley Page 4
