Roses For Katie (29 page)

In three and a half hours, they landed on the other side at Dublin. Pat had arranged to overnight with the O’Haras, where he usually stayed, and they had kindly agreed to accommodate Thunder as well. They had a large and beautiful home, and accommodated many travellers off the ferry. When they arrived at the pretty roadside cottage, just off the main road, Siobhan O’Hara had a pot of tea and a sliced cake ready waiting for them. From experience, she knew what time the ferryboats usually docked.

‘Drink that now, and bring in your suitcases afterwards.’ She smiled at Pat, and lifted a finger. ‘And for you, I’ve made an Irish stew for supper… your favourite, and it’s all ready and waiting.’

They were sat eating it within a half hour, and Katie had never tasted such a good stew before. She asked Siobhan for the recipe, and then turned to Pat. ‘You were indeed fortunate to book into this place,’ she said. ‘With such a grand welcome and food like this, I’d guess they’re full of guests all the time.’

‘Siobhan overheard her as she placed their desert before them. ‘How right you are,’ she said, smiling, ‘but I had Pat’s phone call just in time. Five minutes later, and the rooms would have gone; we’ve been very busy.’

After a most restful night in a very comfortable bed, Katie woke the next morning feeling refreshed and ready for the next leg of the journey. Immediately after a cooked breakfast, that was large enough to last until evening, they set off. Pat took the quiet country roads as he headed across to Kerry, stopping every now and again to walk Thunder, who had been perfectly behaved during the whole journey.

‘We’ll have a bite to eat in a little inn I know of on the way,’ Pat said. ‘That will be necessary, because I doubt there’ll be food to our taste at Clover Farm, as Uncle Ruairi’s on a special diet. We should be there by early evening.’

When they arrived, Pat let himself in with his own key, and went upstairs to look for his uncle. He was away for ten minutes, and when he returned, his look was decidedly downcast. ‘Oh, Mother of Mercy… he looks just awful, so ‘tis a good thing we came over. I’m thinking he’s not long for this world, but,’ he shrugged, ‘you never can tell.’

The strange bed was not comfortable like the one in the guest house, and did nothing to contribute to a restful sleep for Katie that night. On top of that, the occasional moans from the old man carried eerily through the silence of the great, old house. Many times in the night she heard the sound of movement, as though Pat was getting up and going to check on his uncle, and this disturbed Thunder as well. In addition, the old beams creaked and groaned as they cooled in the chill of the night air. Katie hoped it would be better the following night. It wasn’t until the early hours that she eventually fell asleep, exhausted.

The old man was too weak to come downstairs to meet her the next day, so Pat took her up for a few minutes, just long enough to introduce her.

Ruairi smiled weakly and held out an emaciated hand to her. ‘Come closer,’ he said, ‘and let me see the colleen my Patrick has chosen.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘I’m so glad he’s found someone at last,’ he went on, every word sounding as though it was a great effort to speak. ‘I don’t want him to end up a lonely old bachelor like me. It’s no life at all, not at all.’

‘Oh, but I’m …’ Katie began to explain, but Pat stepped quickly in front of her and put a finger to his lips.

Ruairi closed his eyes as though saying even those few words had been too much of a strain. Pat touched Katie on the arm, and they both tiptoed quietly out of the room, leaving the door a little ajar in case the old man called for help. When they reached the foot of the stairs, Pat turned to her with a little smile. ‘Let him think you’re my colleen, if that’s what pleases him. There’s no harm in it.’ Pat shook his head. ‘An’ to be sure ‘tis such a shame to come to an end like this after living a good, clean life.’

Mari, the plump, middle-aged woman who came in to tend to Ruari’s needs, and clean his house, was there as usual the next morning. Pat told her that they would have most of their meals out, but if she could manage to make them breakfast each morning, that would be most acceptable. Today, she made them a huge meal of bacon, eggs, sausage, tomatoes, wild mushrooms and fried bread. It was very rich, and more than sufficient to tide them over until an early evening meal.

‘Dingle Bay is only a few miles from here,’ Pat told her. ‘It looks out over the Atlantic, and that’s our first port of call. I just hope that Fungi will show himself and perform for you. He’s known as a hermit dolphin because he’s not part of a pod.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘He’s a funny creature; comes out to play only when he chooses. Still, he’s made Dingle Bay popular with people from all over Europe, so it’s been very good for local trade; brought a bit o’money to the place.’

Pat parked the car and they walked a half a mile across the top of the cliff, following a dirt track until they came to the rocky cove where Fungi was usually to be seen. The tide was in, so they perched on the large rocks, and waited. Nothing happened.

‘Close your eyes and visualize him cavorting in this little patch of water. It seems to get through to him, rather like telepathy, and then suddenly, whoops, he appears.’

Katie tried it, and they sat quietly for many minutes.

Eventually, Pat nudged her and she opened her eyes.

‘Look, he’s heard you; he’s come.’

Fungi leapt in and out of the water, dived, and then popped up a little distance away each time he did his tricks. Just then a small outboard motor came into the cove, and Fungi made straight for it, swimming around it in circles as though it excited him. When the boat left, he followed it out to sea, but not far. He returned, and continued to play in his favourite haunt.

Katie was fascinated with the creature. The tide was high in the steep cove, and he was so close that she felt she could reach out and touch him.

‘If you like, we’ll hire wet suits and join him tomorrow,’ Pat said. ‘Can you swim?’

‘Only a little,’ she said, ‘but I’d like the experience.’ She tried to take some shots of the dolphin, but by the time she clicked the shutter, he was diving again with only the extreme tip of his tail showing above water.

‘Don’t bother to photograph tail-ends,’ Pat said. ‘You can buy beautiful pictures of him in the village gift shop, and a video too, if you want it.’

Finally, Fungi dived and did not reappear so they climbed back up to the track and made their way along the top towards Dingle Bay itself, where they sat and gazed out onto the Atlantic. It had turned into a beautiful day, but the fresh breeze off the sea was strong, and quite cool on times. They watched the breakers out on the great ocean, and the ships that passed in the distance. As though having a game, the sun peeped teasingly through puffs of white clouds that sailed across the blue sky. Katie rubbed her cool arms and pulled on her jacket. ‘I’m not surprised you love this land. It’s different; it’s wild.’

‘Just you wait until I take you over Slea Head,’ Pat said, as he got to his feet. ‘The views up there are stunning. It’s where they built a complete village especially for the filming of ‘Ryan’s Daughter’, but they pulled it down because it was only ever meant to be temporary. It’s a shame they couldn’t have left it intact, but they had their reasons, I suppose.’ He reached out a hand to help Katie to her feet. ‘There’s a lot for you to see; lots that I promise you’ll never forget.’

‘I never will forget this, for one thing,’ she murmured, still gazing out over the expanse of sea.

Pat drove slowly so that Katie had time to appreciate the natural beauty of the area. On the way, they passed many little dry-walled buildings that looked like beehives, most of which dated back to the Bronze Age. They were in the gardens of ancient, little cottages that were dotted along the road.

‘See these little buildings,’ he said, pointing to the small stone structures that were the shape of beehives. ‘There are lots along here on the Dingle peninsula. They’re crudely made of dry stone… probably early dwellings. We call them clochans.’ Pat stopped the car for her to take a closer look. ‘They still build them, but most of what you see here are originals and many centuries old; they’re used for storage now.’

There were two clochans that were close together on the steeply sloping hillside garden at the back of a tiny house. Suddenly, a little woman wearing a well-worn and grubby pinafore appeared out of the little cottage, and waddled slowly towards them. There was no vestige of a smile on her face, and her podgy little hand was held out straight in front of her long before she reached them.

‘Fifty pence to look inside,’ she said, still without a smile, and continued to stand there quite unabashed, until Pat dropped a coin into her palm. She popped it into an apron she was wearing, and opened her garden gate to let them through, still without any kind of expression on her face.

‘They are bigger inside than they appear to be from the road,’ Katie said, as she walked right up to one of them. ‘And look, there’s no door, just an opening.’ She walked in to an empty interior the size of a small room about eight feet across, with an earth floor. In the center of the ceiling was a hole, through which Katie could see the sky.

‘How lovely,’ she murmured. ‘The stones are all different shades, all tightly fitted together, and there’s no cement or mortar holding them.’ She stood still and closed her eyes trying to visualize the days when people lived in them.

‘They’re made out of dry walling,’ Pat said. ‘Seen enough of these now?’

‘Yes, I’ve had a good look, but what quaint little buildings they are. I think it’s incredible how the fabric has stood up to the elements all those years. Come on, Pat, let’s go on if there’s more to see.’

When they arrived at the top of the cliff, on the way to Brandon Bay, they stood in the car park and looked out over the sea again. A light mist floated around them clouding their view and making it even cooler. Katie shuddered.

‘Come on. Beautiful though this is, it’s eerie as well as cold, and not worth hanging around for you to catch a chill,’ Pat said.

They dipped down to the bay, and stopped just long enough to take a short walk across the deserted sands that stretched for miles before they skirted the Slieve Mish Mountains and dropped down into the well known town of Tralee, famously named in the well known song.

‘We’ll take a quick look around, and then head for Killarney,’ Pat said, ‘where we’ll stop for a pot of tea and some fresh buttered scones and strawberry jam. Does that sound good to you?’

Katie found it tiring to give full attention to everything they stopped to look at. She stretched and yawned. ‘I didn’t sleep too well last night, so I think I’ve had about as much as I can take for today,’ Katie said, after their snack of scones. ‘How about an interesting old pub, and a good Irish meal for supper before we go back to the farm?’

‘Suits me fine,’ Pat headed the car in the general direction of Clover Farm. ‘I know exactly where we’ll get a good meal on the way, and you’ll love the place.’ He parked on the road outside the little inn, and as soon as they walked inside, Katie stopped, and gazed around in awe. It was like something straight out of a history book; there was absolutely nothing modern in the place; not a single item.

‘Just look at that massive, black iron stove,’ she said, with a giggle. ‘It’s bang in the middle of the public bar, and look at its thick black flue pipe, reaching right across the room way up at ceiling height.’

‘That’s to make sure all the fumes go out through the wall on the other side,’ Pat said.

Fascinated, Katie studied the enormous room. Just inside the door, at the end of the bar itself, were two open-fronted wooden cubicles, each one with two benches, and big enough for only two or three people to sit inside. ‘What are these?’ Katie asked.

‘Probably little nooks set aside for women only; that way, they wouldn’t be chatted up or bothered by men drinking in the main bar.’

She turned around to see what was just inside the entrance on the opposite side of the room. ‘Gosh, this is a long counter. It’s eight feet if it’s an inch, and scored with years of use.’ She looked up and pointed to a solid brass weighing scales that was suspended six feet above the counter. ‘What’s that doing up there?’

‘When not in use, the scales were drawn high up there, out of reach on brass chains and pulleys. When the shop assistant needed to weigh out dry goods, he’d lower the scales to counter level, on those pulleys. Grains, rice, tea, and other dry goods, were stored in those little drawers lining the wall behind him, see over there? And he measured all the dry goods out to order,’ Pat said.

Katie shook her head in amazement, and continued to gaze around to see as much as possible in detail.

Pat touched her arm. ‘There’s a nice little table waiting for us down there at the end of the room, where the tables are reserved for dining.’

‘Imagine your grocery store stuck in the corner of your local,’ she giggled.

‘That’s not all,’ Pat said, and pointed to an internal door they passed on the way to their table. ‘On the other side of that door there’s a short corridor, at the end of which is a butcher’s shop. In fact, it’s still in use. You’ll find lots of pubs here with these quaint facilities, but I doubt you’d find such oddities on mainland UK. It’s peculiar to Eire. We’re different, see.’

They settled down to eat a delicious meal of Irish lamb and vegetables, cooked by the landlady. Her meal finished, Katie watched the characters that frequented the inn, many of them as odd looking as the old pub itself. As she watched the antics of one shabbily dressed old man, she smiled questioningly at Pat, and he seemed to know what she was thinking.

‘Ah, colleen, remember that you’re in Ireland now. There are lots of odd characters to be seen in a place like this, but he’s harmless, I assure you. See, things are different here,’ Pat said, with a wink.

The journey, the fitful night, and the excitement, had taken its toll on Katie’s energy. ‘Can we go back to the farm now?’ she asked, trying hard not to yawn.

‘By all means, and we’ll have an early night, ready for another busy day tomorrow. Anyway, poor Thunder’s been in that car for over an hour, and he’ll wonder where we are. I’ll take him for a long walk when we get back to the farm.’