A Son of Aran (28 page)

‘Come, we'll celebrate,' he said with animation, after he had thanked them profusely for getting him released.

‘Hold on for a minute,' Peadar admonished, ‘we can't have you jumping from the frying pan into the fire. We'll go with you surely to celebrate, but there's to be no arguing or fighting or you'll soon be back inside again. If you don't mind, we'll all book into a hotel where we can eat and drink, in moderation of course, without being disturbed. After that we'll get you a new suit of clothes and a soft hat so that you will hold your head as high as anyone in the queen's realm. Aran folk mustn't let the side down. We'll have a long chat about what you are going to do from here on—do you want to stay in England, would you prefer to go back to Aran, or will you come with us to Spain where you can live with us as your new-found family? After all, you're one of us now. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for you; I owe you, Seánín.'

‘Peadar, I am grateful for your offer of a life with you in Spain. I've heard it is a great country where the sun is always shining and there's lots of luscious fruit to eat and wine to drink. ‘Twould be a fine place no doubt, but I'm not ready for that kind of living yet. I have a couple of things to do first. Now that I have a new suit of clothes on my back, I'd like to pay a visit home. I haven't been back there since I left at eighteen years of age. My parents passed away many years ago. My older brother went to America; I haven't heard a word about him since. I would like to see the old homestead, meet the neighbours, tell them how I made it good in England, and that I am doing well. I'd throw a few pounds around in the local pub, treat everyone, and spin tall yarns about life over here. There's only one problem—I don't have the few pounds that it takes. There's a Galway man in Chiswick that I worked with a few years back. He got on well— now he is a building contractor in his own right. If I look for a loan from him I'm sure he won't refuse me. I'd work off the debt when I get back. I'll go over there tomorrow and ask him. I'll not mention anything about being in jail. He knows that I sometimes took a drink too many, but I'll convince him that I'm on the dry. He's a decent sort of fellow; I know he'll oblige me.'

‘Seánín, I'm delighted to hear you say you want to go home to Aran. There's no need for you to go begging to anyone for money,' Peadar assured him. ‘I will give you whatever it takes. When you have spent some time there, you may not want to return to England at all which, in itself, might be a good idea. If your own old home is not in shape, you can have the use of my cottage for as long as you want. If you let my friend Máirtín Ó Neachtan know you are coming he will have everything ready and he will supply you with whatever you need while you are staying there. Máirtín and Sorcha, his mother, don't know about your drinking problems or your term in prison; even if they did, they would be unlikely to advertise it for they are not gossiping types. Think about what I've said, Seánín, and don't take too long in making up your mind. We want to see you on the boat to Dublin before we leave for Spain. Here is our address in Spain so that you can contact us. We'll be waiting for news on how you get on in Aran.'

‘This is the last time we'll have to make the journey to Spain by boat,' Eileen said, as they boarded the ferry at Southampton en route to Le Havre from where they would take a train to Paris and from there to San Sebastian. ‘A new air flight from Dublin to Madrid, introduced recently, will get us there in a few hours.'

‘Won't that be great,' said Seosamh, ‘I'll be able to pop back and over to Galway in jig time to meet some of my friends.'

‘Don't you be getting notions, Seosamh; you're not going anywhere without me. If you go to Galway, Carl and I are coming with you. I can't have you flitting off on your own any more. Remember you have responsibilities now.'

‘Oh, misery me, why did I have to get married!' Seosamh mockingly replied.

On board ship to Ireland, Seánín thought to himself: ‘Amn't I fortunate not to have formed a relationship with a woman on either side of the Irish Sea. Apart from a few romps with girls of my own age in Aran before I emigrated, I didn't attach myself seriously to any woman. I wonder if any of those girls are still around! Too long ago,' he mused, ‘they'll have found partners at this stage.'

Before taking the ferry to the island, he decided to spend a day or two in Galway.

‘I have to get a few items of clothes. If I appear in Aran in this fine-cut suit, fellows who were in England will know damned well that it was purchased specially for the homecoming in order to create an impression. I must find something more in tune with island garb. Neachtan Beag is the place to go; every island man and woman that comes to Galway pays a visit to the High Street shop to purchase items of wear traditional to Aran. There was a time when the island women carded and spun, knitted heavy woollen stockings, and wove materials for the tailor to make baggy trousers and sleeveless jerkins for their men. I hear the homespun trade has diminished in recent years. Now they buy similar items from shops in Galway. Their main source of supply is the shop they call Neachtan Beag.'

The proprietor eyed him closely as he entered the shop. He knew every islander by first name—this one he hadn't seen for a long time.

‘Arrah, Seánín, is it yourself that's in it? Where have you been at all since I last saw you?' He extended a hand in greeting.

‘England,' Seánín volunteered by way of reply.

‘And how are things going for you? With the fine suit you're wearing, I don't have to ask.'

‘I need a couple of items for going over on the boat—a pair of heavy trousers, a knitted cardigan, a peaked cap— you'll know yourself what is suitable.'

‘No problem, Seánín, come with me and we'll see what we can do to fit you out.'

‘I suppose a lot of Aran people come to see you all the time,' Seánín casually remarked.

‘Indeed they do; even if they don't want to buy something, they call anyway to say hello.'

‘Ah, Neachtan Beag shop is known all over Aran,' Seánín added, determined to keep the conversation from becoming personal.

‘Are you on a short visit or will you be staying?' the owner persisted.

‘Haven't made up my mind—I must wait until I see how things are at home. Maybe I'll try on these garments—you used to have a changing room.'

‘Straight ahead, and to the right—would you like any help?'

‘No, I'll manage on my own—thanks for the offer.

‘Do I look alright?' he asked, as he emerged from the rear of the shop, clad in his new purchases.

Having paid for his outfit, it was Seánín's turn to ask a few questions: ‘Do you know if any Aran girls stayed around Galway after they left the island—Cáit Mulhern, Brídín Curran, Sorcha Concannon, are ones I used to know?'

‘I'm sorry—I wouldn't know about these. Hold on, I'll ask my wife! She tells me that Brídín Curran works in The Southern Hotel—maybe she could tell you about the others. I hope you find whoever it is you're looking for. Thanks for the custom. Good luck, whatever—Seán.'

On returning to Estat de Tirelle, Eileen found a letter from Father Benedictus. Judging from the postmark, it had been sent two weeks earlier. He asked if she would contact him on her return. His news was alarming: ‘Your friend, Philip, who was discharged from the hospital in San Sebastian on Friday of last week, went missing two days later. Despite intensive investigation by the Spanish Guardia Civil, no trace of him has been found. The Dominican nuns, in whose house he lived, have informed his superiors in Ireland, in the hope that they, in turn, will relay the news to Philip's family.'

‘This is most distressing.' Eileen commented. ‘Poor Philip, out here without a friend in the world, isn't it unfortunate that we were called away while he became ill; we might have been able to help him.'

‘He shouldn't have come to Spain in the first instance,' Seosamh curtly remarked. ‘I had a strange feeling about that man from the time we first met him—a student for the priesthood, trailing a girl who didn't want him. I hope he had the good sense to go home after he left hospital; his religious community might be able to get him back on track.'

‘You're very sore on him, Seosamh. Young men fall in love all the time, whether or not they have offered themselves for priesthood. You weren't even his age when you fell for me. Maybe I am to blame for his mishap? It is one of the penalties I pay for my free manner and good looks. I hope nothing untoward has happened to him; if it was in my power to help him I would gladly do so.'

Peadar was astounded at the extent of developments that had taken place on the estate since he last saw it—areas that had been lying semi-waste were now growing crops of maize, barley, potatoes, and vegetables; water pumped from underground wells resulted in crops flourishing with the help of irrigation. Smallholders, who had been allocated extra land, appeared happy with their new farming practices; some had already procured two-wheeled iron-horse tractors to relieve the drudgery of manual cultivation. A market for their surplus produce was arranged through a co-operative venture that they formed. Through the same co-operative, they were able to purchase seeds and fertilisers for their crops at favourable prices. Seosamh's advice to them on judicious application of those commodities had begun to pay off. All told, a pronounced air of prosperity and satisfaction was evident among the people.

The university authorities in Salamanca had commenced research activities on lands adjoining Castillo de Tirelle, designed to establish the characteristics of soils in the region, their suitability for cultivation of specific crops, and their deficiencies in soil nutrients. Jago was employed to assist the team of agricultural experts who worked on soil analysis and crop experiments. With his help they set up a base in the yard, commuting to work there from their respective homes in surrounding areas. Peadar was given the job of caretaker and supervisor of offices where records of field trials were maintained, and laboratories in which experiments and soil tests were conducted. In his white coat and matching beret, he cut a dash that pleased him no end.

‘This is a far cry from mixing fertilisers in MacDonacha's factory in Galway,' he commented to Eileen. She was pleased to find him fully recovered from his ordeal of previous years and to see him happy in his new-found role.

‘Thank you Lord,' she fervently prayed, ‘for Seosamh, Carl, and my father, all here with me under one roof. You have come to our assistance in so many, many ways. Thank you for the goodness and mercy you have extended to us.'

Sunshine and intermittent soft sea mists greeted Seánín as he stepped ashore from the ferry in Kilronan. The crossing had been calm; tourists lined the deck as the island came into view.

‘What a beautiful sight,' they exclaimed in chorus. ‘And the weather—aren't we lucky! People told us to take our rain gear, saying that it rained here all the time. Today there is no rain.'

They hastened to disembark as soon as the ferry tied up on the quayside. Soon they were surrounded by a host of enterprising islanders offering services of transport around the island—horse drawn buggies, jaunting cars, motor vans converted to act as mini- buses. Others, for a consideration, offered conducted walking tours, in the course of which places and objects of interest were pointed out and commentaries provided on the history of each. Seánín wasn't interested—he was familiar with every field and monument on the island; he could assume the role of commentator if required. He headed instead for the oldest pub in Kilronan where he hoped he might meet some of his former schoolmates and acquaintances. He wasn't disappointed.

‘Seánín, my auld son, where have you come from? It's so long since we heard tidings of you, we thought you were dead.' With a grip of iron, Thomasheen Mulhern shook his hand.

‘Tis well you're looking although, no more than myself, there's not much spare flesh on your bones. Did John Bull's beef not agree with you? You'll have a drink for old time sake—what'll it be, whiskey or porter?'

‘I'll settle for a pint,' Seánín replied modestly. ‘How are things with you, Thomasheen? Did you stay in Aran all these years? I thought that, being the lively lad I used to know, you would have travelled the world by now.'

‘Like you, I would have loved to go away but circumstances dictated otherwise. I never got farther than Galway. There I met a young woman who convinced me to stay—we finished up getting married. That put a halt to my travel ambitions—a working wife and four children in five years. Now they are nearly as big as myself. I was their baby sitter for the first years, she looks after them now—we parted company a few years ago; that's why I'm back living in the auld spot. I can't complain—it's great to be free again. What about you, Seánín, have you thrown your eye on any woman?'

‘No, Thomasheen, I'm as clean as the virgin snow. I had my chances, could have been married, but it never happened. I'm afraid I was too much of a rover to settle anywhere.'

‘Will you stay at home now? Your old home could do with a face-lift; there's no one living there since your parents died and that brother of yours went away to America. The land is in need of a bit of doing up too; the walls are all knocked down—neighbours' cattle eat whatever is in your fields. ‘Tis sad to see a fine place like it going downhill—it'd be worth a few pounds if it was put in shape.'

‘I haven't decided yet what I'll do. I arrived on the ferry only an hour ago—I must take time to study the situation. In the meantime Peadar O'Flaherty has offered me the use of his house for as long as I want to stay.'

‘Did you say, Peadar O'Flaherty? Didn't that man die years ago—drowned while he was out fishing. How could he be alive? Are you sure it's the same man you're talking about?'