The Pirate Princess: Return to the Emerald Isle (8 page)

When
the flight attendant pulled the door closed, Meg grabbed Shay’s hand and squeezed it tight.

“I’m scared
, Mommy.”

Shay looked down at Meg and kissed her on the top of her head. “You have nothing to worry about
, honey. Remember, our family is protected by the fairies and they won’t let anything happen to us, especially since we’re traveling back home to Ireland.” The look in her mother’s eyes reassured her and the thought of magical protection was comforting, but Meg found herself looking out the window for the banshee just in case. Meg did not see it anywhere and the plane took off without a hitch.

Soon they were flying over the water that Meg had spent her whole life on.
For as long as she could, she watched from her window as they flew up the east coast of America. Below, the yellow lights of the towns and cities shining in the night were pretty, and Meg’s nerves were calmed by the monotonous droning of the jet engines. She had no interest in watching the in-flight movie, and fell asleep when the dark ocean was all she could see out of the small airplane window.

Meg’s first flight lasted a total of six hours and fifteen minutes. The sudden movement of the plane approaching Shannon Airport woke her. It was morning, and a vast, motionless white ocean stretched out as far as she could see. It was a beautiful and peaceful sight. The plane made another turn and she was looking straight down on the fluffy white clouds that looked as though they would be the most comfortable bed in the world. Meg felt the downward motion of the plane in her stomach but the fear and anxiety of the previous day were gone.

The airplane descended and all Meg could see out the window was bright
, white light. Her mother was paying close attention to a Welcome-to-Ireland video playing on the screen above them. Meg was more fascinated with flying through the clouds. The sinking feeling in her stomach let her know that they were getting closer to landing. The misty white beyond the wings opened up for just a moment to reveal green fields below  Again and again the blank white was replaced with living green, but only for a short period of time before fading into the mist again. When the airplane was finally flying below the cloud cover Meg saw field after field of grass, each separated by grey stone walls. Everything was so green. Meg had heard that Ireland was forty shades of green, but until she saw it for herself she had no idea what that meant.

After the airplane touched down,
everyone onboard applauded. Meg was not sure if they were clapping for a good landing or just the fact that they were finally in Ireland. It didn’t matter. Her first airplane ride was uneventful and it didn’t even feel that long because she had slept through most of it.

The door of the aircraft was opened to
a cloudy day. A light rain was landing softly on the tarmac. Stepping out into the Irish air Meg sensed that she was home—not home in Connecticut, but really, truly home, that place where you know you belong. It was a strange feeling, but one she felt down deep in her being. Meg walked with her mother up the ramp to the terminal and soon enough they passed through customs, received a stamp in their passports, and walked out and set foot on the land their family had come from.

Because
it was early morning, other than the passengers from their flight, there were not many people milling about. Shay had obtained all the transportation information they needed on the internet before they left Connecticut, including maps and schedules, and she led Meg right to a bus stop outside of the terminal. The plan for the day was to take a bus to Galway City. There, they would pick up their charter boat and sail up the coast to Inishbofin Island which, according to her mom, was not far from Galway.

While they were w
aiting for the bus to arrive, Shay looked down to Meg and said, “Isn’t this amazing, Meg? Isn’t it just so beautiful?”

Meg looked around and took a deep breath. The air was damp but not heavy
. To her, it had the smell of living. That was the only way Meg could describe it: living, green. “As soon as the door opened it felt like home.”

“I felt the same way the first time I came here,” replied Shay.

The first time,
Meg thought, but before she could ask her mom to clarify the statement, a bus pulled up from the opposite direction she was expecting surprising her. It was on the wrong side of the street! But that was not the only difference. The bus itself was backwards as far as she was concerned, the driver was on the right side, and the door they entered was on the left. As they loaded up their bags Meg made a mental note to look the other way when crossing the street. The bus left the airport and was soon whizzing past the green fields of Ireland.

“I’m glad we’re on a bus
, Meg. I definitely would’ve had a hard time getting used to driving on the left!” Shay said as they made their way towards Galway.

Meg nodded in agreement. Her mother was an amazing boat captain but when it came to driving things with wheels it was a different story.

The highway they traveled, called the M18, was nicely paved and very clean. It wove its way through the Irish countryside that consisted mostly of fields in every shade of green. These fields were divided by tumbled stone walls. The landscape showed every undulation of the earth as far as the eye could see, and the fields and stone walls combined to make it look like a patchwork quilt. The thing that struck Meg as odd was that there were no trees, at least not as many as she would see at home. Back in Connecticut you couldn’t go anywhere that wasn’t heavily wooded, but here in Ireland the trees were few and far between. Nanny burning turf in her fireplace made more sense to her now that she saw the forestless landscape for herself.

Not only were
the roads they traveled and the towns they stopped in different from what Meg was used to, she also noticed that the houses in Ireland were not like those in Connecticut either. She was used to multi-story colonials with shingled or clapboard siding, with a shingled roof and painted in all sorts of colors. Irish houses, Meg noted, were mostly one story, covered in stucco or stone, and grey. A couple of the houses she saw had straw-covered roofs. Her mother told her that those were thatched roofs, which is an old type of roofing that layered straw instead of shingles to shed water off the dwelling. The bus traveled through the lovely landscape, every so often passing the ruins of a castle or an ancient building. The landscape was like a story book setting to Meg. Images of knights on horses galloping by and princesses trapped in castles flew through her mind as they rolled up the M18. She never had these types of thoughts when driving around the countryside back home.

T
here were just a few other passengers on the bus. Meg figured it had to be because it was early morning. Seated across the aisle from them was a little old woman who must have noticed they were tourists. She smiled and said, “Visiting Ireland for the first time?”

“Yes
,” replied Meg. “This is my first time out of America.”

“You’re from the
States, are ya? What part?”

“Mystic
, Connecticut,” they said in unison.

“I have family in Boston
. Is that near ya?”

“Kind of
. We are a little south of Boston.”

The woman paused for a second then asked Shay, “It is Galway
ye’r heading to?”

“Yes
. But we are only just stopping there before we head to Inishbofin Island. That’s where our family is from.”

The woman raised her chin in acknowledgement of the name “Ah, yes
. I’ve never been there meself, but the islands off the coast of Galway are lovely. Have ya relatives there?”

“Yes and no,” answered Shay
. “We are here for the funeral of my grandfather. I never met him and, as far as I know, we are his only kin.”

The woman crossed herself, “May
God rest his soul.”

Shay continued the conversation with the woman across the aisle
while Meg looked back out the window at the beautiful countryside. It was still raining, but only passing showers. Every so often, the sun light would find its way through the scattered clouds and shine down like a spotlight, often creating a rainbow. Meg called each one out for her mother to take a look. Shay would look for just a short time and then go back to the conversation she was having, clearly not as impressed with the magical imagery as Meg. On this short trip there were more rainbows than she had seen in her whole life.

All of the road signs in Ireland
were in both Irish and English. They stopped in towns with names like Crusheen, Ardrahan, and Oranmore—names as foreign to Meg as any she had ever heard. A couple of times she had to ask her mom how the strange words were pronounced—sometimes the Irish names were exact matches and sometimes they were a far cry from the English names. She was able to read
Croisín
and its English version
Crusheen
on one sign without too much trouble
.
Her mother explained that the letter
S
in Irish was pronounced
SH
when followed by a vowel, like her brother’s name Sean. The English Oranmore is
Órán Mór
in Irish,
and Ardrahan,
Ard Raithin.
Meg saw a sign for Dublin, the capitol of Ireland, and its Irish version
Baile Átha Cliath,
which did not resemble the English Dublin at all.

The rural landscape soon changed into the urban expanse of Galway
City, and the fields were replaced with streets and buildings. Meg saw the sign for the city and recognized the Irish version of Galway,
Gaillimh
(pronounced
gall-yiv. The mh
makes a
V
sound in Irish), as one of the words on the compendium. Galway, the third largest city in Ireland, lies on the River Corrib that empties into Galway Bay on the west coast of Ireland. Shay told Meg that Galway is a center of the arts and the Irish language.

It was late morning when t
hey got off the bus in Kennedy Memorial Park, or Eyre Square, in the center of the city. There were street performers scattered about, all very entertaining. The last time Meg saw street performers was when they were in New York City. Shay pointed out a bust of John F. Kennedy, thirty-fifth President of the United States. The square is officially named for JFK, although most people in Galway still call it by its old name, Eyre Square. After walking around for a short time they decided they were hungry and looked for a place to eat. They walked through the park which was on a slight hill. At the top of the hill, the girls found a fast food restaurant and had some lunch. Shay had brought along an Ireland guide book and read aloud the history of the city while they ate. Amazingly enough, they were enjoying Papa John’s pizza. American fast food is everywhere!

“Galway was founded by the
King of Connacht in 1124,” Shay read. “It was originally a fort but grew into a settlement and a walled city soon afterwards… Ireland was invaded by the Normans in 1169 and the city fell into their hands… The Normans who stayed assimilated into the Irish culture and eventually became, as they say, ‘more Irish than the Irish themselves.’ The tribes of Galway, as the Norman ruling families came to be known, eventually gained total control over the city and were granted mayoral status by the English Crown. This led to bad relations with the surrounding Irish and, get this Meg,” Shay said, pointing to the book, “the tribes of Galway had posted a sign on the west gate of the city that read ‘From the ferocious O’Flaherty’s, may God protect us.’”

“That’s us
, Mom! Cool!”

Shay continued
, “The native Irish were allowed only limited access into the city and there was a by-law saying ‘Neither O’ nor Mac shall strutte nor swagger through the streets of Galway’ without permission. The city was run by an oligarchy.”

Meg interrupted
, “What’s an oligarchy?”

“An oligarchy is a form of power through a small group of people.” Shay continued
, “The city was run by an oligarchy of fourteen merchant families consisting of twelve Norman and two Irish. These were the ‘tribes’ of Galway.”

“Interesting
. Mom, how about that O’ and Mac thing again, just like the rhyme you told us about the banshee?” Meg asked.

“
In Irish
Mac
means
son of
and
O’
means
grandson of
, or descendant. Back in the old days, people just had a first name, called a
given
name, and would be addressed by their given name with the name of their father.”

“So I would be Meg
MacMark.”

“Actually, your name would be Margaret Ni Murphy, Margaret daughter of the son of Murphy, or something like that. The rules are different for women, but in general
, for Irish women the
O’
is
Ni
and the
Mac
is
Nic
.”

“Confusing
,” said Meg.

“It gets worse
. You can also find
Mór
and
Óg
in Irish names meaning
Big
and
Young
, respectively, kind of like the
Jr.
for
Junior
and
Sr.
for
Senior
designations in English, to distinguish a father and son with the same given name. On top of that, there are descriptive names, like, for instance
Padraig Rua
, which means
Patrick with the red hair
. And my favorite, because it could be used for you, is
Beag
, or
little
, which would indicate a person’s size or sometimes premature birth. You were premature so you could be
Meg Beag
.”

“I like that one
. It rhymes… Really, Mom, how do you know all of this stuff? It could not have all come from stories Nanny told you.”