Carrig Of Dromara

by Frances McCaughey

  Carrig stood close to his English teacher, Miss Sheldon.

  “Yes, Carrig, how can I help you?”

  “I wondered if I wrote a story about my parents, would you help me?”

  “Oh, Carrig, I’d be delighted to help you. When do you want to start?”

  “Well, I thought as soon as possible.”

  “I will incorporate it into your English studies, if you wish. That means you can write some during class – or not, as you so wish. One good way to begin is to write everything you can remember as far back as you can. Don’t forget to date each entry, and it is important to remember to include dates of birth, etc. I know you lived in Ireland for a while, and also that you visited there. I’m sure you have a lot to write about. I wish you well, and I’ll keep a close eye on what you’ve written.”

  “Thank you, Miss. I feel good about doing this – especially now.”

  It was late afternoon and Carrig sat behind the desk in his bedroom as usual, finishing off his homework and getting his bag ready for school tomorrow. Still excited at the prospect of writing his story from childhood, he pulled out his notebook and began to write down the earliest dates he could remember. He laughed to himself when he thought of things his mum and dad had said or done, and he wrote them down just as he remembered them.

  Carrig picked up the opened letter and put it in his pocket. After changing his clothes and going downstairs he called in to tell Elenor that he would be back for dinner.

  “I’m just going to Wally’s place.”

  “Right, Carrig,” Elenor called out from the pantry.

  “I wonder if I could ask you a favour, please, Wally?”

  “Go ahead. Ask away, boy.”

  “I wondered if you and Mrs Watson would come with me next week to see the solicitor. I’ve had a letter and have to make an appointment for next week.”

  “What day are you thinking of, son?” Wally looked at the young man with soft eyes and pulled him close to him. “You know I would do anything for ye.”

  “I know.”

  “And Mrs Watson would come too. She loves nothing better than a day in the city. Come on into the house and we’ll talk it over with her.”

  The pair made their way to the cottage and the three sat around the table.

  “What is it, Carrig?”

  “Well, I’ve had a letter from our solicitor and he wants me to see him next week. I wondered if you could both come with me.”

  “Certainly we’ll come. I have an appointment with the Doctor next week, on Tuesday, so any other day would be all right, Carrig.”

  “I’ll let you know tomorrow what day it is, and if you like we can take Dad’s other car. It hasn’t been driven for a while. I wonder if you could look at it for me. I don’t know much about cars, but I shall have to learn if I want to have a licence to drive.”

  On the following Saturday morning Carrig and Wally moved the car out of the garage at the farm, slowly at first, and then when it was in the yard Wally took a closer look.

  “Well, I can tell you one thing: it has been well cared for. Dad always looked after it well, just like he looked after his tools.”

  Carrig opened up the garage and showed Wally the tools with pride, all well oiled and hung in their places.

  “Now, there was a man with some pride in him, I can tell.” Wally got into the driver’s seat of the Ford Prefect and put the keys in the ignition. “Oh, look at that!” Wally was in his element, sitting behind the wheel of that wee car. “Oh my, but she’s a good ’un.” The motor hummed like a new car, first turn too. “We’ll have to put some water in the radiator and check the oil, and then we’ll take her for a wee spin. Are you game, young fella?”

  Carrig sat behind the wheel and drove the car towards the front gate.

  “It feels good to sit in the same seat as Dad sat in.”

  He changed into second gear to take it out through the gate and along the road, changing the gears smoothly and moving on towards the village.

  “Now I think I should take over from here, Carrig, as you never know when a bobby might come along.”

  “You’re right.”

  They changed seats and Wally swung around to open the car up on the main road to sixty miles per hour.

  “Going like a dream, boy, going like a dream. You see, when ye look after things they never let ye down. Mind that – it’s a good thing to remember.”

  Carrig lightly touched his left shoulder, saying quietly to himself, “Thank you, Dad. I am very happy with Wally driving in your car. I know you and Mum are watching me – I can feel it.”

  When they returned to Wally’s place, he topped up the oil and water and agreed that Carrig could drive it back home again. He did so with caution, finishing up by putting it in the garage and closing the door, which he locked up. He was feeling very proud of himself for his achievement.

  “Next Wednesday I will be home later from school. Wally will be dropping me off in the evening after picking me up from school, so I won’t be home for dinner that night,” he told Elenor later.

  The elderly solicitor, who sat behind a heavy oak desk, rose to his feet and moved over to where Carrig stood.

  “I’m very glad to meet you, Carrig. We were all overcome with grief to hear of your parents’ death, particularly since it was just a few hours since they had been in this very office.”

  Carrig seemed shocked that he could speak so candidly about the accident, and yet it gave Carrig another chance to become stronger, in being able to face the reality of the situation. It was only every so often that he could push it to the back of his mind, so he was grateful to the old man for his forthright expression of grief.

  “Now, Carrig, you have brought some friends with you?”

  “Yes, sir. This is Mr and Mrs Watson, who are my good friends and neighbours.”

  At this point the solicitor sat down again behind his desk. “Now, Carrig, you have chosen these two people to be your associates in the preparation of this legal document?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

  “Do you wish these two people to know the contents of the document? You don’t have to disclose any figures or facts; we are quite happy to have them witness your signature only. I will leave you to discuss this option and when I return we will finalise the document.”

  The elderly gentleman left the office and Wally spoke first, saying, “Carrig, there’s no need for us to know your personal affairs. We just came to support you in any way we can.”

  “But I want you both to know, Wally. Both of you have been so good to me, and I know there’s no two people I can trust more than you two. I have decided to include you both in this document in all its fullness.”

  The forms were signed by all of them, including the secretary, who witnessed them.

  Copies were handed over to Carrig, and the solicitor continued: “On your eighteenth birthday, Carrig, you will inherit all the money willed to you by your parents, but before and up to that date you will receive a monthly sum of $100 to cover any expenses incurred in your daily life. An account has been opened in your name in the Commercial Bank, and you may use this account whenever you require money, starting on Monday next. The $100 will be deposited in this account monthly until you reach the age of eighteen years old.”

  The three walked towards the car park where Wally had left the car. The cold wind blew hard against them. Carrig held Mrs Watson’s hand until they reached the car. She cried to herself as she thought of this brave young man who had faced the reality that both his parents were gone from him forever, and now he was all alone in the world.

  “Can I ask you to stop off at this restaurant?” Carrig asked, pointing towards the lights of a glass-fronted building on the main street. “I have booked us in for a meal. I just thought it was the least I could do for
all your kindness to me.”

  As the three walked up the steps to the large entrance of the restaurant, Mrs Watson looked at Carrig and smiled. “If I had known, I would have put on my best dress.”

  “You look pretty good to me, Mrs Watson. I shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Aye, come on, lass. Sure, you are just fine.”

  “I can’t remember, Carrig, the last time we had a meal out. This is great. Thank you again.”

  The waiter showed them to their table and handed them each a menu. There were a few folks in the restaurant, some leaving while new ones came in and were shown to their seats.

  “Now please choose whatever you want to eat. I am paying for this meal, so what you want just pick. Don’t look at the prices or you probably won’t choose anything at all.”

  Wally gave a hearty laugh and Mrs Watson smiled to herself.

  “You are a wealthy young man now, Carrig, and with it goes a certain responsibility.”

  “Yes,” said Carrig, “I still can’t believe how they saved so much in fifteen years.”

  “There’s enough to buy a farm or a business,” Wally went on. “Anything you want! It is important that you make the right decision about how you use the money.”

  “I am going to need lots of advice from folks like you two,” answered Carrig, smiling.

  The waitress brought their food and placed the plates before them. Mrs Watson’s eyes were like saucers as she looked at the food. They had roast lamb and baked vegetables with a beautiful cheese sauce poured over the top, showing parts of the vegetables – broccoli, carrots and peas. A large tureen of roast potatoes was put in the middle of the table with serving spoons.

  “Look at the way these potatoes are cooked. Wally, I’ll have to learn how to do that.”

  “Don’t forget these cooks are all professionally trained and know exactly how to do it.”

  “Well, that’s it, then – I’m going to the library to get a book on cooking. I would love to learn how to cook potatoes like that.”

  “Your cooking will do me, lass. Have you ever heard me complain?”

  “No, never.”

  “Well, then, there’s your answer.”

  The dessert was pavlova topped with strawberries and cream, and Carrig had a drink of Coke while Wally and Mrs Watson had a small glass of red wine each.

  On the drive home: “Thank you so much for that wonderful meal, Carrig. I really enjoyed myself.” Mrs Watson spoke from the back seat.

  “I hope there will be more to come,” Carrig said. “I’m so grateful for all your help – it’s the least I can do, really.”

  “Now, when can you get a driver’s licence, Carrig?”

  “Oh, well, I think in November I can apply for a learner’s licence and then I can drive with someone who already has a driver’s licence.”

  “Would that be someone like me, do you think?”

  “Oh, maybe, yes, someone like you, Wally.”

  “Well, from what I see you can handle the driving already pretty well.”

  “Dad used to let me drive when we went over to the coast fishing. I just have to learn to control the speed.”

  Wally smiled to himself. “That would be right – speed is what gets a lot of young fellas like you in trouble. And not only young people – there’s a lot of grown-ups who would have benefited from some driving tuition before they wrapped themselves round a lamp post. Well, here we are, Carrig,” said Wally when they finally stopped at the gate. “Thanks again for a great night and we’ll see you again soon.”

  “Thanks for everything,” replied Carrig, touching both of them on the shoulder. Goodnight.”

  Everything was so quiet when Carrig woke up on that Saturday morning. He spent some time just lying on his back thinking about things, going over in his mind things which his parents had said to him over the years. One thing always stood out in his mind. He could clearly hear his father’s voice saying, “Don’t forget to say thank you to the Man Above for all He has given us – our health, our love for one another, our great neighbours and friends, our jobs, which we all enjoy . . . The list goes on and on.”

  “It’s funny, Dad, we always seem to be asking for something or other and forgetting to say thank you.”

  “Try it – your life will change. It’s unbelievable.”

  It was several months now since the deaths of his parents; and if he allowed himself to think too hard about that day last December, he seemed to sink into a deep sad state, so he would allow himself to feel the sadness and then move on to happier things. To regain his sanity, he would think of all the people who called him friend. It seemed the more he allowed his mind to wander to this place, the stronger he felt, and so he became quite adept at going back to thinking about it and then suddenly returning to the warm feelings of his life ahead.

  Everyone had something on for the weekend. Freddie had gone up the coast with his family to visit an aunt and uncle; Louise had a music exam at her school, and Mrs Russel was driving her there.

  “Do you want to come along, Carrig?” Mrs Russel had asked at breakfast time.

  “No, no, thanks. I have a few things I want to do, and I will be going to Wally’s later to check up on the pigs.”

  “Oh yes, how are the wee pigs going?”

  “They’re three weeks old now, and it’s lovely to see them scampering about the grass after the mother. We didn’t lose any of them.”

  “See you later, Carrig.”

  “And all the best for your exam, Louise. I’ll be thinking about you at eleven o’clock.”

  “Thanks, Carrig,” Louise replied as she waved goodbye and they drove off.

  He rubbed the seat of his bike as it had been a while since he had a ride. He pedalled hard for the first mile or two to warm himself up, and then eased off to a gentle pace. Just as he turned a corner on the main road, he caught sight of a woman riding towards him at a fast pace.

  “My brakes aren’t working,” she called out to him as she passed.

  He turned round and rode towards her as quickly as he could. Suddenly she crashed on to the footpath, sending the contents of her shopping basket spilling on to the road. Helping her to her feet, Carrig noticed how upset she was.

  “I feel so foolish.” She rubbed her leg as she spoke to him.

  “Please don’t feel foolish. It can happen to anyone, this sort of thing. Are you hurt?”

  “Only my elbow, and the back of this leg is skinned,” she replied, turning her leg so Carrig could have a look at it.

  “Oh yes, it’s bleeding. I’d better get you home and see to that.”

  “My name is Elsie, by the way. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Carrig. How far is home, Elsie?”

  “Oh, we’re nearly home. I live just around the corner on Heath Road.”

  “I’ll walk back with you just to see you home safely.”

  “Thank you – you’re very kind. I really appreciate you stopping like that. I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday morning.”

  “No, I was just out for a ride, and I suppose I was meant to be here at this time.”

  “Come in.” Elsie motioned to the boy to follow her.

  He carried her shopping in and placed it on the table. Carrig had suddenly noticed her lovely face with the bluest of blue eyes, not unlike his mother’s. The blond hair, although more curly than his mother’s was just the same colour. He reckoned she was about twenty.

  “Do you live alone, Elsie? Oh, I hope you don’t mind me asking that. I don’t want to sound inquisitive, but I was just wondering if there was someone to take your bike to be fixed.”

  Elsie reached up to a shelf, brought her first-aid box down and placed it on the table.

  “I’ve done a course with St John’s and I could pro
bably fix a dressing on your leg if you want me to. I will just wash my hands first, please, if that’s all right.”

  “Just through that door, and the first door on the right.”

  Carrig carefully wiped the stale blood away and proceeded to apply antiseptic cream and a clean dressing, followed by tape to hold it in place.

  “Oh, that feels much better.” She smiled at him and put the kettle on. “Now I’m going to make you a cup of tea. It’s the least I can do after the way you’ve helped me through that ordeal,” she added, taking some buns from a bag and placing them in front of him. “Boys are always hungry, I know. I look after several of them – that’s my job.”

  “Where’s your job, Elsie?”

  “Oh, I work at Erindale, the boys’ home, about three miles along the road.”

  “I think some of the boys come to our school – big Tom and another wee lad called Jimmy. I’ve met both of them.”

  “Well, those two are all right, but there’s one or two that need watching. Believe me, they’re a handful, at times, to look after.”

  “How many boys are there in the home?”

  “At the moment we have seven. Two of them have moved on.”

  “Oh, where did they go?”

  “Well, William went to Telford College to study agriculture. He loves horses, and all animals really. And then there’s Peter – well, God knows where he’ll finish up. He was a bit of a handful – kept himself to himself most of the time. No one could get through to him.”

  “Where has he gone to?”

  “The welfare officer moved him on to another home in the city.”

  “Right, Elsie, I’d better move on. They’ll be looking for me.”

  “Where do you live? Oh, and I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. What with falling off the bike, my attention was elsewhere.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. My name’s Carrig – Carrig Anderson.”