Carrig Of Dromara

by Frances McCaughey

  “Oh, that’s great!”

  Carrig was happy and all went well. The funeral was a large gathering, and this was not at all surprising since most of the farmers and villagers in the district had had dealings with Wally at one time or another. He had such a wide range of knowledge and talents, from mending gates to shoeing Clydsdales or mending tractors.

  Carrig told at the funeral service of the day he brought the gates to Dromara – an exact replica of the gates into his grandfather’s farm in Ireland.

  Mrs Watson was taken home by Elsie to stay with her for as long as she needed, which was a great comfort to everybody, knowing she was in loving care.

  The three graves side by side were now covered in snow, the fresh flowers poking up through in defiance. It was a sad and beautiful sight, because there was no doubt where they all were now.

  Alice Gillin, a wee wisp of a thing, stood in the shadow of her larger brother, her arms hanging like twigs by her side, a million freckles covering her face and body. Her missing front teeth gave her a wistful look and altogether the child looked wormy and malnourished. With all this she had the most intelligent eyes, large and dark, stary and penetrating. It made everyone who had dealings with her think before they spoke, and always be careful what was said, as if anything said in anger would harm her in some strange way.

  “Would you like a pancake?” Sarah spoke kindly to the children. “Do you like strawberry jam, Alice?”

  “Yess – oh yess, please, Mrs Sarah.” Alice always called her that from the first day they walked in the gate six months ago.

  Sarah had been feeding them since and washing their faces when they needed, and the wee souls lapped up the attention Sarah lavished on them.

  “God bless ’em, they don’t seem to get much at home.”

  They even crept into the gathering at the weekends at Dromara, just blending in with the other children, playing together with young Carrig Estler and the twins. There were shrieks of laughter when they rolled about on the grass on the front lawn, then tucking in to the food.

  Mrs Watson was sorely missed from the gathering. She was now in a rest home in Rangiora, checked up on regularly by Elsie and Jock – and Carrig when he could visited her also. She was now confused and couldn’t remember much, but was seemingly in a happy state of oblivion.

  Carrig had purchased the house and pocket of land on which the Gillin family lived, and he proceeded to renovate it to make it a happy home for the family. With no rent to pay now, Mrs Gillin could afford to feed the children and buy them new clothes. She even came up to visit Sarah and show her the new set of teeth she had acquired. With her hair set and the teeth she actually looked quite pretty, her whole demeanour changing.

  As Sarah said to John, “One more for the weekend table!”

  At school Annie Anderson was on bell duty for the week, and as usual she put her all into the job, holding the rope and swinging it with gusto. The children filed out to the playground, and straight away the noise level rose to a high pitch. Some were on the swings, some in the sandpit and others playing games such as football and ring throwing. The tall, quiet gentleman moved among the children and then suddenly he was drawn to two wee boys over in the corner playing a different game.

  One stood quite still holding a chestnut by a long string while the other swung his chestnut by the string with a very determined look on his face, his tongue poking out from the side of his mouth.

  The tall man walked over slowly to the boys and asked, “What sort of game is this you’re playing?”

  The Anderson boy looked hard into the man’s eyes and asked, “You’ve never played conkers?”

  The boys laughed. They couldn’t believe that someone had never played conkers.

  “Would you like to try a game?” Peter asked, handing the gentleman his precious conker. “Now be careful – this is a special conker.”

  “Oh, what’s special about it?”

  “Well, do ye see those two knots on the string? Well, that means that it has broken two other conkers off their strings. Swing the conker over your shoulder several times and then, when you’re ready, hit my conker really hard, trying to break it.”

  The big man swung the conker over his shoulder again and again, but alas missed his opponent’s.

  The bell rang, and once again the children filed back into the classrooms. Much to Peter Anderson’s surprise, the tall gentleman entered his classroom and was introduced to the children as Mr Wilson, the school inspector. Peter glanced at him in surprise.

  The teacher turned to her class and spoke in a firm voice: “Now I am leaving the room and leaving you with Mr Wilson, who will be talking to you for a short while. I want you all to answer any questions he may ask.”

  It was 1983 when John suffered his first heart attack. Sarah was in a terrible state as she watched the ambulance take him away to the Christchurch Hospital. Carrig went with him in the ambulance, comforting her and promising he would ring as soon as he knew anything. Rosie came over to the cottage with a cake, and they both sat down together and had a good chat about the life they had together.

  “Tell me, what was it like when Carrig first came here?”

  “Oh, well, where do I begin?” Sarah’s face lit up and, momentarily forgetting John, she began to relay the full story.

  Rosie had heard snippets, of course, but it was not the same as hearing it all in detail.

  “It was the best day of our lives when this young boy walked into our garden. John was mad at him at first, thinking he was stealing from him, and then he saw the garden all dug over and weeded. They both came in, and I’ve never seen a young man so hungry. I thought he would never stop eating my scones. Slowly, over the next day, his story began to unravel, and our hearts went out to him, thinking of how he suddenly lost his parents. I don’t know if Carrig ever told you or not, but we had a son, John and me – a right bad boy he was, always running away one place or another. When he was fifteen he got into trouble with the law, and he actually spent months in the young-offenders centre in the city. When we went to visit him, we couldn’t believe the sight of him. He had tattoos all over his neck, including a swastika on his forehead.”

  Rosie rose to her feet and hugged the older woman, tears streaming down her face.

  The shrill ring of the phone interrupted their conversation and Sarah answered it quickly.

  “How is he now?”

  “Oh, well, he’s on oxygen and talking, but very weak, and will be in hospital for a while. They will know more in a few days. They’re watching his progress, and will keep you informed. I’ll talk to you more when I get back, Gran – and don’t worry, he’s in good hands here.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, see you soon.”

  “Rosie is with me now, until you get back. Bye now.”

  Carrig watched Rosie gallop off on her beloved Cartwell, blond tendrils of her hair flying in a spray in all directions. Part of him wished that he had gone with her, but sadly he had so much paperwork to do and he had been asked to do some social welfare work on Monday and Tuesday coming for those who couldn’t afford a lawyer.

  The twins weren’t coming home this weekend, as they both had exams coming up and extra study to do.

  “We’ll catch up next weekend, Dad,” Peter had said earlier on the phone.

  “Yes, we’ve got plenty of catching up to do, that’s for sure.”

  “Bye then. Love you, Dad.”

  “Bye, son. Love you too.”

  Young Josh Stevenson was working away in the farm outbuildings. Josh was the son of a local farmer, and he helped out at Dromara when needed. Of late he had been working most weekends.

  Josh drove down through the yard on the tractor and trailer to load up the hay for feeding the cattle; he usually moved the electric fences at the same time. Then he fed the pigs and last
ly the hens, where he collected the eggs and put the clean ones into cases for collection the following week. He cleaned the remaining eggs or brought them to the house for the family to use.

  Although Lizzie didn’t work at weekends, she walked up towards the back door and rang the bell. Carrig was surprised to see her.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  “Oh yes, all’s well. I just came to tell you that Andy has asked Alice to marry him.”

  “Well, that’s splendid news. Rosie will be thrilled for you all. I’ll tell her when she gets back – she shouldn’t be too long. She’s been gone a couple of hours, but – you know Rosie – she’ll be talkin’ to one of the neighbours, or parents of pupils from the school.”

  “Oh well, I just thought you’d like to know. Andy would like to speak to you about the cottage as well, but we’ll sort that out later.”

  With that she left.

  “Bye, then,” called Carrig after her.

  “Mr Anderson, Mr Anderson, are you there?”

  Carrig opened the back door and was surprised to see young Josh standing there holding Cartwell by the reins.

  “Has something happened to Rosie?”

  “Well, just two minutes ago Cartwell came galloping up the hill towards me. I grabbed his reins and he calmed down a bit then, but he’s been in the mud. His rear end is muddy and the saddle was to one side.”

  “Something has happened – I know it. Something has gone wrong.” Carrig spoke in a raised voice.

  “We’d better go down and see.”

  Josh tied the animal up to the hitching post and both men hurried down towards the river. There had been a bit of a storm the night before and they noticed several long branches broken off.

  As they progressed further they found a tree had blown over, and all of a sudden Josh’s voice echoed through the valley: “Mr Anderson, come quickly!”

  The young man showed great distress at what he had seen.

  Carrig turned his wife gently over from where she lay in a face-downward position. Carrig’s screams could be heard from a great distance as he held his dead wife in his arms, rocking her back and forth. The younger man stood at a distance and tears flooded down his face.

  Carrig spoke calmly, asking him to call an ambulance. “You know where the phone is – in the kitchen.”

  Josh ran up towards the house and made the call.

  “Is the patient breathing?” The voice came over the phone.

  “No, she’s dead. There’s no pulse. She has been dead for a while. She fell from her horse and must have struck her head.”

  “Where has she been bleeding?” the lady’s voice continued.

  “From the back of her head mainly,” Josh answered, “and there’s no pulse at all – no pulse.”

  After Josh had given her all the particulars of where to come, the lady answered, “We will get to you as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you.”

  The ambulance came in about twenty minutes and the two ambulance men followed Josh down to where the body lay. They had with them a stretcher, blankets and first-aid equipment. The process of lifting the body was not a pleasant sight to see, but they were so respectful of her in the process. Gently covering her with white blankets, they proceeded the long way up to the top of the ridge and towards the homestead, where they placed her in the ambulance. Carrig just stood there in silence. Tears flooded his face, his eyes so swollen and red. He couldn’t speak.

  “Would you like to see your wife again before we remove her to the hospital?”

  He walked over slowly towards the ambulance and stepped up to where the body lay.

  Pulling the cover gently from her face, he began to cry again, a heart-wrenching cry, repeating again and again, “Why, oh why did this happen!”

  Josh stayed beside him, and up to this point no one had mentioned the fact that she hadn’t been wearing a helmet. Rosie was a great rider and yet at times her overconfidence frightened those who rode with her. This was just one of those times when it would have been preferable if she had worn one, especially with the high wind the day before.

  The ambulance had just gone when a local police car drove into the yard. The first officer spoke to Carrig and sympathised with him, and then to Josh, who explained who he was and that he was there with Mr Anderson when they found the body of his wife. Noticing that Carrig was in such a terrible state, the officer asked if he would prefer that they come tomorrow and talk things over.

  “No, no.”

  Carrig showed them into the house and Josh spoke up, asking, “Do you want me to stay as well?”

  “Yes, we need to take down the details of what exactly happened this morning.”

  One by one they answered the questions as honestly as they could. When Carrig broke down, Josh filled in until they were completed.

  Standing up, the senior officer spoke again: “That’s all we need to know at this point. Thank you both for your cooperation.”

  “Would you like a drink of tea or coffee, sir?” asked the younger man.

  “No, no, thanks,” replied Carrig, “but help yourself to whatever you like. There’s cheese under the cover on the bench and bread in the bread bin.”

  Josh had a quick sandwich. Then he quickly left to tell Lizzie what had happened and to ask her to come and watch over the master while he was in this state of despair.

  “Lizzie, are you there?” Josh called out to her.

  “Yes – who is it? Oh, it’s you, Josh,” Lizzie said when she opened the door.

  “There’s been a terrible accident at Dromara. The mistress is dead.”

  Lizzie put her hand to her mouth and gasped, taking in the terrible news.

  “How did it happen?”

  “She fell from her horse and hit a tree that had blown down in the wind the night before. Her head was smashed in at the back and there was a lot of blood – blood everywhere. She was taken away in the ambulance and the police have been also. Oh, it was terrible. If it hadn’t been that I had so much to think about, I would have been a total wreck – I know it.”

  “I suppose the master’s in a terrible state.”

  “He certainly is. That’s where you come in. I was hoping that you could stay with him, at least until the family arrive.”

  “Do you want me to ring them?”

  “It might be better to talk to him and ask what he wants you to do.”

  “I’ll go over right now and see to him. You go on home, Josh, and can you carry on doing the jobs for a while until we see what’s happening?”

  “You can rely on me to carry on until I’m no longer needed.”

  Josh drove off towards home and Lizzie quietly made her way towards the house.

  Tapping him gently on the shoulder, Lizzie asked was there anything he needed?

  Carrig rose to his feet and, putting both his arms around his good neighbour, cried out, “Why me? Why me?”

  “I’ll be in the kitchen boiling the kettle, and I’m going to make you a bite to eat. You can’t go on without some kind of nourishment; otherwise you’ll be no good to anyone, especially as you have a difficult job ahead of you, telling the twins the sad news.”

  “No, no, no!” cried Annie when Carrig told her the news of her mother. “It’s not true, Dad – it can’t be true! How did it happen?”

  Carrig relayed the story as kindly as he could to his loving daughter.

  “What about Peter? How on earth are we going to tell Peter? He adored Mum. I did too, but he and Mum had a special relationship, as if they each knew what the other was thinking.”

  “Yes, I know, darling, but it’s something we will all have to be strong about and support each other.”

  The young ones were home in a couple of hours, and all huggi
ng each other. Carrig felt better now that they all knew what had happened. Lizzie had promised she would ring Elsie and Jock, and Dennis and Elenor Russel and Louise and Andrew of course.

  Once again Louise had come to see Carrig and comfort him when things went wrong. She just spent a short while with him as she was on her way down south to visit a girlfriend and was being picked up at Ashburton Station at five o’clock. They kissed goodbye and she left.

  “What kind of funeral shall we have for Mum?” Annie spoke first at the breakfast table next morning.

  “Just a nice quiet wee gathering of all her friends and family, and a burial down at the wee cemetery along the road.”

  Peter agreed and Carrig thought that would be great. “I just haven’t the energy to start planning anything complicated right now.”

  “Leave it to me, Dad.” Annie spoke in her usual strong voice. “I’ll sort everything out. I’ve got time off now, and will see that everything is done correctly.”

  The following day the phone never stopped ringing, and people came to the door leaving cake and fruit and all kinds of other lovely things.

  The same day the police rang to say that everything was cleared: Rosie’s death was to be treated as an accident, and they could carry on with funeral arrangements. They all looked at each other and decided this wasn’t a time to get into a great discussion about what happened.

  “Is there anything you want me to do this morning, Miss Annie?” asked Lizzie.

  “Oh, thank you, Lizzie. Now, what day is it? Tuesday, of course. Well, what would Mum do on a Tuesday? Let me see. I believe Josh does all the yard work, the animals and so on, and then there’s just the house and garden.”

  “What about if I run the vacuum over the whole house and clean the kitchen and bathroom, and maybe check what is needed in the way of food, etc?”

  “Oh, that would be great, Lizzie. I have a few phone calls to make. We have already arranged the undertaker and the church service, and Dad and Peter are going to pick a coffin this afternoon. The minister is coming over from Rangiora and the caterers from Springfield are seeing to all the food, etc. There will be tea after the funeral in the new hall at Glentunnel.”