Donal’s voice rang out, “My lord, ladies, and—och sure you know all the rest. I now have for your defeacation—no, that’s not right, for your edification—the Dympna Kelly’s school of dance. Six of the prettiest girls in Ballybucklebo and the townland will dance in hard shoes to two hornpipes and a treble jig to the music of the Jolly Beggarmen, who youse saw earlier. A hand, please.”
O’Reilly walked on as the applause rose and fell and the music and staccato rattle of the dancers’ hard shoes stifled any chance of conversation. Och well, he’d get a yarn with Barry and Sue and their friends later. See what their news was. For now, Fingal O’Reilly was full to overflowing. Emer would have a job here; Ronald and Alice? He smiled and shook his head. Colin Brown was academically on his way, and Bertie’s idea for strengthening the community was becoming a roaring success. He thought back to Father Hugh’s blessing at the housewarming: “May you hold them in the palm of your hand.” It seemed that prayer had been answered, and included not only the Donnellys but all of Ballybucklebo and the townland. Long may it last.
36
Just to Celebrate the Event
July 5, 1969
Barry led Sue to the bar hatch, and by the time he’d said hello to Alan Hewitt and got himself a pint and her a vodka and orange, the first hornpipe, “Off to California,” was over. They headed for where he could see Jack waving, moving past occupied tables and mouthing “Good evening” to folks they knew. Many were Barry’s patients, others were parents of children Sue had taught or was teaching.
He kept glancing at the dancers. Six girls with identical plaits wore matching plain white blouses, dance skirts, white knee socks. Their black leather footwear in the style of Oxford shoes had reinforced heel and toe taps. They hopped and skipped, arms held rigidly to their sides, their taps clattering rhythmically, their movements perfectly synchronised.
He recognised the four-four time of the hornpipe “The Boys of Bluehill,” the melody carried by the accordion and embellished by the pipes and pennywhistle while the mandolin and bodhran kept the beat. The Irish had been dancing to hornpipes since the seventeenth century. Despite his high spirits, Barry frowned. The long memory that kept some traditions going to this day was both the blessing and the curse of the Irish. Still, he told himself, his smile returning, all was harmony in here, and the bigger world outside had been quiet for a good two months.
Jack rose, held Sue’s chair, seated her, and sat as Barry took the seat beside her. Conversation would be impossible until the dance set was over, so glasses were lifted and smiles exchanged.
The hornpipe ended, but the crashing applause inhibited speech until the music of the treble jig “Blackthorn Stick” rang out. Barry sipped his pint, hugged his news to himself, and waited for the music to stop.
When it did and the fresh applause had died, Donal Donnelly took the microphone. “Wasn’t that sticking out a mile? Well done, dancers. Dympna, you and their mammies and daddies must be very proud of them. And Beggarmen? Dead on. Now, we’ll take another wee break until our next act and I’ll give Alan Hewitt a rest from bar duty.”
Conversation began at once.
Barry said, “Thanks for keeping us seats.”
“Glad you made it,” Jack said, “because I’ve something important to tell you. Something I think you’re going to like.”
“Go on.”
“You remember the day back in April when we were sailing, Barry, and we saw the basking shark?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
“And I told you how Helen was having second thoughts about mebbe going to Canada? Worried about leaving her dad. That taking her new skills out of Ulster so soon would hardly be repaying the marquis’s kindness?”
Barry had been hoping ever since Jack had mentioned how Helen was considering doing her houseman’s year here that they would stay. And it was that remark that had got him reminiscing about his own houseman’s year. “And?” He wanted his friend to say they were staying at least for another year.
Jack looked fondly at Helen. “I told you soon after we got the results of her finals that Helen had taken a first and the gold medal in medicine.”
“You did, and Sue and I were delighted.”
“Thrilled,” Sue said.
“Well, it gets better. Sue—Barry and Helen and I know how juniors have to ask consultants if they’ll accept them in a training post. There’s a lot of competition. This time Professor Bull got in touch with Helen and asked her to be his houseman. She’ll start next month there for her first three-month stint.”
Barry whistled. Not only was he pleased for Helen’s success, his best friend would be staying in Ulster for at least a year.
“And,” Helen said, “he’s offered me the chance to come back next hospital year to begin and ultimately complete my training as a specialist nephrologist. Sue, that’s the discipline that focuses on the kidneys. So, we’ll be staying for another four years at least,” Helen said.
“What? The pair of you are staying?” Barry reached across the table and shook Jack’s hand. “Terrific, isn’t it, Sue?”
“Wonderful.”
“This,” said Barry, “calls for drinks all round.” He glanced at Sue, who smiled and nodded. “I’ll buy, and I’d suggest, Sue, you ask Fingal to push our two tables together. We’ve some news too, but it’ll keep.” He saw Sue smile and nod her agreement. “Jack, come and give me a hand to carry.” Barry finished the last of his pint and took note of what they were drinking at the other table. They set off for the bar hatch but were waved at by Alan Hewitt, who was standing alone near the bar holding a two-thirds-finished pint. “Jack, Doctor Laverty. Have you a wee minute?”
“Of course, Alan,” Jack said, “and I must say you were in fine voice tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“Helen’s over with Sue, and the MacNeills, and O’Reillys. We’ll be over to see you again later.”
Alan shook his head. “It’s yourself, Jack, I want a word with. I didn’t get a chance when you bought your drinks. The queue behind you was too long, and I don’t mind Doctor Laverty hearing. I know you two’s like brothers.”
Barry wondered what was coming.
Alan said, “I’ve not seen much of you or Helen for most of this year. I know she’s been awful busy studying and living at the hospital. It’s been grand having her home since she finished her exams in June. Now, you’ve been walking out with my wee girl for nigh on three years, so I’ve a question.”
Barry saw Jack stiffen.
“I seen the way you look at her and she at you.” He stepped closer to Jack. “Tell me the truth. Are you in love with Helen?”
Jack took a deep breath. “Yes, Alan, I am. Very much. And she with me.”
Barry braced himself for an explosion. Jack and Helen had decided to keep their engagement secret from both their families, Jack’s Protestant and Helen’s Catholic, until she was qualified.
Alan Hewitt nodded, kept a solemn face, but said, “Then why the hell don’t you ask her to marry you?”
“What?” Jack took a step back. His eyes widened. He inhaled. “You don’t mind?”
Alan shook his head. “I do. I’d not be human if I didn’t, but Helen’s all I’ve got and I’ll not do anything to spoil her happiness. Just because you and yours and me and mine worship the self-same God in different ways is no reason til hate each other. I mean that, so I do. The Saviour preached, ‘Love thy neighbour,’ and he made it mean everyone, not just your own kind.”
Barry had a vivid memory of saying to Jack on the basking shark day, “I don’t know Alan Hewitt all that well, but by reputation he’s a fair-minded man. And he loves his daughter.” It was true.
Alan Hewitt extended his right hand, which Jack took and shook. “Thank you, Alan. Thank you with all of my heart.”
Barry was sure there was a moistness in Alan Hewitt’s eyes when he said, “Just you be good to my wee girl. Hear me now.”
“I will, Alan. I promise.”<
br />
“You’re staying in Ballybucklebo the night with Doctor and Mrs. Laverty, but I’ll see you the morrow when you come to dinner at one with me and Helen.”
“That’s right.”
“After what we’ve just talked about, bring you Helen til see me here when Donal’s behind the bar so I can give you both my blessing right away.”
“I will, Alan.”
And Jack’s right, Barry thought, not to mention their engagement to her father until Helen was present. He said, “Mister Alan Hewitt, you’re a sound man. I’m proud to know you.”
“I’m just doing what’s right, but thank you, Doctor. Now, I reckon you’re here to buy drinks, so I’ll finish my pint while you do and then I’ll spell Donal. And I’ll see you and Helen later, Jack.”
Barry and a jubilant Jack, each carrying a loaded tray, made their way back to the now enlarged table.
O’Reilly stood. “Here, let me give you a hand, Barry. And welcome home.” O’Reilly put a sherry in front of Myrna, slid a gin and tonic over to Kitty, placed a neat whiskey in front of the marquis and a pint in his own place opposite them.
Barry gave Helen, who was sitting next to Myrna, a half pint of Smithwick’s and another vodka and orange for Sue, who sat beside Kitty. He and Jack took seats opposite and each held a fresh pint.
Before anyone could say “Cheers,” or “Sláinte,” Barry, who could contain himself no longer, said, “Sue has something important to tell you.”
All eyes were on her when Sue, beaming from ear to ear, said, “On or about the thirty-first of January 1970, the Laverty family will increase to three. Barry and I are expecting.”
Kitty squealed and hugged Sue. Myrna said, “Congratulations, Sue. What wonderful news.”
Jack leaned over and, because he was not supposed to have been in the know, said sotto voce to Barry. “Any treatment?”
“No. Graham Harley was right. It just took time. We saw him yesterday and Sue’s test was positive.”
“Jasus Murphy,” O’Reilly said, “that beats Bannagher. Folks, please raise your glasses and drink with me to Helen Hewitt’s success and to Barry and Sue—may all your troubles be little ones.”
“I’ll forgive you that dreadful pun, Doctor O’Reilly, and on behalf of Sue and I, thank you all for your good wishes. I must confess I’m a bit concerned about being a new father.”
“It’s easy,” John MacNeill said, “as long as you don’t confuse the end to wipe with the end to feed.”
Everyone laughed, and before conversation could resume, Barry noticed Donal and Fergus Finnegan standing beside O’Reilly. Donal said, “Excuse me, my lord and lady, but Fergus here has something to say to Doctor O’Reilly. Go on, Fergus. He won’t bite you.”
“Doctor O’Reilly, do you remember back in April there was a bit of a session here and someone asked you, sir, for til give us a sea shanty?”
“I do. And I said, ‘Not tonight, if you don’t mind.’”
“And I said, ‘But mebbe some other night, Doctor, sir?’ Donal and me thinks tonight would be the time.”
“I heartily agree,” John MacNeill said. “You’ve a fine baritone, Fingal.”
Kitty said, “Go on, old bear. Up on your hind legs.”
Barry looked at O’Reilly’s grinning face as he took a long pull on his Guinness. His senior partner did not need any more encouragement.
O’Reilly rose.
Donal said, “Give me a wee minute til introduce you, sir, then come on up.” He and Fergus walked away, Fergus to an adjacent table, Donal to the microphone. “My lord, lady, and the rest of youse, and now for your def—No. Now for your edification, we are to be treated to a sea shanty by one of Ballybucklebo’s most illustrious citizens. Let’s hear it for Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly.”
Barry was deafened by thunderous applause. He heard whistles, calls of “Go on Doctor, you-boy-yuh.” He looked at O’Reilly, who, judging by his grin, was not one bit embarrassed by being asked to sing in public, and when he stood and stretched out one arm and bowed to the room it was clear he was revelling in their affection. O’Reilly stood in front of the mike and waited for the room to settle. “All right. I’m going to sing ‘Haul Away, Joe,’ a tack-and-sheet shanty. The shanty-man, that’s me, stood behind the men on the ropes and sang a line. When he sang, ‘To me,’”—to Barry’s ear the words were clipped and sounded like “tuhme”—“it was the crew’s cue to begin to haul the lines in unison in the direction of the shanty-man. You all know how the line ‘Way haul away, we’ll haul away Joe’ is repeated over and over. I want you all to let her rip and raise the rafters and sing it along with me every time. In real life on a sailing ship, the ropes were pulled each time you roared ‘haul,’ and you’d get a rest from pulling while I sang the next line.”
Barry watched as O’Reilly clasped his hands, opened his mouth, and filled the hall with the first line in a voice that made Barry think of rich mahogany wood.
When I was a little boy, so, me mammy told me,
Tuhme,
O’Reilly and the entire room roared,
Way haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe
If I never kissed the girls, me lips would all grow mouldy.
Tuhme,
Way haul away we’ll haul away, Joe.
Barry smiled, took Sue’s hand, leaned to her, and said, “I’m so proud of you, darling.”
“Thank you,” Sue mouthed, then, smiling, dropped her head to his shoulder for a moment.
Not wanting to interrupt the song, Barry contented himself by holding and squeezing her hand.
King Louis was the king of France until the Revolution.
Tuhme,
Way haul away we’ll haul away, Joe
Until he got his head chopped off. It spoiled his constitution.
Tuhme,
Way haul away we’ll haul away, Joe
Barry looked over at Jack and held a thumb up. His friends were going to stay in Ulster and they had Helen’s father’s approval. In six short months, he and Sue, God willing, would be parents. And while things were quiet now in the province, Barry, like all moderates who were the vast majority, hoped things would stay that way but had his concerns. At least here in this hall, Bertie Bishop, with the help of O’Reilly, the marquis, and a hardworking committee, had succeeded in running these events and bringing the communities together.
As if to underline that thought, O’Reilly yelled, “Everybody sing the last verse in unison.”
And the walls shook to
And it’s way haul away we’ll haul for better weather.
Tuhme,
Way haul away we’ll haul away, Joe
Way haul away, we’ll all haul together
Tuhme,
Way haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe.
The audience applauded O’Reilly, who in turn applauded them, then said into the mike, “And that’s all you’re getting from me for now,” hopped down off the stage, retook his seat, and took a deep pull of his pint.
“Well done, Fingal,” John MacNeill said.
Kitty blew him a kiss.
Barry asked, “Did you pick that particular one for a reason, Fingal?”
O’Reilly shook his head. “Not really. It’s just a great one that gets everybody singing together.”
“We’ll all haul together.” Barry Laverty repeated the words. “It’s certainly what’s been happening here in Ballybucklebo.” He looked at Sue. “I said before Donal came and dragged Fingal away that I was concerned about being a father, but while Fingal was singing I thought I have no need to be. We won’t be alone. We’ll have the support of three families.”
Sue smiled. “Unless you’ve got a secret family hidden away somewhere, my folks and your folks are only two.”
Barry smiled and shook his head. “They’re blood family. I count them as one.”
O’Reilly nodded. “True.”
“The other two are our friends who’ve been part of Fingal’s practice. You all know who they are.
”
“Of course we do,” Kitty said, and waved at Kinky and Archie.
“And you’ve us,” Jack said. “Me and Helen.”
“Thanks, Jack.” Barry opened his arms wide to encompass the whole room. “And then there’s all of Ballybucklebo: Donal and Julie, Bertie and Flo, Sonny and Maggie, the Browns, the Shanks, Constable Mulligan, and you, sir,” Barry inclined his head to John MacNeill, “and Myrna—everyone.”
Barry took Sue’s hand and looked her straight in the eye. “I thought I had concerns, but honestly can you think of a better place than Ballybucklebo to start our family? I’m damned if I can.”
AFTERWORD
Hello there. It’s me again, Mrs. Maureen “Kinky” Auchinleck, so. You’d’ve thought that after all the recipes I put in 2017’s Irish Country Cookbook, with help from Dorothy Tinman, Doctor O’Reilly himself would have given me peace, but I knew there’d be no rest for the wicked when after the cookbook was published he asked me for more recipes to go with An Irish Country Cottage for 2018. Now your man Patrick Taylor has done it again and written a fourteenth Irish Country story, and as usual I’ve been asked for some more recipes. Here they are, and I hope you’ll try and enjoy my savouries: tomato soup, beef and dumplings, and its variation, beef cobbler. For those of you with a sweet tooth, I have also added ginger biscuits (or, if you prefer, cookies) and at the request of a reader, cherry cake. And that cake is a departure from my usual. It’s not my own. I got it, believe it or not, from Maggie Houston, née MacCorkle. Eat up however little much is in it.
Until the next time,
MAUREEN AUCHINLECK,
lately Kincaid, née O’Hanlon
RECIPES
TOMATO SOUP
_______________
Serves 4 to 6
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 medium onions, peeled and chopped
An Irish Country Family--An Irish Country Novel Page 36