Back to Nature.
The ferry for Dun Laoghaire should have left at four in the morning but it was past five when she finally began to move.
"The sea's a bit bumptious but the doors are closed," assured the loudspeaker.
Bumptious it certainly was. I struggled through the bodies and bags all the seats were occupied. I felt muzzy and my stomach moved in tune with the ocean as I made my way to the top deck, fresh air and rain.
It would be dark before I reached Ogonnelloe. The cottage would be cold and inhospitable at this time of the year but I had been unable to take an earlier holiday. One of the penalties of being a school teacher is the fixed holidays.
I promised Aunt Kathleen that I would visit her cottage before selling. Her words echoed in my mind, “You will find yourself, if you stay there for awhile..” I should have sold without visiting. Even if I modernized it I could hardly justify the upkeep for an occasional holiday.
"It’s a straight road to Killaloe." my late Aunt told me. "You can’t miss it"”
Trust the Irish - eternal optimists. The road, if one had the temerity to call it a road, was anything but straight. You could get seasick on dry land travelling this route. I needed petrol. I thought there would be pumps at the dock but the last pump was a mile down the road and I'd missed it!
And now, wouldn't you know they'd all be closed. Village after village and no sign of life, perhaps Nenagh would be awake but where was Nenagh? I pulled in to the road side to consult the map. A lorry drew up. "Would you have lost your ways?" The driver enquired. "You'd best carry on now the road comes back at Bushfield so it does. Petrol? Ask at the pub when you reach OGonnelloe.
The pub lights shone out at the top of the hill illuminating a petrol pump. It was three o'clock on a dark wet Irish afternoon.
"I need petrol", I began.
" I'll be right there." the landlady replied. "Can I get you a drink while you're waiting?"
I was about to refuse but feeling all six eyes of landlady and customers upon me I agreed to a jar of the national tipple before resuming my journey.
The lane wound its way down towards the Shannon "Drive into the Shannon until you reach a fork then take to the left." The instructions were explicit but if the fork didn't appear soon I would indeed be in the Shannon. The lane branched off into a rutted track down which the car bounced and bucked before arriving at a five barred gate, which I had been instructed must be kept shut to keep the cows out of the garden. If I forget and they get in I shall be a prisoner. I had been terrified of cows ever since one had eaten my hat during a Sunday School picnic.
Coffee and toast and then bed. I could unpack in the morning. The bed wasn't made. I had left the sheets in the case and the case was still in the car. Oh well, I could fetch them while the kettle boiled. It was not until I re-entered the cottage that I remembered my Aunt's warning. "Whatever you do don't leave doors or windows open at night. The light draws in the insects"
They were everywhere. Swarms of them. It was early morning before the battle was over. I studied the instructions pinned to a kitchen wallboard. Gas cylinders were in a lean to at the back of the cottage I made my way outside.
The cylinder was empty! What else could I expect? It was three years ago that Aunt Kathleen had come to visit me. Little had I realized then that Aunt would never return to her beloved Ireland.
The cottage although cold did not have the musty smell associated with unused places. The wood in the hearth felt dry and as I set a match to the fire lighter it quickly blazed and crackled.
I had never been alone until now. After college I shared a flat with two teacher colleagues for a while. Then I met Garth and although he had his own flat we spent so much time together that we had already decided to share when Aunt Kathleen arrived. At first it had made little difference to our relationship. During the last year, however, Aunt Kathleen had needed more of my time and I resigned my job at the local school to take care of her.
After Aunt’s death, I took up part-time supply teaching. When the opportunity arose for a full time post I thought Garth would share my delight. Instead he delivered an ultimatum- “The job or me! I have had enough of this part-time relationship. If you take this job I’ll take a permanent second place.”
We quarreled bitterly in August when I arranged to take a refresher course that did not coincide with his arranged holiday with "the boys"’ He sulked when I pointed out that he could have chosen the time for his skiing holiday whereas I had to take the course when it was available. His ultimatum was too ridiculous to consider and yet I don't want to lose him - I can't think about it now, I'm too tired.
I awoke with the dawn chorus and snuggled under the thick duvet until the morning sun streamed through the bedroom window calling me to begin the day. The sun erupted red over lake and mountain. From my bedroom window I could see a cow suckling its calf. A warmth of tenderness suffused my body. This was really getting back to nature. This was why I had come to Ireland. I would take a bath and then go and look for breakfast.
"Any one home?" A masculine voice called from the bottom of the narrow staircase.
Fastening my dressing gown, I emerged from the tiny bathroom. I wasn't reluctant to leave my bath. The water was a murky brown with odd bits of weed and an insect. The water filter needed cleaning. I leaned over the banister. .
Six foot of intimidating masculinity stood looking up at me. A thrill of fear or anger or perhaps both overwhelmed me so that I stared at him in hostile silence.
"Morning" he said. "I'm Mark, I've brought the gas"”
"How did you get in?" I was sure I had locked the door.
"Didn't your Aunt tell you tell you? She gave me a key. I take care of the place. Your Aunt wrote that her niece would be along and I was to keep the cottage ready for her. You are the niece? Marg isn't it"”
"Margo and no she didn't and she hasn't been here for three years"”
"I know, I've been waiting for you. What took you so long? I'll fix the cylinder while you dress." he added.
I drew my breath at his easy familiarity. "I'll get the key to the lean to then you can do what you have to do and go or perhaps you have a duplicate?"
He shook his head as I reached for the key his hand closed round mine. Taking the key from me he strode off towards the door.
Hurriedly I returned to the bedroom; pulled on my track suit and ran back to the kitchen. He came through the door as I was measuring the coffee.
"That smells good", he said.
Grudgingly I placed a second cup on the table.
"The gas is on." he said. "I'll come back this afternoon to show you around."
Later as I explored my surroundings I realized it would be sheer foolhardiness to turn him down. The village had a post office at one end and the pub come general store and petrol pump at the other, one needed the car to reach either. I unpacked, shopped at the village store for my evening meal, corned beef and potatoes for there was no fresh meat or vegetables to be had. I would need to travel five miles to the next village for those. Rain sheeted down the windscreen sending me back to the cottage rather than face the unfamiliar roads.
It was late afternoon before Mark returned.
"Why did you come here?" He asked as he helped himself to coffee "What are you running away from?”
"What makes you think I'm running away from anything?"
"You don't fit. You’re a townie”"
He was right. People often extol the virtue of unspoiled places but usually from the comfort of luxury hotels. This place was truly unspoiled no washing machine, no television, no leisure centre, no night-clubs or cinemas. Nor was it walking country. On all sides were farmers' fields secured by barbed wire.
"I promised my Aunt, though what she expected to come of it..."
He threw back his head and chortled. "Isn't it obvious she wanted you to meet and fall in love with me."
"I hardly think that likely," I replied gloomily as I recalled Aunt Kathleen's snort of derision when asked why she didn't write romantic novels instead of ghost stories.
"Romance," she quipped, "is a pastime for bored minds and like rich food, may be enjoyable in the event but indigestible in the consequence."
"Cheer up," he said. "Tonight we'll go to the pub. You’ll like it, it's the liveliest place for miles around. I'll pick you up about nine, and if it's fine tomorrow, we'll take a trip to Galway"”
Lively it certainly was with a "Duo", one man providing all the music. Customers were singing and dancing everyone was friendly. Mark was obviously well liked. By ten-thirty most of the company had departed and Mark held out my coat. As we left he opened the car door for me,he had taken the keys from my jacket pocket.
"I’ll return the car tomorrow after I've had the brakes looked at. They are far too slack," he said as we arrived back at the cottage.
Without my car I would be a prisoner. He didn't kiss me goodnight for which I was both thankful and disappointed. To my surprise I slept soundly. The roar of a motor bike scrunching up the path at eight o'clock in the morning startled me.
"We'll take my car," I said as we drank our coffee.
He shook his head, "It's the bike or nothing! Your car is at the garage”"
I enjoyed the day out, in spite of being terrified as we zoomed down the narrow lanes, my hair sweeping the dust at every corner.
"What are you afraid of?" He asked when I protested. "You are quite safe with me."
How could I explain? All my life I had sought security, always afraid to take a chance. To change the subject I began, "You know my aunt is dead?"
"Yes, you should have brought her back. She belongs here."
Perhaps I should have brought her to be buried here but it was too late now and after all Aunt Kathleen had made no such request.
"Will you sell the cottage now?" He asked.
"Are you about to make an offer?" I parried.
"I wish I could. Why don't you stay we would make a good team."
I shook my head, Aunt Kathleen was right. I had found myself. The words of the poet Derek Mahon came to mind:
"What should they do there but desire?
So many days beyond the rhododendrons
With the world waltzing in its bowl of cloud,
They have learnt patience and silence
Listening to the rooks querulous in the high wood."
If I let the cottage during the summer, one day I could come back and then who knows?
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