The Flood

When it rains, it pours. Never was that truer than March 1989. It was the busiest week of the year in Redmond Hall and the weather was horrible. Constant drizzle interrupted by massive down pours. It was race-weekend, and the hotel was chock-a-block with customers. Every night the dining room was full to bursting. The function room hosted private parties all week. Jockeys, trainers, horse owners and punters, all rubbing shoulders. The thing about a small place like Redmond Hall is, only a few staff do nearly everything. When it's so busy, for so long, it really takes its toll.

I had already done six days and nights straight when Saturday rolled around. We had a dinner booked for Tommy Tobin, aka big tommy. He was a legend in racing, having trained several national champions. Tommy, and forty of his cronies, had booked a free bar for the night.

I spend most of the morning setting up the bar with the help of a French exchange student called, Marc. Help might be stretching it a bit. Marc was older than me, and already had two years of catering college under his belt. As far as I was concerned, he was a numpty. He spent more time fixing his hair than working. The waitresses were all mad about him, and that did him no favours in my book. Who needs the competition? One way or other, I was stuck with the frog for the morning. He was lugging beer kegs up the steps to the store room. I was thoroughly enjoying the way he was struggling. Outside, the rain was coming down in buckets.

" Iss thiss ze last," he said, throwing back the hood of the yellow rain slicker he was wearing.

"Yea that should be enough. We can get a start on the glasses now," I said.

"Jezz Squid, Iz hungry can’t we get zom lunch first" he moaned. sticking out his bottom lip like some spanked toddler.

"Your always hungry, Marc. We’ve only finished breakfast. You’ll be lucky to get dinner, never mind lunch." He stomped off to get glasses for polishing while I finished stocking the shelves and fridges with beer and wine.

Outside the rain was getting heavier. Soon a fantastic flash lit up the sky, followed by a deafening roll of thunder. The wheels of God's chariot charged across the clouds, rumbling away into the distance. Flash after flash of blinding electricity crackled through the air while I worked on the bar. Slowly, the storm moved away to the north. Sixty feet below my window, the river surged angrily, already swelled to bursting.

No sooner had I the bar finished than I had to get dressed for the evenings service. It was hectic. Constantly running from the main bar, to the private dining room. Making sure the wine orders were being filled in the restaurant, and even helping with food service where needed. Maura and Mary were looking after the VIP dinner. They were like two adopted mothers to the younger staff.

"Squid, will you give me a hand with the sweet and coffee," asked Mary, as she passed the bar loaded down with plates. It was tough serving the function room because everything had to be carried the whole length of the building, and back again. These women worked really hard just to keep food on the table at home. For me, it was just pocket money, for them it was life.

After helping with the sweet plates, I went to pick up coffee in the still room. Maurice, the game keeper came hurrying down the corridor, leaving puddles of muddy water in his wake and followed me into the kitchen.

"Have you seen Mrs O?" he asked.

"She is in the restaurant," I said, but that was the moment she chose to walk into the room. That woman must have radar. She always knows when someone is looking for her, or up to no good.

"Hello Maurice," she said. "Nasty night out there."

"Mrs O, I think we’re in a bit of trouble," he said, not bothering with a hello.

"Oh Yes?" she said, arching her eyebrows.

"The river is rising fast. All that rain in the mountains earlier is just flowing into it. The ground was so wet already there is no soakage," he said as he shook the water from his jacket and filled a cup of coffee for himself from my pot. "I’ve no idea how high it will get but I think we should get people that have to leave out now. It's nearly to the gates already."

"I see," was all she said, but her smile had vanished.

I knew how important the money from this week was to the hotel. She was counting on at least another three- or four-hours solid drinking, all top shelf. She pulled her wax jacket from the peg and headed out to the patio. A few minutes later she came back dripping wet.

"Your right, Maurice, it's over the first steps by the lawn," she agreed. "Squid, can you let people know in the function room, and I will tell those left in the restaurant."

"Right you are, Mrs O," I said, and hurried off, coffee pot still in hand.

While making my rounds filling cups, I let everyone know the situation. Soon, most of the non-residents had either called cab's, or made for home in their car's. All but a few staff were sent home. I stayed as I had a room upstairs. We still had a full hotel of guests that needed looking after. There was no way the main building was going to be affected. Only the gate on the main road stood danger.

The water surged higher and taxies turned back at the gate, leaving a dozen guests stranded, with no rooms to give them.

What’s the best thing to do in a crisis? Serve more beer, that is what. I kept things going in the main bar. The fact that we were cut off made it all the more exciting. It was like the blitz, or something. Maura and Mary had not managed to get out before the flood came over the main gate. They had stayed on to make sure the function was properly cleared away, never leave a job half done they said. At half two in the morning, they were sitting either side of Big Tommy, on a massive leather sofa, sipping glasses of champagne and having a great time. The room was packed with people; talking, laughing or trying to get a few winks of sleep. I gave out blankets to those that had no rooms, so they could make themselves as comfortable as possible on couches.

It was just about then the bar door swung open, and in breezed Margo, Mrs O oldest daughter. She might be older than me in years, but most immature by nature.

"Hello, everyone," she slurred in her best Dublin four accent. "This looks like great fun! Should never have bothered going into town at all"

"You’ve just come back from town?" asked one of the group that had been waiting for a taxi.

"Absolutely, Darling. Went for a few drinkey's in Club 92," she said, as she threw herself into a high back chair.

"Is the taxi gone, perhaps he would take us," said one English man, sprinting for the door.

"I drove back myself," she called after him. "After all, I only had one or two." One or two buckets, by the look of her.

"If she made it in, we can make it out," the man said to his friend, putting on his coat. The two men left the bar and headed for the front door. I followed them out to the drive where they were getting into a brand-new Golf GTI.

"Gents, I really don't think this is a good idea. Why not wait till morning?" I asked.

"Don't worry yourself," the driver said, slamming the car door. Cocky git. Half an hour later he was feeling a lot less cocky and a hell of a lot more soggy. Ding Dong, went the doorbell. When I opened it, they were standing on the step, soaked from head to toe.

"Jesus! What happened?" I asked, still holding the door open.

The driver said nothing, just tramped past me into the corridor. The other fella at least had the manners to answer. "We must have gone off the road because the car sunk. We had to swim out of it."

They were cold, wet, and making a mess of the furniture. I locked up the bar and got them some clothes from my room. The guys got changed in the toilets while I went to the staff quarters to wake, Maurice, the Game Keeper. I explained what had happened. He gathered rope and a torch while I got the hotels tractor started. Into the rain lashed night we trundled.

When we got to the gate, we could only could see the roof of the car. They’d veered of the road and into the field beside the river. The water was as high as the head rests inside the car. What a disaster. We thought we might be able to pull the car out with the tractor, but seeing how deep it was, we knew that was not going to happen. Maurice stripped to his y-fronts and swam out to the car. He tied the car to a tree, hoping it wouldn’t get swept into the main flow of water.

"That yoke is fucked," he said, when he got back on dry land. "What a waste of fifteen thousand pounds".

Back at the hotel, Maurice went to make some tea while I went to give the English men the bad news.

"We got the car tied off to a tree but we will have to wait until the water goes down before we can get it out," I told them. At least this time the driver said thanks, but he was still a cock. The other man dipped his hand into his sodden suit pocket and produced a twenty-pound note.

"Thanks for all you did," he said, palming me the money. For a full week’s work, I would only get about ninety pounds, as well as my food and board. Twenty quid was a fortune. I gave ten to Maurice and kept ten for myself. That got me thinking. I could make a bit more out of this situation, if I put my mind to it.

People were getting sleepy, but with all the noise, no one was able to drift off. I went to the kitchen and made a big pot of tea and mugs of steaming hot chocolate. With a trolley load of cups, I started to make the rounds of the couches.

"Would you like a nice cup of tea, or some hot chocolate?" I asked as I went.

To a person they said, "Oh God, that would be lovely. How much do I owe you?"

"Your fine, its on us," I said. Just about every second person slipped a little something into my hand. Eventually I ended up at the couch where Tommy was snoozing under a blanket, book ended by Mary and Maura. He had a room upstairs, which he had offered to the two waitresses for the night. No way would they put him out of his bed, but Tommy was a true gent and would not leave them sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed going spare. They were as stubborn as each other, until in the end, they all settled down where they were they were.

"Want a cuppa, girls" I asked.

"Ahh, thanks, Squid. You’re the best" they said, taking the cups, adding milk and sugar.

"You must be hungry, ladies, did you get any dinner?" asked Tommy.

"Were fine, thanks Mr Tobin," said Maura, but we both noticed she didn’t say she wasn't hungry.

"I'll see what I can find in the kitchen" I said, and went away pushing the tea trolley.

By now, it was close to three-thirty in the morning. The only thing I could find ready to eat was a big pot of seafood chowder, and a cold joint of roast beef. I put the soup on to heat, and made open brown bread sandwiches of roast beef and horseradish. I ate some myself. I was starving, and they were delicious.

I dropped bowls of soup and a platter of sandwiches to Tommy, Maura, and Mary. It is alright giving away a few cups of tea, but I had to charge for the food. Tommy didn’t even have to be asked, just held out a note when I dropped the tray on the table. That is class for you. I put the takings in the till and went back to Tommy with the change, but he just waved it away. I left them contentedly munching as more people called me over to order, "Whatever you got."

In the next hour, I sold all the food I had in the Kitchen, and made the hotel a nice bit of money. The change was filling up a half-pint-glass behind the bar. I reckoned I had made two weeks wages in tips.

Soon, a hush settled over the hotel. People slept where they could. I decided to stay up, as there were so many strangers around the hotel, they might need something.  By now, the rain had actually stopped, so the flood might start to recede soon. I sat behind the reception desk and grabbed forty winks.

It was six thirty when I was shaken awake.

"What are you doing sleeping there?" asked Lizzy, the youngest of Mrs O's children.

"Hi Liz," I yawned. "I stayed in case anyone in the bar needed anything."

"Are people still drinking at this hour?" she said. I noticed she was wearing her riding gear.

"Of course not. They’re sleeping," my exhausted brain not really getting this conversation.

"Why are people sleeping in the bar?" she said, making a big show of holding hands in mock exasperation.

"Because the river flooded," I said, and I was beginning to think Lizzie was being deliberately silly.

"Oh-my-GOD!!!" she said, dashing off in the direction of the restaurant. I jumped up and followed her. She was staring out of the picture window at the torrents of dirty brown water running over what had yesterday been lawn and woodland. "Oh-my-God!" she said again, holding her hand to her mouth.

"What’s wrong with you?" I asked. You would swear she’d never seen a river in flood before.

"I tied the goats beside the river last night," she said. Lizzy had two pet goats which she kept in an old gardener’s hut in the woods.

"Come on," she said, running towards the kitchen. I was still wearing my bar service clothes, bow tie and all, as we dashed along the trail through the wood. Soon we could see the little derelict shed which had been built into the hillside. You could only get in the door from the river side. Normally not an issue, but now the shed was waist deep in water.

"Billy! Betty!" called Liz. An answering bleat came from the small shed.

"Go and get them for me, Squid. Please, please hurry," she pleaded. She didn’t really have to ask; I was already stripping off my shoes and pants. I waded into the water and around the corner of the little building, into the strong current. Twice I nearly lost my footing. The ground sloped sharply away into the raging torrent. I made it to the door when, whatever I was standing on, gave way. In an instant, I was under the water. The pull of the water was way stronger than I expected. I struggled to get my head over the surface. Filthy water clogged my nose and eyes. I coughed, and struggled to stand, one hand still had a hold of the corner of the shed, but it was slipping. My fingers slid on the mossy surface and I lost my hold. My panicking fingers brushed and grabbed something solid seconds before the current pulled me away. I held on like my life depended on it, which it did. I hauled my head over the surface and gulped a big lung full of air.

"Squid, Squid, are you ok?" screamed Lizzie. I waved, coughing up filthy river water. I was holding a rope which disappeared inside the door of the shed. Finally, I got my feet on solid ground and hauled myself inside the shed. The two terrified goats were straining at the other end of the rope. Wild, terrified eyes: up to their flanks in dirty water. They must have had a horrendous night. I got the collars off their necks, but no way would they go towards the door. I used a piece of timber to break a small side window and lifted the goats out. They took off like lightening into the woods the moment their hoofs hit the ground. I carefully climbed through the window, preferring to risk cuts over going down in the currents again.

"Thank you," said Lizzy, giving me a huge hug. I put my clothes back on but they were soon sodden. The sun shone for the first time in days. I looked up at the storm-washed sky and knew it was going to be a lovely day. Lizzy was twittering on about how scared the poor goats must have been. I didn’t tell her I though my number was up when I went under the water, she would only blame herself. If it wasn’t for the goat’s rope, I was a goner. In the end, they saved me more than I saved them.

Mrs O was up when we got back. She was in the kitchen with the breakfast chef, Maura and Mary.

"What on earth happened to you?" she said, seeing me covered in muck.

"It's a long story, Mrs O. We were just letting the goats out."

I was looking forward to a hot shower and a fluffy duvet, but the thought of how close I came to slipping away in the current stayed with me. I like to think I’m a strong swimmer but when the river gripped me, it was like steel. I know I had no chance. In the shower, I started to shake and eventually what little I had in my stomach came up. I nearly lost it all for two goats. I slept badly that day and even now, the memory of the ground sliding away from under my feet is the scariest thing I have ever felt.

Tequila Slammers

Before starting college, I worked in a Manor House Hotel called, Redmond Hall. It was a spectacular building. A half mile of private road ran through rolling hills and woods. Ancient trees towered over all who approached, reinforcing the status of those who lived in such splendour. Once it was the seat of a warlord, who butchered and plundered. Now it was a retreat for the rich and famous.

The road circled each side of a cascading tiered lawn before joining again at the entrance. The main building was three stories high, crowned with parapets and a majestic dome. At each end, a two-story annex extended in welcoming embrace. The rear of the building boasted more gardens, and a terrace, perched above a meandering river, 60 steps below. The main door of the hotel did a lot to describe the place; it was perpetually closed. Entry was a privilege, not a right. There were only a small number of bedrooms but they were all palatial. Prices were not displayed or discussed.

The staff quarters were a different story entirely. Mothers nightmares were made of this place. Dozens of hot-blooded teenagers and early twenties all living on top of each other. It was fantastic! Drinking, parties, fights and sex; the four pillars of youth. I’ve loads of stories from this place.

Once, at Christmas, we had a group of rich couples check in for the holidays. They were VIP's, nothing was out of bounds. Before dinner, the champagne was flowing. Toasts were made and the halls rang with high spirited laughter. They dined like kings, finishing the meal with vintage ports and cigars. Later, they settled themselves around the marble fireplace in the library. Even though they all had drinks they asked me to bring them a bottle of Tequila, lemonade, and some tall glasses.

"Squiddie," giggled Mrs Ryan, as I put the bottle in the middle of the table. She grabbed me from behind and pulled me into her lap. Mrs Ryan was a stunning woman, so I was not all that upset, but the fact her husband was sitting right across the table was weird, to say the least.

"You get the first one Squiddie," she cooed into my ear, while splashing tequila into a glass. I was still only seventeen and the warmth of her bosoms was giving me an expanding issue, if you know what I mean.

"I would love one, but the boss will kill me," I said, trying to free myself from her encircling arms.

"It's a tradition," her husband said, shoving the glass closer. "We always get the bar man drunk. Last year, poor Sean got so plastered he went arse over-head, all the way down to the river."

"I can't. I just can't," I pleaded, noticing the owner appear in the doorway. I looked beseechingly in her direction, but all she did was shrug her shoulders.

Mrs Ryan was persuasive but I remained resolute. It was at this point one of the other women at the table decided to lend a hand, in this case literally. Mrs McLaughlin leaned forward laying her fingers high up on my thigh. She was in her late twenties, while her husband was forty-five if he was a day. He was a big name in men's clothing, apparently, and not short of a few quid by the look of the diamond on her finger.

"It's Christmas Squiddie, everyone deserves a little fun. Have one for me," Mrs McLaughlin said. Her long red nails making gentle strokes on the inside of my leg, moving fractionally up each time. This was not helping at all. Soon things were going to get really embarrassing. I looked at the boss again who nodded her head saying, go on.

"Alright so. But just the one,"  

"Wahay," they coursed, and Mr McLaughlin filled the rest of the glasses.

The third couple at the table were Alison Wiseman and her husband Ben. I liked them the best. She was in her thirty's, slim, with a radiant smile. She had long auburn hair that hung in gentle waves on her shoulders.

"Have you ever had a Slammer before Squiddie?" asked Mrs Wiseman from her position on the couch next to Mrs Ryan. As I was currently sitting on Mrs Ryan, she was technically sitting next to me as well. For a moment I was lost in her deep brown eyes. She looked searchingly into mine and the air about my head crackled with electricity. Mrs Wiseman was more intoxicating than any drink. It might have only been a second but to me it seemed much longer. I felt my cheeks go red when I said “No.”

"Here is how you do it," she said, taking a glass from the table. "One measure of Tequila and about the same amount of lemonade. You need a tall glass because it will fizz up. Put a couple of beer mats over the top of the glass and give it a good, sharp, thump, then drink it all down in one go. Just like this." Mrs Wiseman covered her glass with a beer mat and put her hand over the top. She lifted the glass about a foot off the table. SLAM! The glass hit the timber a fair wallop. I thought it was going to smash. Inside, the liquid exploded into a mass of white foam. She downed the lot in one go, throwing her head way back. A little of the foam escaped and ran down the silky skin of her throat. When the glass was empty, she drew the back of her hand across her lips, wiping away the spilled liquid. Her deep brown eyes played across my face intimately, and for longer than was polite, in front of a husband.

"Now you," Mrs Wiseman said, her voice husky with the burn of the Tequila.

Slam went my glass. I chugged down the foaming drink, the bite of Tequila making my eyes water, but I got it all down. My nose tickled from the foam and my stomach burned with the heat of alcohol. That’s when the coughing started, and kept coming, until a little foam came out my nose. They laughed as I half choked. All the time, Mrs Ryan was massaging my back, discretely. Mrs Wiseman put her glass on the table and leaned very close to me, until we were eye to eye, her hands cupped my face, her thumb wiped away the flecks of foam from my lips.

"See," she said, "that wasn't so bad." She kissed me slowly, on the left cheek, the corner of her mouth played across mine, which left me breathless.

"Another, another," chanted Ben Wiseman.

"Nope that's it," I said, finally releasing myself from Mrs Ryan's grasp.

"Not so fast young lad," said Mr McLaughlin. "Once the bottle open, you have to finish it."

"I can't drink a whole bottle of Tequila," I said in dismay.

"Well if you don't then the girls get to take advantage of you," he said.

"Feck off, yea messer. I got to get back or I'll get the sack," I said picking up a few glasses. At last I managed to make my escape.

***

For the rest of that night, the bottle of Tequila stayed on the table. Every time I took a round of drinks over, they made me sit on one of the women and do another slammer. I managed about five before I felt them kicking in with a vengeance. By this time, most of the residents were in bed, and the lights were dimmed all over the hotel. The glow of the fire sent shadows dancing around the room, while Mr Ryan strummed a guitar. I wobbled over to their table with a fresh bottle of champagne. Yet again, they tried to make me have another slammer.

"No way lads," I said. "I can't drink anymore." By now, they were all well drunk themselves.

"Is that your final word on it Squiddie?" said Mr Ryan while he strummed a chord.

"Afraid so," I said, full of alcohol powered confidence.

"He's all yours, girls," Mr Ryan said to the delight of the group. The three women jumped to their feet, surrounding me, rubbing my hair, stroking my shoulders and chest.

"Ha, very funny," I said.

"I don't think they’re joking," said Mr McLaughlin. "You better be able for all three of them, or they will be upset."

The girls started to drag me away towards the door. I decided to play along with the joke, and give the lads a laugh. I made a play of looking over my shoulder and calling back to the men. "See you in an hour or so."

Once out in the hall I stopped walking, but the women had other ideas. I tried planting my feet but they just pulled harder. I was holding my own up to the point Alison Wiseman tripped me. The other two grabbed my legs and pulled me along the hall, into the lady’s toilet. Once inside, Mrs Wiseman sat on my chest, her knees and hands holding my arms to the floor. She was laughing; loving every minute.

"Ah come on now, Mrs Wiseman, enough is enough," I said, half laughing but getting a bit nervous. What exactly was going on? More to the point how much did they think was coming off. Okay, all men might think that having three lovely women drag you into the toilets would be a dream come true. If I was a man, it might well be, but to a teenager, it was majorly unnerving.

"Relax," she said. "It's only a bit of fun." I was still hoping she meant a joke on the boys. As Alison Wiseman's lovely brown, but slightly bloodshot, eyes stared into mine, Mrs Ryan and Mrs McLaughlin stripped my shoes and sox. Mrs Ryan then moved up and kneeled above my head. She took off my bow-tie and began unbuttoning my shirt. With each button she got closer and closer to the area I was having difficulty distracting myself from. No not that area, but Alison's crotch. She had to lift herself off my chest to allow Mrs Ryan's hand move lower, for more buttons.

Seizing the opportunity, I bucked and sent Mrs Wiseman toppling off me. I jumped to my feet and made for the door. They tried to stop me but I had too much of a head start. I pulled open the door and came face to face with the owners fifteen-year-old daughter. She’d been in the kitchen, making a midnight snack, when she heard all the commotion. Finding a shoeless, soxless and nearly shirtless, bar man coming out of the women's loo with three drunken women right behind him could only seem bad. No way was I staying there to explain. I just pushed past saying, "It's not what it looks like."

Everyone had a great laugh at my experience. The men couldn’t care less how far the women had managed to get. When I had a chance to get myself pulled together, I went in search of my shoes and sox, but they were on the missing list. Shoes or no shoes, I had to finish out the shift. For rest of the night I was serving drinks barefoot, but at least they didn't try to make me drink any more slammers, or sleep with anyone's wife.

The next day my shoes were found hanging from the Christmas tree in the lobby. I often wonder what could have happened in that toilet had I only struggled just that little bit less.

Stephen My Brother

Some people are blessed with perfect families. I was just blessed.

I want to tell you a little about my brother. He was born just over a year after I arrived. For the first three day's of his life everything was perfect. On day three my world changed. A tiny virus so small it can't be seen wrecked everything. Stephen was only day's old when he got meningitis. The worst kind of nightmare illness. I was only a baby myself so knew nothing of the horror that was unfolding in my family. This tiny invisible thing wrecked havoc on my parents and my brother.

For days Stephen fought for his life. The doctors and nurses worked, my parents were devastated, I was oblivious while most important my brother refused to give even an inch to this monster. An adult may come through such a thing once in a dozen cases, a three day old baby, one in a million. That is my brother for you, one in a million.

When you live so closely with another person you are not aware of differences. That is how it is with us. To others he had problems. They could see them but not me. He was always my brother, nothing more. The virus caused his head to swell as a baby, it was half again as big as mine. I just called him big head. He had trouble balancing. I climbed, he did not. He struggled in learning, so what. I was oblivious to any differences.

That changed one sunny day when I was in first class. Stephen was in senior infants. I came out for big break and found him crying in the yard. He would not tell me what was wrong, he just cried and tried to hide away from everyone. My best friends brother told me a boy in Stephens class called Niall Reddington had been bullying him, calling him names and pushing him around. I can still feel the rage I felt that day.

I cried hysterically with fury. Not little tears but huge sobs from deep in my chest. I never knew hate but that changed. I wanted to kill that boy, really kill him. I went after him but Thomas and a few others physically held me down. Pinned me to the ground while I cried and fought to be free. In the end it was Stephen that stopped me from hurting Reddington. He  came up to me and asked what was wrong, was I ok. He did not understand that it was his tears that had triggered my melt down. To him  I came first, my pain superseded his. To this day I have never forgiven Reddington for bullying my brother and never will. I don't know what Stephen thinks because he never mentioned it again.

This was the first time but not the last time for such horrible incidents. Each one galvanising a rage in me I would otherwise be incapable of. I am sorry to say I have dealt out punishments with a vengeance that scared me. Sometimes I felt outside myself, it was terrifying. I wish I could say that the bullies were always so easy to deal with. I cant. Of all the shitty things I have done in my life there is only one I would go back and change at any cost. It's is a simple game of fort.

I was about 8 and Stephen 7. We were living in the haunted house in Galway. Dad had just begun adding on a bathroom. He had a land drain and a septic tank sunk into the field out the back of the house. It was summer and the neighbours kids had come over to play. The clay had dried into lumps that exploded with puffs when thrown. The clouds of dust were just like hand grenades to an eight year old mind. We had formed two army's and took up defensive positions on either side of  the open tank. Thomas commanding one battalion and me the other. Stephen wanted to play. To my shame I did not want him on my team. I shoved him and made him leave,  not letting him play with us. Even now typing these words the shame of this simple betrayal makes my skin crawl. He left in tears. Stephen nearly never cried. He walked away quietly. Even then not wanting to make a big scene.  As we played that day I knew in my eight year old brain my sole was tainted forever. His look of disappointment is burned into my mind and I will never forgive my self for causing it.

We both went to the same primary school but after that I went to the Tec and he went to a different school. At least we were on the same bus. Stephen always sat beside the bus driver. Some times I did as well but others times I sat at the back with the other boys. I can't ever remember anyone being mean to Stephen or the others from his school on the bus. Mostly because Joe the bus driver was a scary dude and would have ripped you a new arsehole if you were.

After finishing secondary school I went to college in Dublin, Stephen stayed home. He kept some birds and worked in a local pottery centre. He loved both of these things. He never smoked, never drank or chased women. These were my pursuits. I never noticed how he had changed but looking at photos now it easy to see his health was waning. About a year into my college life I got a call to say that Stephen was sick and to come home.

He had a tumour in his spine. It was causing him to have pins and needles as well as making his balance worse. The doctors wanted to operate but it was not straight forward. This tumour was actually attached to his spine. He went in on a Friday for the operation and that was the last time I saw him standing by himself.

When he woke from the anaesthetic he began to spasm with pain. Not an ache. Spasms of pain so intense his whole body would arch in agony. Only his head and heels remaining in contact with the bed. Slowly it would abate only to happen again minutes later. Again and again it would happen until between the drugs and exhaustion he would collapse into sleep. I slept in a chair by his side during these nights. The rest of the family stayed with him during the days. The hospital did not ask us to leave or even respect visiting hours. They gave us coffee and sympathy. Between the spasms if you asked Stephen how he was doing. He looked at you with those innocent eyes and said "I'm fine," only to be bowed with agony a moment later.


That is the most wonderful thing about Stephen. He never once felt sorry for himself. If I was in his shoes I would have raged against the world. Not him. He was always fine, never gave out, never once complained or was even in a bad humour. That has been said about a lot of people. When I say never, I mean never with capital letters.

What ever my brothers illness took from him it also gave him gifts. He never knew what it was to tell a lie. (Not that his truths were easy to take). A contrary old neighbour once said to Stephen in front of my mother "Your such a good boy, would you not come and live with me."
To which Stephen replied "I would rather sleep in the ditch"
"Stephen!!" my mother scolded  but he just looked perplexed and said "What? it's the truth". Even my mother had to admit he had a point.
He had no greed in him and was granted patience and good nature enough for a nation.


For years his condition worsened. His mobility slowly decreased. He began using a stick, then a walker until at last he ended up needing a wheelchair. His spine began to twist, his hearing became weak. He was loosing feeling in his legs by the day. At last he was called to the specialist office with Dad.

"Stephen" he said " we can do something about the curve in your spine but it will mean that you will never walk again."
Stephen just said with all his normal candour " I cant walk now, what difference will that make" another life changing decision made simple.
He never let his difficulties stop him doing anything. He still cared for his birds, went to work, cooked his own meals. He directed his life on his terms. Once the operation to fix the curve in his spine went ahead, the pace of his problems increased. With the lack of movement came pressure sores and infections. In the beginning they were once and a while. But soon became more frequent.

I don't want to go into the years of hell that he endured, hundreds of painful procedures, dozens of infections, countless hours of probing and humiliation all taken without one word of complaint. Not one word ever!

Stephen was 33 when I got a call to say he was back in Hospital and it was not good this time. He had kidney infection and was not fending it off. They rushed him to Dublin where they did everything they could but by now none of the drugs were working. A week later they sent him home to our local hospital were he could be near his family for the end. He died in the ambulance on the way back but Stephen would not be told what or when to do anything. It was on his terms or none at all.   He died, but refuse to leave. Back he came.

A hour turned into four and then a night. Stephen was still with us but his body was running on pure will. The infection spread to his lung. Slowly the fluid began to build As he lay in his bed he began to drown. The doctors increased his medication to make him comfortable. Day and night one of us were by his side. I was alone with him when a miracle happened.

It was a little after four am when his movements changed. His breathing became less laboured and he opened his eyes. I stood and leaned over his face. His eyes were looking around and seemed to be taking in the room for the first time since his medication was increased. I smiled and he looked directly at me. I held up my thumbs and shouted " IS EVERYTHING OK" what a stupid thing to say.
I saw his mind registering who I was and putting together what I was trying to say to him. That was when he said the words that broke my heart and still break my heart now.

"I'm fine".

Having endured more than any other person I have ever known he said I'm fine. Then he faded back into sleep. He never woke again. He fought and fought for another five days but his body could not take it any more. I sat in the room with mam, dad and my sister when he took in his last breath before slowly leaving it all the way out. Never to take another. Hours earlier I had silently pleaded with whatever god was out there to take him and not make us suffer like this.

When his chest did not rise again I was relieved. I want to say that I was relieved for him but it was for me. I don't think I could cope anymore with such agony. Selfish, selfish, SELFISH!!! Another moment I will hate myself for eternally. Tears dribbled into my shirt as I mourned the passing of the bravest man I will ever know. Not for the way he left this world but how he had spend every hour since he had been born 33 years earlier.

I love you Stephen and your always with me.

The Haunted House

When I was six and a half, we moved to Connemara. For those of you that don't know Ireland well, this is the most westerly scrap of land in a part of Ireland called Connaught. It was said, the next stop on any journey through Connemara was America. It’s a wild and windswept place, fantastic cliffs and bays, cut by the constant pounding of Atlantic waves.

It may be pretty but you can't eat a nice view. The grey, limestone-bedrock lies under the thin skin of this county, like the ribs of a starving dog. So poor is the soil here that when the English's invaded, they occupied everything east of the River Shannon, while famously telling the displaced Irish rabble, "To Connaught or Hell".

Surviving on this barren headland was no easy task hundreds of years ago. The hardy men of the west managed as well they could. They fished from boats made of cow hide, sealed with tar. They gathered seaweed to spread on the meagre soil, fertilising it. Back breaking work done with a donkey if you were rich, or by hand if you were not. Many a back was flayed in this endeavour, rope cutting into flesh, dripping sea water and blood.

Galway is the main city in this area and is rightly called, "The city of the Tribes". People from all over Ireland flowed across the River Shannon, to make a new life. With no food, little work, or prospect of survival, mass emigration was the only choice. Coffin ships left port constantly. Tightly packed with eager but starving people, on this side of the ocean. Arriving near empty in the new world, leaving a trail of floating corpses in its wake. Millions fled in a time where journeys were measured in weeks and months. Such migrations are beyond our imagining today.

My family's move to the west took place late in the 1970's. The country was in recession and we had to follow the work where Dad could get it. He had finished his apprenticeship in Cork and worked for a number of years in the Ford Factory, before he was laid off.

"Sorry Tony," the foreman said. " Just the way things go."

Like that our little family was on its uppers. By now, Tony and Nancy had another boy and a little girl. I was the big brother and had to look out for them. I might not have under stood everything that was going on but I knew that something was wrong. I heard Mam crying in the night and thought she was having scary dreams. They were cross with each other sometimes, and Dad came home all wobbly and smelling funny once or twice.

In the end, we were all loaded into a beat-up Morris Minor, and followed the promise of a job in Galway city. The only down side to moving in my mind, was that I had to leave my school in Cork. Telling the truth, I didn't care one bit for the school, but Miss O'Brien was another matter. She was so tall and nice. She was always smiling and we played fun games every day. Even the lessons were fun. I think she liked me best, because she always put her hand on my shoulder when she taught me my ABC's. When mom said we were leaving, it broke my heart. I was inconsolable. I cried like I’d never cried before, or since. No matter what she told me, I knew I would never find another teacher like her.

I sulked while we loaded the car, and cried as we pulled away from our old house, but soon enough the excitement of the journey won through the tears. When we arrived in Galway, Mom shook me awake too look at the lights as they twinkled off the water in the bay. The big white truck with all our things in it, was behind us all the way from Cork. I thought truck drivers must be so clever to know exactly where we were going. I thought I might even be one, when I grew up.

The first days in Galway were a whizz of new places, new people, new everything. My brain wasn’t big enough to take it all in. We stayed with Aunt Molly, one of Dad's aunties. Dad said she was his auntie and that made her my auntie as well. I didn’t like her so much; she smoked all the time and spit in the fire. The house was small, so we all slept in one room. I couldn't figure out why we left Cork, there we had three rooms, grown-ups are silly sometimes. In the end, I didn't mind, because it was a great adventure. One morning, my dad started his new job, in the timber yard. He didn't go every day, but some days. It wasn’t long before it was time to move again. This time, we only went a few miles, out into the country to our very first house.

The first day Dad took us to see the new house, I thought we were lost because he took us down a tiny road with grass growing in the middle. There was only fields and hedges for miles, and from the back window you could see the ocean away in the distance. The grass around the house was so high, it was over my head. There was no running water, or bathroom, so we did our pee-pee in the field, out back. In the middle of the house was a big kitchen. Off each side of that, was a bedroom. Along with the house we had a few acres of land. I thought we were big farmers, but Dad said the only thing you would grow in those fields were rocks.

What I remember most about the first house, was how cold it was. Outside, it was a lovely sunny day, but inside it was so cold, the goose pimples came up on my arms. Another thing I remember was my sister, Katie, she wasn't happy at all. She cried so hard the first time she went into the house, my ears hurt. In the end, Mam took her outside where she stopped bawling, after a bit.

Moving day came, and the truck man that knew everything, came back. We loaded the house things from Cork, back into the truck. I thought we were like the snails in the garden, dragging our house around behind us. I thought we should live in the truck, and save all the moving. Dad said, I was a clever-clogs. I don't know what clogs are, but clever was good, so I smiled when he said it. Soon, we had all the boxes piled up in middle of the kitchen floor, of the new house. We were all tired after unloading the truck. Mam lit a fire in the range, and made bean's on toast, with the red sauce. Then Dad pulled the big double mattress in front of the fire, and we all slept there for the night, like camping. It was the best night ever. I didn't even mind the funny smell that came in the middle of the night.

One thing about Galway people, is they're very friendly. Soon, every neighbour for miles had come to say, welcome. They brought gifts, mostly cakes, breads and jams, made in their own kitchens. Eggs and milk, came from sheds, not the shop. Water was gathered in a tank from the roof. We never had this many people visit us in Cork.

A few weeks after we moved in, Mam had us working on the grass in the front garden. She was cutting it down with a thing called a slash hook. We all had to stand well back when she was swinging it. My job was to gather the cut grass into piles. One minute we were all alone, the next, an old man was leaning over the stone wall looking at us.

My Mam got a big fright, and said a bad word. I went over and stood beside her. When Dad wasn’t home, I was the man of the house. He said and had to look after Mam and the kids. So, I was watching this fella to see if he was a bad one, or not.

"Good day Missus" he said, doffing his dirty flat cap.

"Hello" said Mam, still red in the face. "You put the heart cross-ways in me."

"Sorry about that, I didn't know anyone had moved in," he said. "How is the old place for yea?"

"Hard work," Mam said, rubbing the sweat from her forehead. "I'm sure it will be fine in the end.".

He looked down at me, and said. "Who is this fine young man?" I think he knew I was keeping an eye on him. Mam rubbed my head, even though she knows I don't like it, she's always doing it!

"This is Squid. That’s Stephen and Kate over there, and my name is Nancy McFinnigan," she said, holding out her hand to the old man. When they shook, I saw his skin was dirty, with big cracks and ugly nails. I was a bit nervous because, only bad ones had such ugly hands.

"Squid is it?" he chuckled. "That's a quare name for a young-fella." He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a roll of sweets. He broke them in half, and offered some to me. I didn't know what to do so, I held on to Mam's leg, even though I knew, I was the one that should have been looking after her.

"It's okay," she said. "They're Silvermints."

I held out my hand, and took the half packet of sweets. They looked like white bits of chalk, but bigger. When I sucked one, they made my mouth tingle and tasted oh so good.

"So, what’s your name?" Mam asked.

The man said, "Willy Barrett, Missus. From the next parish over, but I’ve a few fields down this way." I made my mind up then and there, Willy Barrett must be one of the good ones, because only good ones would have Silvermints. I left them talking, and went to share the sweets with Stephen and Kate.

"Squid!! don't give Kate any, she is too small," Mam shouted, when she saw what I was doing.

I didn't listen to much of what Mam and Willy Barrett were talking about, but I did hear him say, "This old place has been empty a long time. People come and go from it. Don't remember anyone staying too long." Soon he was on his way down the road. I hoped he would come again and bring more Silvermints.

We didn't sleep in the kitchen any more, like we had that first night. Mam, Dad and Kate, slept in one room, me and Stephen, had bunk beds, in the other room. Because I was the oldest, I got the top one. Kate still didn't like the new house, and sometimes cried in the night. She said she didn't like the old man, he was ugly. Mam said it was only bad dreams. I knew she was wrong, because sometime Kate cried in the day as well, and you can't have bad dreams in the daytime. The funny smell that had come the first night, came back sometimes. Now, even Mam could smell it. She pulled the kitchen apart looking for what was causing it, but she never found it.

One night, she was sitting in the kitchen plucking the feathers off an old hen that she had killed for dinner, when the smell came. Dad was home.

"There it is now," she said, sniffing the air. Dad took big sniffs as well, so did I, but only for show, because knew the smell already. It was like turf fire and hedges.

"That is strange," said Dad, at last. "It's pipe tobacco." The smell would stay a while, and then just go again. It happened so often while we lived there, that Mam would say, "He's here again." Like there was someone at the door. I don't think Mam or Dad ever minded the smelly pipe smell, but Kate hated it, and was never happy in the new house.

Later in the year, the winter was coming, and we were on our holidays from school. It was Halloween time, so we were getting dressed up to go to the neighbour’s house; trick or treating. There was only one neighbour, but we were excited anyway. Stephen was dressed in an old jacket, wellies, and had a fork. He was going to be Willy Barrett. Since the day Willy scared my Mam, we became great friends. He always had Silvermints for me, and I would help him working in his field, or feeding the calf's when they were born. Tonight, I was going to be a fisher man. I was dressed in all my Dads fishing clothes, but Mom took the hooks off before she let me put them on. That was a pity, how can you be a fisherman with no hooks to feed the fish?

She had me standing on the table, rolling up my pants, so my feet would stick out bottom. I was looking out the window, across the field at the back of the house. I couldn't see the ocean today; it was very strange weather. The ground was covered in thick white clouds, so you couldn't see your feet. Mom said it was a sea mist, rolling in from the ocean. The evening was still, and the mist was sitting low on the ground. The cows in the field looked funny, they looked like they had no legs, and were floating on the mist. Every now and again, they ducked their heads into it, and when they came back up again, they were munching on grass.

I was watching the cows, when the scariest thing ever happened. A huge bang! The back door flew open, slamming into the wall a few times. Cupboard doors flew open and banged. A glass smashed on the ground, all the pictures on the wall flapped and clattered. Then the front door flew open, and all the noise stopped.

I had let out a big scream, but so had everyone else. Katie and Stephen were crying, I didn't, but I was scared…lots. Mam got an even bigger fright than the day Willy Barrett looked over the wall, she was shaking all over. Things had fallen out of the presses and all the pictures were facing the walls. Mam cuddled us all at the same time and said, "Sush, it's okay, lads. Sush, it’s only a bit of wind."

When I was a little less scared, I went and looked out the window. When I did, I knew that Mam was wrong. The cows were all still floating on the clouds outside. The wind should have made a mess if it had been blowing.

After that day, things were never as good in the new house. Kate saw the old man more and more. She had lots of scary dreams, in the day, and the night. One of our cows was hit with lightening, right in the field where it stood. Dad lost the job at the timber yard, and even the car stopped working. In the end, we had to sell the house and move back to Galway. 

The truck came again, and again, we loaded all our things. We had no car this time, so a friend of Dads, came to give us a lift back into Galway. I looking back at the house as we drove away. Just before we got out of sight, the curtain on the kitchen window billowed as if the wind caught it. A dark shape inside the house was watching us go. It made my tummy jump and feel sick. I looked away as quick as I could and decided not to tell anyone about what I had seen. Let me tell you, I was very glad we weren't going to live in the smelly house any more.