The Girl Who Came Home(96)

She looped her arm through Grace’s and they strolled together again, her thoughts returning to her seventeen-year-old self.

There was something different about Ballysheen that spring morning; an eerie stillness after the flurry of activity and organisation of the past weeks. Only the familiar crowing of the cockerel joined the sounds of tearful farewells and final exchanges as the travellers got into the carts which were gathered. She stood in silence, casting a final glance over the still snow-capped tops of the mountains in the far distance. the new-born lambs just tiny white dots, barely visible to the naked eye, the small, white cottages and occasional farm buildings dotted about the landscape like dolls houses scattered by a child. She had fond memories of running among those fields and mountains, temporarily free from the constraints of her domestic duties, at one with the landscape which she so loved.

She watched Pat’s weeping Mammy lean up into the cart to pass him a sovereign as a good luck token. One of the horses startled at a dog running around its feet, causing the trap to jolt slightly at the moment he reached to take the sovereign from her hands. She gasped as she watched the coin fall to the ground. This was a sign of bad luck, but the Mammy had picked it off the ground, rubbed it on her coat and passed it to him again. Nobody spoke of it.

The journey over the rugged terrain of the Windy Gap – bumping and jostling her around in her seat, each turn of the wheels taking them further away from home. Taking her further away from the man she loved.

Dozens of people gathered on the chilly station platform, unlit by the sun whose rays warmed the other side of the tracks. Groups huddled around piles of suitcases and trunks, exchanging tearful farewells with mothers and other family members. A sense of foreboding and finality.

The unmistakeable screech of metal on metal and the muffled puff, puff of smoke rising from the funnel as the Westport train approached. Hearts raced, hands shook and adrenalin caused bodies to shiver as the gleaming green livery of the Midland Great Western Line train came into view. How she’d gawped at the massive engine in front of her, the like of which she’d never seen before, the black funnel towering above the platform, the hiss of steam and the roars exchanged between the driver and the stationmaster making her cover her ears.

The images of the red-eyed strangers left behind on the platform, the tears which wouldn’t stop falling wiped silently, helplessly away. Mothers glancing into the distance, trying not to cause a fuss, trying to impart a sense of bravery and assurance to their sobbing daughters and sisters staring back at them through the misted-up windows.

‘It’s a dreadful sight Maggie, it truly is.’ Peggy had said. ‘God love ‘em. God love us all, every one.’

Staring out of the window, the fields and meadows rushing past at an incredible pace as the train clattered towards Claremorris station, beyond which, she would be crossing new and unfamiliar territory.

Grasping the packet of letters in her coat pocket. Reassured by them, sensing Séamus near her as long as she could feel his words in her hands.





Maggie shivered at the memories and pulled her coat tighter around her as they approached the gravestone.

They stood for a while, heads bowed in silence as they each said a private prayer. Maggie took to fussing over the flowers then, removing all the dead and wilted ones and replacing them with the fresh ones she had brought.

‘Freesias – your favourite,’ she whispered as she went about her work.

Grace watched her and smiled at her great-grandmother’s dedication and undying love for the man she had spent most of her lifetime with. She studied the inscription on the headstone. Much loved husband of Maggie and doting father to Harry, Kathleen and Peggy. ‘To live in the hearts of those we love is never to die.’

‘I remember him you know.’ Grace spoke almost in a whisper. ‘He was a kind man wasn’t he? I remember the smell of the pipe he smoked. I remember him teasing me and pretending that he couldn’t say the word hippopotamus. He would go on for ages and have me and Art in stitches. I always felt safe around him.’

Maggie smiled fondly. ‘Yes, Grace. He was a very kind man. It’s funny, I always felt safe around him too. He had that sort of – what do you call it…?’

‘Presence.’

‘That’s right. A presence. You always knew when he was in the room – not in a fancy, showy way like your brother. More in a quiet, gentle way.’ She paused for a moment and brushed a few fallen blossom petals from the stone. ‘Yes, he was a very special man indeed.’

The two stood then for a while, remembering the man whose grave they stood at. It wasn’t until Maggie muttered the word ‘Amen,’ that Grace knew she was ready to leave.