Chapter Three

Phil had always been an early riser, surviving happily on three to four hours sleep. Despite his vow not to be ruled by his wristwatch during their holiday, he was up and experimenting with the Calor gas stove at first light. As the kettle came to the boil he poured it over a generous portion of fresh-ground Kenyan beans and left it to percolate. The tantalising aroma of the day's first brew soon produced a reaction from Kate.

"Wassatime?"

"Morning - I told you, my watch is in the ‘sin bin' for the next few weeks!"

"Zat coffee?"

"It isn't diesel oil."

"Mmmm - your coffee's always good. What's your plans today?"

"Breakfast, and then before we go down to the lake we should look after old Gerald: he might not be dragging a caravan x miles every day, but we still need to look after him!"

"Sure, but that's no great hardship: actually, I think I'm going to enjoy it: I always wanted to own a horse when I was a kid!"

"You and just about every girl in England, I'm sure!" chuckled Phil, tousling her untameable hair with a free hand. He glanced out of the rear door, the top half of which he had fastened back.

"I think breakfast might be ready" he added. Michael Ashe had shown himself at the front door and waved to them to come over to the kitchen.

Kate roused herself, washed and dressed quickly. The unpolluted country air had undoubtedly quickened her appetite. As they entered the kitchen, Michael drew out two chairs from the table in the centre of the room. A traditional wood-burning kitchen range occupied most of one wall, and a series of pots and pans bubbled or simmered on it.

There were four place settings; Moira joined Phil, Kate and Michael as she deposited the last few dishes in the centre of the table.

"I hope you've brought your appetites with you!" she said, with a mock frown.

"If you take a decent breakfast, you'll not lose time stopping for a lengthy lunch" added Michael, setting a good example by filling his plate.

"Sure, and the liquid element of lunches, in my experience, is what causes most delay!" Moira added, tartly but without malice.

Kate's idea of breakfast was generally more on the lines of two or three coffees and a slice of toast, but the fresh air had given her a healthy appetite, too.

Phil had no inhibitions, and set about the "Full Irish Breakfast" provided by Michael Ashe with enthusiasm.

Kate insisted on helping Moira with the dishes, protesting that this was surely the least she could do to show their appreciation. Phil used the time to go through his collection of cameras and equipment.

By the time Kate returned to the caravan Phil had made his selections, and they went together to feed and brush Gerard. The stable lad, Jim, appeared from nowhere and helped them to back the horse in between the shafts for the short trip to the lakeside,

and the campsite which would be their centre of operations for the next fortnight or so.

Moira appeared at the kitchen door just as they were ready to go. Leaning heavily on her arm was an elderly man, not a face which Phil could immediately place from the previous night's festivities.

By now it was almost time for Michael Ashe to open for business: the day's first customer - albeit of the ‘non-paying' variety - had already had a ‘standing glass' before being sent off to complete his delivery of the local post.

Moira's companion, Phil sensed, moved slowly due to his considerable age but there was still an air of strength and authority about him. Without being able to explain why, Phil instinctively knew that this was in all likelihood the village's ‘oldest inhabitant', or Elder Statesman: the official-sounding title almost begged to be spelt with Capital Letters.

"Phil, Kate: this is Hugh O'Gara. You may recall he was mentioned last night as our local expert on just about everything that's ever happened in the village of Ardcarne. He's probably forgotten more than the rest of us ever learned!"

Hugh's grasp on Phil's hand was surprisingly strong, and confirmed Phil's instinctive feeling that this was indeed a figure of genuine authority.

"I'm informed that you're searching through your family's history" Hugh said, calmly.

"How far have your labours taken you?"

"It's been fairly simple, actually" began Phil. " ... because my father, Terry, had only the one son - me - and I've no close male cousins. The same's true of his father, though there's been any number of girls in both generations! His father was .... "

"Tomās McDermott, who had any number of brothers and male cousins!" interrupted Hugh. His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he saw Phil's reaction.

He nodded, and continued:

"Tomās McDermott, his brothers and his cousins were a well-known local team. They travelled together, playing exhibition Rugby and Hurling matches (depending on the time of year) against any opposition: from all accounts, they lost very few of their games!"

"Like many of their generation, they were obliged to leave when the crops failed three years running. The O'Gara family had always been tenants on the Clan McDermott estate, but we had no money of our own and were obliged to remain. But I'm not as old as all that: the tale I'm telling you is one I heard from my grandfather, who watched them as a team many times when he was young!"

Phil saw at once that this village resident's memories could prove invaluable to his researches. Fortunately, Hugh seemed not only willing but also eager to contribute.

Kate and Moira wandered off ahead of the caravan, leading the way. Hugh declined the offer of a ride, on the principle that "It would take me half an hour to get up, and longer no doubt to get back down again", so he and Phil strolled alongside Gerald, the reins being held by an ecstatically happy Jim on the box seat.

The pub was barely concealed by the thinnest screen of leaves and foliage when they arrived at a natural clearing, complete with a combined picnic table and benches. It was located at the extreme southernmost tip of the teardrop-shaped lake and seemed to be a perfect place for their campsite. Less than thirty metres from the bank was the closest point of an island, and  the unmistakeable lines of what could only have been a Chapel. This confirmed that they had arrived at the island they sought, an isle which he had heard

referred to under at very least a triumvirate of names: Castle Island, Trinity Isle and McDermott's Isle -  four, if you also counted The Rock. This, however, seemed to be more of a local name rather than something official recorded on an OS or tourist map.

Following Hugh's advice, the caravan was backed up to a point on the perimeter of the clearing furthest away from the water's edge and more or less opposite the picnic table. Gerald was unharnessed and left tethered away from both caravan and dining area.

"Michael will show you later where he can roam more freely in a pasture" said Hugh.

"Jim, when you go back, remind him of that, please: and when you get a moment, run over and tell Sean I want him."

Jim nodded and ran off.

"Sean's my grandson" explained Hugh, in response to Phil's unspoken question.

"I thought to ask him to run a few errands for me, my legs not being up to it these days!"

Kate had already perched on a convenient treestump and opened up her sketchpad: Moira hovered at her shoulder. At that distance Phil could not overhear what was being said, but assumed they were discussing the production of some preliminary sketches.

"You've lost your good lady for a while, I'm thinking." commented Hugh.

Phil grinned.

"Isn't it always the way! But she's an artist, and in such a beautiful spot .... " Phil trailed off, but the sentence didn't really need finishing.

"Don't let me stop you from setting up cameras and equipment!" Hugh said, nodding his understanding. "You've no doubt your own preparations to make."

Grinning self-consciously, Phil began to unpack.

"Hugh, your knowledge and your memories would be a great help for me" he said.

"It would save me weeks of research if I could ask for your help."
"Haven't I already told you that the O'Garas have always been loyal to the Clan?" said Hugh. "I took it for granted that you'd ask, and if you hadn't mentioned it yourself I'd have offered before the day was much older: of course you can count on me!"

Phil was relieved. Despite the confidence he showed in his professional dealings, he was essentially a reserved, almost shy person where more personal matters were concerned.

He thanked Hugh sincerely, thinking as he did so that mere words seemed inadequate.

"Where do you suggest I can set up a camera for a series of photographs?" he asked.

"A series? What sort of series d'you mean? And what for?"

"When I go somewhere I haven't been before, I like to start with a set of pictures of the scene. I find it useful if I can take a full set of the scene under different lighting conditions, so I try to set up a timer to take shots at regular intervals throughout the day: every half-hour, for example."

"That sounds like a lot of film: it  must be expensive?"
Phil laughed.

"Not if you do your own processing: it's only about two rolls, really. But that's one thing I'd like to ask, by the way. There isn't a photographer, or a chemist in the village. Does Michael Ashe have a spare room at the pub I could rent?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged" nodded Hugh.

 "Is it really that simple to develop pictures?"

"If you know what you're doing, it's pretty straightforward" said Phil. "People just think it's complicated because the equipment's a bit pricey, but all you need really is a dark room and a few chemicals."

There was rather more skill involved than that, but like any true professional Phil wasn't about to reveal any trade secrets. Hugh called Sean over and told him what Phil needed to know, sending him off towards the pub with a playful cuff. Within ten minutes he was back, with a positive answer and towing a crate of Guinness balanced on a shopping trolley.

"Michael says to keep them cool in the lake, and you can pay for what you drink when you get back ........... "

Phil chose three strategic points on the shoreline, covering about ninety degrees from roughly a south-easterly point clockwise round to about south-west. What had been the Chapel entrance faced as near as made no difference due south, according to Phil's compass. Once the cameras were in place and the timers set, his work for the afternoon was completed: he would return just before sundown to replace the films with specially sensitive film for night shots without the distortion of a flashgun.

Kate and Moira had also drifted from one vantage point to another, and had produced a score or more sketches. Most of them were Kate's handiwork, but Moira had produced a couple of creditable efforts as well. Phil and Hugh took the final two bottles of Guinness from the crate.

"Well begun is half-done!" Hugh intoned, with a mock-solemn wink.

For some reason, this aphorism struck them all as hilarious (though the amount of Guinness consumed during the afternoon might also have had something to do with their good humour). Laughing and joking, they strolled back to the pub for their evening meal, more than satisfied with the results of the first day's labours.