Chapter 5

 

Phil was determined to keep to his holiday resolution not to wear a watch. He had decided that for once he would not be ruled by anyone's timetable, not even his own if he could help it.

He was conscious of the early hour of the day, mostly from being aware of things which he as a typical "townie" would not normally be expected to recognise: sleepy birdsong rather than muffled car engines revving; low-lying mist on the grass replacing exhaust fumes on the streets;  the low angle of the sun's disc climbing behind a stand of trees instead of a streetlamp violating the privacy of his bedroom curtains.

It was the gentle sound of rain falling in a steady rhythm on the sprung wooden ribs of the caravan roof which has roused him naturally from a deep, satisfying sleep. Kate was still sprawled on her side of the bed, and he knew from experience that she was certain to remain so until the tantalising aroma of the day's first brew of coffee tantalised her nostrils.

First things first: kettle on, coffee measured into percolator. With a stab of guilt, he admitted to himself that he should perhaps have thought of grooming Gerald before seeing to his own needs. Opening the half-doors at the front of the caravan, he checked where the horse had been tethered overnight - and found that he was too late. Séan had already led Gerald into the stable buildings and was almost finished grooming him.

 

"Séan, do you never sleep?" Séan had been running back and forth in his capacity as pot boy all through the previous evening's ‘session' in the pub, and Phil was pretty sure that he would have been washing glasses and tankards for some time after the last guests had gone.

Séan grinned, but automatically glanced at the sun before replying.

"Sure, and God's good light's been on the land an hour and more: why wouldn't I be up and about my chores?"

This could have sounded po-faced or insincere: but in the circumstances, and coming from Séan, it didn't. He had a natural, unforced and innocent charm about him which appealed to Phil, who grinned in his turn as he clambered off the steps of the caravan and stretched out a hand.

"At the least you can let me finish off the job, or old Gerald will start to forget who's paying the bill for his meals! Can you run over and ask Michael what time he wants to serve breakfast?"

Séan glanced upwards and shrugged.

"I'm thinking it's not going to stop raining just now, and probably not the rest o' the day, neither" he stated, with a sincerity and solemnity which seemed far beyond his years.

"This must be what my gran used to call a ‘proper Ma Reilly's Washing Day', then!" responded Phil, grinning. Séan's features creased in amusement: Kate, appearing sleepily on Phil's shoulder, had not heard the full exchange: putting her arms around Phil, she nibbled gently at his earlobe and fixed him with a stare which demanded an explanation.

"Me mam's ma - Grannie Ellen - used to say that the only thing this sort of weather was good for was to do all the washing!" he said, with a self-conscious grin.

"It means that we've an excuse to sit down and sift through all the notes we've got, both from research so far and - more important! - from talking to people at the bar last night."

Séan was clearly heartbroken.

"Will you not be wanting to row out and take more photies today?"

Phil shook his head.

"I'm pretty certain we'd not get anything we could use in this light and weather conditions, Séan" he said, trying to break the bad news gently. "And one of the things I need to do today might seem a bit of a boring indoor-type chore, but it's something I'd really like your help with: cataloguing all the prints, sorting out where they were taken from, what angles they show of the building itself, the time they were taken .... believe me, Séan, there's a lot of detective work to do, and I just know you'd be good at it!"

His ego thus massaged, Séan puffed up almost as quickly as he had deflated and ran off to order breakfast from Michael Ashe, who appeared as if telepathically summoned seconds before the pot-boy's headlong approach threatened to rip the closed kitchen door off its hinges.

"Would our house guests be wanting breakfast, now?" he asked, as Séan skidded to a seemingly impossible stop centimetres from a full frontal collision. Phil raised his coffee mug to conceal a grin and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Michael nodded back, and turned to re-enter the kitchen.

Kate disappeared and dressed, returning before Phil had emptied his mug.

"Come on, then: you're a cup ahead of me already!" she pouted, facetiously.

Séan followed them into the kitchen. Having taken care of Gerald's welfare, he now washed his hands carefully before continuing into the main bar to wait on table for the ‘house guests'. Once he had made sure that they had what Michael called "a sufficiency" on their plates, he waited for an approving nod from the proprietor before sitting at the table and serving himself an equally impressive portion, which disappeared rapidly.

The empty plates, serving dishes and cutlery disappeared just as swiftly and efficiently: Phil was barely aware of Séan standing up to carry dishes out into the kitchen but as he filled his coffee cup for the third time the table was almost completely cleared. 

Séan was now hovering with a damp cloth to wipe down the surface.

"If you'd like to get anything you need from the caravan, I'll clean the table while you're away and you can make a start when you're ready!" he offered.

Kate settled at a round table against one wall with half a dozen notebooks, a box of audio cassettes and a player. Phil returned bearing envelopes filled with photographs, piled high in the plastic washing up bowl which came with the caravan. Séan drifted between the two, dancing with suppressed excitement, but settled at Phil's elbow as soon as he sat down and fanned out the envelopes.

"You can help me by sorting them first by the time - see, printed up in the right-hand top corner .... and then I want you to sort each pile in turn by the angles they show, and which side of the building, that sort of thing ..... "

Considering they were all without exception night shots, and taken without the benefit of a flashgun, they clarity of each print was very good. Séan soon had them sorted in piles, but there were three or four which brought a frown to his young face: these he lay aside and studied them in greater depth before calling to Phil for a second opinion.

"I can't work out what these smudges might be" he said, pushing the prints across the table. The prints - four in all - were centred on the main door. The blemishes were in to foreground, as if someone or some thing had crossed rapidly in front of the lens at the exact moment the shutter had been released. The shots were from three different camera angles, three timed between 01:30:30 and 01:30:50. The ‘odd one out' was from one of the same three cameras, judging by the angle, timed ten minutes later at 01:40:30.

Phil located the original negatives and set them up as a slide show. He enlarged the relevant portion of each frame, enhancing the mysterious blemish in an attempt to reveal more detail.

On a whim, he took the frame from the later shot, which was from a camera placed at a 45° angle to the right of centre, and overlaid the earlier shot from the same camera. The first suggestion of a shape began to suggest itself.

"Can you sketch this for me please, Kate?" he said, knowing his own limitations as far as reproducing a recognisable drawing was concerned. He stood and looked at the screen thoughtfully while Kate took a pencil and with a few firm strokes captured the image on paper.

When she nodded and showed him her rendering, he left the earlier of the two shots in the viewer and overlaid it with the other prints from the central camera and the corresponding camera from the left 45° angle.

"With any luck we should get a sort of 3-D effect from this" he said as he fine-tuned the magnification and focus of each frame to try and get the sharpest possible image.

When it came, the image seemed to coalesce from one instant to the next. Kate went and stood next to the screen and held her sketch to one side. The basic shape she had recorded was clearly repeated on the composite image. This was indeed as Phil had said a three-dimensional picture of a human figure, clearly kneeling and in profile before the doors of the chapel. The doors themselves had crumbled to dust with the passage of time, so how could they possibly be seen on photographs taken within the last twelve hours?

Phil magnified the image as far as he could without losing clarity of detail, then examined the enhanced picture with a lens. He could find no flaw or sign of tempering with the picture, or any other evidence of sleight of hand. He reflected, however, that even if anyone had had the opportunity to falsify the photographic records during the few hours the automatic timing sequence was set to operate, what possible motive might lie behind this?

"It's almost like a, what d'you call it, a ... holo-something?" said Kate, puzzled.

"A hologram. Yes, I see what you mean: but even a hologram looks more solid, more realistic in a way" Phil replied. He rummaged amongst the cameras he had on hand, assembling a combination of lenses and filters.

"I've never tried this before!" he said to Kate as he checked the focus and focus on the camera he had ‘built'

" ... but it should be possible for me to photograph the image we've built from this combination of shots ............. "

Kate sat and sketched carefully while Phil retired with half a dozen negatives to the inner bedroom, set up as a temporary darkroom. She became totally absorbed in her work, and had four or five efforts including one of approximately the same size as the image on the screen, and others which were attempts at making enlargements which remained as true as possible to the details of the original. She was surprised when Phil re-entered, carrying still-damp prints: she had a fair idea how long the developing process took, and had not realised how much time had passed.

"Any luck?"

Without comment, Phil laid the photographs out on a table, two rows of three. The three-dimensional effect he had hoped for had worked perfectly: there was no possible doubt that the figure was that of a kneeling male. The clothes he was wearing were from some previous age which Kate was not immediately able to identify.

"When these are properly dry, we have to get someone else to look at them: someone who knows more about local history than we do, maybe even  legends, folk stories ... "

"Michael Ashe and Hugh O'Gara are no doubt first on the list!" said Kate, carefully packing her sketching equipment into a portfolio cover.

"If young Séan has his ear to the door, he's no doubt already told Michael we're on our way .......... !"

Séan was indeed whispering to Michael Ashe at the bar when they entered, and Hugh O'Gara was installed in his customary seat near the porch. On the other hand, it was already noon and the pub was therefore, officially open for business.

"Have ye news for us then, Phil?" said Michael, a touch too quickly. Séan had the good grace to blush, but stood his ground, even under a glare from Phil which could easily have felled grown men.

Phil dealt sets of prints out like hands of cards, sets of six prints on each of three tables. Michael, Hugh, and every other customer - more than half the village, it seemed to Phil - crowded close to see for themselves. After a few initial murmurs of surprise, a silence of disbelief settled over all present.

Hugh was first to stir.

"I'm minded to tell you the tale of Tomàs Laidír and Una Bhan" he said, quietly. A sigh of anticipation rippled around the room; this was clearly a popular tale which had been told before. He blinked suddenly, as if returning from a distance.

"Michael, I'll trouble you to have a round of drinks served outside in the sunshine: those who wish to indulge in a smoke should have the opportunity to do so!"

This produced a ripple of genuine laughter. It was generally known that Hugh was as fond as anyone else of a smoke, and was not impressed by recent legislation intended to make every pub in Ireland a smoke-free zone.

 

 Phil found himself eager to hear what Hugh had to relate, and the fact that Hugh evidently considered it had some bearing on the mysterious photographs he had laid out for inspection was almost a bonus. As soon as everyone had decamped to the tables outside the pub door and had charged (or re-charged) their glasses, Hugh began.

 

"On Trinity the green leaves blow, high
 where Una Bhan and Tomas Ladir lovers tie.
Each day the lark sings from the blue sky above
bitter sweet song, of their romantic love".

 

"This is one stanza - possibly (but not definitely) the first verse - of a long and often sad saga which tells the story of Una Bhan, daughter of MacDermot, King of Moylurg, and her would-be suitor Tomàs Laidír Costello."

"Una Bhan was very beautiful, and her name referred to her luxuriant long, blonde hair.
Tomas Laidir was a good and sincere man, handsome and strong, whose land shared a boundary with the MacDermot estate."

"Una Bhan and Tomas Laidir fell in love and wished to marry but MacDermot would not allow the marriage because he believed Tomas Laidir was not good enough for his daughter. Tomas Laidir was banished from the area and MacDermot had Una Bhan confined on Castle Island, Lough Key, then called "The Rock", which was located in the centre of MacDermot territory. "
.
"Una Bhan went into a deep melancholy and was dying of grief. Tomas Laidir, hearing of the situation went to see her, and when he left, vowed that if MacDermot did not send a message for him to return before he reached the river, he would never go back. The messenger was sent, but did not reach Tomas Laidir until after he had crossed the river. Being a man of honour Tomas Laidir was unable to break his vow and did not return."

"Una Bhan died of a broken heart and was buried on Trinity Island. In his grief Tomas Laidir used to swim to the island every night to keep vigil at her grave. Eventually he got pneumonia, and realising that he was dying requested that MacDermot allow him to be buried beside Una Bhan. His request was granted and thus the two lovers were belatedly united."

Hugh paused in his tale and took a long pull at his pint of Guinness, prompting others into a Pavlonic imitation of the act.

Looking straight at Phil, he continued:

"Tradition says that the two rose bushes which entwine before the doors of the Chapel represent the two lovers, united in death as was their wish while they lived."

Glancing at the photographs closest to him, Phil could just make out the shape of an arch of flowers half out of focus beyond the mysterious figure at the centre of the shot. A quick search through other photographs showing a wider view of the Chapel and its immediate surroundings confirmed his first impressions. The arch was indeed two intertwined climbing roses, apparently rooted one on either side of the main door. The door obstinately refused to disappear from the shot, even though in reality it had long rotted, due to the inevitable effects of the passage of time.

"That was indeed a wonderful tale, Hugh!" said Kate. Phil nodded, and indicated to Michael Ashe that he should take care of everybody's glass.

"Kate, I'm tempted to row out to the island tonight: I really feel we ought to try and get some first-hand impressions of whatever .... ‘atmosphere' there is on the island.

Oh, and while we're at it, Hugh!" he added " For a fairly small island it seems to have a history of several different names: so far you've called it Castle Rock, Trinity Island, The Rock and - if I'm not mistaken! - MacDermot's Isle! Explanation, please!

Hugh's eyes twinkled with a mixture of pleasure at Phil's careful attention to his tale, but also with a hint of mischief.

"What you can read on a map will probably depend on whose map you happen to have in front of you, and also how old the map is!"

"The island has been known by all those names at different times, and as far as I know most maps nowadays agree on the name "Trinity Island" - but locally most people will probably call it MacDermot's Isle ......... "

As with many things in Ireland, this immediately fired a spirited discussion amongst all those present. Ten minutes (and several hot-tempered exchanges) later, it seemed that just over half those present preferred the traditional "MacDermot's Isle", the rest being split more or less evenly between "The Rock" and "Trinity Island"

"Is there anyone I should be asking permission if we want to camp on the island for a night or two?" Phil asked. "I don't mean setting up a tent - which we haven't got, anyway! - or digging any holes, or lighting fires: just taking a couple of sleeping bags in case we get sleepy: I don't actually intend to sleep, just soak up the atmosphere."

"Unless I miss my guess, you could well finish up asking yourself for permission! For instance: I think it entirely possible that you're as close to the title an MacDairmada as anybody can be. As Chieftain of the Clan, you'd have the final say in such matters!"

"So nobody in the village would object if I .... give myself permission?" grinned Phil, and was rewarded with a genuine, warm chuckle from all sides.

When the laughter subsided, Phil had another serious question for Hugh.

"Hugh, how can I find more information about my family? I mean, I got a lot of information from the Internet, but there must be other sources I can try while I'm here in Ireland - particularly in the part of the country my family originally came from?"

"Records of Births, Marriages and Deaths have been kept by the Holy Mother Church for far longer than this new fad Internet thing" grunted Hugh. Like many of his generation, he evidently had a natural suspicion of modern technology: particularly technology he personally had no experience with or understanding of.

A curious look passed swiftly between Phil and Kate, but not so quickly that Hugh wasn't aware of it. Without any obvious signal from Hugh that Phil could spot, most of those closest to their table suddenly looked at a watch, emptied their glass, or decided to inspect the Gents. In short order Phil and Kate found themselves left to speak privately with Hugh under the warm early afternoon sunlight.

"Have you been through Church records before you left Liverpool?" Hugh asked.

Phil glanced at Kate, and half-shrugged. Suddenly he found it difficult to look Hugh straight in the eye, and Hugh became impatient.

"Come, now! You've signed the guestbook as Mr.& Mrs.McDermott! Now, as long as that's true, you should be able to trace your line through church records! "

Phil took Kate's hand in his own, and blushed.

"Truth to tell, we .... chose a civil ceremony." he admitted. "We were both baptised Catholics, but neither of us have been to church in years, and it didn't seem .. right, somehow, in the circumstances." His voice trailed off.

"By a ‘civil ceremony' I'm thinking you mean a Registry Office" said Hugh. He seemed non-judgemental, but Phil had the feeling that Hugh had somehow expected more of him, particularly as he had hinted more than once at Phil's possible claim to the traditional title of Clan Chieftain.

"Yes, we were married at the Town Hall in Liverpool. Kate was still repaying her student loan at the time, and cash was a bit tight .... "

Hugh nodded his understanding.

"We may be off the beaten track here, but we still read the papers: you're not the first couple to choose a simple ceremony rather than the expense of a church wedding! But there's a consideration, something you couldn't possibly have known at the time ......... you see, we're comfortable with the old ways, here. You'll have noticed, I'm sure, that not everyone speaks English as their first or even their main language: and the title of an MacDairmada carries responsibilities, even today!"

"People will look to you for their lead and example, Phil. Now, I ask you to picture how people might react when they discover that the current an MacDairmada and his wife are not - in the eyes of the Church - married?"

Hugh carefully extinguished his cigarette, and emptied the ashtray in a nearby bin as they walked towards the pub door to rejoin the rest of the lunchtime drinkers.

Hugh paused with one hand on the door latch.

"I thought it only fair to speak a few words to you in private rather than have you embarrassed by discussing the matter in public." he said, and looked from one to the other.

"But it's not something you can hide: the people I've known and lived with all my years are good folk, and want to be able to look up to you, respect you as Clan Chieftain: do  you  realise that the full title which follows  an MacDairmada is "King of Moylurg, Prince of Coolavin"? Now: how do you think traditional country folk might react to their Prince and King living with a ‘Consort' without the blessing of the Church?"

Kate squeezed Phil's hand, and hugged him close.

"I understand what you're saying, Hugh, and I'm sure Phil does, too! It didn't seem so important to us at the time: we hadn't even begun to think about family roots and history. Not that there's a lot to be discovered about my family, other than the fact that they also came from Ireland. But my parents are both dead, and to the best of my knowledge I've very few relatives, none of them close, some I've never even met. Everywhere we've turned we've hit a brick wall when we've tried to dig deeper!"

 

"All the same, Hugh: we take what you've told us to heart" added Phil, conscious that someone could at any moment open the door to leave or to look for them. It would not be a good idea to allow themselves to be caught holding an impromptu Privy Council on the steps of the pub, as rumour and gossip would soon put the blackest interpretation on such secret ploys in a community where openness and knowing everything about everybody else (and his pet dog) was the norm.

Hugh nodded once more.

"I hope you'll understand I'm not trying to dictate to you how you should live your lives!" Hugh replied  "  .... but I hope you'll bear it all in mind. If I can do anything to help you in this matter, you've but to ask."

With that he pushed the latch and opened the door, and they were greeted with offers of drinks from every side. it soon became apparent to Phil that he was simply not going to have the opportunity to air his own wallet during this session. The warmth of the day had given everyone a healthy thirst, and the craic promised to be ‘mighty' once more.