Chapter Six

     Some time late in the afternoon, someone lit up a barbecue in the grounds behind Michael Ashe's pub. Before long the jungle drums had throbbed: everyone living close enough to follow their nose had turned up for an impromptu garden party.

     Afternoon flowed into evening before the supply of chicken legs, sausage and rib petered out and the serious business of singing and drinking competitions became the focus of attention. When Michael Ashe called "Time!" Phil was dumbfounded at how quickly the day had slipped away. It was clearly far too late to consider the idea of  ‘soaking up the atmosphere' by spending a night on the island. Though still nominally in command of all his senses, Phil conceded that he would almost certainly have slept through the Last Trumpet, if it had been sounded that night. It was easier to postpone the whole idea another day. After all, he told himself, they were on holiday......

     Kate was not her usual chirpy self when he brought her coffee the following morning. Phil sensed that she had not slept well, and that something was troubling her. He also knew from experience that there was nothing to be gained by pressing the point: she would tell him in her own good time what was wrong.

     "Hugh O'Gara tells a good tale" she said, eventually. Phil sensed that this was leading into whatever was causing her fey mood this morning, and nodded his encouragement.

     "And did you notice, he's also a fine voice when he sings!" he added. Many songs both of a familiar variety (and others, not so well known) had been sung throughout the previous evening, almost all of which developed into spontaneous harmonies as the dark velvet brew lubricated the throats of the singers.

     "Everyone seems to respect him for what he is, and for what he .... knows, I suppose: or should that be, what he stands for - the Oldest Resident, one of the last links with an earlier time, when the whole way of life must have been very different" Kate mused, almost as if she hardly heard what Phil was saying.

     "I mean" she continued, " ... what he was saying about us last night, for example: or to be more precise, what he was saying about you, Phil, and the title, an MacDairmada! Did he not make it sound as if he expects you not only to claim the title, but also show an example for others once you have claimed it? Isn't that what he was saying?"

     Suddenly a significant piece of jigsaw fell into place for Phil, and he knew instinctively what was bothering Kate. He sat on the edge of her bed and pulled her closer to him.

     "It's what he said about a ‘proper church wedding', isn't it?" he breathed, nuzzling her ear. "Darling, if it means that much to you, I'd be thrilled to go along with anything you want!"

     "I don't want you saying that just  .... for the sake of  .... something!" she protested, through tears which were at once a release of pent-up emotion and a wellspring of inner bliss. Phil shook his head, firmly.

     "I'll grant you that most of our friends haven't bothered with church weddings, that I can recall - and a number of couples we both know show no burning desire to make it as far as the nearest Registry Office!" he said, trying to keep a light and easy tenor to the way the conversation was heading.

     " ....... but at the same time, we both know couples - including some with official papers! - who've drifted apart, and either separated or divorced, even in the, what?? four ,five years we've known each other!"

     "It's five in September" replied Kate, absently " ... and we've been married three of them: the best years of my life so far, I'll have you know, with or without an ‘official blessing' from the local priest!" she added, with a teasing smile. Her tears dried, she seemed more her normal self. It was at this point that the sun eventually broke through the cloudy start to the day, which now promised to be one of the best so far during their holiday.

     "Seems to me that Hugh wanted us to ... shall I say, tread carefully on this subject  rather than let it become something for the local gossips" Phil said reflectively as Kate washed and dressed, ready to cross the yard for breakfast.

     "Let's see if we can consult the Oracle, then, and get some private advice from Hugh as to how we can get around this." Kate responded.

     "Do you think we could get a Special Licence of some sort while we're only here as tourists? Even so, it would be the local priest anyway: so it won't prevent people knowing that the Clan Chieftain and his .... what? Wife? Lady friend?" suddenly, for a moment, she looked vulnerable again, fragile, almost lost.

     "Paramour? Chatelaine? Madam?" teased Phil, ducking neatly as he knew full well what reaction to expect. Her handbag whistled at least two or three millimetres above his head: she lost her balance and fell laughing into his arms again. This was all the excuse Phil needed, and he caught her fiercely in a strong embrace.

     "Kate McDermott, I swear by everything I ever held dear that we'll find a solution to this before the week's out - or I'll not claim the title  an MacDairmada until I've found one!"

     As they stood and kissed before entering the pub, a pair of sharp old eyes observed from a distance. He hadn't intended to witness this tender moment, and had kept himself at a distance which respected the privacy of the conversation which had gone before, but Hugh O'Gara was shrewd enough to be able to guess something of the situation, and knew instinctively that all was well, and a' manner o' things were well between the two most important persons involved.

     "Aye, now that at least is something to be glad for" he murmured to himself as he stepped from behind the tree he had been leaning upon for the past few minutes, seconds after the pub door closed behind the breakfast guests. "Yes, indeed, it is now."

     After breakfast, just as Phil was wondering how he might contrive a ‘casual' meeting with Hugh O'Gara for a private discussion, the problem was solved as Himself lifted the latch.

     "You'll no doubt be wanting to see Castle Rock by daylight, if I don't miss my guess entirely?" The question mark at the end of the sentence was barely hinted at, but it was definitely intended.

     "That's what we had in mind, Hugh: would you care to join us, lend us the benefit of your knowledge of the island? For instance" Phil added, mostly for the benefit of other listeners in the snug, " ... nobody's explained for me yet why such a fairly small island has at least three different names!"

     "Tell you what, Phil: if Michael will allow Séan to stop hiding behind the kitchen door for long enough to launch the skiff and row us out there, I can tell you about the island's names as we walk down to the quay ..... Michael, can you put a picnic lunch together, d'you think  ............ ?"

     Pausing only to collect two sleeping bags and a tote bag containing a range of cameras and accessories, they made their way to the edge of the lake.

     "MacDermot's Isle and Castle Rock - or The Rock, but as far as I know that's only a local usage! - are easy enough to understand, being purely a statement of fact: it has been in the hands of the MacDermot family since they wrought the Kingdom of Moylurg and the Seat of Tara from the O'Conor clan who were High Kings before them. The Castle follows with the title, of course, and although there has been no maintenance of the grounds for many years and the island is now overgrown, it's all superficial; much of the Island is indeed very rocky, with only a thin veneer of soil which supports little more than a scant covering of grass. In its best years it was rich in game and sport, but could never raise crops. The MacDermot was always obliged to buy in grain, vegetables and other necessities, and this rankled with many of the Chieftains through the years."

     "But Trinity Isle, now" Hugh paused on the bare woodland path and lit a cigarette.

     "The story goes that early on his travels, before the Christian message reached throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the Blessed Patrick visited Moylurg and was guest for several nights with the High King at the time, Donal O'Conor."

     "By the story which comes through many generations of oral tradition from Patrick's time, told and re-told from Bard to Bard, it was here during his visit that Patrick first became aware of the common shamrock, and had the idea of using its unique triskele shape to describe the Three-in One nature of God to pagans and unlettered folk. This is the explanation I was once given when I asked the same question you are asking me, and until someone tells me a more plausible reason for the name Trinity Island I am quite prepared to accept it!"

     At the edge of the Lough, Séan was on the miniscule quay. The skiff was already in the water and their ferryman stood with the painter rope in his hand, prepared to hand them into the boat if they should need his assistance. Hugh sat on his own on the short seat in the prow, and Phil made sure Kate was comfortable on the double seat at the stern before settling next to her. Séan was last to embark, using his foot to ease the craft away from the quay.

     Dragonflies skimmed the surface of the water as Séan sculled the hundred feet or so from the shore to the beach at the southern tip of the island. Kate trailed the tips of her fingers in the water: it was surprisingly warm. The merest suggestion of a heat haze blurred the fine details of the shoreline at the far end of the lake: the faintest possible breeze carried with it a potpourri of wildflower scents.

     Hugh saw this, and smiled.

    "Wade in slowly, if you fancy a swim! It gets very cold, very quickly, not far under the surface!"

     As soon as the boat grounded, they offloaded their sleeping bags and equipment as quickly as possible. To make sure that they had some time for a private conversation with Hugh, Phil asked Séan to return to the pub and ask for a picnic lunch to be sent across.

     "If you bring it out about two o'clock, Hugh can eat with us before he goes back with you: and I'm sure Michael will send enough food for us all to share!" said Phil. He felt a bit uncomfortable about not being completely honest with the young lad's trusting nature, but at the same time he had to make sure that their planned conversation with Hugh O'Gara was completely private.

     Phil made a show of fussing over some of his equipment while Séan sculled back to the shoreline, and waved farewell as the boy pulled the skiff onto the shore and ran off back to the village.

     As soon as he was certain they were not likely to be disturbed, he stopped pretending. By common consent, they strolled towards the chapel doorway, stepping through the empty space where the doors had once stood. There was no room for doubt. No trace of the ancient wood which had been used for the doors now remained, regardless of the apparent ‘proof' to the contrary indicated by the photographs in Phil's pocket.

     The walls were solid. Sunlight streamed in through narrow windows which seemed to cry out for stained glass to filter it. The chapel was surprisingly large for a place of worship which had been built on an island, principally for the use of the family which had built it. The roof was more or less intact, although a few errant beams of light suggested that a number of tiles had been dislodged since the Chapel had been in regular use. Pacing the main aisle from the doorway to three shallow steps which suggested that this was where the Mass itself would have been offered. Phil made it twenty-four paces; perhaps forty feet or so. He turned and looked back as Hugh and Kate approached in their own good time.

     "This is where the altar would have been."

     It could have been a question; but Phil sounded confident and it was, after all, logical.

     Hugh nodded.

     "That's right, Phil. The Chapel hasn't been used during my lifetime, though. As far as I know it's no longer considered consecrated ground, but I don't know anything about Church law: you'd have to ask Father Tomàs after Mass on Sunday."

     "I'll remember that, Hugh: but while we're on our own out here, there are a few things we need to talk about in private."

     Hugh nodded and sat on a tree stump in front of the three steps. From the regular spacing of other tree stumps around the nave, Phil guessed that they had originally been used as supports for pews which had been scavenged, removed for other purposes since the chapel had been decommissioned. Hugh looked up at Phil and waited expectantly for him to take the initiative.

     "What can't be changed, Hugh, is the fact that we were officially married three years ago, and the event recorded in Somerset House or wherever the records are kept these days. That can't be altered, whatever position the Church takes on the subject!"

     "Aye, true enough!" was Hugh's comment. He settled himself more comfortably on his tree stump.

     "We decided that, if it means as much to your village community as you say, we'd like to find a way of ....... " he hesitated, unsure of how to express what he and Kate had discussed long into the night.

     Kate stepped in.

     "What Phil's trying to say, Hugh, is : can you perhaps ask Father Tomàs on our behalf for his blessing or something? Could you do that, without causing too much local gossip?"

     Hugh sat and thought about this in silence for several long-drawn seconds. He seemed distant, lost in his private thoughts, until a glint of satisfaction dawned in his eyes.

     "You're right in thinking it would cause too much gossip and comment if Father Tomàs were to perform a Blessing for just the one couple: and you not even regular parishioners. It couldn't be done: not even, I'm thinking, if you were to apply for a Special Licence of some sort!"

     "But on the other hand, I can cycle over to Ardcarne this day and ask him to include a Special Blessing or a Reaffirmation of Vows which he can give all married couples at Mass this Sunday: I'm assuming you will be there?"

     Startled by the abruptness of the question, Phil and Kate both nodded speechlessly. It was a long time since either had been inside a church, but both had been baptised Catholic.

     If  Hugh noticed their surprise, he refrained from comment but continued:

     "It will need a meeting between yourselves and Father Tomàs, so you can explain yourselves: but that can be arranged. I know him, and I don't think there will be any difficulties from his point of view. You being included with everyone else will seem quite natural, and isn't going to do you any harm in the eyes of the parish, either!"

     "Hugh, there's one thing you haven't mentioned!" Kate broke in.

     Kate and Phil both looked puzzled. Kate continued, the words tumbling out of her:

     "The legend you told us last night: the story of Una Bhan and Tomàs Laidír." she said. "You said that their .... handfasting? Is that what you called it? .. You said it was never completed. Isn't that very much the same sort of problem we have?  And could Father Tomàs .... well, sort of ... lay their ghosts at the same time? I'm sorry if this sounds like a silly girl's romantic notions, but .... "

     Hugh held up a hand to stop her.

     "Don't you be thinking that, now, petal" he soothed "You shouldn't talk yourself down for wanting to help another - even someone who's ended their life on earth many years ago! After all, compared to eternity, what's a mere nine hundred or so years since they passed on?"

     Phil added his own thoughts.

      "There's also this, Hugh! It's true enough that when we married three years ago, I knew nothing of my background and family history: I had no idea this parish was part of my heritage, or even that my family had roots here!"

     "But it seems to me that if I'm to take on the title of an MacDairmada and the responsibilities which go with the title, then at very least I owe the people of the village a Marriage Feast in keeping with what a Clan Chieftain could be expected to offer to mark the occasion! I'd like to ask you to help me to make amends    ............... !"