It's been far too long since I posted a chapter of this for comment, and I can only apologise to those of you who've already said they were enjoying it!

I now have a first draft of the complete work finished, and am slowly editing it. I intend to finish "tweaking" it by the time I visit Roscommon for a combined summer holiday/research visit, medio July .......

Hugh took the seat in the caravan left vacant by Séan returning home on his bicycle.

“You made just the right impression on Father Tomàs, I’m thinking.” he said. He took a pouch out of his pocket and held it up, seeking permission from Phil to smoke. A few minutes went by while he filled and lit a pipe which had seen many years of service.

“What about the ceilidg we discussed? Can it be arranged at such short notice? How many people ..... ?”

Hugh chuckled, and waved Phil to silence with the stem of his pipe.

“We’re very much into providing our own entertainment here, away from the big towns” he said. “With young Séan already cycled home before we even left the church, I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t already started hinting to the village that something’s in the air!”

“How many should we be catering for, though?” Kate put in. “I mean, we’re not exactly flat broke, but at the same time .............. !”

Hugh nodded.

“The whole village and a lot of the farms round and about will be there: but with bigger events like this, everyone brings something or other with them. Michael Ashe will be pleased to supply all the drinks: it’s good business for him, and as long as you stand a round of drinks – the first round, so to speak, as people arrive! – that will be about what’s expected. Talk to Michael about how much to put ‘behind the bar’ to cover that .... ”

Michael Ashe had to be told, of course, the reason behind Phil’s inquiry about a ‘tab’ for a round of drinks, but even without Hugh’s assurances Phil was confident that he could rely on the barman’s discretion. A price was named which Phil thought extremely reasonable, so much so that he hesitated before offering his hand on the deal.

“You’re sure that will cover it?” he asked.

Michael Ashe grinned.

“Sure, and I’d have the bar open anyway, whatever night o’ the week it might be! With all the food being brought in by guests themselves, it’s actually less work for me: all I have to do is make sure the ovens are ticking over to keep certain dishes warm! I’ll be looking to get some extra waiting on staff from outside the village, though, so I’ll need to know as soon as you’ve settled a date!”

Séan, of course, was almost dying of curiosity and throughout the remainder of that typical sleepy rural Irish Sunday tried a number of times to discover what the Important Announcement might be. It was all Phil could do to placate the boy without appearing brusque or outright rude.

“You’ll have to wait a few days. There’s things I need to do, people I need to speak to, before I say any more!” was all Phil could tell him, and with that Séan had to be content.

Monday morning dawned bright and fresh, promising to be another unspoilt summer day.

Deciding that it would be as good a way as any other of avoiding further interrogations from Séan, Kate and Phil groomed and harnessed Gerald while waiting for the day’s first coffee percolator to brew. They took the road to Boyle intending to visit Paddy Ratner, Jeweller to inquire about the claddagh design for their rings, as suggested by Father Tomàs. Gerald seemed in good spirits after the couple of days’ unaccustomed rest, but was impeccably well-behaved as he made light of the five miles to Boyle, south west of the Lough.

Phil still refused to break his resolution not to wear a wristwatch while on holiday, but turned on a transistor radio which was one of the accessories supplied with the caravan, to get a time check. The first station he found offered a pleasant mix of traditional Irish folk tunes and contemporary chart music, so after establishing that it was just after eight-thirty he left it playing in the background.

Honeysuckle was blooming in the hedgerows on both sides of the road. As the sun rose over the treetops and the heat of the day began to make itself felt, the aroma of the blossoms spread and filled the air, without becoming overpowering. The cries of far-off birds and the buzz of bees working in the flower-filled verges were the only sounds other than the muted radio. Too far away to be seen, a tractor throbbed a bass line to nature’s melody: other than that, they could have believed that they were the only people awake that glorious morning.

It was not quite nine o’clock as they clopped into Boyle. Belatedly, Phil wondered if there might be a problem ‘parking’ the caravan: after all, this was Ireland, 2005, not Dodge City circa 1850, and you couldn’t expect to find a “hitching rail” outside the Last Chance saloon on Main Street .........

He breathed a sigh of relief, therefore, when he saw the navy blue uniform of a member of the garda walking towards them, and asked if there was somewhere he might be allowed to tether the horse while they attended to some shopping. He was directed to a layby just away from the town centre.

“Just turn left at the next crossroads, and you’ll see it straight away. ’Tis only a short walk back, and the Travelling People use it all the time, though I don’t think there’s anyone there the day.” the officer concluded, and stood at the side of the road until he saw them negotiate the corner before giving them a cheery wave and continuing on his beat.

Halfway along the slight widening of the road which had to be the optimistically-named ‘layby’ was a five-barred gate. Twin ruts across the grassy verge suggested that it was used fairly frequently by wheeled vehicles. The track continued beyond the gate, which was not padlocked and swung easily on oiled hinges at a light touch. Perhaps thirty yards from the road, they pulled up under a stand of trees which promised a fair degree of shade for most of the day, and close to a clear, pebble-bottomed stream. As soon as he was released from the shafts Gerald headed straight to the water’s edge and drank deeply, even before inspecting the lush grazing available.

Having made sure that Gerald was comfortable and that the gate was secure, Phil and Kate wandered hand in hand back towards the main crossroads of the town.
 

“Breakfast first, I think!” said Phil, scanning the shop fronts for a café or similar institution. Spotting one, he held the door open for Kate.

Two of the eight small round tables were occupied, and a smiling waitress held out a chair at a vacant table close to the front window.

“Would you like a morning paper while you wait for your meal, sir?”

Slightly surprised, Phil could only nod. Within seconds the waitress returned with two different newspapers and a teapot of impressive dimensions.

“We’d like a full cooked breakfast, please” he said. A smile, a nod, two teacups and two saucers materialised from nowhere, and the waitress withdrew once more.

Phil looked dubiously at the teapot.

“I suppose it comes automatically with the meal!” said Kate, reading his thoughts as clearly as if they were printed on his forehead. Phil grinned, and poured two cups.

“Can’t remember the last time I drank tea with a meal!” he grunted. His face changed as soon as he sipped at it, and now it was Kate’s turn to grin.

“Not as bad as you expected, then!” she teased. There had been times in the past when Phil had opted for water rather than drink tea.

“Not bad” he conceded, and opened his newspaper to hide his embarrassment.

Their breakfast arrived swiftly, before he’d even managed to do more than glance at the headlines on the sports pages. It measured up in every respect to the generosity they had experienced at Michael Ashe’s pub. A fresh pot of tea replaced the one they had been served while waiting for their order, and they indulged themselves with a leisurely meal in keeping with the distinctly slower tempo of life in Ireland. The Town Hall clock chimed ten as they finished the meal and Phil asked the waitress for the bill.

“Can you direct us to the Jeweller’s: Paddy Ratner, I was told to ask for?” asked Phil as he paid at the till.

“Cross the square and look down to your left. Paddy’s is near the zebra crossing, you’ll see the beacons flashing.” The cashier’s glance dropped for a split second to check Kate’s hands, and Phil could imagine her checking to see if they might be buying either an engagement ring or a wedding ring. He managed to keep a straight face as he added a generous tip to the total shown on the bill.

The window display at the jeweller’s was discreet, but tasteful. Some larger items such as carriage clocks were strategically placed to attract attention. More personal jewellery –rings, bracelets and necklaces for example – were mounted on individual cards which could easily be removed for closer inspection by customers, and presumably made it easier to store them in a safe or strong room when the shop was closed.

An old-fashioned mechanical bell trilled as they pushed the door and entered. For a brief second, Phil felt slightly disoriented: it was almost as if they had stepped directly into a Dickensian emporium.

Two comfortable-looking armchairs were positioned either side of a small occasional table in one corner. Above and behind this grouping, a display of coats of arms and other heraldic devices decorated the back wall of the shop.

“Good morning! How can I help you?”

Phil refocused his attention on the speaker, whom he assumed must be the proprietor.

“Mr. Ratner? I was advised to speak to you about a special piece of jewellery ... ”

The jeweller had been polishing a tankard as they entered. Laying his cloth on the worktable behind the serving counter, he rose and offered a hand to his customers.

“And may I ask who I have to thank for sending such a pleasant young couple my way?”

“Hugh O’Gara: he lives near Michael Ashe’s Pub, in Drumlion.”

“And if Hugh O’Gara told you to ask after Paddy Ratner, then I’m honoured to be of service! And you would be ..... ?”

“Phil and Kate McDermott, from Liverpool.”

“Then I’m doubly honoured to help in anyway I can. Cead Mile Failte! A hundred thousand welcomes!” Paddy raised the hinged flap in the counter and came out to them, bringing with him the stool he had been sitting on and indicating they should sit in the corner chairs.

“Mr. Ratner, Hugh told us that you were the best person to ask about having a claddagh design added to our wedding bands.”

The jeweller blinked, then took off his glasses and polished them scrupulously. From a waistcoat pocket he produced a magnification lens and clipped it onto the frame.

“Are the rings a tight fit, or can you take them off for me? I can examine them on your hands, if you’d rather, but ... ah, thanks!”

Phil had anticipated that this would probably be necessary, and they both removed their rings without difficulty. Paddy examined them carefully, nodding his approval.

“You’ve good quality gold here, and the rings themselves have been well looked after. There are no scratches or damage, I’m sure they’ll take a claddagh without problems! Would you like a quotation, or are you ready to look at some designs?”

“Hugh told us what the claddagh looks like, so we’re happy to be advised by you, sir.”

“Sir, indeed! Paddy, please: in the circumstances, it’s surely myself should be saying “Sir” to an MacDairmada, I’m thinking!”

Although he had had this reaction from a number of people already, Phil nonetheless felt a bit awkward about the effect the honorary title had.

“I can’t be certain the title’s mine to claim!” he protested “and I don’t look for any special treatment or favours, but for us it’s quite important to have the work done as quickly as possible – ideally, before the week’s out?”

“That won’t be a problem: I’ve the metals and the tools to do it for you in good time. Would you care to tell me how you came to ask for this commission?”

Before he knew it, Phil found himself explaining to the jeweller the reasons for the addition of the  claddagh, and the Solemn Blessing which Father Tomàs intended to convey on every married couple present at Mass in Ardcarne the following Sunday.

“ ... and I know I’ve no right to ask this, Mr. Ratner, but I hope I can rely on your discretion, at least until after the event!” Phil concluded.

“This isn’t Father Tomàs’ confessional box, but I can keep a confidence as well as anyone else! Now, all I really need to know is how large or how small you’d like the finished design to be: then I can give you a fair idea of the price, depending on the amount of gold used and the time it takes ..... ”

By the time the details had been discussed and a time for trying on the rings agreed, the morning was well advanced. Phil insisted on paying the estimated cost up front, and in response Paddy had declared that the sun had to be “above the yardarm” somewhere or other in the world, and poured three glasses of Jameson’s to seal the bargain. By the time they made their excuses and left, it was close to eleven o’clock and Kate was starting to worry about leaving Gerald unattended for so long.

“It’s not as if we’re going to find a parking ticket stuck to the caravan!” joked Phil, but felt a bit concerned about leaving the horse, the caravan, and all their luggage.

His worries were groundless, of course: Gerald was unquestionably glad to see them. Kate fussed over him and poured an extra helping of the special malted feed Patsy Slattery had provided, with strict instructions to make sure Gerald was given a generous helping at least once a day.

“We aren’t in the back streets of Liverpool, you know!” Kate scolded, when Phil commented on the fact that nobody had attempted to steal anything in their absence.

“Amen to that!” was his response. They both laughed, and hitched up the wagon for the trip back to Drumlion and whatever Michael Ashe might be able to offer for lunch.