"Strawberries" by Hugh McInerney
-
ShortStoryContest
- Posts: 41
- Joined: 01 Mar 2007, 07:47
- Bookshelf Size: 0
"Strawberries" by Hugh McInerney
The following story has been selected as a featured runner-up in our 2015 short story contest (Contest Theme - "The Self-Destructiveness of Vengeance and Hate")
"Strawberries" by Hugh McInerney
My mother once told me that you should be philosophical, but there was a time and a place for it. My brother once told me that if someone broke your finger, break their arm. They won’t be able to retaliate, and they’ll have learned their lesson. My father used to try and run me over in his car if I wasn’t quick enough getting the milk from the shops. You could say I had a troubled upbringing.
Some people like to blame their mental problems on their childhood, but I know better than that. To live in my village, Conackmore, having a mental problem was one of the requirements. Whether it be the perverted postman who delivered post at half four in the morning, or the the pub owner who spiked her own drinks just to liven up the place, our small fishing village in the back arse of Connemara rarely got advertised on the tourist board’s website. As I sat there with my hands drenched in blood, beating this poor sh*t to death while surrounded by a crowd who would either crown me or tear me to pieces when I was done, I couldn’t understand why.
Ok, maybe I should give you a bit of a backstory. Like why I was fighting to the death. I’ll begin with my family. My grandmother, the matriarch, lived with us in our three bedroom cottage in Conackmore. She was the eldest of sixteen, and as my mam used to say, she’d buy and sell you. Infact, that was one of the reasons she had to move out here, when the filth caught onto her slavery ring in the midlands. She framed her partner and started a new life on the edge of the world. She married a local farmer, and had five children. When I say farmer, I mean he had ten acres, but out here that was a lot of land. So she started raising chickens, pigs, goats, sheep, every kind of animal you could think of. The fridge was always full of the best of home produced food, and the family was never hungry.
One of the five children was my mother, Maura. Her father, my grandfather, was a local, meaning he was a bit odd. Considering Gran was feared throughout the land, my mother wasn’t given great stuff to work with. Amazingly she turned out to be an extremely compassionate, intelligent and all round nice person, and was extremely well regarded throughout the community. Then she met my dad.
He was christened James, but everyone called him Jim. Calling him wild is like saying my Gran was a bit harsh at times. They used to joke that dad climbed the highest mountain and howled at the sky on the 8th day of the 8th month for no apparent reason, but I never believed it. That was until I got up in the early hours of the 8th of August and saw him running through the garden, eyes wide, tongue hanging out and his face covered in grime. I didn’t question it, just got my glass of water and went back to bed.
Somehow he managed to impress my mam, and since he was tall and strong, Gran approved. So they were married and my older brother, Cathal, was born. He was not blessed with my fathers physique, but did inherit his wildness, as well as my mothers brains. Even though he was scrawny, he was quick, and after a few fights in school to prove that he wasn’t to be pushed around just because he looked like a strong wind would blow him away, people started to respect him. That was the way here though. You fought for fun, and those who won gained respect and women. It was a simple way of life.
Two years later I came along, and thankfully I got the powerful physical features of my father, with only a quarter of the madness. I also loved reading and writing, and was a bit of a philosopher in my spare time. You could say I was the best of both worlds, and didn’t have any problems making friends or getting people to follow me into fights. I got my charisma from my Gran, I was told. Anyway, me and Cathal got along well, because we had to, and he taught me how to fight. It was quickly evident that I wasn’t a chap you wanted to mess with, so if ever my brother got into a fight he couldn’t handle, I’d come over and break various limbs. We worked well together.
Even though the village had practically nothing, it had both a primary and secondary school. I had quite a large circle of friends, but the chap that I loved like another brother and who never failed to get me into sh*t was Murph. He was from the mountains, only a five minute walk from me, and you know what sort of chap he was just from seeing him. He was comically round, but that deceived a lot of people. He enjoyed his food, but most of his bulk was muscle. If I had to choose between standing in front of Murph and standing in front of a train, I’d choose the fifty ton of metal any day. He had wild red hair and an even wilder beard, but was only five foot seven, further adding to his hilarious appearance. People always ripped the piss out of him, but he took no notice. He was good at that.
So we fought and laughed, went out and got smashed and generally had a good time. Life went pretty well and seemed like it would continue to do so until that fateful day in May, the sixteenth to be exact. That was the day that Clodagh and her family moved here from Dublin, and that was the beginning of the most turbulent time the village has ever seen.
Chapter 1 - May 16th: The Early hours
It was half nine of a Saturday morning, an unGodly hour in the Donovan household, when Murph practically broke my window with his frantic knocking.
I’m quite a heavy sleeper, so he was at it for a good five minutes until my Gran came in and told me to get the f*ck up and stop that amadan from destroying the house.
“What do you want?” I asked him, when I finally found the strength to drag myself out of bed and open the window, making sure to hit him when I did so.
“Did you hear the news?” he asked, in a tone of pure excitement.
“No, surprisingly I did not hear the news when I was fast asleep,” I answered, barely containing my anger at this point.
“There’s some new people from Dublin in the village, they’re the ones who bought McMeehny’s place up on the point.”
Even though this was actually interesting news, it didn’t affect my health so much that I needed to be woken up in the middle of the night to be told.
“That’s lovely Murph. They’ll still have moved in at two o’clock today. Come back then after I’ve actually slept for longer than six hours.” With that, I shut the window and went back to bed, immediately falling into a lovely sleep. By two, I’d showered and eaten something, so was a little more prepared for Murph when he practically shoulder charged the front door down.
“So who bought McMeehny’s mansion then?” I asked him, while shoving scrambled egg into my gob.
McMeehny was the local nobility around these parts, and his house on the hill overlooking the town was breathtaking, both in design and views from the property. The family had moved in back in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, and many generations of McMeehny had lived there, with the male son always inheriting, and his first name forever forgotten as soon as he did so. They had their own Protestant chapel in the garden since they were the only ones in the area, but other than that interacted quite well with the community.
The last McMeehny never had any children though, so when he died the house was sold, but no one was able to find out who had bought it. Sam Kelly, the auctioneer, wasn’t one for divulging things, so the talk in the village for the past month was who had bought the mansion.
“Some family from Dublin, moved in last night. Word is that the father was some sort of banker, but he made some dodgy deals and had to move out with the wife and daughter, who’s in our year. Obviously he’d stashed some away, if they’re able to afford the mansion.”
“Who did you hear that off?”
“Mrs. McLoughlin.”
It was probably true then. Mrs. McLoughlin owned the local pub and shop, and was the go to gossip for the area.
“You seen them yet?” I inquired, because, as you’ve probably deduced by now, Murph had very little to do except stick his big nose into everyone elses business, sometimes taking time out to demolish my windows.
“Cycled up there and had a gawk, only saw the cars. Beemer and an Audi. These people have dosh.”
“Will we have a gander then?” Honestly, I didn’t have much to be doing except sticking my nose in other people’s business either.
“Surely. You drive though.”
It was lashing rain when we reached the point, so we stayed in the car and parked across the road so we could have a gange. The house itself was a work of art, a cross between the original manor style building and the various upgrades the McMeehny family has made over the years, all in keeping with the original style. It was on the market for half a million, and was over four thousand square foot in size. Plonk it anywhere else and you’re talking two mill easy, but this was Conackmore. Most people paid buyers to take their houses off them when getting out of the place.
“What’s the name of the family?” I asked Murph, while trying to peer in their windows. Considering we were across the road and the curtains were closed, this was no easy task.
“The Bradleys I think. Either that or Bradford. Or was it Bradton?”
“As per usual, you’re a mine of info. What if the daughter comes out right now to ask us if we want to come in for a cup of tea, and we don’t even know the poor girl’s name?”
“Come on. What are the chances of that happening?”
“I suppose. Is she a good looking girl by the way?”
“Surprisingly, Mrs. McLoughlin didn’t mention how attractive she was when I was buying the bread this morning.”
“Right, come on then. We’ll head home and put on some lunch. I’m starving.”
Just as I was about to drive away, the front door opened, and what can only be described as perfection walked out. She was about five foot nine, with straw blonde hair down to her waist, and had a pair of shoulders that looked like they could handle feeding the goats, but by no means did they detract from her. Like I said, perfection.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, pulling my handbrake. We were staying put.
She had just come out to get something from the car, but she noticed us and gave us a wave. I waved back, but Murph pulled his head into one of his necks and looked down. I was also the confidence of the group.
Since good looking girls didn’t exist in this part of the world, and I’d tried enough to be sure, I decided to go for it and introduce myself. I forgot to mention that the car my gran bought me was a 1977 Ford Capri, and the windows had to be intimidated down. By the time I had managed to lower mine, she was already laughing, and I knew that this was my future wife.
“Hello there!” I called, as enthusiastically as I could, and she made her way over to us. It was still lashing rain, and she wasn’t wearing a coat, but the weather didn’t seem to faze her.
“Heya,” she said, with a smile that would have made me fall over if I wasn’t sitting down. She had reached the car and rested her elbows on my window. She had lovely set of pearly whites too. “I’ve read about the strange perverts that live in these remote villages, but didn’t think I’d be meeting them so soon.”
I gave a laugh, and looked over at Murph to back me up, but he was practically curled up in his seat at this stage, sweating profusely. I didn’t understand how he could deal with all the girls in the village, but as soon as he was introduced to an outsider, he just froze. And not the cute kind of freezing either. The kind that was extremely embarrassing to everyone around him and got him put on the “Forbidden to work unaccompanied with minors” list kind of freezing.
“Well, I know he gives the wrong impression, but we’re not all like that. I’m Fionn, lovely to meet you.”
“I’m Clodagh, the pleasure is mine.”
“So how are you liking the last place before you fall off the earth?” She gave a little laugh, which was also pure perfection. “It’s not too bad. We only got in last night, and I haven’t really explored. The views are stunning though.”
“Yeah, this is definitely the best thing about the area. Before you moved in, of course.”
I decided to hit it with everything. No point in beating around the bush.
She blushed, and batted me, saying that the lads back in Dublin weren’t half as confident as us country buckos. “Would you like to come in for a come of tea?”
“I’d really love to, but sadly my friend here has suffered a mini-stroke, so I should get him home as soon as possible. Tell you what though, since you’re new here, I’ll take you out for a drink tonight and introduce you to the locals. I’ll pick you up around seven?”
“That sounds wonderful,” she smiled.
“You definitely haven’t met the locals then.”
“See you then, funny man,” she said, and gave me a wink as she went back into the house.
Wow. Things didn’t go that way for me. That was surreal. What would I wear? While driving back to Murphs, the thoughts of your average thirteen year old girl filled my head. In the end I had to concentrate on my driving after nearly knocking Sully into the sea.
“So you joining us for that drink tonight?” I asked Murph when I pulled up at his place.
“I dunno, I might have plans.”
“Plans that start with an F?” That wasn’t female by the way. That was FIFA.
“Like I said, I might. I’ll give you a bell when I know what’s happening. Take her handy.”
“Good luck,” I said, and he was back inside. After todays scare, it wouldn’t surprise me if he took the next week off school to get over it.
Back home, I made myself another cup of tea and sat down to watch a bit of telly and have a bit of a nap before the main event this evening. Being the most charming bastard around was tiring, and I needed my sleep. That was before Gran barged in and told me to muck out the stables. At least it gave me time to formulate a plan, and with a girl as classy as Clodagh, I knew I’d need one. Tonight wouldn’t be boring, that was for sure.
Chapter 2: May 16th - The later hours
I’d showered. I’d shaved. I’d showered again. I’d covered myself in the deodorants Cathal had bought me for my birthday. He was in college in Galway by the way, doing arts. He said himself, he was learning nothing but they were the best years of his life.
I arrived at the gate at five to seven, in my best Polo shirt and cream chinos. Granted, this was the only polo shirt and pair of cream chinos I owned, but they still looked nice. At a distance. In the dark. On a foggy evening. They were better than my usual ripped tracksuit and week old vest anyway.
Thankfully it had stopped raining, so I got out and made my way to the door. The only thought going through my head while knocking was I hope her father didn’t open the door. A few seconds later, her father opened the door.
He was an impressive man, in his mid fifties, and had at least an inch or two on me. Considering I was six three, that was impressive indeed.
“Hello,” I managed, part terrified, part awed by this man that now stood before me.
“Hello there,” he boomed, in a deep, almost theatrical voice. “I hear you’re the man taking my daughter to the pub this evening.”
“Well, yes, I thought it would be a good way to introduce her to the locals and-”
“So you want to bring her to the local den of debauchery, get her sh*t faced, then return to your no doubt vile abode and take advantage of my only daughter?” he practically shouted, and I could swear I heard the glass in the capri shatter.
“No, no, no, I-”
“Oh leave off him dad,” Clodagh said, pushing past him and making her way towards the Capri. “He just likes to intimidate anyone I show an interest in because he’s a cruel bollox. I’ll be home later, see ya,” she said to him, and blew him a kiss.
“Don’t mind him,” she giggled when we were back in the car. “He just likes to scare people. He’s a big softie, really.”
“So I should have blown him a kiss too then?”
“I wouldn’t go that far yet. So where is this den of debauchery you’re taking me to?”
“Just in the village, two or three minutes down the road. Don’t worry, I know you city folk think we’re all barbarians in the country, but it’s actually quite a nice place.”
Of course, as soon as we arrived, a chair flew through the air and exploded right beside our heads. This kind of thing didn’t happen very often, maybe once a week, but when it did happen, it was always great craic to take part in. Unfortunately, it didn’t give Clodagh the first impression I wanted her to get.
I lead her past the brawl and sat her down at a table in the corner, a reasonable distance away from the kerfuffle. “I’m really sorry about this, this is a once off thing,” I explained, even though instead of looking horrified and calling the police, Mrs. McLoughlin was actually taking bets on who would win.
“It’s fine Fionn, I like a bit of action.” With that, she winked at me again. I’d have to get a wheelchair when this girl was around.
I made my way to the bar and ordered a pint for me, a glass of coke for Clodagh. “So I see you’re with the new Bradley girl,” observed Mrs. McLoughlin, while counting the money from the bets. “What’s she like?”
I had to be careful what I said here, because whatever I told her would no doubt end up in the parish newsletter by tomorrow. “I don’t really know the girl, but she seems lovely. Not like the usual city folk we get down here.”
“I heard that the parents were quite easy going. Dad was a banker don’t ya know, mother a lawyer or accountant.” She beckoned for me to lean in closer. “I heard the father got in a bit of trouble with the taxman, and that’s why they’re out here. I’d keep my wallet close if I were you.”
I gave a laugh, which didn’t seem to impress Mrs. McLoughlin. “I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, and paid for the drinks.
“So,” I began when I returned to Clodagh, wanting to divert her attention away from the fight since Anthony had just taken a leg from one of the tables and was beating the absolute daylights out of Leary. “Will you be joining us down in the school next week, or are you going to give it a while to settle in?”
“Mam was fairly adamant that I don’t miss anything, so I’m starting next Monday. Are the fifth year girls as nice as the fifth year lads in this place?”
“Well that’d be impossible, but they’re nice enough, yeah. Now the people you want to avoid are-”
Just as I was about to give her some advice that could very well save her life in these parts, Richie burst in, drop kicked Leary in the face, helped Mr. Martin up and high fived Anthony. Richie liked to make a scene.
“Who’s that guy?” asked Clodagh, fond of asking questions.
“That’s Richie. He’s one of my friends, and in case you didn’t notice, likes a bit of attention. He’s alright though, can be pretty funny actually.”
Rich spotted me sitting down, noticed I was with a girl, immediately raised two thumbs up and whistled so loud every shep dog for miles was now racing towards McLockedlins. Mrs. McLoughlins son had named the place.
It didn’t seem to faze Clodagh though, she told me to call him over. “I don’t know if you want to do that,” I tried to explain, but he was on his way anyway.
“Well Fionn, what’s the story? And what on earth is this extremely good looking woman doing hanging around with you?”
“Richie, this is Clodagh, she just moved here from the city. Clodagh, this is Richie, who has been living here for far too long and is a large arsehole.”
He moved around the table to where she was sitting, raised her hand and kissed it. The child had the charms of a playboy, but the face of the thing you find stuck to the sole of your shoe after walking around in a nightclub in Galway.
“Anyway Richie, will you come to the bar for a second? I need to talk to you about something that isn’t fit for such a lovely lady like the one you have here.”
I gave him daggers, but he looked serious, or as serious as he could be, so I made my apologies to Clodagh and brought my pint to the bar.
“Did you hear about the new crowd who just arrived?” he asked me while I downed my pint.
“More new people? Have we legalised cocaine or something?”
“A load of people just got in from Wexford, Murph texted me about it there.”
“Wexford? Jesus, if they’re from that place they’re either knackers or strawberries, and I highly doubt that they look like strawberries!”
Even though not many people would take notice of my hilarious joke, as soon as I said it, the whole pub went quiet. I turned around to see a group of three men standing in the door, dressed in shirts tucked into their trousers, with their trousers tucked into their socks, and the hair gelled as could be. “That’s the thing,” whispered Richie in my ear. “Murph said they were knackers.”
The leader of the group would stand out anywhere, even if he wasn’t a member of the travelling community. His hair, even though it was gelled like the others, was long enough to make it work, and was brown instead of the usual bright red. His eyes were so brown I was certain that many a girl had gotten lost in them, and a light stubble adorned his face. There was no need for it though, since that face wasn’t one that needed hiding. This chap looked more Italian than Clondaggin, and if not for the manner in which he was dressed, the last thing you would have called him was a traveller. Until he spoke, that is.
“Eh, what you say bout me you little sh*teface, you calling me a knacker are ya?” he spluttered, and the foreign facade was shattered.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all.” Normally I would have found him there and then, but there was a lady present, and he had two big friends to back him up. Richie would give me a hand, but the rest of the locals would be too busy recording it for further analyses to be of any help.
“Cause if you are I’ll fight you, John NJoe will fight you, Tom Joe will fight you, I’ll fight any men who says sh*te about my family God bless the Mark,” he spat, then spat.
I was in a tricky situation. I could either fight, most likely lose, and piss off our new neighbours, or I could apologise, lose face in the village and still probably piss off the new neighbours. Like I said, a tricky situation.
“Sorry lads, I didn’t mean to offend,” I told them, then went back down to sit with Clodagh. She had only just recovered from the spectacle of the fight when we came in, which seperated when the travellers arrived, and now she was in shock again. There was something else in her eyes though, especially when she looked at the ringleader.
“Who are these chaps?” she asked when I returned to the bar.
“I’m not sure, but Richie tells me that a bunch of knackers have just arrived and have taken up residence in a field down the road. I’m guessing they’re some of them.”
“Why do you keep calling them knackers?” she asked, and I detected a tone in her voice, suggesting she wasn’t pleased with the term.
“Sure that’s what they are,” I responded, because my dad wasn’t exactly a big fan and had passed that on to me. I dreaded to think what he’d do when he found out. “What do you call them?”
“Persons of nomadic persuasion,” she replied, and I got the impression she was serious when I managed to get back off the floor and stop laughing. My first impressions of the girl no longer seemed entirely accurate.
“You probably don’t know what they’re like. People are always willing to think the best of “minorities” because they’ve never had to deal with them, but I’m talking from experience. Knackers are bad news. Ask anyone about, they’re pretty much universally hated around these parts. Now, what were we talking about before those animals burst in?”
Her previously angelic face was now contorted into something Richie would nearly score. “My mam had told me that the country people could be a bit backward, but I never thought they would be actual bigots. Thanks for the drink, dickhead,” she exclaimed, loud enough for the whole pub to hear, and threw the rest of her coke all over me.
Richie was immediately in fits, and the knacker leader called Clodagh over. “He’s just an ignorant pig darlin’, come with me and I’ll show you how a real gentleman should treat a fine wan such as yourself.”
I was positive she’d say no, but to my absolute horror she grabbed his arm, turned and gave me the finger, then left.
I was disgusted. No, enraged. I brought my hand down so hard on the table it went through, and I spent the next half hour trying to free it. While the pub continued to laugh at my shame, I got a text from dad saying that the family had to get home right now, it was an emergency. When I finally managed to get free of the table, I gave Richie the fingers and drove home. My stomach burned with hatred, my fists itched with fury. I would show this scumbag, him and all of his kin, what would happen when they came into my village, made fun of me in front of my friends, and stole my girl. Well, she would have been my girl. It was time to pick some strawberries.
Chapter 3: May 16th - Late evening
The first thing I heard when I opened the front door was a loud bang, followed by glass shattering, then loud screaming. I realised I had slammed the door so hard I’d broken the glass, which had cut my hand, but now was no time to worry about such trivialities.
Dad must have sent the text to everyone, because the entire family was now seated at the table, wondering what the hell the commotion was. Dad was at the top, and was looking down at his phone and muttering. Cathal was at his right, sharing dad’s expression. A seat was vacant for me at the left, and with gran beside me and mam beside Cathal. Uncle Patrick, Michael, Eoin and Ruairi were at the other end, deep in conversation.
I took my seat and gave dad a nod, but he didn’t see it. Mam gave me a worried look, but before she could say anything dad smacked his hand down on the table, ready to start the meeting.
“As I presume you’ve all heard by now, a couple of hours ago a large group of knackers moved in up the road. Sully’s just sent me pics of his field there, and there are at least 15 caravans in a circle, with hundreds of them streaming about the place, fixing gas bottles and getting water from the mains. It seems they are planning on staying. But we’re not going to let them.”
Dad got up from the table and strolled over to the window. “Our family has been here since this town was just a place the English sent their lunatics to die. We prospered and thrived, and there have been over ten generations of Donovans here. We will not be terrorised in our own town by a bunch of scumbags whose only purpose in life is to lie, to cheat and to bring misery. This is our town, and by Jesus we will fight for it!”
While dad’s speech was definitely inspiring, we weren’t exactly facing a life or death situation. Dad had a thing about travellers though. He never told me why, but if there was one group of people on this planet that he hated more than anything, except psychiatrists, it was them.
“Hang on a sec dad,” I said. “We don’t want to rush into this. Did Sully give you any more details besides the two pictures he sent?”
“No, but sure that’s all we need.”
“Show me them.” He passed me his phone, and the “pictures” that Sully had sent looked like photos of a load of sheep in a field, taken from a helicopter on a really windy day.
“Did he take these from the moon or something?”
“It’s the best we have, and we need to act fast before they take the sugar out of our tea.”
“Dad, dad, calm down. Yes, we will get rid of them, but first let me and Murph go up and scout the place properly. We’ll take photos, you get the community together in the pub and decide the best course of action. The seven of us aren’t exactly going to terrify them into leaving.”
Dad sat back down at the table and took a sip from his tea. I could see him processing what I was saying, and even though I spoke sense, it didn’t stop him from throwing his cup at the wall so hard it bounced back and dislocated Cathal’s shoulder. Dad had a fondness for cup throwing, so one year for Christmas we got him a set of rubber cups. Best investment we ever made.
“Fine. But take longer than an hour and I’m heading up there with Cu and running them out of the place.” Cu was our ten stone Irish Wolfhound, and was simultaneously the most terrifying and most lovely thing you could ever come across.
I made my way to my room and threw on some dark clothes, still in my glad rags from the evening with Clodagh. I was shocked that she had gone off with that chap, but I’m sure that was just to prove a point and to make me jealous. I’d have to use all of my charms to smooth things over again, but I’d think about all that when the time was right. Now was the time to ring Murph and tell him to get his fat arse ready to take photographs, and to get his camera ready. He had a really nice camera and loved taking pictures. It doesn’t surprise me that the girls in the village all bought extra thick curtains when they found out.
For once he had listened to what I had said, and was ready at his gate with his camera in hand. “We taking some pictures of the knackers then?” he asked when I picked him up.
“How did you know? It’s almost like you read exactly what I f*ckin texted you!”
“Do you want me to help or not?”
“Just get your camera ready, we’re almost there.”
I should probably explain for the many non Irish people who will be reading my tale of woe, all three of you, what travellers are. Travellers are people who reject the conventional way of life and mainly live in caravans, travelling from place to place and bringing their families with them. Many counties have specified areas called halting sites for travellers. In England they’re known as gypsies, but they’re not Romanian or anything. They simply move from place to place, but aren’t very well thought of over here. Even though my dad wouldn’t be a big fan, as in he’d like to see them all thrown into the sea, I’ll try be as impartial as possible.
Travellers often get a lot of bad press in Ireland, and that’s because many believe them to be thieves, bandits and generally unscrupulous people. This is because the gardai are afraid of them, and if they did try to arrest one of them, all the members of their family would swear to God almighty they were with them at the time no word of a lie, and then they can claim the gardai are being discriminatory against them because they are a vulnerable minority. Even though many don’t go past primary education, no one knows their rights as well as travellers do.
There are many names for them, and not all nice; knackers, tinkers, jolliers, the boys. Every area has it’s preferred slang. Even though I personally have no issue with them, dad despises them and thinks that they’re all liars, cheaters, and murderers. I didn’t agree with him, although I didn’t disagree either because my father was not a man you disagreed with, but this evening's events had done little to paint them in a positive light. As my dad says, where they come, trouble follows, and our village was certainly not equipped for them. Considering that a lot of the village folk are highly strung, the best thing to do would be for them to move on, before someone ends up finding themselves pushed down a cliff in a duffle bag.
Sully’s field was only a few minutes from Murph’s house, but we stopped about half a kilometer away to ensure we weren’t spotted. Sully was an elderly man who owned a house right in the centre of the village, but he also owned a really big field up in the hills, ten acres or so. It was also the flattest land in the area, so whenever there were big events, like field days or the annual tractor tug of war competition, they were held here. Luckily for us, just opposite the field was The Wanderers Walk, a set of steps and viewing points carved into the mountain. We’d get a good view of them from there.
Even though Murph was delighted he had something to do, he was less keen on the exercise part. “Can I not just stay here and mind the car?” he asked when I told him we were going up to the top of Cnoc mor, the name of the mountain.
“Just incase it runs away? Get your lazy arse out of the car and up those steps. I need you to tell me how to operate this thing.”
After a lot of groaning, and even more moaning, he gave the suspension a much needed break and flopped out of the car. It took us a good twenty minutes, but we finally made it to the base of the mountain, ten metres from the car.
“I’m serious Murph, pick up the pace. The field will be eroded by the sea before we make it to the platform at this rate.”
After a bit of encouragement and a few kicks, he changed gears and we managed to reach the top before the dead of night. He turned on the camera for me, and showed me the zoom. It was high tech stuff, and even had infrared capabilities. We still had a bit of light though, so we didn’t need to use that yet.
“So we’re just taking photos of all the caravans and leaving, yeah?” Murph inquired, now in a heap on the ground.
“That’s it,” I told him as I scanned the area. The quality was really clear, and I could even read the bumper stickers on the caravans. They weren’t ones to go for the “If you can read this, you’re too close!” kind, opting for the plainer “f*ck off” ones instead.
There was quite a bit of activity in the site, and I saw the two heavies that had been with the Italian looking chap at the pub earlier. They were sitting in a circle telling a story, and one of them made a punching motion, then frantic pulling, as if his hand was stuck in a table and the group erupted into laughter. That was the first thing that got my blood boiling.
I continued scanning, and counted fifteen caravans in all. I could see at least fifty people, with about thirty being males, and the other twenty split between women and children. People were coming in and out of caravans all the time though, so the total number of them could have been a lot higher.
I snapped a few photos of the group and the caravans, and was about to finish up when I noticed that the biggest camera had it’s blinds open, and there was a blonde hair girl sitting in the window. I zoomed in further, and nearly dropped Murphs two thousand euro camera when Clodagh turned around to see if anyone was watching.
The Italian knacker then came into view with two glasses of wine, and handed one to her. He downed his while she sipped hers, and he went back for more. When he came into my field of vision again, he put his glass down and drew the curtains. Even though it was impossible, I could swear that he looked exactly at me, nearly half a kilometer away, and gave me a wink.
I was too shocked to move. I kept the lens focused on the caravan, and about a minute later it started bouncing. That was when I lost it.
“Let’s go!” I shouted to Murph, and practically sprinted down the mountain. He caught on that I was in no mood for waiting, and attempted to gallop after me. Unfortunately he tripped after three steps, and tumbled the rest of the way.
“Come on!” I screamed at him out the window, even though he had probably broken several limbs and was bleeding profusely. Murphy was a hardy lad though, and limped over, got in, and fainted.
When he awoke we were nearly at the pub, and he asked me why I was so angry.
“Because they’ve taken our land, and if we let them, they’ll take our possessions, our jobs, and eventually our very lives. Now is the time to stop them, before it’s too late.”
With that, we arrived at the pup, and I entered to give the speech that would seal my fate.
Chapter 4: May 16th - Early Night
“Are we going to stand by while our village is tormented by the current scum, and scum is too nice a word, that inhabit one of our fields? While they illegally park their caravans and themselves, and use our resources? Pollute our rivers? Endanger our very lives?
“These people, another generous term, are a cancer that needs to be removed before the infection takes hold and spreads, and we all succumb to this fatal disease. We look after our own. We fix our own problems. We will not let these knackers ruin our lives! For Conackmore!”
The entire pup erupted into a cheer, and I lead the now raving mob outside. We were going to march up to the field and defend our home from these foreign invaders.
On my driving test, one of the questions was “If angry, what should a driver do before undertaking a journey?” The answer was to take twenty minutes to calm down, and not to drive when emotionally unstable. At the time I thought this was just to ensure we didn’t run over whoever had annoyed us with our car, but now I realise it was a metaphore for life. I should have calmed down, taken a few breaths, and logically thought about the next step. Instead, fueled by hate, I assembled a mob and got them blood thirsty, then lead them up to a palce where they could unleash their rage on people, the majority of whom were innocent.
Just because I saw the caravan bouncing up and down, it doesn’t automatically mean that Clodagh and Fabiano the traveller were having fun time in the caravan. Maybe they were testing out a set of pogo sticks the chap had received for his birthday, or were making sure that the suspension was still in good condition by jumping up and down. Hate doesn’t listen to sense though, or logic, or it’s mam. Hate doesn’t want ten reasons why your plan is full of holes, or why you should go and have a nice cup of tea instead of tearing up a mountain to crucify people. Hate wants one thing. Blood.
It took us about half an hour, but when we reached their camp, no one was complaining about sore feet. I had lead the charge, with dad, the beaming father of the feral psychopath, on my right, and Murph, the mound of flesh that had to be carried after five steps on my right. Cathal and my uncles came next, with the procession of about one hundred villages after them. Men, women and children had answered the call, and they had with them an assortment of weapons ranging from car doors and chair legs to rosary beads and stoves.
When we finally reached the entrance to the field, we stopped. “Alright then,” I roared, and looked back to see a crowd of faces ready to tear some travellers limb from limb. But I had gone blank. What did we do now? I could hardly end the most dramatic march the parish had ever seen with a polite request to our unwanted guests that they move back to where they came from. A strongly worded letter was probably out of the question too. I didn’t want to kill anyone. Taking a man’s life was not something on the bucket list. I loved a fight as much as the next mentally imbalanced person, but I knew that once I went into that field, a line would be crossed, and there would be at least one anniversary mass happening this time next year.
Just as common sense was prevailing over animalistic hatred, dad whispered in my ear, “Are you really going to let that dirty knacker have his way with your women, after how he humiliated you in the pub today?”
Dad had always been a good manipulator. As soon as the images of the caravan bouncing up and down came back to me, the hatred bubbled up again, and I felt the fire in my stomach. I would wipe that smile off his pretty little face, which wouldn’t be pretty for much longer.
“Alright then. Let’s take our village back!”
I burst through the gates of the field, and the rest of the mob poured in after me. The travellers had come to investigate the racket, and the first one I saw I flattened with a punch straight to the nose. Another cheer went up, and the others started engaging any other travellers they saw.
“Get back in your caravans, you’re going home,” I shouted at any women and children I saw, and they got the message.
By now the other traveller men had come out, and started to hit back. There were about the same number of us as there were of them, so it would be close. I wasn’t taking part in this spectacle though. I had something to do first.
While the mob had dispersed to fight, I stormed ahead to the center of the field. Just as the caravan I was looking for came into sight, it’s door flew open and Fabiano flew out, a look of pure anger in his eyes and traces of lipstick on his neck.
“YOU!” I screamed, and he turned to face me. The main punch up was happening near the gate, so it was just me and him, one on one. Clodagh was nowhere to be seen.
When he saw who had called him, he actually had the cheek to smile. That was when I completely lost it.
“Well would ya look who it-” he managed before I sent him to the ground with a flying tackle. He obviously didn’t think I was much of a threat after earlier, so I caught him off guard.
I started going to town on his face. I let it all out. The anger that had been building up inside me was now beating some more chap, whose name I didn’t even know, to death.
I was so intent on pounding away my anger that I didn’t hear the frantic cries telling me to stop, and my frenzy was only halted when a wine bottle was smashed over my head. The blow caused me to collapse next to my victim, and I was greeted by the sight of Clodagh standing over me, her hands covered in what must have been my blood.
“Why?” I croaked, barely even conscious.
“What do you mean why?” she screamed hysterically. “If I hadn’t, you would have killed him! I think you have have anyway,” she sobbed, then fell to her knees and began cradling him. His nose was now pointing towards Galway, his pearly whites were no longer plural, and his eyes were the colour of Murph’s velvet curtains. He wasn’t awake, but I was fairly sure he was alive.
Clodagh clutched him close to her chest, her eyes filling with tears. She looked at me, and my heart dropped. “Why?” she asked, her voice not full of anger, but merely full of grief.
“Because he’s a knacker, here to steal and cause trouble,” I managed, regaining some of my faculties.
“A knacker?” she exploded, with the grief definitely replaced by anger now. “Just because he’s a traveller, he’s automatically a liar and a robber, and can never do anything good in the world. Just because he’s a traveller, he doesn’t have a heart and can’t be decent, the only thing he can do is steal and deceive. Do you even know why they’re here? Or did you just come charging up here because you really are a psychopath?”
“Well I thought they had moved in,” I explained.
“No, you didn’t think. You let the animal inside you take over and you came up here because your pride was wounded, with your mind already made up because of prejudice. They’re here to bury Paddy’s father, who was from around these parts. They were only going to spend a night here and then leave.”
“But I didn’t know that!” I exclaimed.
“Did you give him time to tell you?” she retorted. I was forgotten about now though. She began stroking his face, hoping maybe her healing touch would bring him back to the land of the living.
I had nearly killed the poor chap, all because I had let my destructive emotions take over, and not listen to reason. It could still be made right though. If I could just get to the top of the caravan and tell the villagers that the travellers would be gone in the morning, they’d hopefully stop beating the sh*t out of our visitors and go back to the pub to beat the sh*t out of each other.
Surprisingly, a wine bottle to the noggin isn’t the best motivational tool, so it took me a good minute to stand up. Just as I was about to climb onto the caravan, I saw dad round the corner with the double barrelled in his hands.
“Dad?” I started, but he didn’t hear me. He marched straight over to Fabiano, or Paddy as Clodagh called him, who had just about regained consciousness.
“Where’s your father?” dad screamed at him, but Paddy wasn’t exactly in the mood for twenty questions.
“Answer me!” shouted dad, and pointed the shotgun at Paddy. Clodagh shrieked in terror, and I tried to disarm dad.
“Put the f*ckin gun down dad!”
“He’s dead,” Paddy groaned while attempting to get up. “He’s dead, uncle Jim.”
Uncle Jim? This made no sense.
“What?” I asked Paddy, or Dad, or anyone who would listen.
“Why did you come back then?” dad growled, still brandishing the weapon in Paddys face.
“To give him the burial he wanted,” Paddy replied, managing to stand up with the help of Clodagh. She looked as confused as I was.
“Hang on, explain for the people not subscribed to the traveller newsletter what the f*ck is going on.”
Paddy looked at me and grinned again. “My dad was your dad’s brother, cous.”
This was making even less sense. Was my dad a traveller? Am I descended from a long line of proud travellers? Why the hell did my cousin look like he was a native of magala?
“Dad?” I was beyond bewildered now.
“I had an elder brother, Paddy, and when he was sixteen he ran off with a traveller woman when they were squatting two parishes over. He made a laughing stock of the family, and me and the rest of the family had to fight twice as hard, and pretty much everyone to gain our reputation back. Your gran saw what sort of person I was during the struggles, and that’s why she approved of me marrying your mam.”
I should mention that while he was telling me this touching tale, he still was waving the shotgun about like he was having a fit.
“And now, when I heard that they were back, I thought he’d come back to completely ruin my reputation, and your’s and your brother’s too. And I’m not letting that happen.”
He looked serious, but then again it doesn’t take much to look serious when you have a loaded double barreled in your hands. Surely he wasn’t actually planning on murdering his own brother though. Yeah, my dad was crazy, but he wasn’t mad. Well not completely mad.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” moaned Paddy, just about on his feet now. “We came back to burry him, we’re not planning on staying around. I don’t know how many of us are left now though.”
I’d forgotten that there was a gigantic brawl happening about fifty metres away, even though the sounds of the fight could probably be heard in the capital. If I could just tell the villagers that our guests would be gone in the morning, hopefully they’d stop the fighting and go home. Hopefully.
Paddy’s caravan was in the middle of the camp and the action was at the edge, so I legged it as fast as I could to see what the situation was. Dad had lowered the gun and him and Paddy were talking about his brother, so I presumed that they’d be ok. As long as Clodagh was kept away from bottles of alcohol anyway.
When I rounded the last caravan and set eyes on the fight, what I saw surprised me. The traveller women and children had come back out of their caravans and were cheering on their men, who had taken their shirts off, for dramatic effect presumably. There were about fifteen of them left, and only ten of us, but Murph was in the middle of a group of three and he looked like he was loving it. I was about to get on top of the caravan to call it off when I saw those two big lumps who were with Paddy in the pub corner Cathal, then throw something at his face. While my brother was temporarily blinded, one of the travellers tripped him and the other started beating him with a length of pipe. Even though I’d beaten the anger, they say the hardest thing is controlling the urge to relapse, and I hadn’t quite gotten that yet. My brother was being absolutely decimated, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.
While the pipe lad was hitting away, the other moved in and started kicking him. I charged towards the kicker like a twenty stone man who’d fallen down the stairs and completely wiped him out. I put in a few kicks to make sure he stayed down, then turned my attention to the piped piper.
He had seen what I’d done to his friend, and backed away from Cathal with his pipe raised in his air. “You don’t want to do this chap,” he said, threatening me with the pipe. Murph had now dealt with the three distractions that he was in the middle of, and saw I could use a hand.
“Hey!” he screamed, causing the piper to turn around. I immediately dropped him a header and he fell to the ground. I repeated what I did to Paddy, and started absolutely tearing into him, only this time I was even angrier. The travellers were beaten, and I was the last one fighting. When I finally looked up from the poor lad, my hands drenched in blood, I realised everyone had gathered around me in a circle, villagers and travellers, with looks varying from respect to disgust. It had happened again. Hatred had overcome all of my senses, and I had gone too far again. That was when I heard the shot.
“DAD!” I screamed, and immediately forgot about my second attempted murder of the day. Everyone started running towards the sound, with me in the lead. When I reached them again, it wasn’t what I expected.
Clodagh was standing over my dad, smoking gun in hand. Dad was now a lot more aerodynamic and had a big hole in his side. He was writhing in pain on the ground, and bleeding profusely.
“Quick, ring an ambulance!” I screamed, but someone was already on the case. Now was my turn to cradle Dad, who had gone deathly pale.
“What happened dad?”
“My f*ckin appendix burst. She shot me, what do you think happened!”
“Why though?”
“Because he was about to shoot Paddy, that’s why!” screamed Clodagh. She threw the gun to the ground, and broke down in tears.
Paddy was on his feet at this stage, and didn’t look pleased. “You’re dad was about to murder me! I’ll kill him!”
I got up and squared up to him once again. “Remember what happened last time?”
Murph then burst through the crowd to back me up, but instead of saying anything, he just growled menacingly. At that exact moment, the two mounds that were attacking Cathal appeared behind Paddy, and it looked like another fight was about to happen. Just as headers were about to be dropped, a shot went off, and Murph fell to the ground.
“MURPH!” I screamed, and went down to see where he’d been hit. It turned out he’d turned to see who had shot and had tripped on his shoelace.
“Get up you disgrace,” I muttered to Murph. The crowd parted, and there was gran, standing with a sawn off in her hands and a look of absolute rage on her face.
“Alright you pile of uneducated, irrational, generally challenged group of individuals. And anyone not in my family too. We have knocked the sh*t out of each other all night long, and it’s starting to get dark. My son in law has been shot, and even though he has the reasoning power of a box of tissues, I don’t want him to die. So someone get this man to the ambulance on the road and someone else put the kettle on. It’s time to sort this sh*te out.
Chapter 5: May 17th - Early Morning
“Bye now!” I waved, with Murph alongside me, as the last of our guests pulled out. Paddy, who was driving the lead caravan, waved back, and Clodagh blew a kiss. He then gave the signal and they all started leaving, until it was just me, Murph and the car left in the field.
“I have to hand it to your grandmother. She can surely be a diplomat when she wants to me.”
“She’s a woman of many hidden talents. And lethal weapons, apparently.”
The rest of the villagers had said goodbye last night, and we’d all helped bury dad’s brother where he had wished to be laid to rest; Sully’s field, because he used to say they were the most stunning views in the village. Once gran had got us all to agree that fighting was just plain ridiculous, we had a party that raged into the very small hours. I still hadn’t gone to sleep.
“I was surprised Clodagh went with them in the end,” said Murph, as we headed back towards my car.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine her parents were too pleased.”
“Well, I suppose everything’s back to normal now. Well, ok, not normal, but you know what I mean.”
I grinned. “Sure I suppose it’s better than a boring life anyway.”
I dropped Murph off, and told him we’d meet up later for a few pints, then headed back home. I had just parked the car and was about to head in for a well needed rest when Clodagh’s dad pulled up in his beemer. I didn’t know what this was about, but I greeted him with a wave. I was still terrified of the monster of a man.
“Hello Mr. Bradley!” I called when he got out of his car, but he didn’t look in the mood for pleasantries.
“I’m here to collect my daughter, so if you wouldn’t mind getting her I’ll be on my way.” He must have noticed my face drop though. “She is here, isn’t she?”
“Gran?” I called, while backing towards the house. “Could you come out here for a second?” Mr. Bradley started advancing towards me with a look anyone fond of the lion programmes on the nature channel is well used to seeing. “Now would be a good time gran. It’s probably best if you bring your gun too.”
"Strawberries" by Hugh McInerney
My mother once told me that you should be philosophical, but there was a time and a place for it. My brother once told me that if someone broke your finger, break their arm. They won’t be able to retaliate, and they’ll have learned their lesson. My father used to try and run me over in his car if I wasn’t quick enough getting the milk from the shops. You could say I had a troubled upbringing.
Some people like to blame their mental problems on their childhood, but I know better than that. To live in my village, Conackmore, having a mental problem was one of the requirements. Whether it be the perverted postman who delivered post at half four in the morning, or the the pub owner who spiked her own drinks just to liven up the place, our small fishing village in the back arse of Connemara rarely got advertised on the tourist board’s website. As I sat there with my hands drenched in blood, beating this poor sh*t to death while surrounded by a crowd who would either crown me or tear me to pieces when I was done, I couldn’t understand why.
Ok, maybe I should give you a bit of a backstory. Like why I was fighting to the death. I’ll begin with my family. My grandmother, the matriarch, lived with us in our three bedroom cottage in Conackmore. She was the eldest of sixteen, and as my mam used to say, she’d buy and sell you. Infact, that was one of the reasons she had to move out here, when the filth caught onto her slavery ring in the midlands. She framed her partner and started a new life on the edge of the world. She married a local farmer, and had five children. When I say farmer, I mean he had ten acres, but out here that was a lot of land. So she started raising chickens, pigs, goats, sheep, every kind of animal you could think of. The fridge was always full of the best of home produced food, and the family was never hungry.
One of the five children was my mother, Maura. Her father, my grandfather, was a local, meaning he was a bit odd. Considering Gran was feared throughout the land, my mother wasn’t given great stuff to work with. Amazingly she turned out to be an extremely compassionate, intelligent and all round nice person, and was extremely well regarded throughout the community. Then she met my dad.
He was christened James, but everyone called him Jim. Calling him wild is like saying my Gran was a bit harsh at times. They used to joke that dad climbed the highest mountain and howled at the sky on the 8th day of the 8th month for no apparent reason, but I never believed it. That was until I got up in the early hours of the 8th of August and saw him running through the garden, eyes wide, tongue hanging out and his face covered in grime. I didn’t question it, just got my glass of water and went back to bed.
Somehow he managed to impress my mam, and since he was tall and strong, Gran approved. So they were married and my older brother, Cathal, was born. He was not blessed with my fathers physique, but did inherit his wildness, as well as my mothers brains. Even though he was scrawny, he was quick, and after a few fights in school to prove that he wasn’t to be pushed around just because he looked like a strong wind would blow him away, people started to respect him. That was the way here though. You fought for fun, and those who won gained respect and women. It was a simple way of life.
Two years later I came along, and thankfully I got the powerful physical features of my father, with only a quarter of the madness. I also loved reading and writing, and was a bit of a philosopher in my spare time. You could say I was the best of both worlds, and didn’t have any problems making friends or getting people to follow me into fights. I got my charisma from my Gran, I was told. Anyway, me and Cathal got along well, because we had to, and he taught me how to fight. It was quickly evident that I wasn’t a chap you wanted to mess with, so if ever my brother got into a fight he couldn’t handle, I’d come over and break various limbs. We worked well together.
Even though the village had practically nothing, it had both a primary and secondary school. I had quite a large circle of friends, but the chap that I loved like another brother and who never failed to get me into sh*t was Murph. He was from the mountains, only a five minute walk from me, and you know what sort of chap he was just from seeing him. He was comically round, but that deceived a lot of people. He enjoyed his food, but most of his bulk was muscle. If I had to choose between standing in front of Murph and standing in front of a train, I’d choose the fifty ton of metal any day. He had wild red hair and an even wilder beard, but was only five foot seven, further adding to his hilarious appearance. People always ripped the piss out of him, but he took no notice. He was good at that.
So we fought and laughed, went out and got smashed and generally had a good time. Life went pretty well and seemed like it would continue to do so until that fateful day in May, the sixteenth to be exact. That was the day that Clodagh and her family moved here from Dublin, and that was the beginning of the most turbulent time the village has ever seen.
Chapter 1 - May 16th: The Early hours
It was half nine of a Saturday morning, an unGodly hour in the Donovan household, when Murph practically broke my window with his frantic knocking.
I’m quite a heavy sleeper, so he was at it for a good five minutes until my Gran came in and told me to get the f*ck up and stop that amadan from destroying the house.
“What do you want?” I asked him, when I finally found the strength to drag myself out of bed and open the window, making sure to hit him when I did so.
“Did you hear the news?” he asked, in a tone of pure excitement.
“No, surprisingly I did not hear the news when I was fast asleep,” I answered, barely containing my anger at this point.
“There’s some new people from Dublin in the village, they’re the ones who bought McMeehny’s place up on the point.”
Even though this was actually interesting news, it didn’t affect my health so much that I needed to be woken up in the middle of the night to be told.
“That’s lovely Murph. They’ll still have moved in at two o’clock today. Come back then after I’ve actually slept for longer than six hours.” With that, I shut the window and went back to bed, immediately falling into a lovely sleep. By two, I’d showered and eaten something, so was a little more prepared for Murph when he practically shoulder charged the front door down.
“So who bought McMeehny’s mansion then?” I asked him, while shoving scrambled egg into my gob.
McMeehny was the local nobility around these parts, and his house on the hill overlooking the town was breathtaking, both in design and views from the property. The family had moved in back in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, and many generations of McMeehny had lived there, with the male son always inheriting, and his first name forever forgotten as soon as he did so. They had their own Protestant chapel in the garden since they were the only ones in the area, but other than that interacted quite well with the community.
The last McMeehny never had any children though, so when he died the house was sold, but no one was able to find out who had bought it. Sam Kelly, the auctioneer, wasn’t one for divulging things, so the talk in the village for the past month was who had bought the mansion.
“Some family from Dublin, moved in last night. Word is that the father was some sort of banker, but he made some dodgy deals and had to move out with the wife and daughter, who’s in our year. Obviously he’d stashed some away, if they’re able to afford the mansion.”
“Who did you hear that off?”
“Mrs. McLoughlin.”
It was probably true then. Mrs. McLoughlin owned the local pub and shop, and was the go to gossip for the area.
“You seen them yet?” I inquired, because, as you’ve probably deduced by now, Murph had very little to do except stick his big nose into everyone elses business, sometimes taking time out to demolish my windows.
“Cycled up there and had a gawk, only saw the cars. Beemer and an Audi. These people have dosh.”
“Will we have a gander then?” Honestly, I didn’t have much to be doing except sticking my nose in other people’s business either.
“Surely. You drive though.”
It was lashing rain when we reached the point, so we stayed in the car and parked across the road so we could have a gange. The house itself was a work of art, a cross between the original manor style building and the various upgrades the McMeehny family has made over the years, all in keeping with the original style. It was on the market for half a million, and was over four thousand square foot in size. Plonk it anywhere else and you’re talking two mill easy, but this was Conackmore. Most people paid buyers to take their houses off them when getting out of the place.
“What’s the name of the family?” I asked Murph, while trying to peer in their windows. Considering we were across the road and the curtains were closed, this was no easy task.
“The Bradleys I think. Either that or Bradford. Or was it Bradton?”
“As per usual, you’re a mine of info. What if the daughter comes out right now to ask us if we want to come in for a cup of tea, and we don’t even know the poor girl’s name?”
“Come on. What are the chances of that happening?”
“I suppose. Is she a good looking girl by the way?”
“Surprisingly, Mrs. McLoughlin didn’t mention how attractive she was when I was buying the bread this morning.”
“Right, come on then. We’ll head home and put on some lunch. I’m starving.”
Just as I was about to drive away, the front door opened, and what can only be described as perfection walked out. She was about five foot nine, with straw blonde hair down to her waist, and had a pair of shoulders that looked like they could handle feeding the goats, but by no means did they detract from her. Like I said, perfection.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, pulling my handbrake. We were staying put.
She had just come out to get something from the car, but she noticed us and gave us a wave. I waved back, but Murph pulled his head into one of his necks and looked down. I was also the confidence of the group.
Since good looking girls didn’t exist in this part of the world, and I’d tried enough to be sure, I decided to go for it and introduce myself. I forgot to mention that the car my gran bought me was a 1977 Ford Capri, and the windows had to be intimidated down. By the time I had managed to lower mine, she was already laughing, and I knew that this was my future wife.
“Hello there!” I called, as enthusiastically as I could, and she made her way over to us. It was still lashing rain, and she wasn’t wearing a coat, but the weather didn’t seem to faze her.
“Heya,” she said, with a smile that would have made me fall over if I wasn’t sitting down. She had reached the car and rested her elbows on my window. She had lovely set of pearly whites too. “I’ve read about the strange perverts that live in these remote villages, but didn’t think I’d be meeting them so soon.”
I gave a laugh, and looked over at Murph to back me up, but he was practically curled up in his seat at this stage, sweating profusely. I didn’t understand how he could deal with all the girls in the village, but as soon as he was introduced to an outsider, he just froze. And not the cute kind of freezing either. The kind that was extremely embarrassing to everyone around him and got him put on the “Forbidden to work unaccompanied with minors” list kind of freezing.
“Well, I know he gives the wrong impression, but we’re not all like that. I’m Fionn, lovely to meet you.”
“I’m Clodagh, the pleasure is mine.”
“So how are you liking the last place before you fall off the earth?” She gave a little laugh, which was also pure perfection. “It’s not too bad. We only got in last night, and I haven’t really explored. The views are stunning though.”
“Yeah, this is definitely the best thing about the area. Before you moved in, of course.”
I decided to hit it with everything. No point in beating around the bush.
She blushed, and batted me, saying that the lads back in Dublin weren’t half as confident as us country buckos. “Would you like to come in for a come of tea?”
“I’d really love to, but sadly my friend here has suffered a mini-stroke, so I should get him home as soon as possible. Tell you what though, since you’re new here, I’ll take you out for a drink tonight and introduce you to the locals. I’ll pick you up around seven?”
“That sounds wonderful,” she smiled.
“You definitely haven’t met the locals then.”
“See you then, funny man,” she said, and gave me a wink as she went back into the house.
Wow. Things didn’t go that way for me. That was surreal. What would I wear? While driving back to Murphs, the thoughts of your average thirteen year old girl filled my head. In the end I had to concentrate on my driving after nearly knocking Sully into the sea.
“So you joining us for that drink tonight?” I asked Murph when I pulled up at his place.
“I dunno, I might have plans.”
“Plans that start with an F?” That wasn’t female by the way. That was FIFA.
“Like I said, I might. I’ll give you a bell when I know what’s happening. Take her handy.”
“Good luck,” I said, and he was back inside. After todays scare, it wouldn’t surprise me if he took the next week off school to get over it.
Back home, I made myself another cup of tea and sat down to watch a bit of telly and have a bit of a nap before the main event this evening. Being the most charming bastard around was tiring, and I needed my sleep. That was before Gran barged in and told me to muck out the stables. At least it gave me time to formulate a plan, and with a girl as classy as Clodagh, I knew I’d need one. Tonight wouldn’t be boring, that was for sure.
Chapter 2: May 16th - The later hours
I’d showered. I’d shaved. I’d showered again. I’d covered myself in the deodorants Cathal had bought me for my birthday. He was in college in Galway by the way, doing arts. He said himself, he was learning nothing but they were the best years of his life.
I arrived at the gate at five to seven, in my best Polo shirt and cream chinos. Granted, this was the only polo shirt and pair of cream chinos I owned, but they still looked nice. At a distance. In the dark. On a foggy evening. They were better than my usual ripped tracksuit and week old vest anyway.
Thankfully it had stopped raining, so I got out and made my way to the door. The only thought going through my head while knocking was I hope her father didn’t open the door. A few seconds later, her father opened the door.
He was an impressive man, in his mid fifties, and had at least an inch or two on me. Considering I was six three, that was impressive indeed.
“Hello,” I managed, part terrified, part awed by this man that now stood before me.
“Hello there,” he boomed, in a deep, almost theatrical voice. “I hear you’re the man taking my daughter to the pub this evening.”
“Well, yes, I thought it would be a good way to introduce her to the locals and-”
“So you want to bring her to the local den of debauchery, get her sh*t faced, then return to your no doubt vile abode and take advantage of my only daughter?” he practically shouted, and I could swear I heard the glass in the capri shatter.
“No, no, no, I-”
“Oh leave off him dad,” Clodagh said, pushing past him and making her way towards the Capri. “He just likes to intimidate anyone I show an interest in because he’s a cruel bollox. I’ll be home later, see ya,” she said to him, and blew him a kiss.
“Don’t mind him,” she giggled when we were back in the car. “He just likes to scare people. He’s a big softie, really.”
“So I should have blown him a kiss too then?”
“I wouldn’t go that far yet. So where is this den of debauchery you’re taking me to?”
“Just in the village, two or three minutes down the road. Don’t worry, I know you city folk think we’re all barbarians in the country, but it’s actually quite a nice place.”
Of course, as soon as we arrived, a chair flew through the air and exploded right beside our heads. This kind of thing didn’t happen very often, maybe once a week, but when it did happen, it was always great craic to take part in. Unfortunately, it didn’t give Clodagh the first impression I wanted her to get.
I lead her past the brawl and sat her down at a table in the corner, a reasonable distance away from the kerfuffle. “I’m really sorry about this, this is a once off thing,” I explained, even though instead of looking horrified and calling the police, Mrs. McLoughlin was actually taking bets on who would win.
“It’s fine Fionn, I like a bit of action.” With that, she winked at me again. I’d have to get a wheelchair when this girl was around.
I made my way to the bar and ordered a pint for me, a glass of coke for Clodagh. “So I see you’re with the new Bradley girl,” observed Mrs. McLoughlin, while counting the money from the bets. “What’s she like?”
I had to be careful what I said here, because whatever I told her would no doubt end up in the parish newsletter by tomorrow. “I don’t really know the girl, but she seems lovely. Not like the usual city folk we get down here.”
“I heard that the parents were quite easy going. Dad was a banker don’t ya know, mother a lawyer or accountant.” She beckoned for me to lean in closer. “I heard the father got in a bit of trouble with the taxman, and that’s why they’re out here. I’d keep my wallet close if I were you.”
I gave a laugh, which didn’t seem to impress Mrs. McLoughlin. “I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, and paid for the drinks.
“So,” I began when I returned to Clodagh, wanting to divert her attention away from the fight since Anthony had just taken a leg from one of the tables and was beating the absolute daylights out of Leary. “Will you be joining us down in the school next week, or are you going to give it a while to settle in?”
“Mam was fairly adamant that I don’t miss anything, so I’m starting next Monday. Are the fifth year girls as nice as the fifth year lads in this place?”
“Well that’d be impossible, but they’re nice enough, yeah. Now the people you want to avoid are-”
Just as I was about to give her some advice that could very well save her life in these parts, Richie burst in, drop kicked Leary in the face, helped Mr. Martin up and high fived Anthony. Richie liked to make a scene.
“Who’s that guy?” asked Clodagh, fond of asking questions.
“That’s Richie. He’s one of my friends, and in case you didn’t notice, likes a bit of attention. He’s alright though, can be pretty funny actually.”
Rich spotted me sitting down, noticed I was with a girl, immediately raised two thumbs up and whistled so loud every shep dog for miles was now racing towards McLockedlins. Mrs. McLoughlins son had named the place.
It didn’t seem to faze Clodagh though, she told me to call him over. “I don’t know if you want to do that,” I tried to explain, but he was on his way anyway.
“Well Fionn, what’s the story? And what on earth is this extremely good looking woman doing hanging around with you?”
“Richie, this is Clodagh, she just moved here from the city. Clodagh, this is Richie, who has been living here for far too long and is a large arsehole.”
He moved around the table to where she was sitting, raised her hand and kissed it. The child had the charms of a playboy, but the face of the thing you find stuck to the sole of your shoe after walking around in a nightclub in Galway.
“Anyway Richie, will you come to the bar for a second? I need to talk to you about something that isn’t fit for such a lovely lady like the one you have here.”
I gave him daggers, but he looked serious, or as serious as he could be, so I made my apologies to Clodagh and brought my pint to the bar.
“Did you hear about the new crowd who just arrived?” he asked me while I downed my pint.
“More new people? Have we legalised cocaine or something?”
“A load of people just got in from Wexford, Murph texted me about it there.”
“Wexford? Jesus, if they’re from that place they’re either knackers or strawberries, and I highly doubt that they look like strawberries!”
Even though not many people would take notice of my hilarious joke, as soon as I said it, the whole pub went quiet. I turned around to see a group of three men standing in the door, dressed in shirts tucked into their trousers, with their trousers tucked into their socks, and the hair gelled as could be. “That’s the thing,” whispered Richie in my ear. “Murph said they were knackers.”
The leader of the group would stand out anywhere, even if he wasn’t a member of the travelling community. His hair, even though it was gelled like the others, was long enough to make it work, and was brown instead of the usual bright red. His eyes were so brown I was certain that many a girl had gotten lost in them, and a light stubble adorned his face. There was no need for it though, since that face wasn’t one that needed hiding. This chap looked more Italian than Clondaggin, and if not for the manner in which he was dressed, the last thing you would have called him was a traveller. Until he spoke, that is.
“Eh, what you say bout me you little sh*teface, you calling me a knacker are ya?” he spluttered, and the foreign facade was shattered.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all.” Normally I would have found him there and then, but there was a lady present, and he had two big friends to back him up. Richie would give me a hand, but the rest of the locals would be too busy recording it for further analyses to be of any help.
“Cause if you are I’ll fight you, John NJoe will fight you, Tom Joe will fight you, I’ll fight any men who says sh*te about my family God bless the Mark,” he spat, then spat.
I was in a tricky situation. I could either fight, most likely lose, and piss off our new neighbours, or I could apologise, lose face in the village and still probably piss off the new neighbours. Like I said, a tricky situation.
“Sorry lads, I didn’t mean to offend,” I told them, then went back down to sit with Clodagh. She had only just recovered from the spectacle of the fight when we came in, which seperated when the travellers arrived, and now she was in shock again. There was something else in her eyes though, especially when she looked at the ringleader.
“Who are these chaps?” she asked when I returned to the bar.
“I’m not sure, but Richie tells me that a bunch of knackers have just arrived and have taken up residence in a field down the road. I’m guessing they’re some of them.”
“Why do you keep calling them knackers?” she asked, and I detected a tone in her voice, suggesting she wasn’t pleased with the term.
“Sure that’s what they are,” I responded, because my dad wasn’t exactly a big fan and had passed that on to me. I dreaded to think what he’d do when he found out. “What do you call them?”
“Persons of nomadic persuasion,” she replied, and I got the impression she was serious when I managed to get back off the floor and stop laughing. My first impressions of the girl no longer seemed entirely accurate.
“You probably don’t know what they’re like. People are always willing to think the best of “minorities” because they’ve never had to deal with them, but I’m talking from experience. Knackers are bad news. Ask anyone about, they’re pretty much universally hated around these parts. Now, what were we talking about before those animals burst in?”
Her previously angelic face was now contorted into something Richie would nearly score. “My mam had told me that the country people could be a bit backward, but I never thought they would be actual bigots. Thanks for the drink, dickhead,” she exclaimed, loud enough for the whole pub to hear, and threw the rest of her coke all over me.
Richie was immediately in fits, and the knacker leader called Clodagh over. “He’s just an ignorant pig darlin’, come with me and I’ll show you how a real gentleman should treat a fine wan such as yourself.”
I was positive she’d say no, but to my absolute horror she grabbed his arm, turned and gave me the finger, then left.
I was disgusted. No, enraged. I brought my hand down so hard on the table it went through, and I spent the next half hour trying to free it. While the pub continued to laugh at my shame, I got a text from dad saying that the family had to get home right now, it was an emergency. When I finally managed to get free of the table, I gave Richie the fingers and drove home. My stomach burned with hatred, my fists itched with fury. I would show this scumbag, him and all of his kin, what would happen when they came into my village, made fun of me in front of my friends, and stole my girl. Well, she would have been my girl. It was time to pick some strawberries.
Chapter 3: May 16th - Late evening
The first thing I heard when I opened the front door was a loud bang, followed by glass shattering, then loud screaming. I realised I had slammed the door so hard I’d broken the glass, which had cut my hand, but now was no time to worry about such trivialities.
Dad must have sent the text to everyone, because the entire family was now seated at the table, wondering what the hell the commotion was. Dad was at the top, and was looking down at his phone and muttering. Cathal was at his right, sharing dad’s expression. A seat was vacant for me at the left, and with gran beside me and mam beside Cathal. Uncle Patrick, Michael, Eoin and Ruairi were at the other end, deep in conversation.
I took my seat and gave dad a nod, but he didn’t see it. Mam gave me a worried look, but before she could say anything dad smacked his hand down on the table, ready to start the meeting.
“As I presume you’ve all heard by now, a couple of hours ago a large group of knackers moved in up the road. Sully’s just sent me pics of his field there, and there are at least 15 caravans in a circle, with hundreds of them streaming about the place, fixing gas bottles and getting water from the mains. It seems they are planning on staying. But we’re not going to let them.”
Dad got up from the table and strolled over to the window. “Our family has been here since this town was just a place the English sent their lunatics to die. We prospered and thrived, and there have been over ten generations of Donovans here. We will not be terrorised in our own town by a bunch of scumbags whose only purpose in life is to lie, to cheat and to bring misery. This is our town, and by Jesus we will fight for it!”
While dad’s speech was definitely inspiring, we weren’t exactly facing a life or death situation. Dad had a thing about travellers though. He never told me why, but if there was one group of people on this planet that he hated more than anything, except psychiatrists, it was them.
“Hang on a sec dad,” I said. “We don’t want to rush into this. Did Sully give you any more details besides the two pictures he sent?”
“No, but sure that’s all we need.”
“Show me them.” He passed me his phone, and the “pictures” that Sully had sent looked like photos of a load of sheep in a field, taken from a helicopter on a really windy day.
“Did he take these from the moon or something?”
“It’s the best we have, and we need to act fast before they take the sugar out of our tea.”
“Dad, dad, calm down. Yes, we will get rid of them, but first let me and Murph go up and scout the place properly. We’ll take photos, you get the community together in the pub and decide the best course of action. The seven of us aren’t exactly going to terrify them into leaving.”
Dad sat back down at the table and took a sip from his tea. I could see him processing what I was saying, and even though I spoke sense, it didn’t stop him from throwing his cup at the wall so hard it bounced back and dislocated Cathal’s shoulder. Dad had a fondness for cup throwing, so one year for Christmas we got him a set of rubber cups. Best investment we ever made.
“Fine. But take longer than an hour and I’m heading up there with Cu and running them out of the place.” Cu was our ten stone Irish Wolfhound, and was simultaneously the most terrifying and most lovely thing you could ever come across.
I made my way to my room and threw on some dark clothes, still in my glad rags from the evening with Clodagh. I was shocked that she had gone off with that chap, but I’m sure that was just to prove a point and to make me jealous. I’d have to use all of my charms to smooth things over again, but I’d think about all that when the time was right. Now was the time to ring Murph and tell him to get his fat arse ready to take photographs, and to get his camera ready. He had a really nice camera and loved taking pictures. It doesn’t surprise me that the girls in the village all bought extra thick curtains when they found out.
For once he had listened to what I had said, and was ready at his gate with his camera in hand. “We taking some pictures of the knackers then?” he asked when I picked him up.
“How did you know? It’s almost like you read exactly what I f*ckin texted you!”
“Do you want me to help or not?”
“Just get your camera ready, we’re almost there.”
I should probably explain for the many non Irish people who will be reading my tale of woe, all three of you, what travellers are. Travellers are people who reject the conventional way of life and mainly live in caravans, travelling from place to place and bringing their families with them. Many counties have specified areas called halting sites for travellers. In England they’re known as gypsies, but they’re not Romanian or anything. They simply move from place to place, but aren’t very well thought of over here. Even though my dad wouldn’t be a big fan, as in he’d like to see them all thrown into the sea, I’ll try be as impartial as possible.
Travellers often get a lot of bad press in Ireland, and that’s because many believe them to be thieves, bandits and generally unscrupulous people. This is because the gardai are afraid of them, and if they did try to arrest one of them, all the members of their family would swear to God almighty they were with them at the time no word of a lie, and then they can claim the gardai are being discriminatory against them because they are a vulnerable minority. Even though many don’t go past primary education, no one knows their rights as well as travellers do.
There are many names for them, and not all nice; knackers, tinkers, jolliers, the boys. Every area has it’s preferred slang. Even though I personally have no issue with them, dad despises them and thinks that they’re all liars, cheaters, and murderers. I didn’t agree with him, although I didn’t disagree either because my father was not a man you disagreed with, but this evening's events had done little to paint them in a positive light. As my dad says, where they come, trouble follows, and our village was certainly not equipped for them. Considering that a lot of the village folk are highly strung, the best thing to do would be for them to move on, before someone ends up finding themselves pushed down a cliff in a duffle bag.
Sully’s field was only a few minutes from Murph’s house, but we stopped about half a kilometer away to ensure we weren’t spotted. Sully was an elderly man who owned a house right in the centre of the village, but he also owned a really big field up in the hills, ten acres or so. It was also the flattest land in the area, so whenever there were big events, like field days or the annual tractor tug of war competition, they were held here. Luckily for us, just opposite the field was The Wanderers Walk, a set of steps and viewing points carved into the mountain. We’d get a good view of them from there.
Even though Murph was delighted he had something to do, he was less keen on the exercise part. “Can I not just stay here and mind the car?” he asked when I told him we were going up to the top of Cnoc mor, the name of the mountain.
“Just incase it runs away? Get your lazy arse out of the car and up those steps. I need you to tell me how to operate this thing.”
After a lot of groaning, and even more moaning, he gave the suspension a much needed break and flopped out of the car. It took us a good twenty minutes, but we finally made it to the base of the mountain, ten metres from the car.
“I’m serious Murph, pick up the pace. The field will be eroded by the sea before we make it to the platform at this rate.”
After a bit of encouragement and a few kicks, he changed gears and we managed to reach the top before the dead of night. He turned on the camera for me, and showed me the zoom. It was high tech stuff, and even had infrared capabilities. We still had a bit of light though, so we didn’t need to use that yet.
“So we’re just taking photos of all the caravans and leaving, yeah?” Murph inquired, now in a heap on the ground.
“That’s it,” I told him as I scanned the area. The quality was really clear, and I could even read the bumper stickers on the caravans. They weren’t ones to go for the “If you can read this, you’re too close!” kind, opting for the plainer “f*ck off” ones instead.
There was quite a bit of activity in the site, and I saw the two heavies that had been with the Italian looking chap at the pub earlier. They were sitting in a circle telling a story, and one of them made a punching motion, then frantic pulling, as if his hand was stuck in a table and the group erupted into laughter. That was the first thing that got my blood boiling.
I continued scanning, and counted fifteen caravans in all. I could see at least fifty people, with about thirty being males, and the other twenty split between women and children. People were coming in and out of caravans all the time though, so the total number of them could have been a lot higher.
I snapped a few photos of the group and the caravans, and was about to finish up when I noticed that the biggest camera had it’s blinds open, and there was a blonde hair girl sitting in the window. I zoomed in further, and nearly dropped Murphs two thousand euro camera when Clodagh turned around to see if anyone was watching.
The Italian knacker then came into view with two glasses of wine, and handed one to her. He downed his while she sipped hers, and he went back for more. When he came into my field of vision again, he put his glass down and drew the curtains. Even though it was impossible, I could swear that he looked exactly at me, nearly half a kilometer away, and gave me a wink.
I was too shocked to move. I kept the lens focused on the caravan, and about a minute later it started bouncing. That was when I lost it.
“Let’s go!” I shouted to Murph, and practically sprinted down the mountain. He caught on that I was in no mood for waiting, and attempted to gallop after me. Unfortunately he tripped after three steps, and tumbled the rest of the way.
“Come on!” I screamed at him out the window, even though he had probably broken several limbs and was bleeding profusely. Murphy was a hardy lad though, and limped over, got in, and fainted.
When he awoke we were nearly at the pub, and he asked me why I was so angry.
“Because they’ve taken our land, and if we let them, they’ll take our possessions, our jobs, and eventually our very lives. Now is the time to stop them, before it’s too late.”
With that, we arrived at the pup, and I entered to give the speech that would seal my fate.
Chapter 4: May 16th - Early Night
“Are we going to stand by while our village is tormented by the current scum, and scum is too nice a word, that inhabit one of our fields? While they illegally park their caravans and themselves, and use our resources? Pollute our rivers? Endanger our very lives?
“These people, another generous term, are a cancer that needs to be removed before the infection takes hold and spreads, and we all succumb to this fatal disease. We look after our own. We fix our own problems. We will not let these knackers ruin our lives! For Conackmore!”
The entire pup erupted into a cheer, and I lead the now raving mob outside. We were going to march up to the field and defend our home from these foreign invaders.
On my driving test, one of the questions was “If angry, what should a driver do before undertaking a journey?” The answer was to take twenty minutes to calm down, and not to drive when emotionally unstable. At the time I thought this was just to ensure we didn’t run over whoever had annoyed us with our car, but now I realise it was a metaphore for life. I should have calmed down, taken a few breaths, and logically thought about the next step. Instead, fueled by hate, I assembled a mob and got them blood thirsty, then lead them up to a palce where they could unleash their rage on people, the majority of whom were innocent.
Just because I saw the caravan bouncing up and down, it doesn’t automatically mean that Clodagh and Fabiano the traveller were having fun time in the caravan. Maybe they were testing out a set of pogo sticks the chap had received for his birthday, or were making sure that the suspension was still in good condition by jumping up and down. Hate doesn’t listen to sense though, or logic, or it’s mam. Hate doesn’t want ten reasons why your plan is full of holes, or why you should go and have a nice cup of tea instead of tearing up a mountain to crucify people. Hate wants one thing. Blood.
It took us about half an hour, but when we reached their camp, no one was complaining about sore feet. I had lead the charge, with dad, the beaming father of the feral psychopath, on my right, and Murph, the mound of flesh that had to be carried after five steps on my right. Cathal and my uncles came next, with the procession of about one hundred villages after them. Men, women and children had answered the call, and they had with them an assortment of weapons ranging from car doors and chair legs to rosary beads and stoves.
When we finally reached the entrance to the field, we stopped. “Alright then,” I roared, and looked back to see a crowd of faces ready to tear some travellers limb from limb. But I had gone blank. What did we do now? I could hardly end the most dramatic march the parish had ever seen with a polite request to our unwanted guests that they move back to where they came from. A strongly worded letter was probably out of the question too. I didn’t want to kill anyone. Taking a man’s life was not something on the bucket list. I loved a fight as much as the next mentally imbalanced person, but I knew that once I went into that field, a line would be crossed, and there would be at least one anniversary mass happening this time next year.
Just as common sense was prevailing over animalistic hatred, dad whispered in my ear, “Are you really going to let that dirty knacker have his way with your women, after how he humiliated you in the pub today?”
Dad had always been a good manipulator. As soon as the images of the caravan bouncing up and down came back to me, the hatred bubbled up again, and I felt the fire in my stomach. I would wipe that smile off his pretty little face, which wouldn’t be pretty for much longer.
“Alright then. Let’s take our village back!”
I burst through the gates of the field, and the rest of the mob poured in after me. The travellers had come to investigate the racket, and the first one I saw I flattened with a punch straight to the nose. Another cheer went up, and the others started engaging any other travellers they saw.
“Get back in your caravans, you’re going home,” I shouted at any women and children I saw, and they got the message.
By now the other traveller men had come out, and started to hit back. There were about the same number of us as there were of them, so it would be close. I wasn’t taking part in this spectacle though. I had something to do first.
While the mob had dispersed to fight, I stormed ahead to the center of the field. Just as the caravan I was looking for came into sight, it’s door flew open and Fabiano flew out, a look of pure anger in his eyes and traces of lipstick on his neck.
“YOU!” I screamed, and he turned to face me. The main punch up was happening near the gate, so it was just me and him, one on one. Clodagh was nowhere to be seen.
When he saw who had called him, he actually had the cheek to smile. That was when I completely lost it.
“Well would ya look who it-” he managed before I sent him to the ground with a flying tackle. He obviously didn’t think I was much of a threat after earlier, so I caught him off guard.
I started going to town on his face. I let it all out. The anger that had been building up inside me was now beating some more chap, whose name I didn’t even know, to death.
I was so intent on pounding away my anger that I didn’t hear the frantic cries telling me to stop, and my frenzy was only halted when a wine bottle was smashed over my head. The blow caused me to collapse next to my victim, and I was greeted by the sight of Clodagh standing over me, her hands covered in what must have been my blood.
“Why?” I croaked, barely even conscious.
“What do you mean why?” she screamed hysterically. “If I hadn’t, you would have killed him! I think you have have anyway,” she sobbed, then fell to her knees and began cradling him. His nose was now pointing towards Galway, his pearly whites were no longer plural, and his eyes were the colour of Murph’s velvet curtains. He wasn’t awake, but I was fairly sure he was alive.
Clodagh clutched him close to her chest, her eyes filling with tears. She looked at me, and my heart dropped. “Why?” she asked, her voice not full of anger, but merely full of grief.
“Because he’s a knacker, here to steal and cause trouble,” I managed, regaining some of my faculties.
“A knacker?” she exploded, with the grief definitely replaced by anger now. “Just because he’s a traveller, he’s automatically a liar and a robber, and can never do anything good in the world. Just because he’s a traveller, he doesn’t have a heart and can’t be decent, the only thing he can do is steal and deceive. Do you even know why they’re here? Or did you just come charging up here because you really are a psychopath?”
“Well I thought they had moved in,” I explained.
“No, you didn’t think. You let the animal inside you take over and you came up here because your pride was wounded, with your mind already made up because of prejudice. They’re here to bury Paddy’s father, who was from around these parts. They were only going to spend a night here and then leave.”
“But I didn’t know that!” I exclaimed.
“Did you give him time to tell you?” she retorted. I was forgotten about now though. She began stroking his face, hoping maybe her healing touch would bring him back to the land of the living.
I had nearly killed the poor chap, all because I had let my destructive emotions take over, and not listen to reason. It could still be made right though. If I could just get to the top of the caravan and tell the villagers that the travellers would be gone in the morning, they’d hopefully stop beating the sh*t out of our visitors and go back to the pub to beat the sh*t out of each other.
Surprisingly, a wine bottle to the noggin isn’t the best motivational tool, so it took me a good minute to stand up. Just as I was about to climb onto the caravan, I saw dad round the corner with the double barrelled in his hands.
“Dad?” I started, but he didn’t hear me. He marched straight over to Fabiano, or Paddy as Clodagh called him, who had just about regained consciousness.
“Where’s your father?” dad screamed at him, but Paddy wasn’t exactly in the mood for twenty questions.
“Answer me!” shouted dad, and pointed the shotgun at Paddy. Clodagh shrieked in terror, and I tried to disarm dad.
“Put the f*ckin gun down dad!”
“He’s dead,” Paddy groaned while attempting to get up. “He’s dead, uncle Jim.”
Uncle Jim? This made no sense.
“What?” I asked Paddy, or Dad, or anyone who would listen.
“Why did you come back then?” dad growled, still brandishing the weapon in Paddys face.
“To give him the burial he wanted,” Paddy replied, managing to stand up with the help of Clodagh. She looked as confused as I was.
“Hang on, explain for the people not subscribed to the traveller newsletter what the f*ck is going on.”
Paddy looked at me and grinned again. “My dad was your dad’s brother, cous.”
This was making even less sense. Was my dad a traveller? Am I descended from a long line of proud travellers? Why the hell did my cousin look like he was a native of magala?
“Dad?” I was beyond bewildered now.
“I had an elder brother, Paddy, and when he was sixteen he ran off with a traveller woman when they were squatting two parishes over. He made a laughing stock of the family, and me and the rest of the family had to fight twice as hard, and pretty much everyone to gain our reputation back. Your gran saw what sort of person I was during the struggles, and that’s why she approved of me marrying your mam.”
I should mention that while he was telling me this touching tale, he still was waving the shotgun about like he was having a fit.
“And now, when I heard that they were back, I thought he’d come back to completely ruin my reputation, and your’s and your brother’s too. And I’m not letting that happen.”
He looked serious, but then again it doesn’t take much to look serious when you have a loaded double barreled in your hands. Surely he wasn’t actually planning on murdering his own brother though. Yeah, my dad was crazy, but he wasn’t mad. Well not completely mad.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” moaned Paddy, just about on his feet now. “We came back to burry him, we’re not planning on staying around. I don’t know how many of us are left now though.”
I’d forgotten that there was a gigantic brawl happening about fifty metres away, even though the sounds of the fight could probably be heard in the capital. If I could just tell the villagers that our guests would be gone in the morning, hopefully they’d stop the fighting and go home. Hopefully.
Paddy’s caravan was in the middle of the camp and the action was at the edge, so I legged it as fast as I could to see what the situation was. Dad had lowered the gun and him and Paddy were talking about his brother, so I presumed that they’d be ok. As long as Clodagh was kept away from bottles of alcohol anyway.
When I rounded the last caravan and set eyes on the fight, what I saw surprised me. The traveller women and children had come back out of their caravans and were cheering on their men, who had taken their shirts off, for dramatic effect presumably. There were about fifteen of them left, and only ten of us, but Murph was in the middle of a group of three and he looked like he was loving it. I was about to get on top of the caravan to call it off when I saw those two big lumps who were with Paddy in the pub corner Cathal, then throw something at his face. While my brother was temporarily blinded, one of the travellers tripped him and the other started beating him with a length of pipe. Even though I’d beaten the anger, they say the hardest thing is controlling the urge to relapse, and I hadn’t quite gotten that yet. My brother was being absolutely decimated, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.
While the pipe lad was hitting away, the other moved in and started kicking him. I charged towards the kicker like a twenty stone man who’d fallen down the stairs and completely wiped him out. I put in a few kicks to make sure he stayed down, then turned my attention to the piped piper.
He had seen what I’d done to his friend, and backed away from Cathal with his pipe raised in his air. “You don’t want to do this chap,” he said, threatening me with the pipe. Murph had now dealt with the three distractions that he was in the middle of, and saw I could use a hand.
“Hey!” he screamed, causing the piper to turn around. I immediately dropped him a header and he fell to the ground. I repeated what I did to Paddy, and started absolutely tearing into him, only this time I was even angrier. The travellers were beaten, and I was the last one fighting. When I finally looked up from the poor lad, my hands drenched in blood, I realised everyone had gathered around me in a circle, villagers and travellers, with looks varying from respect to disgust. It had happened again. Hatred had overcome all of my senses, and I had gone too far again. That was when I heard the shot.
“DAD!” I screamed, and immediately forgot about my second attempted murder of the day. Everyone started running towards the sound, with me in the lead. When I reached them again, it wasn’t what I expected.
Clodagh was standing over my dad, smoking gun in hand. Dad was now a lot more aerodynamic and had a big hole in his side. He was writhing in pain on the ground, and bleeding profusely.
“Quick, ring an ambulance!” I screamed, but someone was already on the case. Now was my turn to cradle Dad, who had gone deathly pale.
“What happened dad?”
“My f*ckin appendix burst. She shot me, what do you think happened!”
“Why though?”
“Because he was about to shoot Paddy, that’s why!” screamed Clodagh. She threw the gun to the ground, and broke down in tears.
Paddy was on his feet at this stage, and didn’t look pleased. “You’re dad was about to murder me! I’ll kill him!”
I got up and squared up to him once again. “Remember what happened last time?”
Murph then burst through the crowd to back me up, but instead of saying anything, he just growled menacingly. At that exact moment, the two mounds that were attacking Cathal appeared behind Paddy, and it looked like another fight was about to happen. Just as headers were about to be dropped, a shot went off, and Murph fell to the ground.
“MURPH!” I screamed, and went down to see where he’d been hit. It turned out he’d turned to see who had shot and had tripped on his shoelace.
“Get up you disgrace,” I muttered to Murph. The crowd parted, and there was gran, standing with a sawn off in her hands and a look of absolute rage on her face.
“Alright you pile of uneducated, irrational, generally challenged group of individuals. And anyone not in my family too. We have knocked the sh*t out of each other all night long, and it’s starting to get dark. My son in law has been shot, and even though he has the reasoning power of a box of tissues, I don’t want him to die. So someone get this man to the ambulance on the road and someone else put the kettle on. It’s time to sort this sh*te out.
Chapter 5: May 17th - Early Morning
“Bye now!” I waved, with Murph alongside me, as the last of our guests pulled out. Paddy, who was driving the lead caravan, waved back, and Clodagh blew a kiss. He then gave the signal and they all started leaving, until it was just me, Murph and the car left in the field.
“I have to hand it to your grandmother. She can surely be a diplomat when she wants to me.”
“She’s a woman of many hidden talents. And lethal weapons, apparently.”
The rest of the villagers had said goodbye last night, and we’d all helped bury dad’s brother where he had wished to be laid to rest; Sully’s field, because he used to say they were the most stunning views in the village. Once gran had got us all to agree that fighting was just plain ridiculous, we had a party that raged into the very small hours. I still hadn’t gone to sleep.
“I was surprised Clodagh went with them in the end,” said Murph, as we headed back towards my car.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine her parents were too pleased.”
“Well, I suppose everything’s back to normal now. Well, ok, not normal, but you know what I mean.”
I grinned. “Sure I suppose it’s better than a boring life anyway.”
I dropped Murph off, and told him we’d meet up later for a few pints, then headed back home. I had just parked the car and was about to head in for a well needed rest when Clodagh’s dad pulled up in his beemer. I didn’t know what this was about, but I greeted him with a wave. I was still terrified of the monster of a man.
“Hello Mr. Bradley!” I called when he got out of his car, but he didn’t look in the mood for pleasantries.
“I’m here to collect my daughter, so if you wouldn’t mind getting her I’ll be on my way.” He must have noticed my face drop though. “She is here, isn’t she?”
“Gran?” I called, while backing towards the house. “Could you come out here for a second?” Mr. Bradley started advancing towards me with a look anyone fond of the lion programmes on the nature channel is well used to seeing. “Now would be a good time gran. It’s probably best if you bring your gun too.”
-
DATo
- Previous Member of the Month
- Posts: 6011
- Joined: 31 Dec 2011, 07:54
- Bookshelf Size: 0
Loved it, especially the humor which was first rate! I realize all the fighting was necessary to set the tone of the piece but the ambient violence of the environs depicted in this story made the time of The Troubles seem like a May Day frolic. Also, there was nothing in the story to explain how Clodagh knew Paddy or the rest of the knackers or the reason they were there. I think this could easily be set to rights with a bit of rework though.
The above having been said, I still think this was a excellently told story which I thoroughly enjoyed reading. The writing itself was quite professionally rendered and I, for one, would love to read more from this author.
The above having been said, I still think this was a excellently told story which I thoroughly enjoyed reading. The writing itself was quite professionally rendered and I, for one, would love to read more from this author.
“I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed reading accident. I hit a book mark and flew across the room.”
― Steven Wright
― Steven Wright
