From Bray to Eternity Read online

  One night as I was holding Annette close to me and kissing her neck and shoulders she thought she saw a curtain move in the house across the back garden. We stopped what we were doing and turned the light off, all the time looking across at the opposite window. Someone began to open it slightly and we could clearly see a man with a pair of binoculars looking at our bedroom. From then on we were more careful with our pre bed routine. We always made sure we put out the light before we began getting ready for bed, but sometimes, before the light went out, we would see movement in the curtains across the way and a man’s head looking across in our direction.

  By Christmas 1968, and after over three months of marriage, our families we felt were expecting “news” from us. Annette was getting comments about her weight. She had begun to put on a little, which because she had been so slim was noticeable. By this time we were having full intercourse, but we had nothing to report. All the problems relating to the house had also been resolved and we had decorated it and built a partition from the hall to close off the bedroom and were planning on moving in after Christmas

  In contrast to our time in Mountshannon Road, from the start we loved living in Clinches Court. We had decorated it in a modern op art style. For wallpaper think of Del boy’s flat in Only Fools and Horses and we’d lit the rooms with standard lamps, laid new carpet in the middle room and bedroom and painted the kitchen a bright yellow. We’d also hung new curtains on all the windows. The bedroom was warm and cosy and it had a fireplace which we used a lot that winter. Our new home also had the advantage of being near town and was very convenient for both our jobs.

  In reality our marriage really only started when we moved to Clinches Court. We seldom ate in Mountshannon or entertained visitors or friends there so we never shopped for much food stuffs. In our new house we took great pleasure in doing a weekly shop in the supermarket and we also started inviting our family and friends down and cooking a meal for them. We were becoming a proper little ‘Mr & Mrs’. We also had very nice neighbours. One in particular, Sally, a, to us, elderly lady who lived next door became very fond of Annette. She used to tell her all about the history of the houses and the area. She and her family had lived there since the houses were built and at that stage she was the last member of her family still living in the house where she was born.

  Life was good for us in so many ways in Clinches Court. We were very much in love and enjoying a great love life, we were both working at jobs we liked, we had our own home, we were not short of money and our families were close enough to visit and be visited by us, as often as we liked. Our marriage was off to a great start, and we were ready and anxious to start a family.

  While we were waiting, we decided we would go on a holiday. As Neil Armstrong was making plans to land on the Moon, we were on a horse-drawn caravanning holiday in Donegal, with both our mothers in tow. Whose idea it was I don’t know but we asked our two mothers, our two mothers-in-law! to come on holiday with us, on our first holiday together since our honeymoon, and in a horse-drawn caravan with barely enough room for two. We were so innocent back then. It had all the makings of a major disaster written all over it, but it wasn’t. We had a great time, and our two mothers got on like a house on fire, ever after they were the best of friends.

  We booked the caravan for two weeks in July and the plan was that the two mothers would be with us for the first week. Then we would put them on a bus home and we would have the second week for ourselves. All was well as we set out from Busaras, on a sunny Saturday morning, heading for Bunbeg to pick up our horse and wagon. The bus trip to Donegal was long but uneventful and we reached our destination on Saturday evening. We went to the caravan park to pick up our mobile accommodation and were met by the owner who introduced us to “Petal” our horse.

  As it was late we decided we would not begin our travels until the next morning, so Pettle was left in the field and we took possession of the wagon. I don’t know what we’d been expecting, but when we saw the amount of space for four people in the caravan we started to think that maybe this was not such a good idea after all. It looked so cramped. There was what looked like a child’s play cabinet with cups and saucers and such like, a tiny sink unit and beside it, two gas rings on a piece of wood. Running along one side of the caravan was a very narrow bunk bed and there were two pieces of chain attached to a panel which pulled down to give another bunk which was stored overhead. There was also a curtained off area to the front. We pulled back the curtains and revealed “the master bedroom” – a very small wooden plinth, with a mattress and pillows.

  We piled our luggage as best we could against the side of the caravan. A few humorous comments were passed about who was sleeping where but we knew we had no choice but to make the best of what we had. The mothers were great and never complained. They threw themselves wholeheartedly into the spirit of the holiday. Annette’s mother decided she would sleep on top and once the sleeping arrangements were sorted we, with great care and lots of “don’t be looking I’m changing my top” moments, washed and cleaned ourselves as best we could. Then the four of us went out to a local bar and restaurant for the first meal and drinks of our holiday. Needless to say we were a bit “merry” coming back from the pub and were not too concerned about who saw what as we “hooshed” Mary into her top bunk. My mother collapsed sleepily into hers. Annette and I then crawled into the ‘master bedroom’, wrapped ourselves around each other and went asleep.

  After breakfast the next morning the owner came around with Petal and showed us how to dress the horse in her harness. I watched carefully so when he asked me if I was happy that I could harness the horse, I of course said yes no problem, it did not look too difficult. We were ready to go. Myself and Annette were decked out in new t-shirts and shorts and the ladies were in summer dresses as we set off on our merry way to explore the hills of Donegal in our ‘Wanderly Wagon’.

  The first problem then presented itself. There was only room for three on the seat of the caravan. This meant that I would have to walk and lead Petal along. I did not know it then but even if there had been room for four on the seat this is the way I would have ended up spending my holiday, either pulling Petal up a hill or trying to stop her galloping down one. We learned pretty quickly that hilly Donegal is not the best place for a horse-drawn caravan holiday.

  We did not cover a great distance that first day as we were no sooner on our way than we came to a church where Mass was soon to start, and, it being Sunday, Annette wanted to go. So we stopped and I read the paper and minded the horse and caravan while the women went to pray.

  After Mass we set off again and about a mile or so later we came to a bar with outside seating. Someone wanted to go to the toilet so we stopped at the bar. The sun was shining and it was warm so someone suggested that a cold drink would go down well.

  Another stop.

  After a while we set off again and covered a few more miles. I was sweating and sunburned, trying to control Petal, while the ladies, with Annette holding the reins, sat taking in the scenery and talking. At about six o’clock we came to another bar with a field at the side in which there was another horse-drawn caravan. Seeing this we decided we had travelled enough for one day and we would stay here for the night.

  The women got down from their seat to stretch their legs and Annette held Petal steady while I went into the bar to enquire about getting permission to put the horse into the field for the night. I also wanted to see who was in the other caravan which was parked there. The barman said there was no problem about putting Petal into the field and pointed out a couple in their forties, who were sitting at a table drinking, as the occupants of the other caravan.

  I went out and told the rest of them it was ok to stay here for the night so we unharnessed Petal brought her to the field and fed her with some of the feed the owner had given us. I also got her some water from the bar. When all this was done we cleaned ourselves and went inside. I pointed out the other couple to Annette as the occupants
of the other caravan. Annette suggested we should talk to them as they might be able to give us a few tips. Annette and I went over and introduced ourselves as the new caravan arrivals and asked them how they were finding the holiday so far. They told us they had been at this bar for the past three days. They had put their horse into the field when they arrived and when they went to get him the next morning he was gone. They had not been able to find him since and were afraid to let the owner know they had lost his horse. They intended to leave the next day and phone the owner to let him know where his caravan was.

  We stayed there for the night and made sure Petal was secure in the field before we went to bed. First thing next morning I got up and checked that she was still there, she was.

  After breakfast, ours and Petal’s, we got ready to go so I proceeded to put the harness on Petal. When I was ‘finished’ I had a few bits of harness in my hands that I did not know what to do with. The horse seemed to be “fully-clothed” but I still had bits of harness left over. We continued on our way despite this as Petal seemed to have no difficulty pulling the wagon and everything looked secure.

  Again we did not cover a great distance as the terrain was very hilly. I also had great difficulty controlling Petal, especially going downhill when she wanted to gallop. Even with Annette’s help, as she held tight on the reins I struggled to hold her back. For safety sake when we were going downhill, the two mothers usually walked. They had a great time laughing and chatting as Annette and I struggled with Petal.

  On one of the days when the weather was really sunny and warm we were looking for a beach we had been told about in Kinkasslagh. We asked directions to the beach and were told to take the next turn right. We eventually came to the next right turn which was a narrow road up a rather steep hill. We turned and proceeded up it, Annette and the two mothers walking and me pulling Petal. As we neared the top we were approached by a farmer and told we were on private property and would have to go back. We explained we were looking for a beach and he told us it was further down, we had taken a wrong turn. It was impossible to turn where we were so we had to go to the top of the hill to turn which we did. We sent the two Marys back to the bottom of the hill to wait while we turned and got ready to make our way back down. I told Annette to sit on the seat and hold the reins as tight as she could while I stood in front of Petal, holding the bit in her mouth in an effort to take us down the hill as slowly as possible. Petal was having none of it. About a third of the way down with Annette holding the reins for dear life and me doing all I could to contain the horse, Petal took off. She left me with no option but to, John Wayne like, jump off the ground and put my feet on each side of the shafts, while looking into the horse’s mouth. Annette stood up, holding the reins and screamed as the caravan sped down the hill. It was out of our control and racing towards the two mothers who were standing at the side of the road also screaming at what was unfolding before their eyes.

  As we reached the bottom of the hill, and were about to go careering back onto the main road, the caravan came to a sudden stop. A stump of a tree which was protruding from the ground had embedded itself in the side of the caravan, bringing it to a halt. We were all badly shaken but unhurt, and after managing to get the caravan, now with a large gash in the side, away from the tree stump we proceeded to the beach. With the help of strong tea, we let our nerves calm a bit, as the mothers gave thanks for the aversion of what could have been a disaster.

  On the last night of our mothers’ stay we were in Crolly. We were parked beside the pub owned by Leo Brennan, the father of the Brennan family who later became the famous group Clannad. We had the privilege of being amongst the first people from outside Donegal to witness the emerging talent of one of Ireland’s best group of musicians.

  But the really memorable thing about our night in Brennan’s pub was a fight that broke out later that night. We and a pub full of other people were enjoying the music when, and I mean this quite literally, the place exploded in violence. The most violent pub fight I ever witnessed took place all around us, in Irish. Tables were thrown, chairs were broken over people’s heads, glasses were flying over our heads and faces were being punched, by men and women. We saw one person being held by the scruff of the neck and the arse of his trousers and thrown through a glass door. It was like a scene from a John Ford western. When I realised what was happening I grabbed the women and pushed them into a toilet we were lucky enough to be sitting beside.

  The fight ended as suddenly as it began and the pub quickly emptied as everyone made their way home. Later that night, when it was almost dark and we were sitting outside the caravan having a cup of tea, a lone garda on a bike with no light came cycling into the village to investigate the incident. Despite asking, we never did get to know what had caused the mayhem, what happens in Crolly stays in Crolly.

  It was an eventful but very enjoyable first week of our holiday. As we prepared to send our mothers home, we were looking forward to a more relaxing and violence-free week alone.

  After goodbyes the following morning, our mothers got the bus to Letterkenny, to connect with the bus to Dublin. We said goodbye to Crolly and headed off in our caravan, relieved that the week with our mothers was over but glad we had done it. Now that there was only the two of us the caravan did not seem so small and stripping and dressing was a lot easier as we did not have to be careful about who might see what.

  On Tuesday of the second week we came to Dungloe where the “Mary from Dungloe” festival was in full swing. We parked our caravan in the field beside the marquee and set Petal free in the adjacent field, safe in the knoweldge that it was enclosed with fencing and she would not be able to wander too far. We were no sooner settled in the field when an opportunity to make money presented itself, if we had been brave enough to take a chance. People came knocking on the door enquiring if we were telling fortunes. We could have made a fortune if we had had hard necks. We could have taken their money and spoofed a little, just like real fortune-tellers but we didn’t.

  We went to the dance in the marquee that night and had a great laugh at the state of some of the old country men. They were prowling around the marquee, some of them barely able to walk, eyeing up and trying to chat up the young girls. It was something we remarked on about that dance, most of the men seemed to be old and most of the girls were young.

  The next morning we intended to move on but when I went to get Petal I discovered she was lame. I looked at her leg and noticed her hoof was cut. She had caught it in the barbed wire which was around some of the fencing in the field. We were now well into our second week, and quite honestly I was getting tired of walking Petal around Donegal every day. Also the caravan was the worst for wear, as apart from the gash in the side, we’d had another incident. We had gone into someone’s garden so we could turn and ended up stuck under a low branch of a tree which damaged the roof. Now Petal was injured. We decided to end our life as nomads.

  We called the owner and told him about Petal so her cut could be treated. We asked him to take us to a nice beach in the caravan and leave us there to enjoy the rest of our holiday. He agreed to do that.

  He arrived the next day and took Petal, who was not badly hurt, just a slight cut in her hoof. Then he hitched our caravan to his jeep and said he would find a nice spot for us to spend the rest of our holiday. Annette wanted to stay in the caravan, to clean up and wash the breakfast delph while we were moving. But luckily the owner said it might get very bumpy in the caravan and it would be better if she did not stay in it.

  How right he was. As we were driving along we came to a sharp bend in the road which was bordered on one side by a drop of about eight feet. All of a sudden the caravan flashed past the jeep and crashed over the side of the road. It smashed down on its side, over the eight foot drop. It was in bits. If Annette had been in it I have no doubt she would have been killed or at the very least seriously hurt.

  Although we were on a country road with very few houses around, in a matter of mi
nutes the place was full of people inspecting our wrecked caravan. So there we were having started out the week before with a horse and caravan and now we had lost the horse through lameness and the caravan was a write off. A beach holiday was also now out of the question.

  After we retrieved our clothes and what food we could salvage from the wreckage of the caravan, we were taken back to the caravan base. We were allowed to use one of the caravans there for the next few days. Most of our food had been destroyed in the caravan crash so we had to replenish our stock and by this time our cash was running out. For some unknown reason we had not bought return bus tickets so we had to keep enough money to get home. But true to form we didn’t. Instead we spent all we had and decided to hitch home. This turned out to be a source of some embarrassment.

  On the morning of our departure the owner of the caravan, thinking we were catching the bus to Dublin, because we’d told him so, offered to give us a lift to the bus station. He went flat out to make sure we got to the bus, dropping us right beside it, only a minute or two before departure. We got out of the car, thanking him for his trouble, and stood beside the bus waving him off as if he was our dearest friend and we didn’t want to lose sight of him until he faded into the distance. Once he was gone we waved the bus on, much to the annoyance of the driver who had been waiting for us to board it. Carrying our cases, we then made our way out of Bunbeg to the Dublin road for the long hitch home.

  A milk lorry driver took pity on us a while later and gave us a lift to just outside Aughnacloy. We waited for what seemed like hours with only enough money for a bar of chocolate and a cup of coffee. Eventually we got a lift and the driver turned out to be someone quite famous at the time, Michael Dillon. He was the presenter of a farming programme on Telefís Eireann. He picked us up in Aughnacloy and gave us a lift all the way to Glasnevin in Dublin.