UNFORESEEN EVENTS III ~ PART II

The Long Road to Glasgow ~ Part II

On a cloudy day in June Ethan signed off the S.S. Inchcape at the Port of Cobh, Ireland. Across the street from the docks was O’Shea’s Fish & Chips shop. Ethan was hungry and this would be his first stop on the Emerald Isle. Inside the shop he waited in a short line at the counter while a stout, middle aged woman busied herself serving up the establishment’s basic meal, a deep fried filet of cod with a generous serving of chips (french fries). 

When it came Ethan’s turn the woman readied his portion and held up a long, thin bottle as if to ask if he wanted some. He nodded and she sprinkled vinegar over the chips. Ethan gulped and smiled, vinegar on french fries was something new. She proceeded to wrap the meal in a sheet of newspaper and handed it to him. 

“That’ll be two and six please,” she said.

Ethan held up a one pound British note with a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh laddie,” she said, “you’re fresh off the boat, aren’t you.”

“Yes m’am, I’m sorry, I only have English pounds and U.S dollars.”

“Ah and you’re a Yank. You heading up to Cork today?

“Maybe.”

“Aren’t you a ripe one. Give me the note.”

He handed it to her and she made change in Irish coinage.

The Shop had no chairs or tables though it had standup counters along the front windows. Ethan asked, “Can I eat this by the window.”

“Of course dear. Do you want a cup of tea with that?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“Milk and sugar?”

“Please.”

“That’ll be six pence.”

She poured the tea out of a large pot. It was already mixed with milk and sugar. Handing the cup to Ethan she said, “If you need lodging for the night we have rooms upstairs.”

It was late in the day and finding a bed for the night sounded good.

“How much for the night?”

‘One pound my dear, and I’ll throw in the cup of tea.”

“That’s a deal.”

He gave the woman another pound note and she handed him a key saying, “Room number eight. When you finish your meal, go out the front door and turn left. Go in the next door and up the stairs. The bathroom is halfway down the hall and your room is at the far end on the right. It’s quieter back there.”

“Thank you,” said Ethan. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Maudie, what’s yours?”

“Ethan, I’m Ethan Wells.”

With a broad grin she said, “Welcome to Ireland Ethan Wells.”

The room was small and clean with a full size bed, a small table with a shaded lamp and an old bowback chair. A dark  brown throw rug covered much of the wooden floor with natural light flowing through a high transom window. He slept well that night.

Early next morning Ethan set out for the city of Cork. It was twelve miles away and he began walking, wanting to get his land legs back. He’d learned that after spending days or weeks at sea, being back on land could cause a condition not unlike seasickness. It was an inner ear thing. Like getting one’s sea legs on a ship he needed to acclimate once again to the rock stability of land. The road ran along the coastline passing through verdant Irish farmlands. On his way he saw shades of green he’d never seen before and ended up walking all the way to Cork, arriving in the early afternoon.

At the edge of town Ethan caught a tram to the Nothgate Bridge. The night before he studied his copy of Frommer’s “Europe On Five Dollars A Day”. In it he found a lodging that looked inviting and fit his budget. The place was on a street of row houses and had a modest sign over the front door. It read ‘Murphy’s Lodge’. Old Seamus Murphy welcomed him and after a pleasant chat Ethan booked a room for three nights. As he’d been on the move for awhile he knew he needed to stay put somewhere for a few days. He went on to spend a week there before proceeding with his travels in Ireland. 

The next morning he went on a walk into town where he happened to meet a young American woman. Sarah Isaacson was doing Celtic Studies at the University College there in Cork. Being Jewish she was there to learn about the evidence and traditions regarding ancient Celtic peoples and their connections to the lost tribes of Israel. Ethan found Sarah’s insights revelatory. As a boy his father told him of their family’s Celtic heritage. “Before we were Austrians, before the Catholic Church, before the Romans came, we were Celts. And we’ll always be Celts..” It was an oral tradition that went back in Ethan’s heritage since the time of Julius Caesar. For a few days Ethan and Sarah spent afternoons walking about the city, not so much seeing the sights as learning about each other’s lives. She let him know from the start that she had a fiancée back in Boston. Ethan was fine with that having had enough ‘girl trouble’ to last him awhile. Still their affections grew and for a few days they shared a romance of the heart.

On the day before he was to move on Ethan and Sarah took the short walk to the Blarney Castle. As a child Ethan heard the story of kissing the Blarney Stone from his Grandfather, who immigrated from Ireland in his youth. When the two arrived at the Castle Ethan was surprised to see that the ‘Stone’ was located above a small opening at a parapet on the Castle wall, nearly a hundred feet above the ground. 

“Oh,” he said. Sarah smiled. She’d already had the experience.

“I didn’t want to alarm you,” she said.

From the ground he could see a woman being held upside down by two husky men and thrust out through the opening in the parapet. She reached up and grabbed two steel bars pulling her face close to the angled slab of granite. She kissed the stone and when she released her hands the two brutes pulled her back through the opening. 

“Wow,” said Ethan steeling his resolve.

“Not to worry,” said Sarah. “No one’s ever fallen.”

“Oh great.”

“C’mon Ethan. Y’know, ‘what doesn’t kill you?’…”

“Didn’t it scare you? I mean when you did it?”

“Hell yes. But I’ll always be glad that I did it. Come on, let’s get up there.”

During the long climb up the stairs many thoughts ran through Ethan’s head, none too pleasant. By the time they reached the parapet his vanity trumped his fears. 

No on else was waiting and the two beefy handlers beckoned him to come forward. Ethan took comfort from the expressions on their faces and lapsed into a kind of out-of-body state. The experience was one he would never forget and afterwards, as he and Sarah descended the stairs he felt a rush of giddiness unique to the occasion. 

“Thank you Sarah.”

“Welcome to the Blarney, Ethan.” 

The next morning a light drizzle accompanied Ethan as he walked through Cork City towards the highway to Killarney. His plan was to hitchhike the 80 mile distance but when the drizzle turned to rain he stopped at a bus depot and bought a ticket for an 11AM shuttle. For 8 shillings he figured he’d forego a bout of pneumonia. Two days later blue skies and billowing white clouds beckoned him from Killarney back out onto the road to the Ring of Kerry. 

Traffic was light but Ethan didn’t care. For a time he didn’t even stick his thumb out. He reveled in the unbridled freedom he felt. He was on the loose again and traveling down an open road he’d never seen before. A few minutes had passed when he saw a light grey sedan slowly approaching. He could see the smiling faces of two men in the front seats and naturally stuck out his thumb. The car stopped and picked him up. The older man was driving while the younger man was scanning the area with a small camera. 

“Where you headed today?” said the older fellow.

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh, you’re American,” said the young man, lowering his camera. 

“Yes, I’m from California.”

“How did you come to be in County Kerry?” said the older man.

“You know sir, way leads to way.”

“Do call me Tom,” said the old fellow. “Tom O’Leary and my son is Patrick.”

“Tom, Patrick, how do you do? My name is Ethan Wells.”

“Where are you from in California, Ethan Wells?” said Patrick.

“A small town called Pacific Palisades. It’s part of greater Los Angeles.”

Patrick laughed. “Ha ha, that sounds funny, greater Los Angeles.”

“Be polite son,” said Tom. “There are more people in Los Angeles than in all of Ireland.”

“Is that so?” said Patrick.

“Y’know Patrick,” said Ethan, “when two people from Los Angeles meet over here the second thing they ask is, “Where are you from in LA?””

“Goodness. I guess I’m just a Culchie,” said Patrick

“A what?” said Ethan.

“That’s what Dubliners call us out here in the countryside,” said Tom. “It’s an unkind reference to our lack of sophistication.”

“As a teenager, my Grandmother immigrated to America from Central Europe,” said Ethan. “Once when I asked her what life was like in the old country she said, “Everybody hates everybody in the next valley.””

“People can be cruel,” said Tom.

At length Tom said to his son, “Isn’t this a lovely day for a drive ’round the Ring of Kerry?” 

Patrick agreed.

“Ethan, would you care to join us?” said Mr O’Leary.

“Of course.”

They continued on their excursion through the Irish countryside as Tom told anecdotal tales of the history and geography of the places they were passing. Patrick continued to aim his camera in all directions, occasionally clicking the shutter.Tom was telling a convincing story about the existence of leprechauns when Ethan perceived a sudden darkness in front of the car followed by a loud and violent impact. 

When the emergency vehicles arrived, Ethan was found unconscious in an irrigation ditch beside the road. He was taken by ambulance to the Bon Secours Hospital in Cork. Tom, Patrick and the truck driver were killed in the crash. It was later learned that the driver of the freight lorry had suffered a stroke and turned into O’Leary’s vehicle. 

At the hospital it was determined that Ethan was in a coma. Otherwise there were no apparent injuries other than sprains, cuts and contusions. It was too early to determine a clear prognosis. He was placed in an intensive care unit. Three days later Ethan began to regain consciousness. Then it was found he had no measurable brain damage. As it happened his Maritime Z card qualified Ethan for Seafarers health benefits in Ireland. He was sent on to Trinity Hospital in Dublin for rehabilitation.

Ethan spent three weeks at the Dublin facility. He was given physical therapy and counseling for trauma and the after effects of his coma. Dr. Philip Ryan was Chief of Neurology and often spoke with Ethan during his time there. He liked hearing about Ethan’s travels and traded stories of his own. Dr. Ryan spent his first three years practicing medicine at Catholic outreach clinics in Africa.

One morning Dr. Ryan came to Ethan’s room accompanied by an orderly who carried a large parcel.

“This came for you,” said Dr. Ryan.”It was posted from the Garda Station in Cork.”

“It’s big,” said Ethan. “I wonder what’s in it?”

“Let’s find out,” said the Doctor.

The orderly produced a box cutter and cut the packing tape. When he opened the top flaps it revealed various items of Ethans that were recovered from the crash site. There were his shoes, a jacket and most importantly, his backpack.

“Oh,” said Ethan, “This is grand. Now I won’t have to start over with my luggage.”

“Start over?” said Dr. Ryan. “Don’t you plan to go home to California?”

“Doctor Ryan, I set out to travel around the world… come what may. Don’t you think or at least believe I’ll be able to continue my journey when I leave here.”

“Well, thinking is one thing and believing is something else. 

“Then what’s your Doctor’s opinion?”

“In Africa I cared for people who survived lion attacks and terrible war wounds. When healed most went right back to their rigorous lives. Believing often wins out over thinking. You’re young now. You’re robust and possess a healthy sense of humor.”

“And?” said Ethan 

“When you leave us I expect, as young men do, you’ll follow your heart. Like your fellow American Helen Keller once said, “Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing.”

After three weeks at the Dublin hospital, Dr. Ryan came to Ethan’s room.

“The tests we ran on Monday show no lingering damage to your brain and you’re other injuries are healing remarkably well.”

“That’s good,” said Ethan. “Can I get back on the road?”

“I don’t see why not,” said the Doctor. “Just don’t push yourself. At least not for awhile.”

“When can I check out?”

“Let’s give it a couple more days here and then you’ll be good to go.”

On a cloudy day in August Ethan set out from Dublin towards Belfast. He would make the hundred mile journey in six hours, catching four rides. All along the way he relished the two lane country road that connected the two cities. Once again he encountered colorful Irish folks who regaled him with magical stories from their lives. 

The second ride dropped Ethan off at the gate of the driver’s farm. He proceeded to walk along his way through the verdant pastoral countryside. Overhead was a deep cerulean sky with billowing cumulous clouds while a slight breeze tempered the summer sun. Not catching a ride Ethan walked for over an hour. He didn’t mind, was even grateful for the storybook world he was passing through. Dairy farms with old, weathered buildings were like paintings in a museum. Traffic was light and only a handful of cars sped by him. Of the cars that passed from the opposite direction, a few drivers would honk and wave. At one point he trekked past a spot where, across the road, a young farmworker was asleep atop a small stack of green hay bails, under a great shade tree. The lad was dressed in loose fitting work clothes with Wellington boots and a traditional paddy hat. He was sleeping the sleep of the just. 

Walking on, Ethan saw an older man walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the road. He was also dressed in traditional farm clothes. When they passed each other the old man tipped his cap and gave Ethan a respectful nod. Ethan repaid the courtesy with a friendly wave and smile. The two men continued each on their way. Ethan thought to himself, ‘There was something eerie about that guy. I recognized him. But I don’t know from where? Oh well, maybe it’s the coma.’ Still he puzzled over the encounter for the rest of the day. 

In the late afternoon the final ride dropped Ethan off at the train station. He saw a Chinese restaurant across the street. It was open and he was hungry. Reading through the menu he saw the Chow Mein varieties and other Chinese dishes. Also various beef and chicken dinners. But his eyes fell upon an entry for a Spanish Omelette. ‘Hmmm,’ he thought. He didn’t really have an appetite for that dish but thought to himself ‘If I order this, for the rest of my life I’ll be able to say that I once had a Spanish Omelette at a Chinese Restaurant in Belfast, Ireland’. When it came the food was hot and there was plenty of it. 

With his belly full, Ethan returned to the train station where he purchased a ticket for the short train ride to the Belfast Harbor and the Ferry Boat that would take him to the port of Stranraer, Scotland. Walking around the great  station house he found a wooden bench and sat down on it. There he planned to sit out the night. However, at 9 o’clock that evening Ethan was sent out of the station, which was closing for the night. 

Walking out into the darkness, he wondered how he would spend the next ten hours. Just then three young boys approached him. One spoke with a North Irish brogue, “Hey mister, do you have any matches?” 

“I do, but what do you want them for?”

“We want to make a camp fire out in the yard so we can roast a few sausages.”

When the young spokesman asked Ethan about himself, he spoke briefly of his journey and his current plight, 

The young fellow said, “We can fix you up. Come on with us.” They walked behind the station to a small wooden cabin and the young fellow went inside for a couple minutes. 

He returned outside and beckoned Ethan to come into the building. Inside there were four middle aged men who were dressed in their workers cloths. Politely they directed Ethan to sit on a broad couch and then returned to their card game. The night was cold outside. A pot belly stove in the middle of the room provided welcome warmth. An hour later the men all got up to leave the cabin. One of them brought a wool blanket over to Ethan.

“Here lad,” said the man. “You can sleep on the couch tonight.”

“I’ll be taking the 7 o’clock train out in the morning,” said Ethan.

“We’ll wake you a six,” replied the man as he left the cabin.

Ethan laid back on the couch. It had been a long day and he was filled with gratitude over this turn of events. A night outside would’ve been hard. Laying there he thought about moments that happened since he left Spain. He thought about Maude and Sarah. He thought about old Seamus Murphy and Dr. Ryan. He visualized rustic images from from his wanderings in Ireland He remembered something Tom O’Leary said. “You go to take a journey and then you find that the journey is taking you.” Ethan felt a deep sadness over Tom and Patrick as he fell asleep. The fire went out in the night and by dawn the cabin had grown cold. In the first light of dawn Ethan was half awake when one of the train men entered the cabin. The man placed a cup of tea with a breakfast cake next to him on the table. 

“You awake son?”

“I am.”

“Your train leaves in an hour.”

“Oh, thank you so much for all of this.”

“Glad to help a lonesome traveler. God be with ye, lad.” With that the man turned and left. 

Ethan enjoyed the tea and cake then shouldered his pack and walked around to the station platform where he caught his 7AM train to the Harbor.

to be continued…