Revamped, and free again for a few days. And a free short story too.

 I've posted about publishing a book on Amazon here before on Amazon:  The Other Road eBook : Caswell, Ian: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

To celebrate me eventually having time to rewrite the start of the story it will be available on Kindle FREE for five days from 1st May.  A paperback version will be available shortly too.  I initially worked hard to keep the word count down, because the publisher I had been going to use recommended a 30,000 word limit, their logic being that this would keep the purchase cost down, thus encouraging more people to give a new author a chance.  30,000 words was never going to happen, but it did give me some sort of guide.  Given the sales of the book so far, I can confirm that cutting down the word count does not work.

My efforts to keep the word count down led that first part of the story to be incredibly information dense, with huge monologues etc.  Although I was always unhappy with this, I thought ignoring the experts would be a foolish move.  The revision isn't perfect, but I think it is a great deal better, if also a bit longer.

So now to todays offering.  This is the short story of mine that was published in an anthology of short stories called Monster (also on Amazon).  The copyright is mine, so if you plan to nick it, you are breaking the law.

That anthology was published with a Halloween theme, so it is a ghost story, even though I am not a believer, and generally avoid such stories like the plague.  I tried to make the story as un-ghost oriented as I could, so really it is a story about love and belief.  It is based on the post I did here years ago, about a true local history event. See what you think.

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On Carney Hill

 

 

Thursday, 3^rd October.  Carney Hill, near Holywood, Co. Down. 

“For God’s sake Mick, could you not have got that damned bead off her.  Deirdre could have choked on it.  And where did it come from anyway?  I nearly had to prize it out of her hand when she went to sleep.”

Mick, already in bed, looked up from his book as his wife tapped the bead down on the shelf over the sink in their ensuite.  “We were out looking at Deirdre’s little patch of garden while the men brought the new furniture into the lounge.  She was deadheading those little yellow coneflowers that you got her, even telling me all about how this would make the plant produce more flowers, then she saw something sparkle in the grass under the border.  You know her; glittery things and all that, we had to investigate.”

Edith smiled, “She loves that little patch.  Giving her responsibility for it is teaching her a lot.  So, knowing you, you made a big game out of the bead.  Carefully extracting ancient relics from the ground.  Go on, admit it, you’re the one that has her thinking she is a great hunter of archaeological treasures, aren’t you?  It’s no wonder she wouldn’t give it up.  She’ll be looking for an Indiana Jones hat next.”  

Edith moved to the bed and kissed her husband’s forehead before climbing in beside him, then cuddled up with his arm around her.  “The house is stunning Mick, and everything came together so well.  You hear so many stories of bad builders these days.  I was worried that we were making a big mistake, but even the landscapers seem to have gone above and beyond.  I never for a moment thought that those old, blackened foundation stones that the builders dug up when they were digging the foundations would be good for anything, but they cleaned up well, and the little terrace the landscapers made with them is beautiful.”

She teased him then, knowing his lack of belief, “Maybe a little prayer once in a while didn’t go amiss after all?”

He pulled her in, tickling her stomach, “Get real girl, hard work, and long hours by the pair of us got this place built, not superstition.  If I could pray for anything, it would be to keep your parents from visiting for another week.  We will be hard pushed to get everything unpacked and tidied up before lunch on Sunday.   We should have got them to do two weeks in a row.  Still, all this will pay off when we get to do the big family Christmas.” 

Mick’s hand then traced a semicircle above their heads, as if he was drawing the scene, “Can you imagine next spring when it is a little warmer?  We can have breakfast in the sun out on that balcony while watching those big cruise ships go up and down the lough.”

For a moment Edith looked lost in the vision of that view, then, more down to earth, “I’m just glad we were able to keep the house in Belfast while all this work was going on.  I don’t think I could have been like those people you see on the TV property programs; you know, living through the winter in some leaky old caravan or something.”

Mick turned to face Edith with mirth, “It’s the start of a new life, my girl.  Now if only all my clients were as friendly as you!”

Edith put on a mock frown for him, “Now, now.  Don’t get ideas above your station.  If you were this friendly with everyone you drew up plans for, you have no idea of the trouble you would be in!  Besides, aren’t most of your clients male?”

She laughed as he made a joke of acknowledging this, then moved even closer and kissed him, then kissed him again more passionately.

 

Sunday, 6^th October. Carney Hill.

Chatter fed softly through the open plan living area to where Mick stood behind a large, granite topped kitchen island, his left hand laden with cutlery.  As he glanced behind to the eye level oven checking the roast, Edith’s mother walked over, wine glass in hand.

“Mick, the house is beautiful; and so big!  I mean, these spaces, wow!  You must be very proud.”  She held her arms wide and almost pirouetted a full circle to emphasise the point.  “I suppose every architect has a secret dream to design their own home?”

“Thanks Roselyn.  Yes, it’s great to see it all come to fruition, and finally move in.  The house seems to have taken over our lives for so long now.  It’s good to get out of the city too, although I didn’t realise how pervasive the noise would be from the road at the bottom of the hill.  It is constant during the rush hour.”

“Oh Mick”, she replied.  “I know it took a lot of work to get here, but just look at the result.  The old 1960’s bungalow that was here just doesn’t compare!  As for the noise, there is none when you are inside, and even when we looked around the garden earlier there was barely a whisper from the road.  The view across the lough to the Antrim coast is to die for!  Carrickfergus Castle looks nearly close enough to touch.  I could easily forgive a little traffic noise for a view like that.

I know too that you both worried about the effect of the move on Deirdre, but she seems to be settling in well.  She was so excited to show everything to Jim and I, and she says she has a new friend, someone called Katie?”

“Really?  That’s news to me.  I mean, we’ve all walked up to the top of the lane and back a few times, but other than a brief hello to a few of our new neighbours, I didn’t think Deirdre had had a chance to make friends yet.  Did she tell you anything about her.”

“She said Katie talked; in her words, ‘funny’.  Perhaps Deirdre means the girl has a foreign accent, although the name doesn’t sound foreign?  Anyway, by the time you come round to us next Sunday, I’m sure the girl will be like a new member of the family.”

Mick glanced over towards the double height picture window at the front of the house, where Edith sat chatting with Deirdre and her father, Jim.  Deirdre was on her grandfather’s knee, her left hand, palm open while she was pointing into it with her right.  She appeared to be in the middle of some long, childish explanation.  Jim was nodding his agreement but rarely getting a chance to break into the monologue.

Mick smiled at his father in law’s predicament, “Perhaps we should rescue Jim?  He seems to be getting the full history of the finding of that bead.”

“Oh, don’t worry Mick.  It’s his own doing.  He thinks the bead may be very old, so he has been taking photos of it to show to his friend George.  Jim thinks he can help stimulate Deirdre’s new-found interest in history if he can get an estimate of just how old the bead is.  I think Jim spent so long getting involved in other people’s lives when he was working that he just can’t stop.  If he thinks he can be an influence in someone’s life, he will do it.  He would probably have made a good psychiatrist rather than just a GP. 

George is our neighbour, by the way.  His garden backs onto ours, so he and Jim share a beer or two over the hedge when they are supposed to be gardening.  He is a retired history professor from Queen’s University.”

“George sounds like an interesting neighbour to have.  By contrast, I’ve talked to the couple in the house below us a few times during the building work.  The husband is called Samuel; not Sam or any shortened version you will note.  He’s an accountant in the Civil Service, with all the personality that job implies.  In conversation, he always seemed more interested in the amount of dust our building work would create, and in consequence, how much extra time he would have to spend washing his prized BMW.  I can’t ever see me wanting to share a beer with him!  His wife seems as bad.  Without any prompts, she was instantly boasting about their ‘marvellous’ holiday trips, and how their son had landed such an important job with the Foreign Office in London, straight out of Oxford.”

“Poor Mick, they sound awful.  Perhaps it’s just first impressions and they will come around in time.”

Mick smiled, “Neighbours aren’t the worst problem in the world to have I suppose.  But I bet you wouldn’t want to swap George for them Roselyn?”

That brought a momentary grimace to Roselyn’s face.  “Come on then Mick, give me that cutlery and I’ll set the table for you while you get the roast out to rest for a bit and sort out the veg.”

 

Sunday, 13^th October.  At Edith’s parents, Malone Road, Belfast.

Roselyn smiled broadly while opening her front door as Mick and Edith crunched their way across the gravel driveway to her door.  Deirdre, as usual, ran ahead; her arms outstretched for the traditional swinging hug that she always received in the welcoming arms of her grandparents, the one passing her to the other to swing her across the porch and into the house.  Jim then stayed in the porch to welcome Mick and his daughter, kissing her cheek, while Roselyn almost ran into the house to keep up with the child.

“Sorry we’re late Dad.  If I could get just this man of mine to go to chapel with us, we could all come up here directly rather than me having to go all the way home to get him.”  She gave Mick a sideways but not very serious glance, “And if he was ready when I did get home rather than sitting in his slippers watching football, then we wouldn’t be spoiling Mum’s good cooking.”

Mick shrugged, “What can I tell you Jim?  I’m a football loving heathen.  It looked like a good match though.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mick.  We aren’t quite ready yet anyway, so come on in and sit down.  I got a few cans of Guinness Zero since I knew that you would be driving.  By the way, that match is well worth watching.  I saw the highlights last night, so I’ll not spoil it for you with the final score.” 

Inside, the detached 1950’s house was spacious, but much older in style than the new house at Carney Hill.  It’s kitchen, though big enough to have a small table in it, was separate from the dining and living rooms.  Deirdre was there, ‘helping’ her grandmother.  In the living room, where Jim left his guests momentarily while he went to get them drinks, the low-level sofa sat below formal land and seascapes in guilt frames.  It was comfortable but old fashioned other than two things.  A huge flat screen TV in the corner, and a small Sonos speaker, linked to a music system that was playing quiet classical music throughout the house.  The room’s decor simply looked like it had failed to make the transition to the current millennium.

Edith was sitting on the sofa, while Mick wandered over to the patio doors to look out on the well tended back garden.  As she looked around her old home, Edith suddenly felt the loss of her own childhood years.

“It’s funny Mick.  This old house always felt so comfortable, as if it was part of me and I of it.  But something has changed in the week or so since we moved to the new house.  Suddenly it looks different to me; sort of old fashioned and distant.”

She rose from the sofa and sidled up behind her husband, wrapping her arms around him from behind as she reached him, “Do you remember sneaking in here for a kiss when you would leave me home at night?”

Mick turned in her arms, his eyes shining as he encircled her with his own, “As I remember it girl, the kissing was only for starters.  It’s as well that your dad didn’t walk in on us!”

“He might do now Mick when he comes back with my wine!  I guess we’ve just found our place, haven’t we?”  She broke away from him, still embarrassed that her father might catch them in an embrace.  “Do you think Deirdre will find our house old fashioned when she grows up?”

“Hmm, after our visit to the Cultra Folk Museum yesterday, I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll want to live in a traditional cottage rather than a modern house.  The more basic the houses were up there, the more she seemed to like them.  And the one she said was like the one that Katie lived in, was about the most basic of the lot!  No glass, just wooden shutters, a dirt floor.  I mean, where does she get these ideas from?”

“Oh, come on Mick.  The Halloween displays just looked better in the darker, more basic houses.  She loved that.  And you’ve seen her at home, playing with her toys and talking to this Katie creation of hers at the same time.  She’s just an imaginary friend.  Deirdre even said she has had dreams about staying over at Katie’s house. It’s probably just something she picked up from a book.”

At that moment, a bump on the door signalled Jim’s arrival as he backed into the room with a glass in either hand.  “Sorry but I couldn’t help overhearing the end of that conversation about Katie.  Deirdre has talked of little else while she has been in the kitchen.  Our granddaughter is blessed with a very vivid imagination it seems, and that’s not a bad thing.  She is probably just feeling a little uprooted and lonely after the move.  Believe me, when I was in practice, many worried parents came to me about their children’s imaginary friends.  It is much more common that you would think.  As soon as she settles in and gets to know some of the local kids, she’ll be fine.”

Edith looked worried, “I know Dad, but this Katie thing is just so all pervasive at the moment.  I don’t think Deirdre wants other friends.  She even says that the bead she found was Katie’s, and she has it on a thread around her neck now, and even wears it to her new school.”

Jim smiled softly at his daughter, taking her free hand in his, “Oh love.  I didn’t want to bring this up in front of Mick, but do you remember when you were young, your best friend’s family moved to England.  You spent almost the whole summer that year playing on your own, except that you weren’t actually on your own, you too had an imaginary friend.  What was it you called her?”

Edith blushed, “God, Dad.  I haven’t thought about that in years.  Jennie, I called her Jennie, but I can’t even remember much about her now, only that she felt the same way I did and gave me someone to talk to.”

“Then let me give you the same advice that I used to give to all those other worried parents.  Humour Deirdre in this.  If she wants to talk about Katie, or if Deirdre passes on questions from Katie, then direct your answers back to Katie.  In effect, Deirdre becomes the teacher to her ‘friend’, and the lesson will be learned much more easily as a result.”

In the background, Mick had been listening intently, his brow furrowed, “I can almost see the logic in what you are saying Jim, but it seems counterintuitive to pay acknowledgement to something that is so obviously unreal.”

Jim just smiled knowingly, “The human mind is a complex thing Mick, especially when it is developing.  It requires subtlety.  In this as in many other aspects of life, have faith, all will be well.”

Mick, still thinking, nodded his thanks, then looked back towards his wife, “At least I know now where Deirdre gets her imagination.”

At that break in the conversation, Jim suddenly realised how long it had taken him to deliver the drinks, “Come on you two.  I was supposed to have you seated in the dining room by now and be back helping to serve. By the way, I can’t get hold of George to get an evaluation of the bead.  He and his wife, Sandra, often spend weekends with their family.  They have a daughter who keeps up the family tradition; she lectures at Edinburgh University.  Their son works in Dublin, film graphics or something.  If they are away for long, they usually let us know, so that we can keep an eye on the house, put the bins our and all the usual routine things.  If I can get hold of him, I’ll let you know.  Perhaps half term comes a little earlier for the schools on the other side of the pond.”

Soon enough they were sitting down to this week’s roast.  Edith’s father said grace as all but Mick bowed their heads.

 

Sunday, 20^th October. Carney Hill.

The clear and bright weather had gone, and more traditional autumnal weather had returned to Ireland over the preceding few days. Once crisp autumn leaves had blown into soggy piles in the corner of the garden at Carney hill.  Jim and Mick stood watching as a heavy squall from the north was whipping up huge waves on Belfast lough, and the wind was beating torrents of rain against the large window at the front of the house.

“That’s quite a storm.”

“Mmmm.  Edith and I had cleared all the leaves from the garden, but it’s as bad as ever again.  Did you have any trouble on the drive down?”

“We weren’t rushing Mick.  There were a few small branches and leaves on the road, but there wasn’t much traffic on a day like this.  Getting to and from the car is the worst and wettest part.  It was worth the drive, just to be able to stand here and watch the waves in comfort.  I wouldn’t fancy being out on Belfast Lough in a boat today, but it’s kind of invigorating watching all the action from here, don’t you think?”

“It’s better than what’s on the telly if nothing else, though that’s not saying much.  You’re right, there is something very comforting about standing here watching the storm.   There was lightning last night.  That was truly spectacular.”

“I can imagine.”

“You know, since we went to the Folk Museum last week I’ve been wondering about the contrast between this house and the ones in the museum.  How did people survive in those draughty old houses, with just an open fire for heat?  It must have been a dreadful existence.”

“Ah, now there is a question even a retired doctor can answer.  You know of course that life expectancy has been rising for many generations now?  Around 1900, the average was only about 45 for men, but that includes child mortality.  If you were poor and did manage to live to the ripe old age of 50, the chances are that you would have lived a life of hard labour, and as a result suffered from diseases like arthritis.   Poor sanitation, bad diet, and a host of other factors would also affect your life chances.  I take it that you weren’t a history student then?”

Mick shrugged, “I like my facts to be precise.  All that nuanced stuff about ‘meanings’, just seemed like chasing your own tail to me.  Besides which, isn’t that what all the ex-terrorists over here used to justify their actions?”

“Yes, I suppose it is Mick, but not everything in life is so black and white.  It’s like the amount of salt and pepper you add to season your food.  Everyone is different.” 

“Perhaps you’re right.  That might explain why I’m such a rubbish cook.  By the way, I presume that your own daughter knows your likes and dislikes well enough.  Edith has cooked Duck this week, just to add a little variety to the roasts.  Your whole family has such culinary skills compared to my own.  It’s as well that we built a gym in the basement, or I would soon be too big to even fit through our own front door!”

“Yes. It comes from Roselyn’s mother Mick.  She worked in the catering trade.  An exclusive club on Royal Avenue for the cream of the city’s businessmen.  Apparently even during the troubles, it was always busy.  I know what you mean though.  That woman was a bad influence on my waistline.  We used to go to their house every Sunday for years, sort of like our reciprocal arrangement now.  That is, we did once Roselyn became brave enough to introduce her unruly young student doctor!  Her mother’s knowledge of fine wines was astonishing, especially back then.  And her baking, that, as they say nowadays, was to die for.  Roselyn has many of her recipes written down, and I know that Edith uses them too.”

“When I first met Edith, I was in awe of your daughter’s cookery skills.  My own mother used to say that she could hardly boil an egg when she got married.  It wasn’t that bad of course, but we ate a lot from tins and simple things like fries and Bolognese.  A few tried and tested recipes if you know what I mean.  There was nothing like this.”  Then after another second Mick added, “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

Jim looked at his son in law pensively, “I would have liked to have met your parents.  They must have been good people.”

Mick looked down sadly, “Thanks Jim, they were.  Too good to be taken like that as part of some political nonsense over a line on a map.  Too good to be taken just because some idiot couldn’t make a phone call in time to make sure that the shop was evacuated before their pointless bomb went off.  I’m no saint, I resented everything to do with this province after that. My parents always avoided all the rubbish that is talked about causes and creeds, they didn’t deserve to be sucked into it like that.

You know, I was still at school when it happened and with all the anger and resentment it put into me, I had planned to emigrate as far away from this damned place as I could.  Australia, New Zealand; somewhere like that. Living with my Grandparents was strange after my parents.  Then I met Edith, and everything changed.  She was a real breath of fresh air for me.  Someone I never thought I would find here during those dark days.  You know that I tried to persuade her to emigrate with me, but she wouldn’t.  She saw hope here where I saw only madness.”

Jim was aware of the growing emotion in his son in law’s voice as he had been speaking.  He had known the story of Mick’s parents, but never realised just how raw the feelings from those times still were.  When he spoke, he spoke softly, “She discussed it with us Mick.  I hope you aren’t too disappointed about not getting to Australia.  I’m afraid we told her to stand up to you if she really didn’t want to emigrate.  She was worried about losing you if she did, but yes, if you want someone to blame for having to live with this Irish weather, I’m the one.”

“God, Jim.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.  You must think me a fool?  I’ve worked for years to live up to my parents, and to get the qualifications and experience to escape this place, yet here I am.  Still in Northern Ireland, and yet with all the things that I ever could have dreamed of.  With this house now finished, I have had more time over the last few weeks to sit and think my life over than I have had in years.  It’s unsettling for someone like me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Son, you’re doing OK.  Just cling for dear life to your family and the things you love.  I’ve found over the years that every one of us is doing the exact same thing; just trying to live life by making it all up as we go along.”

Mick nodded slowly but couldn’t look his father-in-law in the eye, even though his thoughts were lighter now, “You’re a wise man Jim.  I guess I’ll have to learn to stop trying to be a hard man.  I shouldn’t have been so self-absorbed.  You know I’d do anything for my girls don’t you?”

“That much is obvious.  Shall we change to a more flippant subject?”

Mick smiled, happy that his father-in-law was steering them away from delicate subjects, and glad to get to something more light-hearted, “That would work for me Jim.”

“OK, thanks for sending those photos earlier in the week.  George, when I eventually got hold of him, seemed much more interested in the stonework you found than in the bead for some reason.”

“No problem.  Did he say why he wanted to know about those stones”?

“He said that this hill has a history, and that there had been some historical investigations here in the past, but that nothing had been found.  He wanted to talk to you both, so we have invited the two of them to come for lunch next Sunday.  You don’t mind, do you?  He did ask if either you or the builder had taken any shots of those stones in situ.  I got the impression that he wanted to try to estimate the size and shape of the original dwelling.  I had been tasked with taking a few close ups of the stones too, but not in this weather.  George thought he might be able to see how the stones had been dressed.”

“They are a bit rough, and certainly not heavy enough to be part of a castle or anything important, but that sounds intruiging.  The building’s footprint looked more like that of a traditional cottage than anything else.  I do have pictures uploaded to my cloud storage.  There are more there than a project like this would normally justify, but the desire to document all this was irristible.  I’ll have a look later and share them with you.”

The two men walked over towards the dining area as they spoke, only to have bowls of steaming vegetables thrust at them for delivery to the table.  When everyone was settled and eating, Edith re-started the conversation as she cut Deirdres meat up into more manageable pieces.

“Mum was telling me about how George thinks there may be something of historical intest here.  Imagine that Mick, our Deidre’s archiology may be very important after all.”  Edith kissed her daughters hair as if to prove the point.

“Hmmm, A brand new house with a history.  I wonder what it can be.  I suppose it will make for a good yarn to tell any guests.”

To which Jim replied, “Roselyn and I are both keen to hear what George has to say too.  He was making something of a melodrama of it over the phone, but he wouldn’t explain further until he sees us.”

“And on that point, Mum and I have made an executive decision.  Since George is so interested in those stones, he should really see them for himself.  There is bound to be a limit to what photographs can show, so next Sunday’s lunch will be here again.  We’ve swapped weeks, and you Dad, are going to ensure that George and his wife Sandra receive the invite.  They will be due a little hospitality for generating such a stir.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind having them round when you have never met them?  They hadn’t moved in next door to us when you were at home.”

“They sound lovely, Dad.  Anyway, our mind is made up, isn’t that right Mum?  Besides, my only problem with this, is waiting a whole seven days to find out what George has to say.”

 

Sunday, 27^th October. Carney Hill.

Even Edith had skipped chapel to ensure that everything was as perfect as possible for the lunch to come.  With a little help from Mick and Deirdre as sous chefs, she had roasted a pork shoulder, the crackling of which was always a firm favourite. 

All four guests arrived a few minutes after noon, a full hour earlier than was normal for these lunches, to give time for introductions and discussion.  This was George’s idea.  He had suggested that they might want to talk through his findings away from the dinner table, and from Deirdre.  He had given no reason for the request.

None the less, on arrival, after introductions had been made and flowers presented to the hosts, both he and Sandra made a real fuss of the little girl.  While at first Deirdre had almost hidden behind her mother at the site of the two unknown faces, she was easily encouraged out when Sandra handed her a present of chocolates, and her very own small posy of flowers.  Deirdre was still a little shy when George then knelt to be at her level as he asked to shake her hand, but with a little encouragement, and her index finger pressed firmly into her cheek, Deirdre listened as Edith told her that George had come to examine her bead.  She shook hands, then almost reluctantly removed the thread it was on from around her neck and placed it in George’s outstretched hand.

He made a show of examining it carefully, producing a magnifying loupe, and turning the bead over and over to see every part.  George then gave the loupe and bead to Deirdre, showed her how to focus on the bead, pointed out the miniscule scratches on it, and that its shape was not perfect, ‘slightly lumpy’ as he phrased this for his young audience.  He then told Deirdre she could keep the loupe because he has others, which pleased her immensely. 

“The bead is old Deirdre, but I cannot say with any precision exactly how old it is.  Its shape tells me that it was hand-made and the scratches on it show that it is likely to have been in the ground for many years.  Your grandfather told me that the area where you found it was rotovated before being re-planted with grass.  It’s a miracle that it the bead is still in one piece.  Someone probably lost it there many years ago.”

At this Deirdre looked serious, nodded slowly, then shyly mumbled, “It was a part of Katie’s treasure.”

“Ah, Katie.  Your Grandad told me about her too.”  He smiled at Deirdre before scanning the faces of the other adults, “And how old do you think Katie is?”

“She’s very old.  Even older than Daddy.”

At that, everyone laughed although Deirdre didn’t seem to understand why.

“Perhaps you could show me where you found it?”  said George.  “It is very cold out there though, so you will need a coat.”

Deirdre didn’t need a prompt and ran off to get her coat.  Before she returned, George stood, then turned to talk to Edith, “There are a few things about the history of this place that probably aren’t suitable for young ears.  We all discussed this in the car on the way down, so Roselyn will ask Deirdre to give Sandra and her a tour of the house so that the rest of us can talk for a bit.  What happened here is interesting if a little gory.”

After a short tour to the garden to see the find site and the stones that had been reused in their terrace, Roselyn duly requested that Deirdre show Sandra the house, so off they went.  The others were silent for a moment until the house tour was out of earshot.

Then, while Jim went off to the car to collect something, George began, “I’m sorry to keep you both in the dark for so long.  Mick, I’m told that history is not your forte, so a little background information first.  Does the year 1641 mean anything at all to you?”

Mick shook his head while Edith nodded.  Both looked puzzled.

“In England, the events which precipitated the civil war started that year.  There were moves within the English parliament accusing the King, Charles the first of a Catholic conspiracy to destroy Protestantism.  I’m sure that you can see how this may have split society on this side of the Irish Sea, especially with Protestants, mainly from Scotland having been planted into confiscated Catholic lands since Elizabethan times.  As you will know, the scale of the plantations was greater here in the province of Ulster than in other parts of Ireland, because this was the most troublesome part of the island for the English.

Anyway, On the fourth of January 1642, the King entered Parliament, trying to impeach his enemies, but they may have been warned of this move because they were not there.  The King left London to be with more secure supporters in the north only five days later.  In his absence Parliament raised a force against him.  Of course, Charles did the same, asking his followers to raise an army on his behalf.

Personally, I find it difficult to believe that the raising of these armies was limited only to England.  Why, if the strength of the two opposing sides was to be tested would such requests not have circulated throughout the whole kingdom?  I also find it difficult to believe that the King would not have been canvassing for whatever support he could find a long time before this big showdown.

Which brings us to Ireland.  In October 1641, so before the start of the real hostilities in England, Sir Felim O'Neill, who was part of the old Catholic gentry in Ireland, attacked a government fort just outside Moy.  He claimed to have a document signed by the King authorising this attack.  This, of course was denied.  After the massacre of about 100 Scots settlers, who were driven into the freezing waters of the river Bann near Portadown, the conflict quickly deteriorated into sectarian violence throughout Ireland, and because of the pending conflict in England, there were no reinforcements for government forces here to deal with it, and those local forces were sectarian in their own right.

By May in 1642, the Catholic church had pronounced this rebellion to be a just cause, and the old Catholic Gentry had set up their own poxy government yet forces loyal to the English government still held Dublin and many other important areas.  The whole conflict went on for roughly ten years until Cromwell came to Ireland after the English Civil War, and we all know the esteem in which he is held here in Ireland!  Are you with me so far?”

Mick, interested, but a little confused, replied, “Yes, but are you telling us that there is a link between this area, which must only have been empty countryside at that time, and Cromwell?”

“You are getting ahead of me Mick.  Actually, there are still the remains of lime kilns from that time further up the hill here, and there was a small community who lived on this hill who would have worked them.  Being an architect, you will know that lime is pretty nasty stuff, very caustic.   Working lime kilns was not a good job so it fell to the lowest strata of society, which at that time was the native Irish.”

“OK, so what happened?”

By this time Jim had returned from the car, carrying a hardbacked book.  George reached out to take it, “This is an old book written by a local history society based near here.  It has a first-hand account of what happened, and there are more, similar accounts online at Trinity College, Dublin’s website.  I’ve marked the page so that you can read it later when you have more time.  I’m afraid that even the name of the road here, hints at these events.  The name Carney Hill has evolved over the years.  Its original name was Carnage Hill.”

Both Edith and Mick were stunned to silence.  It took a few seconds before Mick could even form a response, “Carnage Hill?  So, from what you have already told us, there must have been an attack on the people living on this hill back then?  Is that why you were interested in the old foundations we found during our build?  How many people died here?”

“I’m sorry.  This is the bad news for you both.  Contemporary reports say that 73 people were murdered on this hill on the night of 26^th January 1642.  Most seem to have been from an extended family group called O’Gilmore.  Revenge bred revenge following the start of this conflict in Ireland.  These people, and many others, were simply caught up in a conflict they had no part of.  There was, for example, a similar massacre on the other side of Belfast Lough, at Island Magee.”

Although his brow furrowed, only one word escaped Mick’s lips, “Christ!”  Internally though, he was in turmoil, thinking, ‘Even at the site we bought to build our home, I can’t escape this stuff.’

George continued, unaware of the impact of the facts he was giving, “There have been digs here in the past, but they were always further up the hill towards the old kilns.  Rumour said that the bodies had been buried up there, although nothing was ever found, not even any signs of a settlement.  It may be that because of the dust from the lime that their homes were constructed here, further from the kilns.  No excavations were ever done in this area because it was already built over.”

Edith made a grab for Mick’s hand, squeezing it tight, “It’s alright George.  All that was a very long time ago.  What we have built here is obviously a much happier place that it was back then.  Anyway, we don’t know if this is the exact spot of the massacre.  There may have been other buildings here over the ages.”  Then, turning to Mick she whispered to ask if he was OK. 

He nodded, squeezing her hand in return, smiled back at her, and tried to crack a joke, “Isn’t it good to see how far we’ve come in the last four hundred years or so?”  He was recovering himself quickly, shaking off his memories, and rejoining the conversation. 

The smells and tastes of their hearty lunch did much to revive him, although his thoughts of the massacres in his life remained in the background of his mind.  Sandra and George proved to be full of knowledge and humour.  Sandra had also been a lecturer and told stories of the best and worst of her students, which even raised a laugh from Mick.  George was full of tales of the Lough behind them, shipwrecks and smugglers, WW2 conveys and raids by John Paul Jones during the American war for independence.  Both the adults and Deirdre were enthralled.

Only later, as Edith was putting Deirdre to bed, did he get a chance to read the account below from the book that George had lent him.

……….

26^th January 1642

(Exert from evidence given to a Government Commission led by Ambrose Bedell to enquire into the events known as The Ballydavey Massacre.  The enquiry took its evidence some 11 years later, and the depositions are now held at Trinity College, Dublin.  More details relating to the numerous massacres and other events from the rebellion that started in 1641 can be found at: https://1641.tcd.ie/)

“After ‘.. that party of Scotch men did abyde with them and supt with the said Irish and were very merry till about midnight, the party fell upon ye said Irish and stript them and a little aforeday fell a-killing of ye sd. Irish.’ At the end of this treachery, 73 Irish had been killed.

Katherine O‘Gilmore, who subsequently moved to Ballynahinch, escaped by hiding in a ditch. She told the Commission, which appears to have involved the High Court of Justice sitting at Carrickfergus: ‘8 days before Candlemas next, after ye Rebellion, shee then living in ye townland of Ballydavy, in ye Barrony of Castlereagh, altogether with tenn familyes more, of all which 11 familyes there were (of men, women, and children) killed to her own knowledge, seaventy and three by a great company of people (being) to her estimacon in number about 200, who were brought thither by one Andrew Hamilton of the fforte, James Johnson the elder, and James Johnson the younger, both of Ballydavy, John Crafford of Craford’s Burne; and further she saith that James Johnson the elder killed one Henry O Gilmore, brother to the examinat, at her own sight, and likewise she saw the sd. James with his sword slashing at one Edmond Neeson, who was killed but shee knoweth not whether he made an end of him or not, for on the recept of the first blow, the sd. Neeson rann to the lower end of the house, among the rest of his neighbours, the cause of her knowledge is that a short space before, the said Andrew Hamilton had putt her out of the door of the house in consideracon of her tartan, after which shee lay her down in a ditch which was right before the door where she was unespied of any as she supposeth, the night being very darke, rayny and windie.

 

The Examt. Further saith, she saw one Abraham Adam kill James O Gilmore, her owne husband, and Daniell Crone O Gilmore, and Thurlagh O Gilmore; shee further saith, that at her going forth of the house, a sister of hers tooke houlde of her for to go out with her, and the sd. Abraham Adam strock of her sd. sister’s arme from the elbowe, with a broade swoord, the sister’s name was Owna O Gilmore.’ Owen O’Gilmore escaped by hiding himself in a limekiln on Ballydavey Hill. He told the Commission: ‘Andrew Hamilton, now of Crawfordsburn in Bangor parish came to them who was to bring order for that work, and came and shott off his pistoll before Bryan Boy’s doore, whereupon ye sd. Scots party fell upon killinge ye sd. Irish, and so killed of men, women and children, three score and odd, and ye names of ye persons yt this examt. remembers yt were at ye place yt night were ye sd. Andrew Hamilton, John Crawford, James Johnson senior, and James Johnson junior, Captain Will Hamilton, Robert Morris, John Watt and Gabriell Adam, and did see ye sd. Watt and Morris kill seven of ye sd. persons. Also this examt. saith, yt he, escapeinge this danger by hydeing himself in ye kilne, did so soone as he could escape thence towards one Hen. M’Williams M’Gilmore’s house to secure himself, and as this examt. came nere the sd. house, he heard the Scotchmen aboute the sd. house, and so durst not go thither, but perceived yt ye sd. persons were the two James Johnsons, aforesd., and the said Watt and, others not known to this examt.; but this examt. heard ye sd. James Johnson junior, say to ye sd. Gilmore, Open the door, but ye sd. Gilmore denyed, and then ye sd. Johnson said, You know me, to wch. Gilmore said, yes he did, but for all ye must not open ye door; then ye sd. Johnson desired ye sd. Gilmore to light some straw, ye wch. Gilmore did, whereby ye sd. Johnson put in his pistoll and shott and kild ye sd. Gilmore, whereupon they broke open ye doore, and went in and kild one of ye children of ye sd. Gilmore and did wound ye sd. Gilmore’s wiffe and one child more, and left them for dead, but ye sd. wiffe recovered and tould this examt. the foresd relation.’

 

Thomas O’Gilmore survived the massacre but only for four days. Owen reported what happened: ‘Ye constable one Robert Jackson of Hollywood, did bring with him one Thomas O’Gilmore, uncle to this examt.; whom ye sd. Jackson brought to ye sd. place with his hands bound behynd his back with match, ye sd. Jackson brought ye sd. prisoner to Bangnell to ye …. And ye sd. Capt. would not receave him at all; so so sd. constable took ye sd. prisoner back, and this exampt., thinking yt they would cary him to Bangnell accordingly did follow them; but as ye constable (and another man) went up ye mountaine betwixt ye sd. Kirkdonnell and Hollywood, this exampt. did see ye sd. Jackson, constable, kill ye sd. prisoner, Thomas O’Gilmore with a sword, and this exampt. did goe to him after yt ye sd. constable was gone away and perceaved severall wounds yt ye sd. Tho: had, both cutts and stabbs.’ We also have information about the planning of the event, which was clearly premeditated. James Gourdon of Clandeboye was pressed to join in the attack: ‘His mother told him that there were some of the town, two or three tymes looking for him, to speake with him, and that she heard it was to goe out with them to kill the Irish that lived neere and about the towne; therefore she advised him to put himselfe out of the way and not to have any hand in the busines; whereupon he tooke his bed clothees and went and stayed and lodged in his mault kilne, a pretty distance from the sayd towne of Bangor. And he furthermore sayth that within a night or two after most of the towne of Bangor and the parish together made a compact with those of Ballydavy about Holliwood to fall out in two partyes in the night upon the neighbouring Irish to kill and plunder them.

 

And they went forth in the night and killed of men, women and children (poor labouring people and their familyes) a great number. His cause of knowledge is, for that the next morning after the sayd murder was comitted he saw those of the towne of Bangor that had beene acters in it come in with bloody brakans (a kind of tartan or plaid) and other goods, cattle and household stuffe; his further cause of knowledge is that there was a collection made through the whole towne of Bangor for burying those were killed, wherefore this witness played a part but cannot now remember how much.”

……….

When Edith rejoined him on their couch, he passed her the book.  She immediately noticed the girl’s name.

“My God, Mick.  This girl was called Kathleen.  You don’t think all this has anything to do with our Deirdre’s Katie, do you?”

“Oh, come on Eadie, you can’t really believe that can you?  Kathleen was here nearly four centuries ago.  And she survived and moved on.”

Edith, still reading the books account was becoming increasingly horrified by it, even as she kept up the conversation with Mick, “Yet Deirdre chose her name.  What are the chances?”

Mick turned to her rolling his eyes, saying nothing.  Edith although concentrating on the book, eventually looked up, “Yeah, OK.  Our daughter being haunted by a four hundred year old woman seems a bit of a stretch.  But look at this stuff, this massacre that happened here.  Don’t you believe that people’s souls can leave a trace?”

Mick just resumed his wide-eyed puzzlement, but this time with a smile on his face.

Edith gave up on that argument, reached behind her, grabbed a cushion and swiped her husband, “Don’t make fun of me Mick.  Something awful happened here; or at the very least within a few hundred yards of this house.  Just because you cannot see logic in something doesn’t make it untrue.  So tell me, knowing what we know now, how would you explain Deirdre’s bead and the name she gave to its owner?  And while we’re at it, you have been a bit distant recently, thinking more about your past than you have done in years.  You would tell me if I can help, wouldn’t you?”

Mick reached over and cuddled her in against his shoulder, “I’m sorry love, I don’t deserve you.  I just seem to have had a lot of time for reflection since this little project of ours finished.  It’s not only the past that I’ve been thinking of either, it’s our future too.  I promise to make more time for the two of you.  You know, holidays, weekends, all that kind of thing.  I’m not going to be an absentee father for Deirdre growing up, and just as soon as we can find a good local babysitter, how do you fancy a night out for just the two of us?”

Edith cuddled closer, “The night out would be lovely Mick.  There are some very good restaurants in Holywood, I’m told.  But you don’t get away so easily.  You didn’t give me an explanation about Deirdre.”

“Damn,” Mick squeezed her, “I thought I’d got away with that one.  I can’t explain a coincidence, no matter how much meaning you read into it.”

“You’re an awful man Mick, but somehow, I still love you.”  She raised her hands in an attempt at a spooky gesture, “ It’s Halloween on Thursday.  They say that the veil between us and the spirits is thinner at this time of year.  Maybe you are getting spiritual in your old age but just don’t know it yet!”

 

Thursday, 31^st October. Carney Hill.

It was school half term, and both Edith and Mick had taken time off too.  Mick however had left the house early that morning to see a client with an urgent problem.  He had promised to return early so they could all go as a family to the National Trust estate at Mount Stewart for their Halloween celebrations.  Knowing his forgetfulness for all things not related to Architecture, Edith had texted him so that he remembered to pick up some trick or treat sweets on his way home.

In the meantime, both she and Deirdre shared a leisurely breakfast with the TV on.  Then, when Edith could stand no more children’s programs, she suggested they go out to the garden to plant some of the winter Cyclamen they had bought the previous weekend.  With Deirdre doing the planting it was a slow but thorough task.  By the time Mick returned a few hours later, they still had half a dozen plants to put in the ground. 

Finding the house empty, Mick left a pile of Halloween themed sweet packets on one of the kitchen worktops, along with a good bottle of red wine in a conspicuous place where Edith would notice it.  The rest of the food he had bought to try his hand at the red Thai curry that Edith had been teaching him, he put into the fridge, then went in search of his family.  Looking back into the kitchen area as he went out, the pile of sweets looked a bit excessive, but in his defence, he had no idea how many costumed kids would call at their house that evening.

Deirdre’s constant stream of chatter and conversation made them easy to find, and on sight of her father, she ran to welcome him, planting trowel still in hand.  Edith too rose to from the kneeling pad she had been using, dusting her hands as she got up.  After Deirdre’s welcome, Mick stepped forward to hug his wife.

“Hello love, you see, it didn’t take so long to sort out after all, and I even remembered the sweets.  Plus, I got a little something for the two of us to share later on as well.”

“Mmm, I hope by that, you mean something made with fermented grapes?”

Mick performed an exaggerated bow, “Your wish is my command, my lady.”  Then as an aside, “In the meantime, shouldn’t the two of you be getting cleaned up so that we can go out?”

Edith acknowledged this and made to move off, placing her hand behind Deirdre’s back to bring her along too, but their daughter stood firm.  Deirdre eyed her father fixedly, then moved off towards the hedge at the side of their garden.  The two adults looked at each other, puzzled, then Edith called out, “Deirdre, where are you going?”

“I have to get something for Daddy.”

Both adults were now really confused but started to follow their daughter.  She was moving towards an old, gnarled Hawthorne at the side of their property that made up part of a hedge with a drainage ditch on the far side, which separated their garden from the fields beyond.  As Deirdre stooped to duck under the thorny lower branches, Edith broke into a run, calling to Deirdre to be careful.  Deirdre made no reply and was now at the tree’s roots.

 She still had the trowel and started digging a short distance from the trunk. Edith, now on her knees crouched down to see what was happening, but even with autumns fallen leaves, everything there was in shadow.  Edith could barely see her daughter let alone see what she was doing.  Mick was on the grass on his stomach yet could see little more.

“It’s OK Mummy, I have to get this for Daddy.”

She could not be moved, no matter how much Mick and Edith tried to persuade her to come out.  Eventually, Deirdre rummaged in her pocket for a tissue, which she then set on the ground beside her before reaching into the small hole she had excavated and lifted a few things onto the tissue.  She then dug again and repeated the process.  Eventually, Deirdre seemed satisfied with her work and squirmed out from under the tree again, straight into the relieved arms of her mother.  Deirdre was filthy yet seemed unaware that she had done anything odd.  From her mother’s arms, Deirdre then turned to Mick, her father, holding out the crumpled tissue and its grubby contents.

“Katie says you need to have her treasure before she goes.”

Mick took the package in silence and solemnly opened it.  A few glimpses of something bright glinted from clay bound scraps of earth, among which sat one larger dull lump.  In amazement, he rubbed one of the scraps between his fingers, revealing a bead similar to Deirdre’s one, and then yet another until there were eight of them in total.  Then he moved to the larger piece.  It was heavy for its size, and as he cleaned it, a small cross made of lead emerged, crudely fashioned. On one side something that looked like a human shape had been scratched on the surface of the cross.  A crucifix.

Mick looked at his daughter in wonder as she said, “The string broke when she ran, so she left her treasure here.  It’s yours now.”

There was a silence between them for a few moments, from which Edith managed to recover first.  She swallowed, feeling like even a breath would be sacrilege, then said, “Well Mick?”

Mick looked around him trying to detect the presence that he had failed to see. The sky was still as it had always been, as similarly were the waves of the Lough.  Even the spot where Deirdre had found the first bead was just grass and earth. He looked at Edith winking at her before looking lovingly into the innocent eyes of his daughter. "Thank you, Deirdre." Then, looking over towards the Hawthorne again, "Thank you, Katie."