A Son of Aran by Martin Gormally Page A

Peadar’s spirits. Events of recent days were put behind him as they drifted slowly out of Kilkieran and set sail for Aran. Eileen, now fully awake and rested after two good nights’ sleep, plied Tadhg with questions about the names of the rocky headlands and islands they passed on their way to the open sea. She told him about the dolphins they had seen on their way from Galway and asked if they were dangerous. He told her she had nothing to fear—dolphins were friendly, playful creatures who had a special affinity for humans.
    â€˜Some people believe they are an omen of good luck,’ he said.
    â€˜I think we are going to be very lucky,’ Eileen replied. ‘When we get to Aran, daddy and I will see lots of dolphins when we go fishing. I love Aran,’ she added—’I can’t wait to get there and I’m never going to leave it.
    As the hooker rose and fell with the action of the waves, in a feeling of euphoria, Peadar broke into a verse of song that the master had taught them at school:
    On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell
    A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell.
    Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,
    And they called it Hy Brasil—the Isle of the Blest.
    â€˜Daddy, you are always singing about Hy Brasil—where is that place? Will you show it to me?’ asked Eileen.
    â€˜I will show it to you, alannah , but not today. Hy Brasil is a long, long way out to sea—it would take a lot of time to get there. First we must make our way to Aran—that’s enough journey for one day. See if you can remember the names of sea birds that we meet on the way, cormorants, shags, gulls— there are many different species. If you watch closely you might catch a glimpse of jelly fish, pollock, hake, porcupine, and dogfish—they are all out here in the wide blue ocean.’
    The day wore on. With little wind to propel them, their pace was slow. There was nothing they could do to expedite the journey. Tadhg hadn’t forgotten to take with him a bottle of the crayther (poitín) and, for the want of something more important to occupy them, he shared a noggin with Peadar. They exchanged stories of their experiences at sea while Eileen listened open-mouthed and plied them with questions when she didn’t understand what they were talking about. It would have taken a person more street wise than the child to interpret some of their conversation. She laid her head on a sail-cloth in the prow and soon was fast asleep. Between snatches of storytelling, filled with the fire of distilled spirit, Peadar broke into snatches of song. His melodic renderings of An Spailpín Fánach, Thíos i Lár an Ghleanna and Fáinne Geal an Lae, resounded from the deep with nobody but Tadhg to appreciate them and he was already nodding to sleep. Peadar noted the position of the evening sun, and hoped that the course he set for Inish Mór would take them there despite approaching darkness and a thick mist which was falling around them. Keeping a weather eye open for craft that might cross their path he hummed gently to himself and tried to stay awake. Eventually, he succumbed to sleep and dreamt of youthful days in Aran, his father’s demise, and his mother’s philosophy—’ Glóire do Dhia a thugas beatha dúinn agus saol siorraí ,’ (praise to God who gives us life here and hereafter). He awakened to the soft murmur of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. A full moon provided clear visibility to the far horizon; there was no sign of the island.
    â€˜Have we strayed off course while I was asleep?’ he thought to himself. ‘We don’t have to worry unduly for there is safety in the open sea. If we are patient we are bound to make land in one place or another.’ Relieved of the trauma of the past days he burst into song once again to the rhythm of the waves:
    From year unto year on the ocean’s blue