A Night in the Manx Museum by McGrath Michele

Author:McGrath, Michele [McGrath, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Michele McGrath
Published: 2013-11-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven: A blind dog called Rory.

Voices were murmuring as the girls turned the corner.

“Who is that?” Ellen asked.

“The old people. Come and meet them,” Sophie said as she led the way into a white walled room with a large hearth and a flickering fire. With a shock, Ellen recognized the place but there was usually a television screen in the fireplace and a row of telephones on the walls. A group of elderly men and women were sitting on long benches beside the fire, chatting together. One of the women was pouring tea into large cups and handing them to the others. They all turned round as the girls entered.

“Fastyr mie,” Sophie greeted them.

“Fastyr mie, Sophie.”

Ellen grasped at her manners and the little bit of Manx she remembered and murmured “Fastyr mie” too.

The group obviously knew from her accent that she only really spoke English and swapped immediately into that tongue, except for one old man who looked bewildered, until one of the others translated for him.

“Who is this?” asked the lady with the teapot.

“This is my friend, Ellen; she’s visiting for the evening.”

“Hello, Ellen, welcome. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please.”

“I’ve been telling Ellen about your wonderful bonnag, Mrs. Kinnish,” Sophie said with a cheeky smile.

“So I suppose you want her to try some then?” Mrs. Kinnish grinned and all the others laughed.

In a very short time, the girls were sitting on the floor in front of the fire, sipping hot sweet tea and nibbling large chunks of fruity bonnag. The people were all talking together, swapping easily between Manx and English. The smoke from the old men’s pipes swirled over their heads. The talk seemed to be about farming and the price of cattle, as far as Ellen could tell. Some words seemed to have no English equivalent so she was guessing. It was the first time she had every really heard her native language in a proper conversation, rather than in a class at school. Although some of the words were harsh, they had a rhythm of their own and she found that she liked it. She decided that she would listen to Mrs. Clucas more carefully when she went back to class.

There was a lull in the conversation and Sophie jumped into the pause. “Would you tell us one of your stories, please, Mr. Shimmin?”

Everyone laughed. “She wasn’t long in asking, was she Bob?” Mrs. Kinnish said and ruffled Sophie’s hair.

“We know you come for Bob’s stories and my cake!”

Sophie had the grace to blush and they all laughed again.

“Which story would you like then?” asked the old man with the grey waistcoat, putting down his long pipe.

“Ellen’s never heard any of them, but I love the one about Juan and his dog.”

“Well then, there is remembrance at me,” he started. “Rory was a black and white sheepdog who was born on the farm. He was the eldest of seven born to his mother Minty, who was a great girl with the sheep. She was my favourite of all the dogs.

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