An Irish Country Childhood by Marrie Walsh

Author:Marrie Walsh [Marrie Walsh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781857826548
Publisher: John Blake Publishing
Published: 2011-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

KITTY AND LARRY

THE PLACE THAT Kitty and Larry D’Arcy called home was situated on the flat, high plateau above Slippy’s hill. It commanded a view unparalleled for its beauty anywhere. Standing at their front door, the eyes of the beholders were dazzled with the scenery set out as if by an artist’s hand. Nature had indeed endowed this part the countryside with a generous share of its bounty: lakes to the right and left, rivers and hills and mountains and dells, interspersed with sprinklings of whitewashed, thatched cottages. Only the turf smoke gently issuing from the chimneys, reminded the onlooker that this was not the enchanted land he or she might be imagining.

Time stood still in this once-happy home, especially for Kitty, as she had the unfortunate experience of being left at the altar by her husband-to-be. The man in question had disappeared the night before the wedding and emigrated to England. He was never seen again. This sad episode left Kitty with her mind gone astray. She was so traumatized by the event that she refused to leave her home and was almost completely house-bound.

Local people said that she was once the prettiest girl in the neighbourhood, and indeed her now-faded looks were a testimony to that fact. Every now and then she would dress up in her pretty, but old, bonnet, with faded roses around the brim, put on the long, fitted coat, and gather her beaded string bag and gloves and start out for the church to get married, as she thought. Half way there, some long-distant memory of the betrayal would jolt her confused brain and send her back home weeping uncontrollably. She never passed through the door of that church again as she was incapable of sitting still for any length of time, and would not understand what was going on anyway. Time had no meaning for her. She rarely left her own hearth and never encouraged anyone to visit.

My brother and I wandered everywhere among the neighbours’ houses, unmolested, and we would visit Kitty just to watch her bizarre rituals as she went about her daily chores. She would wash her hands incessantly, especially when baking bread. Instead of gathering the ingredients all together, she would collect the flour from its dry place beside the fire, wash her hands, go to the dresser for the baking soda, forget what she wanted and again wash her hands, shake her head from side to side and mutter something. This went on endlessly until some semblance of soda-bread went in the oven.

By this time we were mesmerized and so was Kitty, but we would still stay around to see the results of the baking. Usually a flat, hard piece of so-called bread was presented to us, while she would stand and watch and make us eat it. We were too frightened to do otherwise.

Another time we would go and visit and tell her it was Sunday when it was a weekday, and she would then get ready for mass and, escorted by three or four of us, would set off for the river.

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