Blasket Spirit by Anita Fennelly

Author:Anita Fennelly [Fennelly, Anita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-84889-075-6
Publisher: The Collins Press
Published: 2009-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

A Day in the Weaver’s

Friday was the quietest day on the Great Blasket Island during the summertime. Out on the mainland, it was changeover day. Tourists were busy loading cars and setting off on long journeys home while others were excitedly heading to the Dingle Peninsula to take their places. The beaches were quieter while the roads were busier. From the sanctuary of the sea, the Great Blasket Island gave a shrug of relief, watching the chain of colourful matchbox cars glint in the sunshine as it snaked around Slea Head. During the Friday swop-over, only one ferry operated between Dún Chaoin and the Great Blasket Island.

‘How would you like a day minding the shop?’ Sue asked as she popped her head through my door one Thursday evening. ‘It should be quiet tomorrow, so I’m going out to the mainland for next month’s supplies. I’ll show you where I leave the key and you can help yourself to tea, scones and whatever you like.’

Without waiting for a response, she continued with the arrangements and explained the schedule for the following day. I did not know how to say no. That had always been a problem for me. It was different, however, with Sue’s request; she was asking something perfectly reasonable of me, something any normal person could do and something she was entitled to ask. After all, she had given me huge support since my arrival on the island whether she was aware of it or not.

Three things terrified me. Firstly, the prospect of meeting so many people. The familiar company of Laura and Sigrid was one thing, but a shop full of strangers was another matter entirely. Secondly, the thought that I would be in a situation that I could not get away from. What if I panicked? Thirdly, there was my lack of any mathematical sense.

I knew that it was time to move out into the world again. Here was a challenge I would have to meet. ‘I’m afraid I’m not a great accountant, Sue,’ I answered smiling, although my stomach was churning with anxiety.

‘Don’t worry, everything is priced clearly. I’ll show you. Before I realised it, we were walking down the path to her yellow door. ‘If anyone wants tea and a scone, charge one-twenty. There’s change in the box.’

A shaft of evening sunlight filtered dancing dust particles inside her door. My friendly robin pecked at the floor within the beam of light. As we stepped inside, he hopped indifferently past my foot, foraging for abandoned crumbs. The room was filled with the golden warmth of baking scones.

I knelt and nudged a currant towards him.

‘You’ve met then!’ Sue smiled.

‘Yes, every dawn. I think I must be first on his rounds.’

‘Is he still at that? He used to waken Ray Stagles every morning too.’

‘He’s fairly bedraggled-looking today, isn’t he?’

‘Looks like you’ve been in the wars, my friend. What have you been fighting about?’

The robin cocked his head as if considering his answer, then hopped out of the spotlight in under a wooden chair, which was laden with woollen shawls, to continue his quest for food.

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