Memories

Kevin Woods

Uploaded: 29/01/2017

Remembering a Mother

“Would you have a room with a view”? He asked.
“No” says I, “but there is a lovely view from the dining room for breakfast in the morning”
The man introduced himself as John from Canada. He was in his late 40s, with a rough-hewed face that had experienced troubled times. He wore a leather jacket and britches and sported a Harley Davidson tee shirt. His hair fell about 3 feet down his back and was gathered together neatly with a rubber band. He was with his petite wife, an American lady – pretty and softly spoken.
I showed them the view from the dining-room which overlooks a small park, then Carlingford Lough and the Mourne Mountains.
There is a statue of the bull in the park and she enquired if there was a story associated with it.
“It’s the Brown Bull of Cooley” I told her
“What’s that about” she enquired
I told her the story of the Brown Bull and Queen Maeve.
Beside the Bull there is a statue of a white horse
“So is there a story attached to the white horse too” she asked
“It’s the Ghost Horse of Mountain Park” and I launched into the tale.
“Did you ever hear” says I “about The Last Leprechauns of Ireland”
They shook their heads and off I went again relating the story as fast as ever it was told. Close to the end I turned and looked at John. Tears ran down his cheeks.
Sorry John are you ok! I asked
“Kevin” he said “My Mam was born across the water in Rostrevor and left for Canada in her early 20s.She use to tell me stories about Ireland and the Leprechauns and Fairies. She never got back home but I promised that someday I would come to Ireland and scatter her ashes among the land of the little people and the home of all the stories she use to tell me as a boy. That’s why I am here, and I think she brought me here to you.
I got out my book “The Last Leprechaun’s of Ireland” and signed it for him with a dedication to the memory of his mother.
The following morning while serving breakfast to both of them I was introduced to “Mam” who accompanied them in a jar placed on the breakfast table. Her photograph was on the side of the jar: she was a beautiful looking woman and definitely in life had the face of a storyteller. John and his wife didn’t bat an eyelid while she stood there and they talked about her like she was sitting on a chair. To them it seemed natural enough that she should be sitting on the table looking out over the Lough and towards her home in Rostrevor.
I brought them that morning by car to Mountain Park and to the area where the Leprechauns live and that is under protection by the EU. He scattered her ashes on Carlingford mountain looking down over Rostrevor and his eyes filled up again as he remembered her love for him and his for her and the stories she told him so many years before back home in Canada.
John left Carlingford that day. He said it was a place he would never forget.