Mary Ann Hendren had loved John Witherup since they were children but never had got up the courage to tell him so.At the age of 15 John ran off to join the British Army to fight in the war against Napoleon. Mary Ann had not seen or heard of him since... Antrim, Ireland 1810 By rights, as far as John Witherup was concerned, that should have been that for me and an end to the matter. He was gone away and in all likelihood would never be coming home again. And yet I could not get him out of my head, no matter how I tried. During those difficult years that followed for me, I could never bring myself to look at another lad. No matter how hard the brave young bucks tried to woo me, polite requests like, ‘Will you not be taking a walk with me along the lane after church, Mary?” I would flatly turn down, as I would also invitations to the harvest dance or other such rare delights that might break the monotony of Glenavy Parish life. So, in the end, the long and the short of it was that the young men eventually stopped asking me altogether. ‘She’s a hard nut to crack that one,’ I would hear one of them blethering behind my back. ‘Hardly worth the bothering when there are so many others here abouts ready to take up the opening.’ For ‘here abouts’ hadn’t I heard the minister ranting that chastity had never yet been regarded as the mother of all virtues? I didn’t care a jot for that, or for them. And nor for the withered shawlies nattering on to old Miss Quigley, who was firmly married to the Glenavy Post Office, about how, at the age of seventeen and never been a-courting, hadn’t I just the right attitude entirely for becoming an old maid? With sixty-eight houses and a population of three-hundred-and-nine souls, Glenavy village was the centre of our simple universe then – because it had everything.For apart from the Post Office, Glenavy could boast of a brand new cotton mill and no less than five grocers, three tailors, two blacksmiths, two shoe makers, a turner, a mason, and its own doctor. And most importantly of all, there were two fine public houses and an inn. Amid the buzz of all this prosperity, the nearby parish church, however, was looking as if it was fit to collapse at any moment. And although the just and the good of the parish voiced high hopes that somehow it would be built up again before it did collapse, unsurprisingly, no one was in much hurry to stump up the money. But for all this great crowd of businesses, the village had become a far quieter place of late, mainly because the twice yearly fairs had been banned for the past two years. Evidently, when they still ran, there had been too much fighting and rioting in their wake. For sure, there were certainly far fewer black eyes to be seen about! So at that time nothing much seemed to happen in Glenavy, apart from the odd marrying and the odd burying, and all the birthings in between, and on top of a great deal of gentle shopping. So it came about one glorious summer day–as it seemed the world and his wife were out busily white-washing their cottages–that I dandered into Glenavy village with a veritable glut of fine brown eggs in my basket and a good round of my Ma’s best cheese,with the high hopes of bartering them all for some tea. I had come to the bridge and had been thinking to myself how gaudy-looking the lichen was– being set against the fine grey of the stonework and spoiling the look of it entirely. Daydreaming, I thought that if only I were the Queen of the world, how I would have all the old shawlies in the parish rounded up and forced to pick it all off with of their fingernails! Then it happened. As I walked on not a dozen steps or more, I suddenly felt adreadful stabbing pain in my right foot. So, stopping sharply, I put down my basket,stepped out of my boot and proceeded to shake out the wretched stone that had somehow got lodged in it. It was then, just as I happened to look up towards Ferris’ inn, a sight met my eyes that shook me to my toes. What did I see but the fine figure of a soldier stepping out through the door. As he did, he half turned towards me for a moment. It was a moment long enough for his soft brown eyes to catch a firm hold of mine. Oh what a gawping eejit I felt! There was I, with barely a thread of decent ribbon left upon my shabby straw bonnet, and standing with my toe peeping out from the hole in my stocking, and with my boot dangling from my hand, as I heard the soldier call out, ‘Mary? ‘Mary–is dhat you?’ At first I hardly recognised John. For one, he looked so broad across the shoulders. And his face! Oh, his face had changed completely – from that of a good-looking boy into that of an even handsomer man. He looked older, too – older and altogether so different in demeanour from my brothers and his brothers, who had stayed behind in Antrim. It wasn’t just the uniform, though he certainly looked the part in that, so he did! No, it was his face that looked to have a whole new story etched upon it by the years that he had been away. ‘My, my John!’ I said struggling to get my boot back on. ‘But don’t you look brave in your nice blue coat and red collar and cuffs.’ I tried to remain cool, though my face felt as though it had suddenly been set on fire. ‘Aye’, he replied proudly, showing me his insignia. ‘Royal Horse Artillery so I am –Seventh Battalion.’ ‘Well, what a surprise it is to see you. And dhere was I with no idea dhat you were home at all.’ ‘I’m not yet,’ he laughed wryly. ‘I’ve not even been back to dhe homestead yet.’ ‘Is dhe war with Bony over dhen?’ I asked naively, because I truly did not know. News of great events often reached Glenavy with all the speed of a lame donkey. ‘No, not at all!’ he exclaimed. ‘And I shall be back to it soon enough, no doubt, just as soon as I am all healed up.’ ‘So wounded, is it dhen that you are?’ John nodded, and I got to feeling that he did not want to be drawn further upon the nature of his injury. But I was relieved, for I had hardly the stomach to contemplate the guts of the chicken that was waiting back home on the kitchen table for me to prepare, let alone some gaping wound on the body of a grown man. ‘I only stopped here for a totty of Dutch courage,’ John explained still smiling, ‘before I go on to see dhe ould fella.’ Oh, how I then knocked that beautiful grin from off his face? ‘Dhe ould fella? Oh John!’ I said despondently. ‘Dhen you’ll not know?’ ‘I’ll not know what, Mary?’ I felt awful at having to break this sad news to him.‘It’s your da, John. Your da is dead...’ The unexpectedness of it all clearly shook him. ‘Dead? When?’ were all the cracked words that he could muster? ‘It was dhe year before last. Aw, but didn’t we lose two’ three men to dhe fever dhat spring,’ I sighed. John shook his head and I could see the regret filling his eyes. ‘Dhat’s altogether too sad,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to square a few t’ings away widh him at long last. I never once t’ought dhat he wouldn’t be here…’ I watched as a tear slowly trickled down his handsome cheek, and then quickly followed by another. I so wanted to reach out and kiss them away. But before I could do so, John quickly raised his hand to staunch them himself. ‘And my brothers?’ he asked. ‘James and Robert? Oh dhey took over the running of dhe place well enough after your da…’ Oh dear, I seemed to be saying all the wrong things. Bad enough that the poor man had to come back to hear such news... and there was I making it worse with my big mouth, yapping on before my brain had worked out the tactful thing to say. John fell silent for a moment or two, but then went on. ‘And Isabella? Is she married yet?’ He asked with love suddenly glinting in his eye. I knew only too well how much he adored dhat girl. ‘No, Izzy is not married,’ I replied. ‘Dhough it’s not for dhe lack of my brother trying to persuade her into church!’ ‘Your brother Thomas and my sister? I don’t believe it!’ John threw back his head in an almighty laugh. ‘She was always hissing at him like a cat.’ ‘And maybe she still does, John, but not near so often as she is seen out canoodling widh him down the lanes on a Sunday afternoon.’ ‘Well well…’ John laughed again. ‘Who would have dhought? My Izzy and your Thomas!’ It was good to see him break into laugher again, for it so much better suited his heaven-carved face.But then, after this happier discourse, I found my mind stumbling to find anything else half intelligent to say for myself. And with John not seeming eager to come to my aid with even a smidgen more conversation himself, we dried up speaking altogether. And so,reluctantly, I thought it perhaps best that I made some excuse to go. ‘Well… I best be getting along,’ I said picking up my basket and hoping all the while that John would speak up and beg me to stay a while. But he did not. ‘Yes. And I had best be making my way to the ould place now,’ he said quickly.‘Especially now dhat I have no more need of wet courage. Good day to you Mary. It was grand to see you again, so it was!’ With that John turned, and with his head held high and his shoulders back, he strode smartly off towards the Witherup farm, leaving me standing there feeling like a complete fool for not making more of the opportunity God had just given me. He’d been away for four years, and twenty-three days, and that was the best I could do... From Living in Hope
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 15:33:07 +0000
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