The paths were now overgrown and the hedges had closed in over the stepping stones that spanned the ditches, but we burrowed our way through as snow tumbled down on top of us from high branches. At the old school we found that the trees had grown in around it and grass had grown up to the window-sills; it stood huddled in the arms of nature which now claimed it for its own as ivy trailed across its gaping windows. Where once children had laughed and shouted, now the cawing of crows from the tree-tops was the only sound. There was about it a peacefulness, as if the years of learning had blended into the walls and the grey stones were now sheltered by the overhanging branches.
We went around the back to inspect the old dry toilets: now they were crumbling with age and we laughed as we recalled the request of “Bhfuil cead agam dul amach?” Leaning over the rusty gate beside the school we looked back across the valley and Danny looked up at the sky and started to talk about the clouds and it was as if time had stood still.
When we arrived back at Danny’s thatched cottage the snow had started to come down again and we were glad to poke up the fire and make the tea. As I sat beside the fire I looked around his large kitchen, which bore all the signs of the freedom of bachelor living; no “fussy woman” disturbed the leisurely pace of Danny’s life. He had plans for a new house and he spread them out on the table and we studied them. It would have amenities that this old one lacked, including central heating, but I wondered if Danny might find it difficult to leave his old house. He took me into a room off the kitchen to show me a magnificent oil painting and a large mahogany sideboard that would have been a collector’s dream. We talked about his love of birds and I promised to paint a picture of pheasants for his new house.
As I walked out the long yard I turned to wave to Danny, who was framed in the doorway of his long, low, thatched house. With the snow on the thatch and the light from the deep-set window cutting into the darkness, it was like a scene from a Christmas card. I walked home across the fields, memories churning around in my mind. The moon had risen high in the sky and the snow-covered countryside stretched out around me, while the frosty grass crunched beneath my feet. When I saw the lights of our own house I slowed my footsteps, reluctant to leave behind this outdoor calmness that enfolded me.
During the summer that followed I painted the picture for Danny’s new house, but it was destined never to hang there. One day in early autumn a phone call came to say that he had died, quietly, just as he had lived. At his funeral I met many of our old school friends and we shared a feeling of vulnerability brought about by the fact that he was the first of our class to go. Some of them I had not met since leaving the old schoolhouse in the fields, so on an occasion which combined both happiness and sadness there was much reminiscing. And as I drove back past his silent house that night I stopped and got out to lean on his rusty gate, and I felt glad that he had never left his old home that was somehow where he belonged, and where his spirit would always be at peace.
About the Author
Alice Taylor lives in the village of Innishannon in County Cork, in a house attached to the local supermarket and post office.
Her classic account of growing up in the Irish countryside, To School Through the Fields, was published in May 1988. It was an immediate success, launching Alice on a series of signing sessions, talks, media appearances readings the length and breadth of Ireland. It quickly became the biggest selling book ever published in Ireland, and her sequels, Quench the Lamp, The Village, Country Days and The Night Before Christmas, were also outstandingly successful. Since their initial publication, these books of memoirs have also been translated and sold internationally.
In 1997 Alice’s first novel, The Woman of the House, was an immediate bestseller in Ireland, topping the paperback fiction lists for many weeks. A moving story of land, love and family, it was followed by a sequel, Across the River in 2000, which was also a bestseller. One of Ireland’s most popular authors, Alice has continued writing fiction, non-fiction and poetry since.
“Ireland’s Laurie Lee: a chronicler of fading village life who sells and sells.” Observer
“She has become the most popular and universally loved author in memory.” Mail on Sunday
Also by Alice Taylor
Memoirs
To School Through the Fields
Quench the Lamp
The Village
The Parish
Country Days
The Night Before Christmas
The Gift of a Garden
And Time Stood Still
Do You Remember?
Poetry
The Way We Are
Close to the Earth
The Journey
Fiction
The Woman of the House
Across the River
House of Memories
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2014 by Brandon,
an imprint of The O’Brien Press Ltd,
12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, Ireland
Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
E-mail: books@obrien.ie
Website: www.obrien.ie
First published in 1990 by Mount Eagle Publications
Copyright © Alice Taylor 1990
The author has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–762–9
UNAUTHORISED COPYING IS ILLEGAL
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, including electronic, digital, mechanical, visual or audio, or mounted on any network servers, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover illustration: John Short
Cover design: Public Communications Centre, Dublin