I started writing a children's story about 2 years ago. I have since finished the 30000 word piece and it is in Spain/Canada at the present moment being mulled over by some esteemed publisher or other. Good feedback from peers encouraged me to join a Creative Writing Workshop in University College Cork (where I work).

Church Bay Road, Crosshaven,

Painting & Potatoes

Uncle Fred, Aunt Hilda and cousin Tom lived on a farm, deep in the countryside, so deep in fact that myself and my cousins became overexcited whenever a car passed by the kitchen window – a distraction that might only occur two or three times a week.
Breakfast was a short affair, around 6 a.m. Bird chatter and cow lowing filled the air as we worked hard. If the weather was good, the outer wall that ran along the driveway to the house had to be de-mossed and given a fresh coat of paint. Three five-litre cans of Primrose Yellow usually did it, with one five-litre tin of Brilliant White for the caps.
If the weather was bad – which was most of the time – there was a shed full of potatoes to be de-stalked. I hated those potatoes and the fleshy nubs that grew from their wrinkled skins. Sitting on an old, rusty bucket in a dank, drafty shed surrounded by a mound of potatoes so big Edmund Hilary would have had difficulty scaling it, flicking hard, rough stalks.
Red, raw finger tips, a runny nose and an aching back were all I got from those potatoes. No feeling of satisfaction came even when they lay broken and steaming on my dinner plate every evening.
* * * * *
Painting and potatoes were all part of the summer farm routine. But there was one particular farm event that pales in comparison to paint cans and stubby potatoes. Even now in my forties, I wince at the thought of it – the de-bulling episode I witnessed at the hands of Brian ‘the Terminator’ Falvey.
I learned one day, that the farm bull was not performing his duties and so had to be ‘fixed’ in order to allow a new bull to take over as top producer, and so the Terminator was called in, with me as his assistant.
The Terminator took the bull out into the yard and tethered him to the open shed gate. The bull yawned and pulled against the rope that held him, as the Terminator walked to his black jeep parked at the side of the house.
The Terminator soon returned with his insidious, black leather bag that made a slight clinking noise as he walked towards us. He opened his case and rolled out the inner section flat on top of the wall. Each terrifying instrument in the bag was gleaming, just like the set of torture implements I had recently seen at the dentist’s surgery.
No sedation, just an antibiotic injection in case of infection after the deed was done. I felt sorry for the poor oblivious animal, who really hadn’t harmed anyone in particular. The Terminator could see the sympathy in my face and decided he wasn’t having any of it.
‘That bull is not doing what your uncle paid good money for it to do! Do you want your aunt and uncle to go bankrupt?!?
I could feel the tears start to prick at my eyelids and my lip tremble. The Terminator softened and put his huge, hulking arm around my shoulder. The smell of sweat and manure made me dizzy.
‘’Come on now lad, let’s get on with the job at hand. It will all be over in a flash.’

The bull’s hindquarters rose above me like a great brown cliff. My uncle told me to hold the animal’s tail, which was matted with dirt and his own filth. It kicked up one of its legs and shuddered. I don’t know whether I closed my eyes or my mind has blocked out the exact details, but the next thing I knew the Terminator had cut a long, precision slice and one of the offending male lumps was lying, quivering in a pool of water in the yard.
I stared transfixed at the pale, vein-covered bundle of flesh on the ground. It seemed to shiver at the shock of its sudden release from its warm, safe pouch between the bull’s legs. As I watched the alien piece of animal tissue, I knew that neither my life, nor the bull’s life, would ever be the same again.
* * * * *
I was thirteen when I decided I didn’t want to spend any more summer holidays on the farm. Instead, I spent my time doing odd jobs for money. I managed to save up enough to buy a silver and black mountain bike – Spectre. My summer holidays were my own now, to with what I wanted.
My cousin Tom came to visit me one summer. I took him to the cinema, the local arcade, hurling training and matches. He said it had been the best summer ever, but he never came back for another.

 

The Lamp post

‘Meet me at the lamp post, the one where the fence starts to curve towards the forest, at 10pm on Friday.’
‘We can’t meet there it’s too open, someone might see us.’
‘Don’t worry, it will be dark by then and no one will be out that late. We can meet there and then disappear into the woods at the back of the park.’
‘Alright then, if you’re sure it’s safe. I trust you.’

Click. Brigid starts. She quickly, but gently, replaces the receiver back onto the cradle. She knew something was going on and now she had real proof. She had heard them making plans, secret plans to meet. Now was the perfect chance to stop this before things went too far. She ran back upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door before Maria found her listening in on the other line.
* * * * *
Friday and Brigid is all set. She had listened to Maria telling Mother how very tired she was. She watched Maria saying her evening prayers, kissing Mother’s cheek with her lying mouth and going to bed early. Brigid did her chores as normal and went to her room explaining she wished to reflect on the day. She had also lied to Mother and her Sisters but she had a mission. She knew God would forgive her little, white lies.

The alarm clock beside Brigid’s bed chimed loudly. Brigid jumped, she had nodded off. She scolded herself, she must be fully alert and prepared for the night ahead. It had been snowing all day which was unusual for Ireland even at this time of the year. She put on her boots – the ones with the fleece inside. One of the boots pinched her toes but there was no time to think about that, she had to save Maria.

It was 10.15pm, maybe Brigid was too late. She had left a good ten minutes between Maria disappearing through the front door and leaving the house herself. Maria walked quickly; constantly checking behind her. Brigid was surprised at how well she could conceal herself, although her black skirt did stick out against the white, moonlit snow that covered everything.

As Brigid neared the park she lost sight of Maria, but it didn’t matter because she knew exactly where they were headed. Brigid had seen them there together in a photograph Maria had hidden behind a set of drawers in her room. The affair had been going on for a while now. Brigid knew they loved each other, but that kind of love was wrong. There was only one love, and that was God’s love.

As Brigid rounded the entrance to the park she saw both of them entwined under the lamp post. Her habit, his cassock, lit up like a snow sprinkled statue in the lamp light. Brigid yelled out to Maria, ‘Please Sister, come back with me, come back to your faithful Mother and Sisters. We forgive you and God forgives you.’

Maria turned towards the shouting. She looked back towards him. They both clasped hands and turned towards the forest. They ran so fast, large clumps of snow jumped from the soles of their shoes and left deep, slushy footprints on the footpath. By the time Brigid reached the lamp post, Maria and her priest had disappeared. Brigid ran along the path keeping close to the fence. She tried to follow their footprints but they had been swallowed up by the many other footprints of people that had passed this way earlier in the day. Brigid stopped at the tree line, she couldn’t do anymore. She would have to inform Mother Superior in the morning. How were they going to weather another scandal?

Cabbage Queen

(Childrens Story)

Rose sat out every morning before school, eating a slice of buttered toast and watched her beloved caterpillars in dad’s cabbage patch. The large, brown ones with black speckles tended to stay on the very edge of the cabbage leaves. Rose often worried that these caterpillars would fall off, and be eaten by a passing bird. But no matter how big and heavy they seemed to get, they never fell. Sometimes they teetered just on the edge, wobbled a bit, but they always managed to cling on with their short, stumpy forelegs. One or two of the more adventurous caterpillars would even clamber upside down to the underside of a leaf, disappearing from view altogether. When this happened, Rose gently caught the leaf in between her thumb and forefinger and tilted it slightly so she could monitor their progress. The rough, wrinkled underside of the cabbage leaves didn’t seem to slow their advancement, in fact, Rose thought they rather relished the challenge and change of scenery.
The smaller, white caterpillars with the tiny, yellow spots were more cautious than their brown relatives. They burrowed deep inside the head of the cabbage plants, munching intricate pathways through the vegetable, eventually popping back out close to where they went in. These exit holes were a good bit larger than the entrance holes, as the caterpillars had continuously eaten en route and were now much more rotund than when they first started on their journey.

Rose knew her mum thought the caterpillars were hideous, and dad wasn’t too fond of them either, ‘Those bloody pests eating my prize winning cabbages!’ he’d bellow, ‘…How am I supposed to win top prize in this year’s Babbage Cabbage Carnival if my cabbages are covered in holes…the leaves look like my mother’s net curtains!’
While dad was stomping around the garden, ranting about his precious brassicas, Rose bent her body over the vegetable patch and pulled her arms around the cabbages to protect the caterpillars from the harsh words. Rose’s biggest worry was that one day dad would spray the caterpillars with ‘Grub Away’, a horrible poison he kept on the highest shelf in the shed.
Rose noticed that the closer it got to the Babbage Cabbage Carnival, the more dad stomped and ranted around the garden. She found herself checking the top shelf of the shed nearly every day to see if the bottle of ‘Grub Away’ had been moved. She stood at the shed door, climbed on top of a large, orange bucket and balanced on the tips of her toes to see the shelf. There was still three weeks to go to the festival and so far the bottle remained in the same position it had always been in, but Rose knew things were about to change.

Tonight’s the night, Rose muttered as her mum turned off her bedroom light. Once she was sure mum and dad were asleep, Rose headed down the stairs and out the back door to the garden. She felt her way in the darkness until she hit her knee off the wooden box that made up dad’s prized cabbage patch. Rose pulled the bottle of diluted washing-up liquid from her pocket and squirted the contents all over the cabbages. She ran her hands over the smooth surface of the cabbage heads. Her finger tips slid over the leaf mounds easily. Every time she came across an obstruction she carefully prodded it. If Rose decided it was caterpillar-shaped enough she gently squeezed the middle section and pulled it free. A quick flick in the direction of the moonlight confirmed Rose was in fact holding a caterpillar.
An hour later and all of the available caterpillars had been rounded up, like the survivors of a cataclysmic deluge. Rose made her way back to the house and scurried back to the safety of her bedroom before anyone realised she was missing.

‘Rosey, you’re going to be the next Babbage Cabbage Queen!?’
Mum sat with her hands on her lap and a big smile on her face. Rose stood in front of her with her mouth wide open and no sound coming out.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?! I’m going to make your costume from cabbage leaves and you get to ride around on the Babbage Cabbage Pageant float in front of the whole town…’
Rose didn’t hear much after the word ‘float’ – her brain had spasmed in a moment of complete terror. Like the lizard that loses it tail when a predator grabs it, Rose had lost her mind at the thought of parading herself in front of the whole town of Babbage in a cabbage costume!
‘Rose, my head is full of ideas for your costume, but we don’t have much time, only two weeks! We’ll have to get started right away. I’ll get my sowing box and measuring tape…my little girl is going to be a Beauty Queen…’
Rose was measured, turned and fused over for the next half an hour. When dad came home she had a large piece of green cotton tied around her like a St. Patrick’s Day toga, with drawings of cabbage leaves all over it so that mum would know exactly where to place them. While mum filled dad in, Rose derobed and snuck back upstairs.

The next two weeks passed in a blur of extravagantly, coloured dress fabrics, cabbage leaves of varying sizes and shades of green, and the all important walking rehearsals. Every night Rose had to endure an hour of, ‘…no not that foot first, the other one. Stop, stop!! You look more like a baby elephant taking its first steps than a future Beauty Queen! Right, left, right, left, stop, turn, then swivel on your back foot, turn again, swivel again and then right, left, right, left. It’s really easy. Come on Rosey, do it again.’
Between trying to learn how to walk like a stuffed flamingo and all the dress fittings, Rose had little time to look after her rescued caterpillars. They had enormous appetites. By the time Rose came home from school, every shred of cabbage she had left for them had been eaten – she was also pretty sure their numbers were reducing by the day!
The night before the carnival Rose wished she was a caterpillar, then she could simply guzzle the ridiculous cabbage leaves on her absurd costume. The ludicrous rag – Mum’s proud creation – hung lank from a cushioned hanger on the back of Rose’s bedroom door. The longer she stared at it, the more it reminded her of a character from a horror film the babysitter had allowed her to watch – the only thing missing was a decaying clown’s head sticking out of the neck section. Some of the smaller leaves on the bodice had started to wilt already. They had crinkled around the edges and lost their shine, she was never going to be able to go to school again after this. She grabbed the costume and threw it into her school backpack. She didn’t care if it got damaged – she just couldn’t look at it anymore.

The Babbage Cabbage Carnival – streamers, balloons, and lots of smiling parents holding a child in one hand, while stuffing crispy, deep fried cabbage into their mouths with the other.
‘Where is your costume Rose? I hope you didn’t cram it into your school bag!?’, mum shouted as they walked into Rose’s empty classroom. Rose unfurled the green ball from the bottom of her backpack. There were a few wrinkles here and there and some of the leaves were very limp. Suddenly, Rose’s teacher, Ms Crabette, was at her side.
‘Rose, your cabbage leaves are a bit off…em…why don’t you put your costume over in this corner away from the other girls’ dresses. The pageant will start at the end of the carnival so you have a few hours to enjoy yourself.’
‘Thank you miss.’, Rose replied.

Rose’s mum and dad dragged her from stall to stall. It was sweltering hot and everyone was eating bowls of steamed cabbage and drinking giant mugs of peppered cabbage water. Rose was sweating just watching people eat. She bought herself a vanilla ice-cream with a crunchy cabbage topping and tried to take her mind off the impending ritual beauty sacrifice.
All too soon, Rose was making her way back to the school room to put on her costume. She had convinced Mum she could dress herself and she would see her later on the pageant float. She made sure she was the first one back to the school, so that she could change without too much fuss.

As Rose walked through the classroom door, she heard a squishing sound. She stopped and looked at the sole of her shoe. A glistening glob sat square in the centre of the heel. Rose was horrified, she had killed another living creature! She looked down at the greasy dark patch on the carpeted floor, and realised it had once been a caterpillar. Suddenly, something moved to the left of Rose’s shoe. She looked closer and saw a green-white streak with small yellow spots moving away from a pile of coats. Another one appeared from behind the leg of a chair, and another fell off the edge of the nature table. The more Rose looked around, the more caterpillars she saw.
There were only a small few near the door but as she picked her way closer and closer to the back of the room the number increased, until finally she stopped, horrified – the Babbage Cabbage Carnival Beauty Pageant costumes were being eaten alive!!

Rose swivelled her head around. There were still a couple of slack caterpillars crawling out of her backpack. She had been so preoccupied with her costume the night before she had forgotten to feed the caterpillars, so they had crawled into her backpack to munch on her costume. Half eaten skirts and sleeves were scattered all over the floor. The brown caterpillars seemed to prefer the cabbage leaves attached to green ribbon, while the white ones favoured those stitched to netting and silk.
Rose ran over to her own dress in the corner. Everything was as she had left it. Why had they eaten everyone else’s costumes and not hers? It was all Ms Crabette’s fault, she had insisted Rose put her costume in the farthest corner of the room, away from all the others. Rose turned as she heard familiar voices behind her – it was Pageant time.
Rose heard the screaming and crying from behind the changing curtain – a musty bedspread attached to the water pipe running along the ceiling of the classroom. Mums were frantically shaking caterpillars off silk and sequins, causing a shower of grubs to fall on the other hysterical parents. It was mayhem!
Rose picked up the few caterpillars that managed to crawl under the changing curtain, and put them in her pockets. The rest of the unfortunate creatures made a large, irregular, sticky pattern in the carpet pile. Children were skidding and sliding and Ms Crabette actually fell and hit her behind hard on the floor.
Rose slipped her costume over her head and walked out to her mum. She pulled Rose closer and inspected the skirt and bodice for damage.
A little sigh of relief made Rose feel particularly guilty, but she kept quiet. Ms Crabette was holding her bottom and muttering, ‘I just don’t understand…there are so many of them…how did they get in? Where did they all come from…?’

Rose was the only Babbage Cabbage Carnival Beauty Pageant contestant that year. Mum and dad were thrilled that they had their very own Beauty Queen. People talked about the ‘Caterpillar Catastrophe’ for months afterwards. Ms Crabette never quite got over it. She developed chronic insomnia from recurring nightmares and left Babbage school before term started again. The beauty pageant took place the following year but this time costumes had to be made from artificial cabbage leaves. Rose didn’t enter.