The Young Americans
by Ian and Stasia Sherry of Rostrevor, N. Ireland
Nineteen-ninety was a slow time up at my bailiwick in Knockbarragh. All the dwellings were either in ruins or derelict and the pockets of land ignored and part grazed. McNultys; marches my little interest. A two room cottage with a slated roof and a patchwork of tiny fields. It was always just a name to me – that was until Paul and Julie arrived.
Americans, Paul the grandson or perhaps the great grandson of the McNulty who had emigrated, and Julie, his young wife. They had two bicycles and rode all the way from Shannon Airport. They set up home in the house, where other than an open fire there were no facilities. They carried water from the well, and got jobs in the fish factory in Kilkeel. And cycled there! Nothing was any bother to them. They brought the energy back to Knockbarragh that Knockbarragh had brought to America two centuries before.
In time Julie got another job nearer to home, in the flower shop in Warrenpoint, and then as a silver service waitress in the Aylesford Hotel. Paul, too, got a job as a chef. I asked him had he a background of cooking.
“Of course,” he said. “I once spent six months working in a Thai restaurant in San-Francisco.” Paul and Julie stayed for a year; earned enough money to buy a lovely big second hand Toyota Cressida car and told me they planned to travel in Europe; particularly Poland as Julie’s people had come from there.
One evening when I was up in the garden Julie came down to me very distraught. The kittens were orphaned, the cat had disappeared. Not to worry I reassured her, the cat was simply away hunting and would be back. Feed the kittens a tin of cat food and a little milk and all would be well. (Curiously the country was ‘walking’ with rabbits at the time! Where are they all now?) But the cat didn’t come back and each evening Julie would arrive with me more and more upset. And I would further reassure her. Building on my lies. It was all nature’s way. Yes the cat was back, but in the night, she simply hadn’t seen it. Then I went further; I had seen the cat hunting around the ditches, and the next evening even further than that; not only had I seen the cat but I’d seen it in my garden with a rabbit in it’s mouth.
Then one morning – it must have been a Saturday – I opened the door to the shed to find a cardboard box with air holes in it and a note sticking out of my wellingtons.
“Ian. We’re off to tour Europe, then we’re returning home; as you have the cat, we’ve left you the kittens as well.” In the box was five lovely black and white kittens, a delight, but a delight I did not want. I couldn’t bring myself to take them down home but (with a bit of work at first) we did care for them; and all five grew into lovely ‘cubs’ of cats. I was surprised how they’d collogue with me in the garden and walk after me in the field. In time (I suppose because we don’t live there) they drifted away. I like to think as mousers, each in a neighbouring farm.
And Paul and Julie – we’re still in contact with them; they have a family in Cleveland, Ohio, now. As luck would have it, I now have another cat. And it’s a delight, because it’s not mine. It’s owned by, and is the responsibility of my neighbours in the new house up the road. Its an unusual ginger cat, a tall cat with long legs and it’s taken a shine to my horse. I find it very amusing, they’re great pals and their friendship has lasted now for a couple of years. The cat spends a lot of time sitting on Teddy’s back. I have no idea how he gets up there, or what their arrangement is, but I’ve caught the two of them in the morning, Teddy lying down, and the cat snuggled on his back. During the day the cat sits on Teddy while he grazes out in the field, and they are often together at the gate. I told my neighbours it would make a great photograph. They told me they already have one, and were kind enough to run into the house and give two prints to me.
