Little Drifters: Part 1 of 4

Since our only means of transport was the horse and cart, if we wanted to get anywhere we’d have to walk. It was three miles along a narrow winding road to the village, which had a grocery shop, church, garage and three pubs.

If we had a bit of money the four of us – Brian, Tara, myself and Colin – would walk into the village to buy our favourite sweets: Bull’s Eyes and Silvermints. We knew all the routes so we’d take shortcuts through the fields and woods, often straying to climb up a tree to get a better view of the birds or some nestling chicks. Then we’d head to the hay barn, which was along the way, and have a wonderful time climbing the stacks of hay, pushing and throwing each other off. We found it hilarious. We’d get winded and bruised sometimes but we’d get up and get on with it.

When we got tired of the hay barn, we’d walk on to the village, always keeping an eye on anything we could turn into play.

Having had our sweets, we’d pop in and out of the pubs. We loved chatting with the old folks and the locals, people we knew, the ones that called us ‘Donal’s kids’. They would often get us a packet of crisps or a bottle of lemonade. We made sure we headed home before it got too dark to see where we were going but more importantly we wanted to avoid ‘the headless horseman by the big tree’. We’d been repeatedly warned of this ghost by the elders and weren’t that keen to see it in the flesh!

My mother had just finished giving us a bath one day after we came home soaking and muddy from a downpour.

‘Empty out the bath and stay out of my sight,’ she commanded as she raced towards the kitchen to prepare the dinner.

We were draining the bath water when we saw the school bus pull up and stop at the end of the narrow road. I saw Aidan and Liam walking up the hill together and Claire and Bridget lagging behind. The boys greeted us with a tap on the head as they walked in the door but Bridget dragged in behind them, not looking at all happy.

Bridget had big green eyes and her hair flowed in big waves down her back. The sun highlighted the different shades of auburn that ran through her hair. My mother called her Sophia Loren because she had beautiful high cheek-bones. She was so gentle and kind we all adored her. Bridget scooped me in her arms and gave me a big hug. But as she put me down her eyes crinkled and she sighed.

‘What’s wrong, Bridget?’ I asked, concerned.

‘Nothing, baby, just got a bit of a sore head,’ Bridget replied as her hands reached up to massage her temples. She didn’t look at all well. ‘I think I’m going go to bed and sleep it off and hope the headache will go away,’ she added.

That night we all ate dinner together as usual, tea and bread with half a boiled egg each, except Bridget didn’t join us because she was still asleep. We weren’t long into the meal when we heard a loud bang from the bedroom. We all jumped, startled, and my father raced towards the loud noise, with a few of us tagging along out of curiosity. There was a terrible stench and we could see smoke seeping through from under the bedroom door. Daddy quickly opened the door and thick smoke bellowed out – the room was on fire!

‘Get away! Get out of here! All of you – get out of the house!’ my father shouted frantically as he rushed in, pulling Bridget out of the bedroom.

‘Aidan, Liam – get the water and blankets!’ he yelled again, panic now rising in his voice.

The rest of us gathered outside the cottage, sheer terror in everyone’s faces, all our eyes transfixed on the door as we waited anxiously for our father, Aidan and Liam to come out.

It seemed like a lifetime when eventually they emerged from the house, blackened, dirtied and pure exhausted from their efforts tackling the fire. My father was still shaking. Somehow they had managed to keep the fire under control and confined to one bedroom.

We found out later Bridget had switched on the transistor radio before she went to bed and placed the candle on top of the radio. The candle had melted down into the radio and caused it to explode, starting a fire which quickly spread from the curtains to the clothing strewn all over the bedroom. The room was blackened by the smoke and it smelled so foul nobody could sleep there.

Now we were crammed into the two remaining rooms, and the scuffling between us kids was getting more frequent. My father could have easily fixed up the room as he was quite handy but he suffered with nerves and paranoia. To him, the fire was a bad omen.

So one morning, just as we were tucking into our breakfast, Daddy came striding in with a huge grin on his face.

‘Hey, lads, you won’t believe what I’ve got!’ he announced. ‘We’ll all be moving soon. You lot gonna love this. I’ve found us a grand new home and if you’ll quieten down I’ll show it to you.’

We all looked at each other, puzzled.

‘You better not be joking around now, Donal,’ Mammy warned him.

He smiled and gave her a wink: ‘How about we go outside and have a look then?’

‘You can’t leave a whole house outside!’ Brian scoffed and we all fell about giggling. The thought was so hilarious. A new house! Outside?

Our father led the way out of the cottage and, to our amazement, parked outside the cottage were two brightly coloured wagons with two horses pulling on one wagon and Big Mare pulling the other one. They were shaped like barrels and had been hand-painted with all the colours of the rainbow. They looked so pretty.

‘There’ll be plenty of room – that thing is 13 foot long and there’s two double bunk beds where we can all sleep,’ Daddy said confidently as we all ran around, touching and exploring our new homes.

In each wagon there was a small wood-burning stove with a little chimney poking out the roof and a tiny cupboard to store pots and pans. Daddy lifted Brian onto one of the horses and he was so thrilled, he tried to buck and shove the horse to make it move.

Tara and me laughed and screamed as we chased each other in and out of the wagons.

‘I’ll have my family and my home with me when I go to work,’ our father said proudly.

Only Claire seemed apprehensive.

‘I don’t want people to be calling us gypsies or tinkers. I’d be too embarrassed,’ she objected. A teenager already, Claire had long blonde hair and was small and petite. She liked the nicer things in life and she cared what people thought of her.

‘Ah, don’t be worrying about that,’ Daddy replied, putting a reassuring arm around her small shoulder. ‘If anyone has anything to say, I’ll kick the shite out of them!’

Chapter 2

Life on the Road (#u1fbcefac-5FFF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)

‘Come on, children, let’s get a move on,’ my father yelled. ‘We want to get there before it gets too late. On the wagon now!’

Finally, the day came for us to move out of the cottage and onto the open road. We packed and transferred all our belongings into the wagons, which didn’t take long as we didn’t have that much.

I took a long last look at the cottage – I was sad to leave it behind but at the same time I was stirred up by the excitement of our new life and all the adventures to come.

It was the start of our life on the road!

My father moved around the wagons and cart, checking that everything was in place, giving it a final inspection, tucking and pulling, making sure that the horses were safely strapped in before he was ready to hit the road.

He lifted Colin up into the wagon. Brian, Tara and myself climbed in, then he hauled himself up at the front, reaching for the reins. My mother was already there, and next to her was Floss, seated in prime position between my parents.