It’s great to have a chance to do another guest post for Ellen on her Pink Tea and Paper blog. I’m delighted to appear again.
A couple of months back I had written 95% of my latest novel, “Careful With That Axe, Eugene!” but I was struggling to kill it off - a bit of a pun given that it’s a murder mystery book. I needed some space, some clear air and some alone time. I decided to head for a favourite place of mine.
I parked the car down at the south great wall in Dublin, just past the two ESB chimneys, and went for a walk out along the wall to the Poolbeg Lighthouse at the end. Half way along the walk out there's a little concrete hut and a bathing place - the half moon bathing club. There were three or four old-timers in the hut having a chat and a cup of tea - bit early in the year to be getting into the sea for a dip. I nodded into them as i was going past and they shouted out a hearty"Grand day, thank God" to me.
I continued on to the lighthouse, a couple of hundred yards further along. I hadn't been down there for a year or more. I noticed as I drew up close to the lighthouse that the authorities had done a great re-paint job on the lighthouse - a lovely vibrant postbox red. I also noticed a good patch of new concrete pathway on the right hand side of the lighthouse and also two nice marble type benches, both of them having dedications carved into them in memory of people who have long since passed.
Apart from the few auld lads in the bathing hut, I hadn't seen a sinner all the way down to the lighthouse. The wind was swirling around and i had my head down as I made my way.
As I got to the lighthouse I saw a man sitting on one of the benches. He was wrapped up in an over-sized overcoat that seemed to swamp him, his bulk hardly noticeable, lost in the folds of the coat. He had a mass of grey curly hair and a substantial beard that was blowing wildly from side to side in the sea breeze. I couldn't make out was he a down-and-out or what. He had a newspaper and a pen in his hands and he seemed to be deep in concentration. Just as I passed him by - and without him even looking up at me - he suddenly spoke. "Two down, six letters, hard work." I was taken aback a bit. I didn't know was he talking to himself or was he addressing me - I mean, the wall is the guts of a mile long, there was no one else along its length as far as I could see and I was the only other person there. I thought for a split second about his statement and I quickly figured he must be looking at the crossword in the paper. On the spur of the moment I decided to answer him. "Labour," I said. Without any movement from him to acknowledge my presence he replied, "That's it, alright. Thanks." He set to work with the pen and in another stride I had passed him. I walked the few extra yards to the other side of the lighthouse and spent a few minutes looking out to see as one of the car ferries approached over the horizon.
I cleared my head and tried to think how I was going to end my murder mystery book - I had been stuck for an ending for over nine months. Happily - and I'm paraphrasing here - a few reasonable ideas came into my mind and I figured out who the murderer was. His/her identity surprised me - I didn't think it was going to be him/her when I started the book.
I came back around the lighthouse and the man was still sitting on the bench, engrossed in his newspaper.
"She's gone a year now," he said into the paper.
I stopped in my tracks in front of him.
"Is she?" I asked, unsure if he was talking to me or not.
"This day last year," he continued. "A whole year."
"It flies by alright," I said, not knowing what or who he was talking about.
"Time flies - you're right. There she was one minute and there she was gone the next. Hard thing losing your wife - d'you know what I mean."
"Well, I can't say I do. My wife is still with me, thank God."
"It's a terrible thing, sonny, a terrible thing."
"But you're thinking about her," I said. "Did she come down here with you?"
"During the good weather, yeah. We'd come down and have our bar of urney's chocolate and our flask of warm tea."
"Well, so long as you think about her, she'll always be with you, won't she," I offered. He seemed to mull this over, rubbing his forehead as he thought about it.
"Maybe so, maybe so." He gazed out to the ocean and followed the flight of a gliding seagull. I turned back towards the shore and moved to head back in.
"Labour, you say?," he enquired.
"Yeah," I said. "Six letters, hard work. I'd say it's labour."
He glanced down at the paper and without looking up and me he said, "Thanks, sonny." I took a stride away from him and he soon called after me.
"... and thanks for the chat, sonny."
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