An Irish Country Love Story Page 34

  Conversations buzzed, and heads turned to take notice of the newcomers. O’Reilly saw elbows nudging ribs and more heads turning to stare in his direction. There was a vague smell of dust and floor polish, but no hint of stale tobacco. Smoking was not permitted on church premises.

  “It is quite the turnout, Reverend,” O’Reilly said. He could see over the heads of the standing-room-only crowd to a small stage at the far end. Seated on it behind a long table were Alice Moloney and Flo Bishop, the prime movers in organising the petition to “Save Our Doctor’s Home.” Bertie Bishop sat with the platform party, his thumbs hooked behind his lapels, a look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the crowd.

  “I’m chairing this meeting,” Mister Robinson said, “and I’d like you and Mrs. O’Reilly to join me on the platform.”

  “It’s very generous of you, Mister Robinson, considering that the probable decision to demolish Number One guarantees that your own property will be spared,” O’Reilly said.

  “Doctor, we want to save both your house and the Lord’s house. After all, as Bertie Bishop said, ‘People is more important than a few quid.’ I concur, for, ‘The love of money is the root of all evil—’”

  “First Timothy six verse twelve, I believe.”

  Mister Robinson smiled sympathetically. “Och, Doctor O’Reilly, the stress of the situation is telling on you. It’s six ten, but six twelve is good counsel as well. ‘Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses.’ The scriptures always show the way. What else are we doing here but fighting the good fight of faith for a good profession … before many witnesses.” He moved his outstretched hand, palm up, in front of him as if passing a benediction over the assembly. Mister Robinson had always had a touch of the theatrical about him and the evening’s packed house was bringing it out.

  “I do think it would be a sin to see you dispossessed for the sake of a small saving to the council’s budget. And I am not alone in thinking so.”

  “Thank you,” Kitty said. “It’s certainly very gratifying to see all the people here.”

  “If you’ll follow me?” Mister Robinson began to walk along a central aisle between row upon row of folding chairs.

  O’Reilly, Kitty at his side, followed.

  Notice boards on one wall held announcements of meetings of the youth club. The local Wolf Cubs, Brownies, Boy Scouts, and Girl Guides used the hall for their weekly events, and posters of their activities added bright colours. Progress along the aisle was slow because they had to keep stopping to acknowledge greetings and expressions of support from well-wishers.

  “How’s about ye?” Donal and Julie Donnelly said together.

  O’Reilly calculated quickly. Today was February 20, so she was twenty-one weeks. Her distended belly was obvious now. Barry would be seeing her for an antenatal visit soon.

  “Evening, Doc and Missus,” said Gerry Shanks, Mairead by his side.

  “Good luck, Doc,” said Lenny Brown.

  “We’re rooting for you,” added Connie, “and wee Colin sends his regards.”

  “No surrender. Not an inch. This we will maintain.” Willie Dunleavy, a staunch member of the Orange Order, was using their slogans of stubborn intransigence to any suggestion of change. He stuck two thumbs up.

  “Back on my feet now, Doctor.” Willie-John Andrews, his pneumonia cured, was sitting with his sister, Ruth. “Got home last Tuesday.”

  As they neared the front of the hall, O’Reilly noticed a banner hanging from the front of the committee table. An embroidered bush in flames stood above the motto, Ardens Sed Virens, “burning but flourishing,” the emblem of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland.

  Kinky and Archie were sitting in the front row. Kinky sported her favourite green hat. “In all the years I’ve been here,” she said, “I’ve not missed a Monday-night meeting of the Women’s Union, except when I had that awful tummy trouble two years ago, so, but every member, every last one, agreed that having this meeting tonight to try to save Number One was more important than ours. They gave the place up for you and Kitty, and,” she stifled a small sob, “for me.” Her voice hardened and she set her jaw. “I do not want us to lose our home, sir, even if,” she clutched Archie’s arm, “Archie and I do have our own home too.”

  O’Reilly wasn’t quite sure what to say to comfort her. He managed to pat her arm and murmur, “We’re not going down without a fight, Kinky, and it looks like the whole village is fighting on our side too.”

  “They are, so. And that awful Mister Doran shouldn’t think he can go at us like a bull at a gate.” Kinky’s agate eyes flashed.

  O’Reilly felt choked. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “Now Mister Robinson wants Kitty and me on the platform. Keep your chin up, Kinky. It’s not over yet.” O’Reilly led Kitty onto the stage.

  Bertie, who was sitting on the nearest chair, rose and indicated that O’Reilly and Kitty should sit to his right. Flo and Alice Moloney both gave the O’Reillys beaming smiles as Mister Robinson took his seat between Bertie and Flo Bishop.

  “How are youse both?” Bertie asked.

  “Well,” O’Reilly said, “but anxious, and very gratified by the support that’s been drummed up for us. We’ve had no luck finding the original leases. It looks like the petition will be our last chance.”

  Bertie shook his head. “I think you’ve known me long enough, Doctor, to know that I usually like to have another card up my sleeve. But I’ll say no more about—”

  He was interrupted by Mister Robinson rising, banging a gavel, and calling, “Settle down now, please. Settle down. I’d like to call the meeting to order.”

  “Like thon Yankee fellah said, ‘It ain’t over til it’s over,’” Bertie whispered as conversation tailed off in the hall. He winked.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen,” Mister Robinson said, “I want to thank you all for coming out tonight in support of our senior and much-respected physician, Doctor O’Reilly, and his charming wife, Sister Kitty O’Reilly.”

  There was a round of applause.

  “Thank you. Now you may ask why did the committee call this meeting? After all, everyone knows that a petition has been circulating and those who have signed it are showing their support for the plan to bypass the village rather than tear down our belovèd doctor’s home. Normally a petition is simply handed in for council’s information, and we can only hope they’ll take notice and act on it. But we decided we wanted a more tangible show of support for the O’Reillys, and we also continue to need your help.”

  “Youse done good, so youse did, I think,” Mister Coffin, the undertaker, called from the floor.

  “Thank you, sir, we appreciate that, but I’d ask the audience to keep questions or remarks until later when anyone who wishes to speak will be given the opportunity to do so.”

  A subdued murmuring of assent.

  “First, I’d like Councillor Alice Moloney to report to you on where the petition stands. Alice?”

  Alice Moloney rose. O’Reilly could not recall her looking as well as she did this evening. It had taken her a while to recover from her illness of two years ago, but tonight, in a two-piece suit of palest blue, a ruffled cream blouse, and a matching blue pillbox hat, she looked ten years younger than her fifty-four years. Even in the garish light of the parish hall, he could see more than a glimmer of the girl who had fallen in love in India thirty-five-odd years ago with a subaltern in Skinner’s Horse. “Good evening,” she said. “We of the committee want to thank you—you who are here this evening and all those who signed—we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. As of now we have collected one thousand, two hundred and sixty-two signatures. That’s sixty-eight percent of our one thousand, eight hundred and fifty-six citizens of voting age, according to the 1961 census.”

  There was much applause and cries of “Wheeker,” and “Dead on,” and, “Sticking out a mile.”


  O’Reilly glanced at Kitty, who was staring, damp-eyed, at the enthusiastic crowd. She reached out her hand beneath the table and clasped his. He cleared his throat. A distinct lump had formed and he could feel the tears prickling in his eyes.

  Mister Robinson—wisely, O’Reilly thought—let the expressions of pleasure continue uninterrupted. They subsided and Alice Moloney said, “We’d love it to be one hundred percent, although that’s probably unrealistic, but we still need as many as we can get, so we want every one of you to have a word with your friends and neighbours. Copies for signature will be in my shop, Mister Bishop’s building company’s office, the Mucky Duck, the tobacconist’s, and the newsagent’s on the housing estate until the first Monday in March.”

  “Mister Chairman,” Donal Donnelly called, “I think it’s up til each and every one of us here til firmly grasp the thistle on this one…”

  It took a second for O’Reilly to realise he meant “grasp the nettle.”

  “… and do what Miss Moloney asks.”

  Cries of “Hear, hear” followed, with one particularly loud voice saying, “Ouch, Donal. I don’t know which would be worse—a thistle or a nettle. Good thing there’s a doctor in the house.”

  “Settle down now, settle down,” Mister Robinson said with a broad smile, “and thank you, Donal.”

  Alice Moloney waited, then said, “Council have their meeting two Mondays hence, March the sixth, at seven o’clock in the evening, when the petition will be presented and given, we hope, due consideration. So we will keep it open until noon that day. The last decision taken on February the sixth was to postpone recommending the issuance of a compulsory acquisition order until the March meeting. As I said, that’s still two weeks away. We do have time to get more signatures. Please all do your very best to get more signatories. Thank you all again.” She sat, to huge applause.

  “And we thank you, Miss Moloney,” Mister Robinson said. “Now,” he said, “while I’m sure Doctor O’Reilly is busting to say a word of thanks, I have another speaker. Mister Bishop, the floor is yours.”

  Bertie rose, hooking his thumbs behind his lapels in his characteristic stance. “Right,” he said, “I’m dead proud of what Miss Moloney and my wife Flo has done. I only helped out a wee bit and I think the petition should do the jibby-job, so I do. But I do want to caution you that while the petition is admirable, it’s still true that money talks.”

  “The penny is mightier than the sword,” Donal Donnelly yelled.

  “Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that, Donal,” Bertie said, “I certainly hope it doesn’t. But if council changes its mind and opts til go south, everyone’s rates will need to go up to cover the cost, and that will weigh heavily with the councillors. I don’t want til pour cold water on our hopes. I just want to be clear about what we’re up against and back up Miss Moloney’s request. Every signature counts.” He paused to let that information sink in.

  O’Reilly glanced at Kitty, who was no longer smiling. Kinky, in the front row, looked tense.

  “Any comments or questions for either Councillor Moloney or Councillor Bishop?” Mister Robinson asked.

  Hands went up.

  “Mister Shanks?”

  Gerry Shanks rose and said, “I don’t see why it has til go on the rates…”

  A chorus of boos echoed through the hall.

  “Houl your wheest, Gerry.”

  O’Reilly did not recognise the forceful voice telling Gerry to shut up.

  “Now hold your horses. Hang about,” he said, “I’m not done yet. I’ll bet youse that if we did a door-til-door whip round, passed the hat like, we’d raise the ready in no time flat.” He sat, to a chorus of now approving noises.

  “Councillor Bishop?” Mister Robinson said.

  Bertie said, “That’s a very nice suggestion, Gerry. It shows the kind of support we know we have for each other here, but, and I am speaking as a member of council now, things must be done through the proper channels. That’s how councils work. It’s not a charity. I’m in favour of the bypass, but I do want to bring a wee touch of realism into the proceedings.”

  “Thank you, Councillor,” said Mister Robinson drily. “You’ve certainly done that. I for one would much rather see any increase in lorry traffic diverted away from the village main street. One of our hymns says, ‘The church’s one foundation is Jesus,’ and that is true in the spiritual sense. I mean no blasphemy when I say that First Ballybucklebo Presbyterian’s worldly foundations are very old bricks and mortar that do not benefit from the passage of what politicians in England are starting to call Juggernaut lorries because of their size.”

  More heads nodding. A few loud chuckles.

  “Yes, Cissie Sloan?”

  Cissie rose. “I’ve a wee question for Doctor O’Reilly. I’m not very good at public speaking. Mind youse I did once give the toast to the bridesmaids at my cousin Jenny’s wedding back in ’56 … or was it ’57?” She frowned, then smiled. “It was ’56, so it was. That was the year them Hungarians reared up agin the Russians and—”

  “Forgive me, Cissie, but your question?” Mister Robinson asked.

  “Right enough. Doctor, if they do knock down your house, where’ll we go for corn if we need a doctor?” She sat.

  “Doctor O’Reilly?”

  “Good question, Cissie. I don’t think, if the worse comes to the worst and we do have to go, I don’t think any demolition would be started until Mrs. O’Reilly and I have found somewhere to live and I have found alternative premises for the practice. Doctors Laverty, Stevenson, and I will still look after you all.”

  “’At’s a great comfort, so it is. We don’t want to lose any of youse, sir,” Police Constable Mulligan called. “Sorry for speaking out of turn, sir.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” O’Reilly said, and remained standing. “Now,” he said, “I don’t want to cut off any more questions or statements, but seeing I have the floor, I want to take this opportunity to say how very deeply touched Mrs. O’Reilly and I are by the way that Councillor Moloney and Mrs. Bishop have organised the petition on our behalf, how you have all come out tonight to give us your support. No one could accuse me of ever showing false humility, but I am humbled and touched to the quick. If I were alone I think I might shed a tear.” He felt Kitty’s hand slip into his and heard her whisper, “I know what you mean.”

  “And, damn it all—pardon me, Reverend—but sometimes petitions do sway councils, Councillor Bishop. I appreciate your comments, but I won’t let them stop me hoping for the best and that Mrs. O’Reilly and I and, bless her, Kinky Auchinleck, and the young doctors are still carrying out our duties in Number One long after the bypass is completed.”

  The cheers and applause were deafening.

  O’Reilly waited for silence then continued, “And finally, may we thank Mister Robinson for the use of the parish hall, and for so skillfully chairing the meeting. Thank you all.”

  He sat, to resounding applause, and when it had died, Mister Robinson rose and said, “I believe that now concludes our business. Please do try your best to get more signatures, and let us give three cheers for the petition. Hip-hip.”

  The three hurrahs rang into the rafters and when they had died, the assembly began to break up.

  O’Reilly turned to Bertie. “Thank you, Bertie. I know it wasn’t easy being the one to have to bring the voice of reason to the proceedings.”

  “I just hope the petition works,” Bertie said.

  “You said you’d another line of attack up your sleeve, Bertie,” O’Reilly said. “I don’t want to twist your arm, but—?”

  Bertie shook his head. “Doctor,” he said, “I’m not good at the quotes like you, but there’s one about secrets shared not being secrets anymore. I’ve been in politics for a brave wheen of years. No harm til youse both, but it’s up my sleeve now and it’ll stay there unless I really need it.” He grinned. “There is one thing I can do up front though. I’ll give Mister Baxter a ring tonight. Tell him there�
��s already near seventy percent in favour of the southern route. Ask for the meeting and the taking of the vote to be open til the citizens. That might sway a vote or two our way.”

  “Fair enough,” O’Reilly said. He inhaled deeply. “Thanks for that, but…” He exhaled. “It’s still going to be a very long two weeks until the next meeting of council.”

  37

  In the Valley of Decision

  “Hello, Doctor, dear,” Kinky said. “I’m getting your tea ready.”

  O’Reilly had just returned from a home visit to the sight of Kinky, her eyes streaming, standing at her chopping board, chopping and sniffing.

  “Kinky Auchinleck. Please don’t cry. Everything will be fine. Really.”

  “Get away with you, Doctor. It’s the onions. They do make a body’s eyes water. I’m not worried about this evening at all. Now, if you’re looking for Doctor Laverty—you were looking for himself, were you not?” She inclined her head to the door to his quarters. “He’s working on his little boat, so.”

  “Thank you.” He’d not ask Kinky, either about why she wasn’t worried about this evening nor how she knew he was looking for Barry. O’Reilly shook his head, felt a shiver travel up his spine, and crossed the kitchen. He knocked on Barry’s door and opened it when a voice said, “Come in.”

  “Coming up for a jar, Barry?”

  “Love to,” Barry said, rising from his worktable to join O’Reilly. “Smells good, Kinky,” Barry said as he and O’Reilly headed for the hall, where they met a jubilant Nonie Stevenson coming in through the front door. She was carrying what looked like an overnight bag. “Fingal, Barry,” she said, and the words poured out, “I’ve just driven down from Belfast. I saw Doctor Millar this afternoon and guess what?”

  O’Reilly opened his mouth to speak, but Nonie laughed and said, “I never was very good at telling stories. I just gave it all away by saying I just drove down from Belfast. It’s exactly four weeks and three days since I started taking the lowest possible daily dose of amphetamine. I’ve not had a single daytime episode since. He had said it could have taken a couple of months to get me stabilised, but he’s sure we’ve done it in one. Doctor Millar’s amazed, says it’s the fastest recovery he’s ever seen, and is confident my narcoleptic episodes are under control. I’m sleeping better at night too, and you’ll probably not believe this, but I’m not craving tobacco anymore.”