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  Bertie Bishop glared at his wife. “Hould your wheest, woman.” The man was blushing.

  O’Reilly saw a number of the congregation look at Bishop and shake their heads before turning to smile at O’Reilly.

  Bishop, dragging his wife by the hand, headed for the narthex and the way out.

  O’Reilly took off his jacket and respectfully covered the dear departed’s face. “Perhaps,” he said, “some of you men could give me a hand to carry Mister Corry to the vestry to wait for the ambulance. Will that be all right, Reverend Robinson?”

  “Please. I’ll come too. Say a few words. Reverend Wilson, will you please get everyone else back in their pews. Perhaps a hymn? ‘Amazing Grace’?”

  There was no lack of volunteers to carry Alfie. His corpse was laid on a bench and covered with a minister’s robe that was hanging in the vestry so O’Reilly could recover his jacket.

  Everyone there bowed their heads as the minister prayed for the soul of the departed.

  All joined in the “Amen.”

  From the church proper came

  Twas grace that caused my heart to fear.

  And grace my fears relieved . . .

  And after a moment’s silence in the vestry Mister Robinson said, “Thank you for acting so quickly, Doctor.”

  O’Reilly, knowing full well it had all been a charade for his own benefit, hung his head and muttered, “It’s my job.”

  “Nevertheless . . .” The minister let the sentence hang and then said with a smile, “And I think under the circumstances,” he glanced up, “He will forgive your little indiscretion, and bless your continuing work here among us.”

  “I’m sorry,” O’Reilly said, could have kissed the minister, and inside was grateful he’d only said “damnation.” He’d had a full naval repertoire to choose from.

  “We’d best be getting back,” Mister Robinson said.

  “Aye, but,” one of the men said, “that was quare nor quick thinking, Doc. Me and the rest of the lads here,” he glanced round at the other three ruddy-cheeked men, all probably farmers, “hope you’ll stay on like. Isn’t that right?”

  “Aye,” said one, and held out a callused hand, which O’Reilly shook. “Thank you,” he said, and in his heart also said, “I’m sorry, Alfie Corry, but thank you. And bless you, Maureen Kinky Kincaid. Bless you. Bless you.” Things looked like they were going to be all right after all, and he remembered Lars’s recent quotation, “Home is the sailor, home from the sea.” For Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly, recently Surgeon Commander, R.N.R., D.S.C., and now simply Doctor O’Reilly, this town and these people who would become his patients were his home—and always would be.

  Afterword

  by Mrs. Maureen Kincaid,

  Lately Housekeeper to Doctor Thomás Flanagan

  Now in That Capacity to Doctor F. F. O’Reilly

  We’re back from all that excitement at the church now. I thought Mister Wilson did a fine job of getting everyone calmed down after poor Alfie Corry passed. The Reverend Robinson even finished the service. I was pleased to see how many of the congreation said kindly things to Doctor O’Reilly after. I think he need not worry anymore about his future here, so I told him as much.

  Says he, “Kinky, I think you are right about the future, I thank you, and I’m in your debt.” Then he surprised me when he went on, “And I want to be further in. I don’t want a part of the past to suffer either. I meant it when I said you were the best cook in Ireland . . .” the ould soft-soaper, “but I’d hate to think of your recipes getting lost to posterity.”

  “So what would you like me to do?”

  “Could you please start writing them down?”

  “I will,” says I, and here I am, pen in fist, getting the recipe for the first dinner I made for him when he came back after serving on that big ship where he had only men cooking for him, the poor soul. I hope you’ll enjoy my roast rack of lamb too, so.

  Roast Rack of Lamb with Herb Stuffing and Caper Sauce

  2 racks of trimmed lamb

  Salt and pepper to season

  1 teaspoon chopped rosemary

  2 teaspoons of mild-tasting mustard (Dijon)

  1 teaspoon of fresh herbs (mint, parsley, and thyme)

  1 tablespoon breadcrumbs

  Preheat the oven to 200˚ C/400˚ F/gas mark 6.

  Heat a large roasting pan in the oven. Season the lamb and rub over with a little butter and some chopped rosemary. Place in the pan and cook for about 18–20 mins or longer if you like it less rare.

  Remove from the oven and coat the outside with a mixture of the mustard, crumbs, and herbs. Crisp under a hot grill for 2–3 mins, making sure not to let it burn.

  Stuffing

  75 g/2½ oz./ cup butter

  2 shallots, chopped small

  75 g mixed herbs (mint, parsley, and thyme)

  50 g/2 oz./¼ cup chopped dried apricots

  100 g/3½ oz./½ cup breadcrumbs

  Melt the butter in a pan over a gentle heat. Add the shallots, herbs, and chopped apricots. Cook gently for about 5 mins, stirring frequently so as not to let it burn. Then add the crumbs and keep warm till needed.

  Caper Sauce

  50 g/2 oz. butter

  1 tablespoon flour

  ½ cup lamb stock

  50 ml/¼ cup cream

  Juice of half a lemon

  3 tablespoons capers

  1 tablespoon chopped parsley

  Salt and pepper

  Place the butter in a saucepan and cook gently until it browns slightly and smells slightly nutty. Remove from the heat and work in the flour. Cook for a minute and whisk in the lamb stock, cream, and lemon juice with the seasoning. Simmer gently for about 5 mins and add the chopped parsley and capers.

  Himself thinks this is a grand feast altogether, so, and likes me to serve it with buttery mashed potatoes, brussel sprouts, and mashed and mixed carrots and parsnips.

  Glossary

  In all the Irish Country books I have provided a glossary to help the reader who is unfamiliar with the vagaries of the Queen’s English as she may be spoken by the majority of people in Ulster. It is a regional dialect akin to English as spoken in Yorkshire or on Tyneside, American English used in Texas or the Bronx, or Canadian English in Newfoundland or the Ottawa Valley. It is not Gaeilge, the Irish language. It is not Ulster Scots, which is claimed to be a distinct language in its own right. I confess I am not a speaker.

  Today in Ulster (but not in 1946 where this book is set) official signs are written in English, Irish, and Ulster Scots. The washroom sign would read Toilets, Leithris, and Cludgies respectively.

  I hope what follows here will enhance your enjoyment of the work and unravel some of the mysteries of Ulsterspeak, although, I am afraid, it will not improve your command of Ulster Scots.

  anyroad: Anyway.

  away off and . . . : Go away, or you are being stupid. Often succeeded by feel your head or chase yourself.

  bar: Refuse admission, as from a public house.

  barge: Force your way through a crowd. Verbally chastise.

  barmbrack: Speckled bread. (See Kinky’s recipe, Irish Country Doctor p. 340)

  bide (where you’re at): Stay (where you are).

  boke: Vomit.

  bollix: Testicles (impolite). May be used as an expression of vehement disagreement or to describe a person of whom you disapprove.

  bonnaught: Irish mercenary of the fourteenth century.

  bonnet: Hood (when applied to a car).

  both legs the same length: Standing about uselessly.

  bowler hat: Derby hat.

  brass neck: Chutzpah. Impertinence.

  brave: Large or good.

  brave wheen: Large number of.

  capped/cap: A cap was awarded to athletes selected for important teams. Equivalent to a “letter” at a U.S. university.

  but: Ulster folks have a habit of putting “but” not at the beginning of a sentence but at the end.

  cracker: Excelle
nt.

  crisps: Potato chips. In 1946 there was only one flavour and the salt came in a little bag of blue greaseproof paper.

  currency: In 1946, well prior to decimilization, sterling was the currency of the United Kingdom, of which Northern Ireland was a part. The unit was the pound, which contained twenty shillings, each made of twelve pennies, thus there were 240 pennies in a pound. Coins and notes of combined or lesser or greater denominations were in circulation often referred to by slang or archaic terms: halfpenny (two to the penny), threepenny piece (thruppeny bit), sixpenny piece (tanner), two-shillings piece (florin), two-shillings-and-sixpence piece (half a crown), ten-shilling note (ten-bob note), guinea coin worth one pound and one shilling, five-pound note (fiver). In 1946 one pound bought nearly three U.S. dollars.

  demob: Demobilise. Be honourably discharged from the armed forces. Ulster was an anomaly in the Second World War. Unlike the rest of the United Kingdom there was no conscription there. Ulster members of the peacetime reserve forces like the Territorial Army, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and Royal Naval Reserve were called up to fight, but all other Ulstermen, and indeed Irishmen, like RAF fighter pilot Paddy Finucane, were volunteers.

  desperate: Immense, or terrible.

  divil: Devil.

  divilment: Mischief.

  donkey’s age: A very long time.

  dote/doting: Something (person or animal) adorable/being crazy about or simply being crazy (in one’s dotage).

  duncher: Cloth cap, usually tweed.

  eejit: Idiot.

  face like a Lurgan spade: The turf-cutting spade particular to the town of Lurgan and surounds was longer than most, so, having a very long face.

  feck, and variations: Corruption of “fuck.” Its scatalogical shock value is now so debased that it is no more offensive than “like” larded into teenagers’ chat. Now available at reputable bookstores is the Feckin’ Book of Irish . . . series of ten books by Murphy and O’Dea.

  feel your head: See away off.

  ferocious: Extremely bad or very upsetting.

  fey: Having the gift of second sight.

  git: Corruption of “got,” a short form of “begotten.” Often expressed as “hoor’s (whore’s) git” or bastard.

  give lip: Be cheeky or insulting to.

  glipe (great): stupid (or very stupid) person.

  go ’way (out of that): I don’t believe you, or I know you are trying to fool me.

  head (nautical): Lavatory.

  headstaggers: A disease of sheep where a parasite invades the brain causing the animal to stagger and fall.

  highheejin: Upper-class person.

  HMS: His/Her Majesty’s Ship.

  hobbyhorse shite: Literally sawdust. Rubbish.

  hot half un: Measure of spirits, usually whiskey, to which is added sugar, lemon juice, cloves, and boiling water.

  hould your wheest: Keep quiet.

  kipper: A butterflied and gutted herring, pickled or salted and cold smoked, usually over oak chips.

  knows his onions: Is very knowledgeable about.

  more power to your wheel: Words of encouragement.

  no goat’s toe: Has a very high and usually misplaced opinion of onesself.

  no harm to you: An expression used prior to delivering bad news or disagreeing with the person being addressed.

  no mission: Hopeless.

  on your bike: Forceful “go away.”

  put in his box: Taken down a peg or two.

  quare: Queer. Used to mean very strange, or exceptional.

  R.N./R.N.R.: These letters following a name indicate either Royal Navy for someone who has joined in a career capacity or Royal Navy Reserve for merchant seamen who volunteered for extra training with the Royal Navy during peacetime and who, in times of emergency, were liable for call-up to active service.

  scrip: Prescription.

  see: See you, him, me. Drawing emphasis to the person “seen.” It does not actually mean that they are in sight.

  shit: Verb.

  shite: Noun.

  shout: In a bar, the person named’s turn to buy.

  shut your yap: Shut up.

  so (so it is): Much used at the ends of sentences for emphasis in County Cork. (The same in Ulster.)

  soft-soaper: Flatterer.

  sound (man): Reliable or very good (man).

  stunned mullet: To look stupid, surprised, or absolutely out of touch. A mullet is an ugly saltwater fish.

  sucking diesel: Hitting paydirt. Probably in reference to siphoning tractor fuel.

  telt: Told.

  thole: Put up with. Suffer in silence.

  thon (der): That person or thing (over there).

  thran: Bloody-minded.

  tinker’s toss/damn/curse: Tinkers were itinerant menders with tin of pots and pans. Their attributes were not highly prized.

  to beat Ban(n)agher: Far exceed realistic expectations or to one’s great surprise.

  toty: Very small.

  turn: Faint.

  warm: Have lots of money.

  wee: Small, but in Ulster can be used to modify almost anything without reference to size. A barmaid, an old friend, greeted me by saying, “Come in, Pat. Have a wee seat and I’ll get you a wee menu, and would you like a wee drink while you’re waiting?”

  wee man: The devil.

  well mended: Recovered from a recent illness.

  wheen: An indeterminate number.

  wheest: Shut up or be quiet.

  wind: Bowel gas.

  you know: Verbal punctuation often used when the person being addressed could not possibly be in possession of the information.

  your man (I’m): Someone either whose name is not known, “Your man over there? Who is he?” or someone known to all, “Your man, van Morrison.” (I agree and will go along with whatever you are proposing.)

  you’re on: I will do what you ask or I accept the wager.

  youse: You plural.

  About the Author

  Patrick Taylor, M.D., was born and raised in Bangor, County Down, in Northern Ireland. Dr. Taylor is a distinguished medical researcher, offshore sailor, model-boat builder, and father of two grown children. He now lives on Saltspring Island, British Columbia.

  www.patricktaylor.ca

  Photograph by Dorothy Tinman

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  HOME IS THE SAILOR

  Copyright © 2013 by Ballybucklebo Stories Corp.

  Cover art by Gregory Manchess

  All rights reserved.

  A Forge Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  e-ISBN 9781466837775

  First Edition: March 2013