Free The Village by Alice Taylor

wellingtons.
    That morning in Clery’s went like a dream. We bought all our blankets, bed-linen and towels within budget. The selectionof material was good value so we got curtaining for all the bedroom windows as well. The material for the lounge curtains was of a soft brown colour and cost eleven shillings per yard but before finally deciding on it we went upstairs to pick out a matching carpet. We had a long list of measurements and details in a little notebook and as I crossed them off one by one after each purchase we felt that we were making headway at last. When we had all our purchases made we decided that we had taken a big step forward.
    However, when we went out to the Bord Fáilte offices in Ballsbridge we took two steps back again. We were directed to the top floor where an efficient-looking lady sat behind a large desk. As we walked across the wide expanse of carpet I found I could cost it down to the last penny after my morning in Clery’s carpet department. I got an uncomfortable feeling when I noticed the lady behind the desk staring at my feet, and for the second time that day I became conscious of my red wellingtons. She was joined by two male colleagues. Together the three of them interviewed us, and again they pointed out all the problems we were facing. Finally they assured us that even if they approved our plans we would be unable to get finance for them.
    We had made our journey to their office so as to get them to point out everything that was wrong with the plans, and then sit down to work on the necessary changes together and finally get the plans approved. Before leaving home it had seemed feasible that all this could be accomplished by a coming together of minds, but the longer the conversation continued the more impossible everything became. The Holy Spirit, whose job was supposed to be the enlightenment of minds, had apparently taken the day off after starting the car.
    We left the Bord Fáilte office in a state of subdued shock. We were tired, cold and wet, and I felt like sitting down onthe street and crying. We ran to get the bus to the station. It was packed with dripping people, some of whom looked as miserable as I felt. On the train home we were too tired to talk, and after a while Gabriel fell asleep. The day churned over in my mind. Was the whole idea crazy? The bank manager had discouraged us. Was he right? The crowd in Bord Fáilte thought we were for the birds. Were they right?
    We arrived back in Cork station where a whipping cold wind chilled us to the bone. It was difficult to imagine that only that morning we had got on the train with such high hopes. A day is a long time when the wind is blowing you backwards. Stepping between pools of water we reached our car. My shoes sat forlornly on the back seat.
    We were glad to get home. We made tea and sat by the fire analysing the day’s happenings. As the security and comfort of home warmed us I began to feel better, and we had a long discussion on what course of action to follow. No matter what angle we viewed our problem from, there was no ideal solution: it was a question of compromise. But we had some bookings and bed-linen and a burning urge to get started, so it seemed feasible to take a chance and start building. In any case, Bord Fáilte would not pay the grant until both parts of the plan were completed, and that was a long way down the road, so the sooner we began our journey the better.
    We started rebuilding the corner house in mid-February and there followed three months of dust, mud and organised chaos. But through all the mayhem there was one bright beam and that was the determination that all the confusion was going to result in a well laid out guest-house which would be open for the early summer. It was a case of the end justifying the means and the only means available to us were hard work and long hours.
    The entire building was gutted, parts of it were rebuilt, and it was completely rewired and plumbed. It had