Free A Man in a Distant Field by Theresa Kishkan Page B

‘Tell me, Muse, of that man, so ready at need, who wandered far and wide, after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy; and many were the men whose towns he saw and whose mind he learnt, yea, and many the woes he suffered in his heart upon the deep, striving to win his own life and the return of his company.’ And throughout the poem, he asks her again and again to help him with his poem.”
    He handed her the book and watched as she peered into the text, looking for more words. Loose hair swung over her cheeks, dark gold, and her brow was very serious. The schoolmaster in him determined his plan.

    His farm in Delphi had been very small, the grass of two cows as they said in that area, and they had a pig, too. Chickens who roamed the haggard and ate the cabbage stalks boiled with potatoes. A rooster to strut and crow at dawn and impregnate the hens on a regular basis so there were always a few extra chickens for the pot. A dog with brown intelligent eyes and a good sense for sheep. There had once been more land available to the O’Malley family, partly through leases and partly according to the ancient run-dale system which allocated tillage and forage in a fair way to those in the townland. The Famine changed the system and changed the availability of land, both to lease and to own, as the local landlords either went bankrupt or increased their holdings.
    The house had been inherited from Declan’s parents, the usual pattern of succession of eldest son interrupted as two brothers had gone to Australia and two to the Western Front, dying on the fields of Ypres. (One sister married and two wentto the nuns at Montrath.) It was a typical cabin of the country style—a kitchen, small scullery in the south porch, and two large fireplaces, one in the kitchen with a settle bed alongside and one in the west room where the elder O’Malleys had lived after Eilis and Declan married. The girls slept in a loft while their grandparents were alive, and after their passing Declan and Eilis moved into the vacated west room for its privacy, the girls moving down to the small back bedroom. A pig shed and cow byre were off the gable end. The turf shed was opposite the door, and there was a shed for tools and small pieces of equipment necessary to the keeping of a farm. The farm’s work seldom varied. For Eilis, it was washing on Mondays, ironing on Tuesdays, making butter on Thursdays, a trip to the village market on Fridays with that butter imprinted with her mark—a stalk of wheat—and wrapped in greaseproof paper, along with extra eggs. Bread was baked daily, using the soured milk or else buttermilk on butter days, with soda to make a light crumb. Declan had the care of the beasts, apart from milking, which the girls took turns doing; he cut the meagre hay of the meadow and prepared the ground for potatoes, although the entire family planted them and harvested them. The family also helped to cut turf, foot it, and stack it. They were busy and worked hard, but they did not want for anything. Grainne had her harp, which sweetened the long winter evenings. There was a deal table that held the lamp for the kitchen, and on winter nights Declan would sit up late, reading, while the women of the house slept under quilts Eilis had pieced together. Chores were always there for the doing in seasons with light after the tea, but in winter he tried to renew his Latin and read again of the doings of Aeneas, the strange wonders of Pliny.

    It was a breezy morning, and Declan called Argos, walked through the bush to the canoe. It was drying out on the rocky bluff, helped by wind and open sky. Gulls wheeled in the air and dropped to pluck stranded fish, for the tide was out, leaving an expanse of mud, and rivulets of fresh water from the feeder creeks trickled out to meet the sea. Steam was rising as the sun warmed the mud flats and the atmosphere was otherworldly, huge trees dark in the background and the white birds