The Saga, Part 13 -- The Bluidy Orangemen

The next morning, a Saturday, the alarm insisted that I awaken at 6 am, as usual. Feeling grateful that I hadnt partaken of more of that wonderful Irish whisky the night before, I crawled out, got ready for the day, and climbed in the monster car in search of breakfast. Maybe the wonderful Greek family only worked during the week, and I couldnt blame them. I didnt want to work on a weekend, either! Also, I didnt want to wear out my welcome. So, a little exploration was in order.

This time, I drove back in the direction of Patricks Pub, parked again at the bank, and set off on foot in the streets closer to the pub. The evening before, all the little shops had looked promising. After walking for a couple of blocks, I found a bakery. Bread! Oh, joy and jubilation! Bread! I went in and bought an armloadloaves, rolls, and wonderful pastries, and took it back to the car. I felt like the French peasants must have felt during the revolution, dancing in the street with loaves in both hands! Bread, bread, joyous bread! Maybe I could survive now. It seemed I had developed a permanent empty spot in my gizzard.

Wonderfully happy, I practically skipped into the gas station and bought coffee. Coffee and sweet rolls! Then, I drove to the well field. There was a water company truck parked at Well #3, and two fellows I had never seen before, inside, carefully measuring and analyzing the sample.

Hey, fellas! I called out as I went in the door, I brought coffee and rolls for you! They both startled, but then nodded, and went about their work. Ill be right back!

I climbed the hill to the monitoring well with the bramble stub and looked up into the woods. Another fellow in a dark overcoat was there, gazing out into the distance. I called to him, I brought you some coffee! He didnt acknowledge me, so I carefully set a cup of coffee, with cream and sugar, by a tree a little further up the hill, and walked back down to the well house, not looking at him in case I made him nervous.

The two water company workers looked whipped, as well I knew they would be, but were gratefully sipping coffee, and eating rolls. As soon as I got there, they were off for the day. Since I represented their release from servitude, they were pleased to see me. The taller of the two, a true Celt with black hair, a pale face, and bright blue eyes introduced himself as Brendan, and the other fellow, who barely nodded as Brendan introduced him, was Harry. Harry was short and had reddish hair. Despite their Irish appearance, neither one had an Irish accent of any kind and were pleasant, if not friendly. They must have thought me to be a grinning fool Brendan said that they would be back for the night shift, so dont be surprised to see them. They finished their rolls, and left.

This morning was overcast, and a damp chill hung in the air, but little could dampen my inner sunshine. Bread! Brendan was going to come back sometime. I sat in the warm car, and waited for the beep of my watch, getting out and measuring according to the schedule. The next time I went up to the monitoring well, the coffee was gone from under the tree, and the man nodded at me when I waved . At least he drank the coffee I brought him, I thought. I moved the car down back to Well #1, to get away from the noise of the well, and sat there for a while. It was a different view, a little closer to the road. Every few minutes, a car would appear on the road below me, disappearing past the woods in a flash. I dug one of the books I had brought from home to read, a big fat biography of General Patton, to have something to do.

Right about when Patton graduated from West Point, Danny drove up the lane, in a very nice black car, polished to perfection. I detected the reluctant hand of Dennis in its cleanliness, and smiled a welcome to Danny. I got out of the car and walked to his open window.

A fine good morning to you, Danny! I called to him.

Dannys eyes looked puffy. Good mornin, girrul. Did ye enjoy the party?

Oh yes , Danny, I said, Thank you so much for inviting me! Was Chief OMalley pleased?

Danny looked at me speculatively. Just how much did I know and how much did I perceive? Oh yes, girrul, he seemed to have a good time, as much as he could, and he winked at me. He couldna had too good a time, eatin his butter, he chuckled.

I laughed too, completely at ease with this redheaded crafty monkey. And then, I asked a question that would lead to the education of a lifetime, a deeper understanding of a tortured people, and, a glimpse into the soul of the man sitting before me. Danny, when you called Dennis father an Orangeman, what did you mean? I dont understand the troubles in Ireland. Danny, please forgive me, but would you tell me what happened?

Danny blinked. He said, almost to himself, O course she couldna understand Shes a lost lamb o the and he looked deeply into my eyes. What do ye mean, girrul?

I had seen the look in his eyes, and was fearful that I had upset him. I did not want to hurt this man, and my ignorance could be insulting. Danny, I just dont understand. My family left Ireland many years ago, my history is lost to me. Last night, with all of you, I realized I dont know anythingand I want to understand. I just want to know why. Why is there an orphanage in Ulster? Why did my people come here to escape? I know my fathers family came here during the potato famine, but why did the others come? They came here in the late 1700swhy did they come, Danny? Why am I not a child of Ireland?

Danny looked at me carefully, as if to read my soul. Then, he heaved a long and heavy sigh. When is your next measurement, girrul? he asked.

In about 15 minutes, Danny. I can go ahead and get them, if you likeby now, it doesnt matter if they are a little early, or a little late, as long as I get them, I answered.

Go take yer readings, Marsha, and then well go get a cup o tea. He shooed me away, looking tired and haunted, suddenly. I felt awful. What had I said to hurt this lovely man? What memories had I unearthed? I hurried through the measurements, carefully collecting the samples to analyze later, labeling the test tubes with the time, and then went back to Dannys car.

Danny, I said as I returned, If you dont want to talk about this, it is all right. I dont want to make you sad. I sat in his car and patted his hand. Pay no attention to me, Danny, Im not trying to hurt you in any way.

No, girrul, ye caint hurt me, he said sadly. Lets get a cup o tea, and well come back to the well field and talk a bit.

Danny and I stopped at a little restaurant that I, of course, had no idea was there, and he ordered us both cups of tea. The restaurant had tables and chairs gathered around a fireplace, and looked quite cozy. Dannys tea had a dollop of whiskey in it, and he looked at me doubtfully. None for me, thanks, I quickly assured him. Ive got to work.

When we got back to the well field, I offered him a sweet roll, and he made a face, Not with the whiskey, girrul. I took the next set of measurements, and sat with him in his car, the engine running, warm and cozy with this complicated man, whose sadness was palpable.

Tis a long and hard story, girrul, but ye need to know it. Yer family is callin to ye, and ye know that as well as I, he said at last. So let me tell ye the histry o yer people, girrul.

He said softly, I left Ireland as a child, w my aunt and uncle, t find my fortune here. I grew up hard, girrul, w no money and no way t find none, either. It took a great while t become a citizen of this great country, and they dinna really wish to let me in. But I came, and I stayed, and I made my way, sendin money home t my mother all the while, he said. Ye see I had a grand school, but my brothers and sisters at home dinna have but what was there, and it cost a fair shillin. I had t fight, girrul, for the boys and girruls were no my friends. They called me an Irish Mick, and I dinna take too kindly t it.

He nodded as I acknowledged his childhood battles, Least I forget my home, my aunt and uncle told me why we left and why we were here. They told me so Id never forget. Ill never forget the shame o Ireland, girrul. Never. He stopped, and looked at me to make sure I was listening.

In the year 550 Anno Domini, the bluidy Orangemen came and ripped the heart out o Ireland by taking the Killarney Stone. They put it in their bluidy Amesbury, leavin it for their Bishops to use as a sacrifice of Irelands finest men.

"In the year 551 Anno Domini Danny talked all day, enumerating the yearly travails of a sad country. It began to rain, and the wind seemed to accompany the long tale of the many hurts and injustices, the casual and deliberate cruelties of one country toward another. Every hour, I left to measure, holding my umbrella, taking a break from the sadness, anger, and pain. I made him sit in the car. There was only one umbrella, and I needed to clear my head. Every time I returned to the car, Danny was slumped in the seat, worn down by a burden I could not imagine, but as he continued his story, I could begin to understand the bitterness of a country.

It was beginning to get dark, when Danny heaved a long sigh, and said, So, girrul, thats the histry o yer people. And a long, sad one it is, too. I had held his hand through much of the telling, and we were both saddened and relieved. For him, it had been a catharsis. For me, it had been a terrible burden to accept, but a good one, just the same. I could fit my family history into the times, and understood my ancestors a little better, the faceless namesI could imagine their hopes and fears, and their determination to succeed here, the country of their dreams.

Danny, I said, I havent words to thank you for telling me.

He waved me off, tired and worn, as I was. Danny, I promise you one thing. He looked up at me. I, too, will remember.

He sighed, and said, Id best be getting back to Sally, girrul. Shell be wantin to know were all right.

Danny drove back down the lane, going home to Sally, who could comfort him with the unique understanding built of years together. I returned to the wells, fighting the old skirmishes up and down the hills, hearing the clash of swords and the cries of battle. Seeing the green flag fall, to be carried again by a new generationand seeing the flags to unite as one, only to fall again. Would the bitterness never end?

Thanks for coming by!

Links:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12