A Week in Winter(78)
‘Wouldn’t you love to know how they are getting on?’ Charlie said.
‘Yes. I’d both hate to know and love to know at the same time.’ They laughed companionably over it.
The woman behind the bar looked at them with approval.
‘Lord, it’s grand to see a couple getting on so well,’ she said. ‘I was only saying to Paddy last night that they just come in here, stare into their drinks and say nothing at all. Paddy hadn’t noticed. They probably have it all said, was what he thought.’
The Walls were pleased to be admired for having a good relationship twice in twenty-four hours. They had never before thought that it might be unusual. But then Chicky had said that the judges had been envious of them. Not envious enough, of course, to give them the main prize . . .
They said they were on a holiday from Dublin and staying at Stone House.
‘Didn’t Chicky do a great job on that place,’ the woman said. ‘She was a great example to people round here. When her poor husband, the Lord have mercy on him, was killed in that terrible road accident over there in New York, she just set her mind to coming back here and making a whole new life for herself, and bringing a bit of business to this place in the winter. We all wish her well.’
It was sad about Chicky’s husband, The Walls agreed, but in their hearts it didn’t make them feel any more settled in this remote part of Ireland when their dreams were elsewhere.
They didn’t mention that they had won the holiday in a competition until dinner on the fourth night. Everyone was more relaxed around the table in the evenings; by that time they realised that no one had been quite what they looked. The two women, Lillian and Winnie, weren’t old friends at all and they had almost drowned and were rescued; the doctors seemed more relaxed and Nicola chatted happily with the American who was revealed to be a film star; the Swedish boy had a passion for music and Freda the librarian seemed to be uncannily right in her pronouncements about people’s lives. Nell was still disapproving – at least that hadn’t changed. But they did feel like people who knew each other, rather than a group of accidentally gathered strangers.
They were all fascinated by the idea of winning competitions. They had thought that they were all fixed, or that so many people entered you just had no chance.
The Walls listed some of the items they had won and were gratified by the fascination that it seemed to hold for everyone.
‘Is there a knack to it?’ Orla wanted to know. She’d love to win a motorbike and travel around Europe, she explained.
The Walls were generous with their advice; it wasn’t so much a knack, more doggedness and keeping it simple.
They were all fired up and dying to enter a competition. If only they could find one. Chicky and Orla ran to collect some newspapers and magazines, and they raked them to find competitions.
There was one where you had to name an animal in the zoo. The Walls explained that it was in a section aimed at children, and so every school in the country would be sending in entries. The odds were too great against them. They spoke with the authority of poker players who could tell you the chances of filling a straight or a flush. The others looked on in awe.
Then in a local West of Ireland paper they found a competition, ‘Invent a Festival’.
The Walls read it out carefully. Contestants were asked to suggest a festival, something that would bring business in winter to a community in the West.
This might be the very thing. What kind of festival could they come up with for Stoneybridge?
The guests looked doubtful. They had been hoping for a slick slogan or a clever limerick. Suggesting a festival was too difficult.
The Walls weren’t sure. They said it had possibilities that they must explore. It had to be a winter thing so a beauty pageant made no sense – the poor girls would freeze to death. Galway had done the oyster festival, so they couldn’t do that. Other parts of the coast had taken over the surfing and kayaking industry.
Rock climbing was too specialist. There was traditional music, of course, but Stoneybridge wasn’t known as a centre for it like Doolin or Miltown Malbay in County Clare, and they didn’t have any legendary pipers or fiddlers in their past. There already was a walking festival, and Stoneybridge could boast no literary figures that might be used as a basis for a winter school.
There was no history of visual arts in the place. They could produce no Jack Yeats or Paul Henry as a focus.
‘What about a storytelling festival?’ was the suggestion of Henry and Nicola, the quiet English doctors. Everyone thought that was a good idea, but apparently there was a storytelling event in the next county which was well established.
Anders suggested a Teach Yourself Irish Music seminar but the others said the place was coming down with tourists being taught to play the tin whistle and the spoons, and the Irish drum called the bodhrán.
The American, who seemed to be called John or Corry alternately, said that he thought a Find Your Roots festival would do well. You could have genealogists on hand to help people trace their ancestors. The general opinion was that the roots industry in Ireland was well covered already.
Winnie suggested a cookery festival, where local people could teach the visitors how to make the brown bread and potato farls, and particularly how to use the carrageen to make the delicious mousse they had eaten last night. But apparently there were too many cookery schools already, and it would be hard to compete.