I lost my words

Jacqui Wiley

Mammy handed me the note to go to the shop. She couldn’t leave Dad, he was ill. It wasn’t far, a country road, it was safe. Our little community looked out for each other.

"Straight there, straight back, no dilly dallying, no sliding down the hill to the Boreen, no crossing the railway bridge. You can do those things with your brother. Walk tight to the ditch on the right-hand side, facing the traffic. Same on the way back until you get to Paddy’s turn, look up and down, listen, if there’s nothing coming, cross over, stay tight to ditch, to the pump then tight to the houses. Straight there, straight back!"

Mammy wouldn’t send me if it wasn’t a necessity. My brother and neighbours were at the hurling match.

Holding the note tight, no money. The note was signed, to be placed in the empty sweet box, priced for payment at the weekend. Children ran the errands for every house, the signatures, allowing Mammy to get on with daily chores while Daddies worked, only requiring one shop visit to pay the weekly bill.

Turning the corner out of view of our house, I ran to the head of the boreen at the bottom of the hill. Hearing a car, I turned to wave, secretly hoping it was the fruit and veg man or the bacon man – they always beeped at us. The car slowed, stopped. I didn’t recognise the man. The window wound down. I could hear Daddy’s voice, "Never talk to strangers."

"Hello" he smiled, "Do you know where Mary lives?" My Mammy was Mary, my friend’s Mammy was Mary, there were many Marys. I wanted him to go. I pointed ahead.

"Get in, show me, I’ll drop you to where you’re going."

I didn’t answer and began walking. He drove slowly alongside me, encouraging me to get in. Fear rose within me. I took to my heels, up the hill to the gap within the trees. I threw myself on my backside sliding down the side of the hill quickly. Mammy would know, my backside would be dirty. I heard the car turn. Jumping up when I landed, I ran down the boreen to the end of the station wall. Hearing the car behind me, I flew through the gap to the signal box. I was just through when a big arm grabbed me. My heart stopped. It was Shay, the signal man.

"What are you doing out on your own?"

My mouth opened, no words came.

"Oh dear, I’ve frightened you."

Shay took my hand, walking me across the railway bridge to the shop. I could hear the car in the background. How would I escape him going home? Tears flowed. He told Mrs Dolan, the shopkeeper, what d hhappened. They asked if I was okay, still no words. She got me some red lemonade. Shay lifted me up on the counter, so many questions, no answers. I handed her the note.

She packed the messages, locked up the shop and drove me home. She explained to Mammy. Mammy asked questions, still no words. They concluded it was a combination of not doing what I had been told to do and Shay frightening me. What happened never came out in words. I didn’t go to the shop again until I was way older.

The day I lost my words is forever etched in my mind.

Jacqui Wiley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 11am and on Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel. Mullingar. Aspiring and fun writers are welcome.