Ice Gold

Ice Gold
By Robin McConnell
The Prologue
‘Boxty on the griddle, Boxty in the pan,
If you don’t eat Boxty you’ll never get a man’

It was a sunny late afternoon when Robert Gallagher slowly walked across the beach and found their rock. He noticed the sand dunes had been changed by the wind and tide since he last sat on their rock eight years ago. It was close to the water’s edge. He settled down and for a while was lost watching the waves breaking. The white surf kept rolling in gradually reducing to a ripple on the sand before being sucked back.

It had been a long journey, he was dog tired, but a promise had been made amongst the ice and flames and Robert was not one to go back on his word.

Slowly memories came flooding back. The talks and plans they made sitting on this hard back rock. He had told her how the widow Hughes had called him in to read the letters from her son Willy in Chicago. Sometimes Willy sent the Chicago Herald newspaper and Robert would asked to borrowed it ‘take it son sure it’s no use to me without the learning’. He would read to Sarah about the work on the railways, the building sites, the opportunities and the money.

He remembered how she would suddenly jump up and run off. She wasn’t hard to catch. He would sweep her up in his arms; she would throw hers round his neck, as he carried her in the nearest sand dune. There they laughed, hugged and kissed.

It was during one of these visits to the sand dunes it was decided they would tell nobody until they had saved the fares for two one way tickets to America. They had walked to the hill overlooking Donegal bay and watched the people gathering at the small whitewashed building, the booking office of the White star Line.

He just sat there turning over in his head the times they had together. Good times and hard times. Nobody could cook Boxty bread like Sarah. Hot with fresh churned butter was a meal to die for. That brought him back with a jolt. Her words were stuck in his brain......
.
‘Boxty on the griddle, Boxty in the pan,
If you don’t eat Boxty you’ll never get a man’
She got her man.

The sun sunk slowly below the horizon, the clouds catching fire turning from white to red and then grey with the far off hills black. A soft chilly wind blew across his face reminding him it was time.

He reached into a canvas bag and carefully removed a rusty tin tobacco box and placed it on the rock. He pulled the drawstring on the bag and put it to one side. With both hands he lifted the box placing his left hand underneath and the right on top. Only once had the box left his side in five years. He whispered a short prayer, opened the box and sprinkled Sarah’s ashes into the tide as it washed round the rock.

He closed the tin and threw it as far into the waves as his strong arm could manage. It was done. Time to move on.

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Opening chapter would you want to read more? Be honest I welcome all comments