The Gap of Dunloe

Shows how much of a problem I have with eating too much, I guess. All of that drama, all of that pain and yet, my first thought is almost always the strawberry bonbons. They were definitely better back then.

My mum’s childhood home still feels like a second home to me. My auntie Josie, who owns it now would always give me the biggest hug, being that we were both the babies of our families. I hated the stink of smoke when my Dad clogged up the bathroom at home but somehow, the mixture of old cigarettes on Josie’s cardigan, smoke from the open fire and peat was the most welcoming smell I could imagine. It was the smell that told me I would be spoiled rotten for 6 whole weeks and that my parents would allow me to get away with it. 

A few days in and it was time for another trip. As a ten year, 11 month old who only ever wanted to eat cake, play football and watch TV, the idea of driving around some of the most beautiful parts of the world to see some hills and ponds didn’t exactly make me jump with joy. Josie took my side as always and said I could stay home with her but my parents rightly insisted that I come along to take in the real Ireland. They promised me that it would be a lot of fun and they even offered an ice cream at the end, if I behaved myself. It seemed worth it so I sat next to my sister in the back seat of the Volvo and we started to explore.

Dad always drove a little bit faster at the top of the hills to Mum’s annoyance but he knew that we all enjoyed the weird feeling it made in our stomachs. It was a really nice day and all of the tight turns and swerves made the drive feel a little like a rollercoaster. I was always a bit scared of rollercoasters but I knew this one was OK because Dad was driving and Dad could do anything. We stopped quite a lot, stretched our legs and looked at the incredible views. As we stood, staring over the roaring mountains that made sure the mystical monsters couldn’t escape from the world’s deepest lakes, I realised that this was way more fun than watching TV. Mum even told us about her childhood and showed us the places that she used to go and visit after school.

We had ventured quite a bit further out by the time I woke up. As much as I was enjoying the day, the fresh air had made me tired. There was a sign on the way in that said “The Gap of Dunloe”. We parked up next to a bridge over a flowing river and beauty on either side. My grogginess disappeared pretty quickly and all I wanted to do at that point was run around and play. We decided upon a game (I’ve since learned it’s called Poohsticks) that involved dropping something (traditionally a stick) on the upstream side of a bridge and running to the other side in order to see it before it disappeared. Simple, harmless fun, at least that’s what we thought.

As the door hit me on the top of the head, I was actually a little grateful, it took the pain away from my leg for just a split second. My sister was being caring but she was also in somewhat of a panic. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, it was probably because my foot was facing in the opposite direction to my ankle. The lady who hit me didn’t mean to. In fact, it wasn’t really her fault at all. I had turned around, chasing the item I had thrown in the river and ignored the years of lessons and warnings I had been given about crossing the road without looking. In my defence, I still had a month before I turned eleven. Supposedly, the real problem didn’t come from the impact of the car, it came from the way my foot was wedged to the floor. As my body moved, my foot didn’t and that caused it to snap. Mum called an ambulance but seeing as we were in the middle of nowhere, it would have taken a couple of hours to arrive and another couple of hours to get me to Tralee hospital. Dad took it upon himself to pick me up and lay me across the back seats of the car. My sister was desperate to help so she closed the door quickly. She just forgot to move my head. That was the least of my worries.It turns out that my parents literally saved my leg. I didn’t know this until 6 months later but the doctors at the hospital said that if we had waited for an ambulance, my leg would have had to have been amputated. All I knew was that I had to wear a cast that I was allowed to ask people to write on and that I had to use crutches for a while. The day I got home, I was welcomed back by my family with a big banner and a lovely cake so I got what I wanted, after all. My aunt still jokes that I should have stayed at home with her but if I had, I would never have received those wonderful strawberry bonbons.

To this day, I don’t remember who it was that brought them and neither does anyone else but I do remember the kind face and smile. I had been in a lot of pain that day so I had been told to go rest in bed. “Stefano, a visitor” was the call before this man entered the room and wished me well. He offered me these sweets, which I had never before had and left again. The sweet taste of that first bonbon seemed to instantly free me from the pain. To this day, those bonbons are the first thing I remember whenever anyone asks about “that time you broke your leg”. Strange how our memories work, isn’t it…

Bonbon anyone?

Powerful memories

It's so strange, the things that we remember, the moments that trigger a memory. So often, it's the small moments that trigger a big feeling and big feelings are how we connect with others. Stories can trigger these big feelings, stories are a pathway to deeper connections, stories aligned properly to our businesses create positive associations with our brands and eventually more sales. Do you use stories in your business?

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