Not Such An Ugly Duckling

“Just 'cause you feel it

Doesn't mean it's there

Just 'cause you feel it

Doesn't mean it's there”

( There There – Radiohead )

This week has felt like a long week. I have felt overwhelmed and without realising it, or intending to, I have channelled my hedgehog spirit animal, Sebastian, curling inwards and acting prickly to everyone else. This has made this week even longer for those who have to share space or time with me. Sorry.

I can’t do everything.

I can’t fix everything.

Despite that fact that no one asked , or expected me to do either of those things, I have felt that I was letting myself and others down.

I’m not in control.

Again, this is probably a good thing, not everyone would agree with my plans for the pedestrianisation of Monaghan Town Centre, free bicycles, outlawing Prawn Cocktails, and prawn cocktail flavoured anything, but particularly crisps, replacing the Monaghan Municipal District with the Monaghan Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune, mandatory free Monte Carlo Fridays, free laptops for all school kids, ban all betting advertising , daily Dr.Who episodes, and?the confiscation and distribution of non-worship church property. Only joking ! I don’t really mind Prawn Cocktails.

I’m increasingly frustrated by my finite life and my infinite possibilities.

One thing I hadn’t realised I was able to do was to sit in the backseat of a car for 30 minutes with a swan and stop it killing me…without killing it in the process.

We’d finished our Parkrun in Rossmore on Saturday and were having a coffee when Ray got the call from Mary. “There’s a swan on the road, looks injured.” Ray immediately asked Chris to help, as he is an all round superhero , and he asked me to …take photos. I know my place.

We drove out to the Leck Road, took a lovely cuddly blanket from Mary, and Chris captured the swan, and cuddled him the whole way to All Creatures Vets, where he was handed over to Niamh.

Adventure over.

A few hours later I was about to head out and mow the lower 40, or lawn as my Soulmate insists on calling it, when Ray called. “The swan’s fixed. We can take him back.”

“We can take him back ??? Isn’t there some sort of government department for that ?”

Ray laughed and told me to meet him at the vets in 10 minutes.

When I arrived Ray and Ryan were there already.

“What’s the plan ?” I asked stupidly.

“You are going to sit in the back and hold the swan. That’s the plan.” Ray said matter of factly.

“Where’s Chris ? This is more his sort of thing.”

Ray laughed.

Then Niamh came out of the office carrying the swan in what appeared to be a large white ‘boil in the bag’, up to his neck. I could not help noticing that the very long neck, head and snappy bits were free, very much awake and glaring at me.

“Do you have a hood or muzzle ?” I asked.

Niamh laughed, “He’s a lovely gently fella, he’ll be no trouble.” She said with all the confidence of someone who wasn’t going to have to nurse him in a confined space with a maniacal driver for the next 30 minutes.

“What about sedation ?”?I asked.

“He doesn’t need any.” Niamh said.

“Not for him, for me !” , she laughed , thinking I was joking.

I sat in the back of the car behind the driver’s seat.

“No, don’t sit there, sit on the other side.” Ray insisted.

Why ?

“Haven’t you seen ‘Hot Fuzz’ ?”

I shuffled over and Niamh handed in the swan, the giant swan, with the long neck, and snappy bits.

“He’s been in great form, so he as, OK ?”

Mmmm OK

“I’ve given him all his anti-biotics,?anti-inflammatories , painkillers so you’re good to go.”

I grabbed the swan by what I thought was the back of his head, to keep him a safe distance from my head.

“If you’re trying to restrain him, you hold him there…no, no, that’s his neck.”

OK

“No that’s still his neck.”

OK

“That’s still his neck.”

OK

And off we went…after Ryan and Ray had taken several selfies?from the safety of the front seats. We hadn’t gone 500 metres before the swan started kicking against the bag.

“Sweet Jesus ! Hurry up !”

Ray and Ryan went into convulsions.

I wrapped Mary’s blanket over the bag.

The swan glared at me.

I decided that I couldn’t keep calling the swan ‘The Swan’ , so we called it Krisss, after Chris, its’ saviour, and the noise it was making.

Our journey seemed to take forever. There were lots of tears. Tears of laughter from the front, and anguish in the back.

Ryan had already posted some photos to his mates and was reading the replies :

“Is that a fucking swan in your car ?”

“Are you stealing swans now ?”

“WTAF ?!?”

These comments amused the front seat passengers greatly, which seemed to anger Krisss, and panic me.

We eventually got to the lake. Now all we had to do was to get an increasingly irritated Krisss out of the car, over the gate, out of the boil in the bag, and into the water, without any of us losing a limb.

Ray took hold of the bag, I kept hold of the head and shuffled out of the car. Ryan climbed over the gate to receive the bag , while I climbed over holding the head, and then we walked to the water’s edge. Ray put the bag down, I held the head, and removed the string holding the bag in place and we stood back.

Kriss shrugged off the bag stood tall and stretched out his wings.

“Wow !” we said in unison. He was truly magnificent.

He wiggled his tail feathers and waddled into the water and swam from the shore.

We went back to the car, noticing that the gate swung open, and laughed the whole way back to the vets.

Ray rang me on Sunday. “How’s Krisss ?”

How did you know I’d been over to check ?

“Just knew you would.”

He’s fine, he has a heron called Aoife for company, they seem to be getting on grand.

“Cool.“

I went back over on Monday. Aoife gave me the shock of my life, I hadn’t seen her in the rushes , and I was just taking out my phone to take a photo when she flew into the air with a whoosh…many Saints were invoked. Krisss was fine, gliding up and down, he glared over and then bobbed his head. I bowed to him…and then was glad that there was no one around.

After a run in the Park on Tuesday I called in to see how he was. He was busy chatting with Aoife over the far side of the lake, but turned towards me and I could have sworn that I heard him say “Seriously, have you nothing else to do ? I’m fine.”

On Wednesday I had nothing better to do , so I went to check on Kriss. He was at my side of the lake as I approached.

“Seriously ? Are you going to do this every day” I heard him say.

“Do you know what the best part of my day is ? For about 10 seconds , from when I pull up to the gates, to when I get to the waters edge, ‘cause I think maybe when I get up here and I’ll look and you won’t be here. No ‘Goodbye’, no ‘See You Later’, no nothing, you just left. I don’t know much , but I know that.”

I was emotional as I said it and I could see that Krisss was emotional too…or at least quiet…it’s hard to tell with a swan. He just stared at me for a moment, then said “ Was that the Ben Afleck speech from ‘Goodwill Hunting ‘ ?”

How did you know that ?

“I’m a swan ! We know everything !”

Fair enough, see you tomorrow.

I went back yesterday, the lake was empty.

Something else that I can do is to not get short listed for the McManus short story competition. I keep changing my mind about whether it was terrible or OK, it follows in the P.S’s if you want to look for yourself.

I went for a run this evening, just the 5k loop from my house, on my own. The sun was setting it was all beautiful, I took a few photos as I went , and I thought “ I am extremely fortunate to have the luxury of feeling?a bit sad sometimes for no real reason, and then to run here, and look at this.”

I looked up to see two swans flying high?overhead.

I swore I heard one say to the other “ Yeah that’s him , a bit strange, even for one of them…good taste in movies…gentle hands…not a bad ould sod….”

Toodles,

Paul

P.S. This is a story

??Cursed, Stolen, Missing, Lost, Found.

?

She cursed gently under her breath, which added to the condensation on the Ulsterbus window she was pressed up against. At least it was now leaving Armagh , after a 25 minute stop , during which no one got off?and no one got on. The Friday evening ‘Express’ service from Belfast to Galway was the one to get. It left Belfast at five and only made one stop on it’s way to Galway, Monaghan, where Robyn would get off and hop into her mother’s waiting?white Ford Fiesta, fish & chips from the Monte steaming up the windows and keeping her seat warm, and be home with her feet up before half six.

This evening, however, thanks to Dr.Moore and his love of his own book on Han Dynasty China, Robyn had barely managed to make the six o’clock Belfast to Monaghan bus which had already spent nearly two hours to get as far as leaving Armagh. She’d only had a minute to call home and leave a message for her Mum to say she was on the ‘slowboat’.

She cursed Queen’s University’s School of History, Anthropology, Philosophy, and Politics for hiring Dr.Moore

She cursed Dr.Moore himself.

She cursed the large lady who had got on in Lisburn, sat beside her, smiled, said hello and then dozed off, wedging Robyn against the window.

She cursed Ulsterbus.

She cursed Middletown , which they were approaching and , now stopping at because someone had pressed that damn bell, and wanted off.

She cursed the bell presser.

And then , when all hope was gone, and there were no curses left to give, the bus stopped, the bell presser shuffled from the back of the bus and as he did so tapped the large lady that had pressed Robyn up against window the whole way since Lisburn on the shoulder , waking her. “Oh thank goodness.” she said, “Nearly missed my stop.” She smiled and nodded goodbye ,?hurriedly gathering herself together and followed the bell presser out. Robyn peeled her ear off the window ,stretched her arms and legs, yawned and was getting comfortable when she saw that an old man had got on and was now standing in the aisle making the silent motion for ‘bunch up there I need a seat’. She let out a sigh and moved back against the window. And cursed silently once more.

The old man had two large plastic bags filled with what appeared to be crockery all individually wrapped up in newspaper. He wore an old stained, dark grey trilby hat and an even ?older black tweed overcoat with a badly stitched torn sleeve, that seemed to have something bulging out of every pocket. He sat down beside Robyn, placed one of the bags between his feet, and held one on his lap, his two arms wrapped around it. They all clinked when the bus started to move again.

Shortly before the bus crossed the border it was everyone else’s turn to curse, and they did, loudly.

Checkpoint.

?

The bus slowed to a stop, the bus driver turned around to them “ No smart Alecs !” he warned. All it took was one cheeky comment, misplaced bravado, or challenge to the soldiers about to board the bus, and they’d all be off standing lined up along the roadside while the soldiers slowly went through every bag and questioned every single one of them…very, very, slowly.

If everyone was civil and smiled, and tried not to look terrified as armed soldiers waded up and down the bus, it would be over in a minute or two.

Or if they were looking for someone in particular…..

The old man took a rectangular shaped object wrapped in paper and tied with twine out of his inside coat pocket and passed it over to Robyn. “Take this and hide it” he whispered to her, staring straight ahead at the front of the bus where a soldier and an officer were speaking to the driver.

“What ?” Robyn said , shocked.

”Please !” he hissed urgently, not taking his eyes off the officer.

Something about his manner overcame Robyn’s lifelong adherence to her mother’s mantra of “Never get involved”. She took the package and sat on it.

“Don’t sit on it you fool ! It’s priceless !” the old man hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Robyn cursed , took the parcel and put it in her jacket pocket. And whispered back “How the hell was I to know ?”.

“Is this man bothering you ?” Robyn looked up in shock to see the officer standing in the aisle beside them, the soldier behind him pointing his rifle at the old man.

“Not really…” she replied, but she could tell that the officer wasn’t listening. He had his eyes fixed on the old man.

“Mr. Smith, at last” the officer said, a big satisfied grin on his face, “ My name is Lieutenant Colonel..”

“ I know who you are Fortescue, you’re the spit of your father. Bit below your pay grade being out in the wilds of Armagh harassing the natives ?”

Lt.Col, Fortescue was no longer smiling, he stood to one side, “We both know why I’m here,Johnny. Shall we ?” and motioned for him to stand. “Put that away Jones” he snapped at the young soldier,” he’s a thief, not a terrorist.”

“ I’m a curator, not a thief” the old man said , handing the bag from his lap to Jones, then he stood, bent down to retrieve the other bag and winked at Robyn. He shuffled off the bus. Lt.Col. Fortescue waved goodbye to the passengers and clipped “Carry on driver” before dismounting the bus. The driver closed the doors and pulled away. Everyone crammed over to Robyn’s side of the bus to catch a glimpse of the old man being bundled into the back of an armoured jeep. No one said anything, they all took their seats again and they eventually made their way to Monaghan.

Robyn got her bag and hopped in her mother’s car. “Everything OK ? You’re very late.”

“Yes, all’s fine, you know what the slow boat’s like. And we had a checkpoint.”

“Any hassle ?”

“Not really, everyone was too tired to be rude.” She didn’t mention the old man , as she knew that her mother would worry.

“Oh thank goodness.” She said. “Let’s go to get the Monte.”

Whenever she was at home for the weekend Robyn liked to get up early and spend as much time as she could with her Mum. It was just the two of them, and they were very close. She was making breakfast for both of them and switched on the radio, not to listen to anything in particular, but the radio was simply always on in the kitchen. The eggs were poaching and the toast was waiting when the news came on, the first two stories passed her by, but the third …” The road is closed between Middletown and Armagh this morning due to an incident last night involving an army jeep , and from what locals have said must have been a van delivering crockery due to the amount of broken plates strewn across the road. There have been no reports of any injuries and no comment at all from South Area Regional Command at Drumadd Barracks.”

The poached eggs were bubbling over and the hiss as the water met the flame of the gas ring brought her back to the kitchen.

“Everything OK ?” her mother said , sitting down at the table. Robyn was so distracted she hadn’t heard her coming down the stairs.

“What ? Oh, yes, yes, everything’s grand.” Robyn said, serving her mother her breakfast. And then sitting down to join her, they chatted about their respective weeks. When they’d both finished their second cups of tea her mother reminded her that they were doing ‘Meals On Wheels’ later, as Mrs.Quinn was away on holidays. Robyn had never done it before, her Mum had only recently volunteered to help and usually just did houses local to her own on the Clones side of town where she knew everyone. Today they were doing Mrs.Quinn’s route, which was Stanley Terrace, Belgium Park, and Glaslough St.

It all went smoothly until they got to Glaslough St. where they had only three houses left to do, but Robyn’s Mum was panicking because Mrs. Quinn had told her that Mr.Clarke in number 18 was a military man and there would be hell to pay if his meal was not there , and served at his kitchen table at 12.15 precisely. Robyn suggested that she would do the other two at the other end of the street and let her Mum look after Mr.Clarke, and they’d meet up in Dinkins for lunch when they’d both finished.

She delivered Mrs. Hegarty’s, chatted for a moment about the weather, and Monaghan beating Cavan again in the Championship, and then made her way to number 52. She knocked on the door and after a few moments it was opened by an elderly man who welcomed her in. He led her into ?his tiny parlour, she put his dinner on his table and asked if he’d like her to make him a cup of tea.

“That would be lovely, kitchen’s through there. Make one for yourself.” He said, smiling at her. It was only when she’d made the tea and was about to carry it into the parlour that she noticed ?, hanging on two hooks on the back of the kitchen door, an old ,stained, dark grey trilby hat and an even?older black tweed overcoat with a badly stitched torn sleeve.

She placed the tea on the table and sat opposite him. “I hope it’s the way you like it …Johnny ?”

“Clever girl” the old man smiled.

“What the heck was all that about last night ? Are you a thief ? How’d you escape ? “ She was firing question after question, not waiting for answers.

He put his finger to his lips, “Sssh !” And then he pointed to the wall behind her. An old ?painting hung crookedly in a tatty , cheap frame.

“What’s that ?” He asked.

“It looks like a copy of a Van Gogh”.

“It is a Van Gogh. His Poppy Flowers in fact. Waiting to be returned.”

“To who ?”

“It’s rightful owner of course”

“But who’d want a bad copy of a Van Gogh ?”

“It’s not a copy.”

“OKaaayy” Robyn said standing up. “Well,I better be going…”

“Wait..” He held up his hand. “ Just one minute, please.”

Again, something about the way he said ‘please’, pleading, genuine , made her ignore her instinct to leave immediately. ”One minute then.”

“The Heirloom Seal Of The Realm, is a piece of carved jade inscribed as the Emperor’s mandate from heaven, it has gold in one corner where it was repaired 2,000 years ago. It has been missing since 1369. It’s priceless.” He stopped.

?“Is that it? You’re mad.” She made for the front door.

“Robyn” he called after her. “ When you go home look in the pocket of the jacket you wore on the bus. You can keep it, or bring it back and I’ll tell you everything.”

She turned back “ Mrs. Quinn will be back on Tuesday for the plate.” And left.

Mr.Smith felt a little older each day after that, he thought she’d have been the one to carry it on. To find things that were lost, to hide things that shouldn’t have been found, to take things from those who shouldn’t have them.

At lunchtime on Tuesday there was a knock on his door. Opening the front door he said dejectedly “Nice holiday Mrs.Quinn ?”

Then he broke into a wide smile.

It was Robyn.

( To be continued....)

P.P.S For Krisss , wherever you are ...

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