Golden Days............
It was December
1935 in the heartland of Ireland and money was as scarce as
chickens’ teeth. Old
Patsy was not the only one without two pennies to rub together
and with a young family of six children he was at his wits end as to what he
and his wife Maggie were
going to do for Christmas. He
had tried everything to get a few days work at the Manor House but with
the ground being frozen rock hard for the past month there was not an hour’s
work on the land to be had anywhere.
The summer had given them a good harvest of potatoes and there
were still some small heads of cabbage and turnips in the back
garden. The Christmas dinner might not be the best they
ever had but at least they would not starve. They had
discussed slaughtering one of the two healthy chickens they possessed but
decided against it as they would be needed to provide a young batch of chickens
come next spring.
Mr. Doyle and
his family next door were also in a similar dilemma with regards to his old
sow. She was getting on in years now and consideration had to
be given as to whether she should be put down before spring when possibly her
final litter of piglets might be born. The two families
always looked after each other at times such as these and the bacon would have
been a bonus to both families. However, all agreed that the sow should live until
after the spring litter of piglets came with
the grace of God....................
It was ten days before Christmas Day and both families were
resigned to what was held in store. “I’ll check the rabbit snares” old
Patsy said to Maggie “but I
doubt if there is anything in them. I haven’t seen a rabbit
the past month”. With that, he put on his boots
and called his old sheepdog Punch to
his side.
With his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck he made his way
up the lane to the back meadow. From behind his ear,
Patsy removed a dog-end of a cigarette. It was the last
trace of tobacco he would probably see for the next few months.
As he lit it with a match, he singed his bushy moustache and
exclaimed “Bad cess to
you, you ould devil”. In doing so he dropped the
cigarette butt which landed in a puddle of muddy icy water. He
continued on his way with the old dog keeping well outside the reach of Patsy’s
boot. A shrewd old dog was Punch and knew only too well
that although Patsy was a decent man, when things went wrong, he, the dog was
the first to get the blame.
Patsy climbed the gate into the top field and he made his way
around the hedgerow. As he checked the first thirty or so snares he
saw not a trace of a rabbit. As he came to the old
fallen down cottage up in the far corner he saw old Punch run off towards the
ruins. “Get
back here you ould devil” Patsy called but Punch did not pay
him a blind bit of notice. “Aah
to hell with you then” Patsy swore at the dog.
Punch had entered the old house and was out of
sight. As Patsy neared he could have sworn that he heard
a low voice calling the dog’s name. He knew that there
should be no one else in the vicinity as basically the only way to the field
was up the lane past his cottage. He stood with his back against the
outside wall and listened by the old frameless
window. The voice was talking very softly and somehow it
was familiar to Patsy. He knew that he had heard the
voice before but not for many, many years……….
Old Punch came out through the collapsed entrance and every
second or so, he would look back into the house then move a little further away
from the door. Patsy swears that he heard the sound of “Good dog Punch, just a little
further” coming from inside the old
house. Punch began to scratch the earth as he often did
when he had buried a bone. He scratched the partly frozen
earth away down to a depth of about ten inches.........
“Well done Punch, you’re
nearly there” the voice spoke from inside the
broken down house. Almost immediately, Punch began to
bark. Patsy, who had not moved from where he stood all
the time, cautiously took a look inside the broken
window. There was no one or nothing to be
seen. He moved over to where Punch was now standing and
barking and as he looked where the dog had been digging, Patsy saw something
shining through the loose earth. As he bent down he saw that it was a coin–a gold coin.
Patsy picked it up and after a gentle rub between his fingers,
the golden colour and markings of a
half-Sovereign appeared. A couple of more wipes against
his trousers leg and it shone like a new penny. It was indeed – it was a gold half-sovereign.
“Be Jazus Punch, but you’re a rare ould dog, will you look what you
found” Patsy spoke as he stroked the
dog. Punch allowed him to do so for just as he could tell when
Patsy was in a foul mood, he also knew when he was fully in his favour.
However, Punch began to
bark again and gently scratched at the earth. Patsy looked
down and sure enough, there was another coin. This time
it was a full gold Sovereign. He stood there in amazement
and said a little prayer thanking God for his good fortune. Without
further ado, he literally ran over to and jumped the gate and ran back down the
lane to his neighbour Mr. Doyle. He
said nothing other than dragging him next door where he picked up two shovels.
“What in the name of God
are you up to Patsy?” Mr. Doyle
asked “have you lost
your senses”. Old Patsy, after all the excitement
and exertion merely showed Mr. Doyle the two coins. “Tell me Jim” Patsy
stuttered “am I seeing
things or is this all a dream?” “Good God Almighty Patsy”
Mr. Doyle exclaimed “them’s
gold sovereigns. Where in the name of God did they come
from? Did you rob the Manor House?”
Patsy said nothing but continued to drag Mr. Doyle up the lane
and into the field. When he got to the old building he handed
Mr. Doyle a shovel and they both began to dig at the hole that the dog had
made.
Well if I tell you that they continued digging until they went
down all of four feet and covered an area about ten feet square before they
stopped. In all they found six more sovereigns, two
halves and four full ones. They sat down on the steps of the old house and
both men cried..................
That
Christmas was one of the greatest ever seen in the
village. Patsy bought himself a new pipe and plenty of tobacco
to go with it. All the children received a wonderful present
and every house had a portion of Mr. Doyle’s pig which was
slaughtered. A new and younger one would be bought in
March. One of the half sovereigns was given to the local
priest to say Masses for all the dead of the village over the past ten years. No one was
left without, not even old Punch – he lived for the next three months on the
bones from the old pig. Old Patsy never raised his
voice, let alone his boot,
to the old dog ever again……
Oh yes. As it turned out the old house had not been
lived in for more than forty years and in fact it had belonged to an old uncle
of Patsy who had been a sea captain and had come back to the village to live
out his retirement.
As for the Great
Depression of the Thirties – as old Patsy used to say for many
years after the ‘find’ – “And what depression
would that be now. Sure we never had one of them in our village at
all, at all”………………
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