The Brandy Hole

Arrrr...Me Hearties......

At the foot of Bray Head, a small seaside mountain in the town where I was born back home in Ireland, there is a now-derelict open-air swimming pool.   It is known as ‘Naylor’s Cove’.   As children back in the 50’s we used to swim there regularly during the summer months and if we didn’t have the penny entrance fee, we gained entrance via a devious route further up the beach.

As I say it has now fallen to rack and ruin and there is only a basic outline of the structure with the walls of the pools caved in.   It used to be such a hive of activity and enjoyment that it is such a pity that it has now gone.

However, the coastline further along the coast is riddled with caves and we as boys would investigate them whenever we had nothing better to do.    That was until the events of a cold October Sunday afternoon when we visited them for the very last time........

I was then aged thirteen and like all boys of that age – in those days at least – my friends and I pooled our money together and bought a packet of ten cigarettes and a box of matches.   Having done so, we now had to find somewhere to smoke without any of our many relatives throughout the town catching us and reporting to our parents.

“Naylor’s Cove” suggested Donal and as none of the five of us had any better suggestion, we headed down the strand and along the promenade towards Bray Head.   It was a bright autumn day with the watery sun giving little or no heat.   Still, we were young and hyped-up at the thought of having two whole cigarettes each when we found seclusion.

The entrance to the cove was closed for winter so we climbed a nearby wall and made our way to the changing rooms.   Unfortunately there were some older boys and girls there and the fear of having our cigarettes confiscated by them forced us to find a ‘safer’ spot further along.

“The Smuggler’s Cave” Donal suggested so along the stony beach we made our way.    The time was now approaching three o’clock in the afternoon and the light was fading.   

About fifteen minutes later we stood outside the entrance to a cave which was known locally as the Smuggler’s Cave.   It was said that fine wines and spirits used to be illegally brought into the country via such caves.   There was also another cave further around the headland known as ‘The Brandy Hole’ but during Victorian times there was a disastrous train crash which brought down a large section of the cliffs covering that particular one.   The railway, which runs through several large tunnels around Bray Head was in fact built by the great man himself, Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

So there we were, five young rascals, ten cigarettes and a box of matches sitting inside the entrance waiting for one or the other to light up.    I suppose nowadays boys of that age would in fact be lighting up something a little stronger than ordinary tobacco. 

As Donal, myself and two of the other three were puffing away, poor Jerry Shortt began to have a fit of coughing.   He suffered from asthma and the mere sniff of tobacco smoke sent him into an attack.   

Instead of rushing to his assistance, the four of us merely began to decide how to divide his two cigarettes among ourselves…….

As Jerry had nothing better to do he began to wander around the cave in the dim light.    As he neared the deepest extent he called out.   “Some of the roof has caved-in since we were last here” he shouted.   As we made our way to him it was obvious that in fact there had been quite a serious fall.   There was now quite a large hole that continued further back into the dark recess.

Donal was the bravest, or maybe just the most foolish, for he began to climb over the fallen rocks striking matches all the while.   I picked up some old newspapers and rags that I had noticed in a corner of the cave and we made torches.    As we all made our way into the ‘new’ section of the cave, with the help of the torches, it could be seen that it must have been a long, long time since anyone else had been there.

In one corner I noticed a pile of old boxwood and made my way over to it.   They were in fact some rotting crates with broken bottles scattered around.    There was also a pile of dirty old clothing.  

“Look, look” Donal cried as he picked up what looked like an old sword and began swinging it around his head.    Jerry who had miraculously recovered from his asthma attack next began to sing.....”Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, ho, ho and a bottle of rum”.....he was wearing, believe it or not a very old fashioned large dirty three cornered hat.    We made more torches and lit a small fire using some of the old wood and the cave began to take on an eerie appearance with our shadows being thrown into all the  nooks and crannies

We continued searching and found many old fashioned bits and pieces:   A large pair of old leather high boots, more fancy clothing, a few small broken barrels and finally, covered in dust, a large wooden chest which had an old rusty lock on the clasp.

“I reckon it must be the pirate’s treasure” Donal suggested, “let’s see if we can break the lock”.    As Jerry searched in one corner for something to use as a crowbar, he suddenly let out the loudest scream I had ever heard.   It echoed and rebounded around the extremes of the cave.   It was spine curdling and made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.   I thought that he might have injured himself on what we had called a sword and ran towards him.   As I did so I slipped and landed almost at Jerry’s feet.

It was then that I saw what had made him scream.   There were two piles of bones with some old dirty clothing partly covering them.   They were human bones without doubt as there were two complete skulls both with large cracks on the top.   I immediately wet myself and once the others joined Jerry and me, several screams went up as we all ran for the hole to get out as quickly as possible.

In doing so, Jerry pushed at some rocks which were holding him back and as he did so there was a loud rumble.   This made us move even faster and as we reached the safety of the outer cave, what appeared to be several tons of rocks and rubble fell and blocked the hole where we had been literally thirty seconds earlier.

As we ran out onto the beach and back towards Naylor’s Cove, Donal called on us to stop for a minute.   In the gathering darkness we made an agreement there and then to never, ever mention to anyone what had happened that day and where we had been.   We finally agreed that we would keep it a secret for the rest of our lives and never discuss it or tell anyone what we had seen or done that day.

For the past sixty odd years I have been faithful to my promise. ----------------------------- 

-------Mike-----