WordSmith: For the love of libraries and Lofty
When an elder person dies, a library burns to the ground. That’s an African proverb that spoke to me. And it sprung an elder of mine into my mind’s eye. I herewith write of the Lofty one.
When my siblings and I travelled to Cavan for Summer, we’d be picked up from the boat by our uncle Tommy in his Ford-Zephyr.
My brother sat in the front, “Can I do the gears?” he asked. “You can’t, it’s a column gear change,” said Tommy, tapping the gear stick by the steering wheel. While Dermot chatted incessantly, I was aware of Tommy’s concerned glancing at me in his rear-view mirror, “You’re very quiet Gerard, are you feeling sick?” I reassured him, “Not yet.”
The nausea would present near Navan, and my spewing soon thereafter.
While Dermot was interested in earthly pursuits, my interests were more celestial. So, when Tommy next checked in on my vomiting-status, I leaned in, “Have you seen the ghost that haunts the college farmyard?” I asked. “I haven’t; but they say he’s a tall-fella.”
Intrigued, I asked, “Do you know who the ghost is?” Tommy head-swivelled, “I don’t, but there’s a job for you, to find out who he is; there’s many’d like to know.” I sat back, elevated. Tommy had recognised something I might be good at; I was buoyed by his faith in me – I decided to make discovering the ghost’s identity my summer-time mission.
On our approach to granny’s house, I stared out the window at a tall-fella lurking by the door. In the dappling-sun he flickered in and out of focus, “Who’s that man?” I asked. “What man?” asked Tommy, slowing the Zephyr. I didn’t answer, just stared. Once parked, I jumped out of the car and raced to the front of the house – nobody there.
Tommy’s voice jolted me, “What are you looking at?” I looked back at him, looking over his Zephyr. “There was a man at the door, he’s gone now.” Tommy was emphatic, “All the men of the house are working at this hour, you must have seen the tall-man-ghost, or you’re raving from the journey.”
When my eyes adjusted to the sun, I saw a shape, shifting. A silhouette sailed across the grass, disappearing behind the house. I took off in the direction of this shadowy shape. A rustling sound broke the silence, my eyes followed its source – the stream that ran by the house.
I knew there was something more than aquatic life down there – someone, or perhaps something, was at the stream. And yet, I wasn’t scared. The stream was accessed by stone steps, which I began to descend. But, a series of hard splashes punctuated the soft sound of the stream, prompting me to hesitate. Instinctively I squatted down. When my sight acclimatised to the dark, I saw the figure of a tall-man, again.
He stood with his back to me, swirling his wellingtons in the water. His stature meant I couldn’t see above his waist. I peered, looking for astral signs that might make him spectral. But I saw neither haze nor glow. No, he was human, and I called out, “Hello.” He swiftly turned and stooped; his face tilted up at mine – a black man stared at me.
He lowered his head into a beam of sunlight, which illuminated the bright blue of his eyes. I’d never seen a blue-eyed black man before. I stared back, charmed by the sight of him. He stretched out his hands to welcome me, “Yiz have arrived home,” said my great uncle Micky, the coal-man. He loomed up the stone steps and scooped me up with his coal-blackened hands, “Yee didn’t give me time to wash the coal tar off me face,” he said, hoisting me upwards. I marvelled at the view from his height. I felt exactly like uncle Micky’s nickname: Lofty.
Lofty is long gone from this world, but that memory of him is burned into my mind. The only picture I have of Lofty is blurred, so it’s good to picture him in words.
In the library last week, a boy approached to ask me about characters in a childhood memoir I wrote, which he’s reading. He’s the age I was in the encounter I recall here; It’s lovely to know my elders lived in his mind’s eye enough to have him enquire of them. The boy gladdened my heart; and I thought to myself ‘When an inquisitive person is born, a new library opens.’
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