A coincidental occurrence on the old road

WordSmith

Gerard Smith

Over the Christmas period I was a live-in doggie-sitter for friends who were away. It was in the wilds of rural Cavan. Well, 12kms away from town, which is rural enough for me since my mode of transport is Shanks’s pony.

Now 12km is walkable, but the main arterial road is far too dangerous to walk on, and I wouldn’t do it. So, seeing it as a challenge I decided to try hitching, something I’ve not done since my student days. The walk along the rural road is 2km to the main road. But before I set off a thought popped into my head and I said it aloud, “Is hitching even legal, these days?”

I googled it; the results told me it isn’t illegal, although it’s forbidden on motorways and there are rules about being mindful and finding a safe spot, etc. I set off on my 2km.

But thanks to the kindness of strangers I didn’t have to hitch as a car stopped and in I jumped. It was a lovely family; and when I explained my situation the son told me of an old road bypass that’s a safer walking route. On arrival in town I immediately began walking back as I was intrigued to discover this cut-through route to my doggie-sitting abode. Whilst walking, apartment buildings gave way to sprawling housing estates on what I once knew as country fields, I wondered if I was going in the right direction. Still, I strolled on observing how swiftly urban sprawl replaces rural landscape.

I stopped and asked a man if I was going in the right direction, “It’s some walk, but keep going straight on.”

I upped my pace.

Soon, the road narrowed with many a twist and turn. I stopped by a long abandoned cottage smothered in ivy, the sight of it acted like a portal to the past and I imagined this old homestead alive and brimming with life. Moving onwards I slowed my pace, for I began to recognise the countryside. Through the low winter sunshine came the distant sound of children playing. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I readied to take on a significant hill, but stopped when through the glare I saw a figure at its summit.

As we neared I saw it was a young girl with a little dog; I confess I thought it odd she was on her own. Wary of the dog, I braced; yet needn’t have worried for the tail was waggy. Most surprisingly the girl knew me, “Hello Gerard,” she said with a smile. As we walked she showed me where I must return in summer to pick the sweetest plums, the tartest damsons, and the plumpest strawberries.

She took my hand, “This is the mountain road,” she said, as we strolled over rugged-hill and verdant-vale. I wallowed in her company and that of her happy tailed dog who saw the wonders of this landscape through his nose. Then as if by magic, a boy sprung from a hedge, startling me, the girl laughed, “Don’t mind him, he’s my friend, John Ash.”

On I walked while my newfound friend regaled me of tales from her world, a place I became completely immersed in. At one point I stopped to take a picture of a particularly beautiful spot, which I posted to social-media. And in so doing, my young friend began to grow and move away from me. I watched her walk the road until somewhere around Hannigan’s field, she became a teenager and waved me goodbye, “I’m off to New York,” she smiled.

Standing there on that sun drenched road, the girl had left me, yet she remained, roaming the roads of her childhood with me. For the countryside I recognised was the one she’s immortalised in her book ‘Five stones in a Bovril Bottle.’ Her name is Monica, and her memoir is one I regularly read.

Late last year I realised that the American lady I know as Monica who I communicate with through social-media about this column, is the same lady whose book inspired me to memoir. And then quite coincidentally the universe conspired to take me into the landscape of her youth, literally bringing her book to life.

Monica commented on the picture I posted, “That view from the old road looks like it was taken by my cousin’s house, Seamus Clarke; our farm was the other side of the hill…”

Wandering onwards and reflecting on my festive time-travel-ramble, I thought ‘What a coincidence.’ Then a quote popped into my head and I said it aloud, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous”.

A fitting quote for my reflective occurrence on the old road.