Story for the Day: A Holiday Morning in Tyfferim
A few minutes saw them at the edge of the town
square, and while church was just letting Roe Gaumhin at the centre of town and
lavished it with attention, admiring the garlanded boughsseanrealta, and glorying in the golden
light of midmorning, as everyone in the immediate environs was out and doing
something to honour the holiday. The children, liberated from school, were
playing boghans and constructing crooked snowmen, women were engaged in lively
chat over who had come to church and who had stayed at home, and the older
generations observed the younger, esteeming them with toothless smiles and crinkling
eyes, anxious for their not catching cold as they were willing to stuff them
with caramel apple slices that were giving round. Vendors pushed their carts
and rang their bells, offering cinnamon rolls and steaming sweets, taking
advantage of the indolence of those who had not yet set up their stalls for the
day. Children attached themselves to their carts and leaped up and down,
calling for their parents and grandparents to empty their pockets in exchange
for caramel apples and promises of affection, the distinction of regard
depending on whether they should get half an apple or a whole one. Parents
lectured their children about their having breakfasted, and then relented on
the point of its being a holiday and therefore all extenuations must be made,
whilst men with hats pulled over their eyes milled about town, making their way
to which ever tavern and eatery would offer them half a promise of a cure by
way of a late and butyraceous breakfast. They slumped down stairs and ambled
along the winding lanes in a dirge of grievances, peering through doors and
perching on windows with inquiring looks, their steps persuaded by whatever
scent their noses could catch. Their mouths hung half open in all the expectation
of a meal, their recollections regretting having spent the better part of the
evening previous looking at the bottom of a glass. They entered the taverns
with languorous claudications, their backs bent, their eyes downcast, their
spirits low. They mantled over counters and were sat at tables, their walking
sticks and crooks discarded in corners, the abandoned scepters of rural lords. Waitresses
and barmen, purveyors of pleasant smiles and merchants of confidence, called
out to one another over the strident wambles of stomachs crying out for relief
from their excruciating misery. The dishes soon came round, and plates were
furnished with soft boiled eggs, bread smoothed over with salted butter, and
slices of bacon resting neatly on beds of farl, whilst carrots pearls of pork
fat resided in the corners of every bowl as magistrates of the stockpot and
carrots in boiling broth was giving round. A silence pervaded the front room of
every hall, interrupted by men sooming and slottering into their spoons, their
collective countenance rapt in gustatory satiation, adulating their benefactors
in a symphony of sobering thrums, a good meal nourishing their strength of mind
and slowly restoring their sense and goodwill. Conversation soon filled the
room, the dulcet tirl of a fiddle escaped from a far corner, and as an old
fiddler began to play, all generosity of character and firmness of mind seemed
revived. Backs were slapped in fervent affability, conclamant cachinnations
drowned out all remaining woes, and as the sun reigned over the town and
ushered in the warmth of midmorning, Tyfferim was looking tolerably like itself
once more.
out, the bells clanging with fine holiday fervor, announcing the morning of the holiday, everybody who davered about the lanes issuing from the square in a half conscious state holding them in high contempt for their egregious tintinnabulation, parishioners milling around the open doors of the nave while the less fortunate were invited to a meal of honey and oats, whilst friends and families bore good tidings to their neighbours. Children and parents and grandparents sat beneath the
The blacksmith’s bellows began to
breathe, smoke from the baker’s chimney luffed out in heaps, the milliner’s
vats seeped in reds and blues for the dyeing lines of new ribbons, the
lacemaker’s bobbins clicked and clacked, spinner’s wheels whirred incessantly,
looms made their slow applause as their masters worked their pedals, and all
the zeal that was endeavouring at idleness for a day began to die away. Sweet
breads and buns were displaying in windows, the toymaker marched across the
square with puppets and wooden figures, and the choir from the church billowed
out from the churchyard and inundated town, carrying their tunes and taking
their traditional songs to those who were in want of good cheer. The tradesmen
and masters kept to more lenient hours, the keys to their shoppes dangling
languidly from fingertips, the market brocades being put up and sellers
claiming their places at the head of their stalls as quickly as a clear head
and easy consciousness would allow. The scent of Lucentian black coffee invaded
the town square, the beans freshly ground, and the brew strong enough to break
through the cold. The crosswind carried Livanese tea from someone’s window, mint
and lavender in fine vintage wafting indolently through the adjoining lanes.
Clouds hung across the warp and weft of the sky, the expanse deepening into the
mazarine hue, and as Aiden and Adaoire came to the square, the stopped to honour
the tree and admire the sanguine views: a drove of sheep were being herded
along the northern lane, children were crowding the high street in quest of maple
snow, vendors wreathed round the benches and called out for those interested in
battered haddock and cold pies, and in the near distance two foxes were
skirting across the snow, bounding into and out of the downs, hunting after a
few mice that were burrowing under the drifts.
“See that there?” said Adaoire,
pointing to the foxes.
“Aye!” his son beamed. “Aren’t they
cold, Da?”
“Aye,” said Little Aiden. “They got
fur and all, but they got snow on their faces.”
“Sure they’re cold,” said Aiden,
“but when yer hungry and food’s that close, cold don’t matter much, like how
yer nose is red from bein’ cold but yer still lookin’ over at that maple snow
like you want it.”
Little Aiden glinked at his Uncle
and grinned. “Can we have some, Uncle Aiden?”
“Aye, please, Da?” said Little
Adaoire, echoing the wish.
Adaoire glanced at the cart across
the square, and then looked back at the children. “Yer mother would be after me
for ruinin’ yer teeth.” He gave them a yielding but considerate look. “Not this
time, boys.”
The sighs of disappointed hopes and
pleas were gone through, but Adaoire’s ruling still held: there would be no
maple snow just now. It was too early in the day for something half so sweet, and
as the boys had already been allowed a slice of cake extraordinary for the
holiday, they had better not be allowed anything else. Aiden and Adaoire loved
to indulge the children, but the remonstrances that their mother should make
over their immoderation made them fearful of giving them anything unsanctioned
by her. They remembered how they used to be when they were young, always
begging their mother for something or other, some toffee or hazelnut brittle
whenever they were in town, tugging on her skirt and singing out their pleases
and moaning when she would hesitate, groaking their favourite sweets and
turning to her with wide and glistening eyes. Calleen, however, was irresolute
compared to Dealanna, the former having grown up in a life of privation and
wishing to give her children the things she never had as a child, and the
latter knowing luxury and knowing the ill effect it had on one’s health. Where
they had hitherto thought themselves to be staunch when it came to the
management of children, Aiden and Adaoire now understood the irrefutable power
with which a darling child had over a parent, and Adaoire’s heart wrenched in
all the agony of a repentant father as he gave his decided no. They were going
to Lochan’s anyway, he reasoned, and there Lochan was sure to have something
for them, and as they were about to embark on an hour’s journey northward,
having the children burdened by sweets and all the maniacal tendencies that
eating them was wont to occasion, they judged it best that the children should
be denied anything supernumerary at present.
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