Drink with the Devil

‘But you never told me that,’ Kathleen Ryan said in astonishment.

‘I’m telling you now, am I not? Now, this is the way of it. My own cousin, Colin Power, had an English wife, a farmer’s daughter from Eskdale. Colin was a tenant farmer in County Down, but when her parents died, the farm in Eskdale was left to his wife, Mary.’

‘So they moved over?’

‘Exactly. This was twenty years ago. They brought with them a young boy, Colin’s nephew, Benny. He had brain damage from birth. His parents wanted to put him in a home, but Mary, having no child of her own, took him on and raised him.’

‘And they’re up there now in Eskdale?’ Kathleen demanded.

‘Right at the head of the valley. A remote, desolate place. Folly’s End, it’s called, and that’s an apt name for it. Too much rain, too much wind. The sheep don’t thrive.’ Ryan shrugged. ‘It was too much for Colin. He died of a heart attack five years ago. Only Mary and Benny to run the place.’

‘A lot of work for two people, I would have thought,’ Keogh said.

Ryan laughed out loud. ‘Just wait till you see Benny.’ At that moment the local train pulled in at the platform and he glanced through the window. ‘That’s us. Let’s get moving,’ and he stood up and led the way out.

There were only a handful of passengers getting off the train at Barrow-in-Furness. They went through the ticket barrier, passed into the concourse and stood outside.

A voice called, ‘Uncle Michael, it’s me,’ the words heavy and slurred.

There was an old Land Rover parked on the other side and the man standing beside it was quite extraordinary. He was at least six feet four in height and built like an ox with enormous shoulders. He wore a tweed cap and a shabby tweed suit with patches on the elbows. He rushed forward eagerly, a childlike expression on his fleshy face.

‘It’s me, Uncle Michael,’ he said again.

Michael gave him a brief hug. ‘Good man yourself, Benny. Is your aunt well?’

‘Very well. Looking forward to seeing you.’

The words came out with difficulty, slow and measured.

Ryan said, ‘My niece, Kathleen. You and she will be second cousins.’

Benny pulled off his cap revealing a shock of untidy yellowing hair. He nodded, beaming with pleasure. ‘Kathleen.’

She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘It’s good to meet you.’

He was overcome, nodding eagerly and Ryan introduced Keogh who held out his hand. Benny’s grasp was so strong that Keogh grimaced with pain.

‘Easy, son – easy does it.’ He turned to Ryan. ‘I see what you mean about running the farm. This lad must be up to the work of ten men.’

‘At least,’ Ryan said. ‘Anyway, let’s get going.’

Benny took Kathleen’s suitcase and Ryan’s and raced ahead to the Land Rover. Ryan said to Keogh and Kathleen, ‘He could beat five men in any bar-room brawl but in the heart of him he’s a child. Mind that well and give him time when he speaks. Sometimes he has difficulty getting the words out.’

Benny put the luggage in the back and Keogh slung his duffel in. Benny ran round to open the front passenger door. He pulled off his cap and nodded eagerly again to Kathleen.

‘In you go, Kate,’ Keogh told her. ‘Make the big fella’s day. We’ll sit behind.’

They all got in and Benny ran round and climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine and Ryan said, ‘A great driver, this lad, make no mistake:’ He patted Benny on the shoulder. ‘Away we go, Benny. Is the truck all right?’

Benny nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’

He turned into the main road and Ryan’s niece said, ‘What truck would that be?’

‘Later girl, later. Just sit back and admire the scenery. Some of the best in England.’

When they reached the coast road it started to rain. Ryan said, ‘It does that a lot up here. I suppose it’s the mountains.’

They lifted up on the right, a spectacular sight, the peaks covered by low cloud. On the left the sea was angry, rolling in fast, whitecaps everywhere, a heavy sea mist following.

‘The Isle of Man out there and then dear old Ireland,’ Ryan told them.

Keogh said, ‘I don’t know whether you’ve had a forward weather forecast for Friday, but one thing’s for sure. If it’s rough weather that Siemens ferry is in for one hell of a ride.’

‘We’ll just have to see, won’t we?’ Ryan told him.

About forty-five minutes out of Barrow they came to an area where there were marshes on their left stretching out to sea, vanishing into the mist. There was a sign up ahead and Ryan touched Benny on the shoulder.

The big man slowed down and Ryan said, ‘Marsh End. Let’s take a quick look, Benny.’

Benny turned down a track and drove slowly along a causeway through a landscape of total desolation, reeds marching into the mist. There was an old cottage to the right and then a jetty about one hundred yards long stretching out into the sea. Benny cut the engine.

‘So that’s it?’ Keogh said.

‘That’s it.’ Ryan nodded. ‘Only something like the Siemens with its shallow draught could get in.’

‘You can say that again. When the tide’s out I’d say it’s nothing but marsh and mud flats.’

Ryan tapped Benny on the shoulder. ‘Off we go, Benny,’ and the big man nodded obediently and reversed.

Towards the upper end of Eskdale Valley, mountains rearing before them, Benny turned into a broad track and dropped down into a low gear. There were grey stone walls on either hand, sheep huddled together in the rain.

‘A desolate sort of place,’ Keogh said.

Ryan nodded. ‘A hard way to make a living.’

They came to a wooden signpost that bore the legend Folly’s End. ‘And that just about sums it up,’ Ryan observed.

A moment later and they came to farm gates wide open and beyond it the farm, two large barns, the farmhouse itself, all built in weathered grey stone. Benny turned off the engine and got out. As they followed, the front door opened and a black and white sheepdog bounded out. A moment later a woman appeared. She wore a heavy knitted sweater, men’s trousers and green Wellington boots. Her hair was iron grey, the face strangely young looking. Ryan went forward as she held her arms open. They embraced warmly and he turned.

‘Here you are then, my cousin, Mary Power.’

The beamed kitchen had a stone-flagged floor, a wood fire burning in an open hearth. She served them herself, ladling lamb and potato stew from a large pot, moving round the table, then sat at the end.

‘It’s good to see you, girl,’ she said to Kathleen. ‘When you reach my age relatives are hard to come by.’

‘And it’s good to meet you,’ Kathleen told her.

‘And you, Mr Keogh, what would your speciality be?’ Mary Power asked.