PenWomanShip

From the comfort of our London flat it had seemed like an interesting way to see Ireland. Travelling by horse drawn caravan wasn't something you would normally do in Australia. It sounded like fun.

The wind rushed through the mews in Galway City as we looked with some trepidation at our conveyance and home for the next fortnight. The horse drawn caravan, with its semi circular outline and brightly painted green and white exterior, looked more suitable for the gypsy band we'd passed on the way into Galway than for Diana and me.

"Horse's name is Judy, show her who's boss, oats are under the van, better walk her till ye're outside the city limits. Here's to ye till next week". We were handed the reins, the groom tipped his cap to us and left.

"Aren't they going to show us how to drive it?" said Di.

"Maybe they won't let us take it if they know we can't." I tried to look nonchalant as I rubbed the big horse's downy brown muzzle. "Which way do you think we go to get out of Galway City?"

Judy suddenly decided it was time for action and started walking down the road, caravan creaking into life behind her. The horsey smell, the sound of her feet clip clopping over the cobblestones and the protesting groans of the big wooden wheels as they began to turn startled us into action.

"Let's just follow her, she seems to know which way to go," Diana suggested. We held a rein each and walked beside Judy as she led us through the narrow streets and into the emerald countryside.

The road alongside the bay was narrow and winding. Neither of us wanted to risk getting into the driver's seat in case Judy proved difficult to handle, so we walked. Judy plodded along happily enough and we liked the feel and smell of her. As dusk began to settle storm clouds gathered threateningly across the bay.

"Where do you think we should stop for the night? Look at those clouds," I was feeling nervous.

"Look, there," Di pointed ahead to a little picnic area just ahead. There was a wooden post and rail fence along the water's edge, a table and chairs and an amenities block. "I'm too tired to walk any further anyway."

We tied the reins to the fence. The grass was quite long and Judy started munching contentedly. We climbed under the caravan and brought her out a scoop of oats before climbing up for our first look inside the van.

There were four bunk beds inside and a bench with a kerosene burner, a box of matches and a sink. A kerosene lantern hung from the ceiling. Our sleeping bags, suitcase and a parcel of bread, milk and tea were on the floor where the groom had left them.

"Do you know how to light a kerosene lantern?" I asked Diana.

She shook her head. "How are we going to get the horse out of the harness?" I hadn't thought of that. Thunder was now growling overhead.

We looked at the perplexing jumble of leather straps, buckles and rings. "Where do we start? What…"

Big raindrops started to fall and Judy was fidgeting restlessly.

"There's a car," Di began running to the roadside as an orange Volkswagen beetle came speeding around the bend. Four young men waved at us from the windows and looked quite pleased to be stopped by two birds in trouble.

"Well, I don't know Love, we come from Dublin," our hearts sank at this reply to our explanation of the situation.

The rain was now quite heavy and Judy began to whinny.

Diana pointed out the nearest buckle to our rescuers. "Do you think we should undo that one first?"

Help came from an unexpected quarter. As the six of us began lifting and undoing the straps Judy shook herself vigorously if we undid the wrong one and stood still when we were on the right track. With the rain now pelting down we finally came to the last buckle, under her tail. The smallest of the Dubliners volunteered to climb under and undo it, to his regret. Judy chose that moment to relieve herself and ….well, you can guess. At least the rain was heavy enough to help with the clean up.

We dragged the harness under the van and waved the boys off.

"Meet us at the pub down the road for a drink tomorrow," were their parting words. It sounded good to us.

A restless night followed as the wind howled and rocked the van and the roof leaked like a sieve.

We slept on the bottom bunks and used the top ones as makeshift umbrellas. We'd tethered Judy to the sheltered side of the van but felt sorry for her nonetheless.

At daybreak someone pounded on the door. We opened it to find an angry man in overalls astride a horse.

"What do ye think ye're doing, treating a poor animal like that? Who are ye? This a horse and van from them damn Galway Mews I guess. Speak up. Who are ye? Foreigners no doubt. Don't ye know how to look after a horse? Poor dumb animal. W…"

"Can you show us how to hitch her up to the van please?" I broke in to stop the tirade. "We'd be glad if you could show us what to do."

Some of the bluster went out of him and he mumbled, "Ye could have asked me for a loan of my stable for the night."

"But where do you live? We couldn't see any farms and there was nowhere else to stop. If…" Di was dragging the harness from under the van.

"Always stop at a farm for the night Girlies. No-one'll turn ye down round here. They're used to the vans."

He showed us what to do and gave us a lesson in driving. Judy clip clopped along briskly with him at the reins. We waved him off, feeling much more confident and glad to see the sun promising a fine day.

We clicked the reins briskly as he'd shown us and bade Judy, "Git up," but she didn't move. Not one inch would she go. Di climbed down and pulled the bridle and she set off, ambling slowly along as she'd done yesterday. Di went to jump up on the van again and Judy stopped, dead. As soon as Di reached her head again she started off.

With dismay we realised she wanted us to walk beside her, all the way. We tried attaching a piece of bread to a wire hanging from the head strap, thinking she'd follow it, but she was clever, as we'd already found out, and didn't fall for it. So walk we did, taking it in turns. Judy looked smug.

Toiling up a steep hill later in the morning, muscles protesting painfully, I said "Good Morning," to an old man who hobbled past us with the help of a knobbled shillelagh.

"Top o' the mornin' to ye," he grinned and tipped his cap to us.

Some ten minutes later he passed us again as he hobbled back down the hill with a parcel of bread under his arm.

"Ah," he said, "Ye're not seein' much but what ye're seein' ye're seein' well."

Arriving at the summit of the hill presented a problem. How to get down the other side without the van pushing against Judy and toppling her over? A lady leading a burro loaded with peat was coming through a nearby farm gate. We asked her for help. She showed us the brake, a heavy wooden lever on the side of the van that worked by pulling it against the wheel.

The trip down that hill was hair-raising. It took the two of us pulling on the lever with all our strength to hold the van steady but we slid erratically from one side of the road to the other. As we slid out of control onto the bridge at the bottom of the hill we received a mouthful of abuse from the driver of a car coming in the opposite direction. It seems he felt we should have stopped and let him cross first.

"You shouldn't be on the road," he shouted at us, "don't you know the rules? Stupid women!"

I was indignant. "Yes, I know the rules," I shouted back at him, "Sail Before Steam," and walked Judy by with as much dignity as I could muster.

By three o'clock we'd had enough and were glad to see a pub beside the road, a farmhouse just opposite.

"That must be the pub those boys meant," said Di, "let's…"

I was already pulling Judy to a stop.

The farmer was happy to give us a paddock for the night and we looked forward to a social evening. The pub was cosy and warm. We felt welcome.

"Where've you been? We thought you'd be here hours ago," came a familiar voice from the corner.

We recounted the days adventures to the Dubliners and enjoyed joining in rousing renditions of Irish folk songs that broke out spontaneously from time to time by customers clustered around the bar. The bitterness of the Guinness gradually became sweeter to us but the mood in the bar didn't. We noticed as the night drew on that Gaelic was spoken more and more and the songs changed from lilting folk songs to angry rebel chants. Expressions changed from smiles to glowers and the Dubliners suggested it might be time for us all to take our leave. It sounded good to us.

Next morning we harnessed up, quite expert now, and set off.

"Top o' the mornin' to ye," and "Bless ye, ye've brought the sun wit' ye," and "Morning Girlies," were friendly calls that greeted us as we walked through the village.

A lady we'd seen at the hotel the night before ran up and passed us a block of homemade butter wrapped up in greaseproof paper and a loaf of sourdough bread. Life was very good that morning.

As the days passed we noticed that the sunny days brought smiles and well wishes our way. The rainy days brought sullen glares and silence. People were superstitious. They always crossed themselves when passing a church or cemetery. At night we'd join the families around their peat stove in the white washed thatched farmhouses and listen enthralled to the local tales and legends. So often these involved malevolent spirits, magic charms and dark powers. They had little knowledge of the world outside Galway and their lives were ruled by ancient ways. Gypsies and tinkers shared the roads with us, there were few cars.

The sun shone brightly on our third morning and we soon felt hot and sweaty.

"I wish she'd darn well walk by herself," groaned Di as she took her turn at Judy's head.

"Look at that beautiful paddock," I pointed off to our right to a field of knee high rich verdant green grass. Let's have a rest."

I got no argument from either Di or Judy.

Leaving Di to unhitch Judy and lead her into horse heaven I was pouring us a cup of tea when I heard Di scream.

I rushed outside to find Judy sinking rapidly into a bog, already up to her shoulders and Diana desperately trying to pull her out by the mane.

Terrified she was going to drown and unable to get her to push herself out of the bog we watched helplessly and now in tears as Judy sank to her neck.

"Whatever are we….?" I began when a rough voice called from behind.

"Needing help Girlies?"

Relief overcame mounting hysteria as the farmer took the reins off Diana.

"She's having ye on Girlies, this is how ye do it." He shouted loud and angrily,

"Go on, git up, git up there, hoi hoi, git up ye beast."

Amazed we watched as Judy calmly walked out of the bog, uninjured and indifferent to our exclamations of frustration and relief. She got no oats that day. The farmer gave us a bag of potatoes from his cart. We didn't give her any of them either.

We were greeted by a group of three children at the farm door we chose that night. "Me Mam's sick but she said ye're welcome to camp by the stream," announced the eldest, a lad of about twelve.

"Can we get water from the stream?" I asked. Our drinking water was nearly finished.

"I'll get it, let me, let me," clamoured a six year old grabbing our bucket from my hands.

"Ye be too small Danny, ye won't lift it," his sister chided

"I will, I will," Danny raced down to the stream tripping over the bucket on the way.

He managed to fill the bucket and was struggling to pull it onto the bank before we reached him.

"Put it down Danny, leave it for us," his brother called. Too late. Danny toppled over, head first into the bucket, feet in the air and tumbled into the stream.

We felt sorry to see his six-year-old pride so sorely hurt, and wondered guiltily if his Mam would regret letting us stay when she was confronted with the miserable dripping bundle.

One morning a car carrying a group of American tourists pulled up sharply in front of us, causing Judy to whinny in fright and pull up with a jarring wrench. People jumped out of the car and snapped quick photos of us before throwing some coins on the road and driving off without a word.

"They think we're gypsies," laughed Di.

"Oh well, we've got a free lunch," I said picking up the coins. I wonder how many people have been shown those photos of Irish gypsies? These events took place a lot of years ago now and Ireland has become a modern sophisticated country. I'm sure that's good for the Irish but it's a shame for those like us when nostalgia beckons.

On Sunday morning we came across a church with a large number of sulkies, wagons and a few cars pulled up outside. We decided to join the congregation. We led Judy to the fence intending to tie her up when panic struck the other animals. We didn't know what we'd done to cause it but several horses started rearing and whinnying and those not tethered took off down the road with Judy in pursuit. It was only the second time we'd seen her break into a canter and she did so with a fervour. We chased her down the road, mortified at the commotion we'd caused, and desperate to get away before the angry crowd of parishioners caught up with us.

"Do you think it's time we went back to London Di?" I asked hopefully.

"I like being a gypsy," she grinned at me, then sighed as she turned Judy's head towards Galway City.