Wednesday's Words on a Friday

 

Connemara coastline according to Google images

******************************************************************

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles. Sadly, Delores has now closed her blog forever due to other problems.

The aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along to read it and add a few encouraging words.

This month the words/prompts are supplied by Wisewebwoman and can be found here

This week's words/prompts are:

1.ambulance  2.bluebell  3.Sacristy  4.fountain

and/or:

1.magnificent  2.Connemara  3.castaway  4.trumpet

Charlotte's colour of the month is Thrash Pink.

Here is my story:

The boys left after a few minutes more chatting and cleaning up their plates and cups. They promised to come back the next day with a garden wagon to help move the cross and the Albatross. As they waved goodbye, William was using a sheet of sandpaper to smooth parts of the cross. When he was satisfied with the finish, he packed away all his tools after cleaning them and went inside to prepare some dinner from one of the loaves of bread and some cold cooked meats from the cold larder. Checking that everything was cleaned and put away, he went to bed, more exhausted than he felt he should be.

The boys arrived early the next morning with the wagon and some rope to secure the cross and the big wooden bird. Greg had also brought an extra walking stick, the tall type that hikers often use, to help William make his way down and around to Jim’s Nanna’s house. They knew it would be slow going and encouraged William to tell another story as they went, to help pass the time. He began: “My sailor Grandfather, Michael, came from a place called Connemara, it’s in Ireland and he couldn’t bear to stay there after his fiancé died suddenly.”

“I like the sound of Connemara,” said Jim, “it rolls nicely when you say it.” “How did she die?” asked Dan. “There was a fire in their kitchen, or so I was told,” said William. “She was badly burned and an ambulance was called for, though in those days it was most likely an old farm wagon drawn by horses, but she died before they got her to the doctor. Michael told me after that, he spent hours in the Sacristy of the local church, he described it as a simple building, set in gardens of bluebells and daffodils.”

Greg made a note of this and determined to paint a picture of such a place for his great Uncle as soon as possible. “I don’t suppose you have a picture of it?” asked Greg. “Not a photo, but a drawing as cameras probably hadn’t been invented back then.” “Nothing,” said William, “only a memory told to me by a heartbroken man. He ran away to sea, called himself a Castaway and joined the first ship that would have him. I remember tales of India where he first saw elephants and heard them trumpet as they made their way to waterholes, he thought they were the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.”

“I’m thinking sailing the world would be a good way to heal his broken heart,” said Dan. “It must have been,” said William, “he met a lovely young Indian woman but they weren’t allowed to marry, being of different faiths and of course the Indian Caste system had something to do with it as well. He did eventually marry an Englishwoman, and must have somehow convinced her to let him keep sailing while she stayed home and raised their babies.