Dominic’stractor and the Christmas geese–part1 I

T was Christmas 1988 and I had flown to London to promote my new album ‘The Sky and the Ground’. As soon as the work was done, Clare and drove in her Renault 5 from London to Wales, and then took the ferry to Rosslare Harbour.

Just a couple of miles beyond the harbour, the road turns back towards the mainland, by-passing the Village of Rosslare. Being in a festive mood and excited by Clare’s first visit to Wexford, I suggested that we deviate and go through Rosslare Village.

I directed Clare up past the golf course where it seemed like the road was coming to a narrow end, and around the curve to the right where the water ebbed up to the stony edge. I got out and swung open an iron gate so that we could go a little deeper on into the pot holed gravel, where we could look at the lights of Wexford Town across the Bay.

We sat there reminiscing about our seaside childhoods, Clare is from Brighton a bigger but similar environment, the water is in our blood. After about half an hour I looked at my watch and thought of my family. ‘They might start wondering about us, maybe we better head in.’

Clare turned the engine on, and began to back away from the water, we were not moving, she put her foot further down. We moved even less. Realising what was happening I asked her to stop and jumped out to take a look.

The tide had come in and even though our back wheels were on solid dry ground we were not gaining traction. It was then that I realized that Clare’s Renault was front wheel drive.

I could see in the scant moonlight that we had been only been digging ourselves into a hole. I threw my jacket under one of the wheels in desperation. That tide was coming in! All it did was spit the jacket out.

Our situation was quickly progressing from a curious problem to a possible catastrophe; we could loose the car! There were no phone booths around, and we were a long walk from the nearest hotel. Looking around in the pitch dark there was nothing except silent sand dunes and black clouds overhead.

‘Let’s walk back a bit, I think I saw a little light deep in behind the bushes as we were driving in here.’

A small yellow light was visible over and above the dense bush. It was an entrance into some kind of yard. Before us an old white washed outhouse paralleled the road. Over to the right standing alone where it had been built in far more recent times was a small two-storey house. The woman of the house pulled the door open without hesitation.

‘Really sorry to bother you.’ It was spitting rain and the wind was whipping up now too, Clare was perished in her two piece suit.

‘We were down on the beach admiring the Town whe…’ ‘Dominic!!!’

‘Yes mammy’ came a male voice in prompt response.

‘Get the tractor will ye? dere’s a nudder wan stuck in de sand!!’

‘C’mon in shur, Dominic’ll be here in a minute’

‘Mammy do ye know where the battery is?” Dominic, a twenty something fine big strapping lad, comes rushing out from the back of the tiny house, with wellington boots up to his waistline, raincoat, and so’wester.

‘It’s in the tractor already, shur I used it earlier when I was haulin up the straw.’

They suggested that Clare sit at the fire where an old man sat pulling on his clay pipe.

Outside, Dominic switched on an industrial strength lamp, it cut through the blackness and revealed a mud covered red tractor.

‘Kin you hop on the tow bar dare, and hould de light out so I kin see what’s in front of me?’

(CONTINUED NEXT WEEK)