3 Kicks to the Door

TOM HANLY

When I was about five or six years old, my sister who was seven years older than me, now and then used to go visiting our next door neighbour. Sometimes she would take me.

In the country, next door could be anything up to a mile away!

Cathy Kiely was about a quarter of a mile, now looking back - she must have been in her late seventies, a tall lady with wild grey hair who used to dress in a modernised version, of then Victorian-style clothing.

Her little cottage was very neat but in need of repair. Furniture was scarce!

I remember an old dresser which held all her possessions, I would say everything. There were three sougan chairs with the paint flaking off them, now that would be the height of fashion!

She lived there on her own but she had her pride and joy - a dog called Bun. She would explain how clever he was on the command of "lie down and die Bun" - down flat out he would go - he knew there was a biscuit coming up.

As she walked to the local village she continuously chatted with Bun, the same as if he was an old friend she hadn't met for years.

Cathy spent all her working life with a farmer just down the road. She milked cows by hand, fed calves and helped with all the jobs of a farm. She said it was nice there because she was treated as one of the family.

Almost across the road from her, lived Bill - a big burly man who lived a similar life to Cathy - his wife had passed away some years before - and I think Cathy had an eye on him - because of the affectionate way she would give out about him!

The magic part of the visit for me (as she would always walk us to our front gate) was the locking of her door.

She had a big key - like an ornament it was. She explained everything to Bun.

"Now I'm locking the door" - that kind of chat.

Once it was locked - she'd stand straight with her back to the door and give three kicks of her heel faster than any machine gun to the bottom of the door to make sure it was locked!

Then she would walk out the narrow path to the little gate, open it and close it.

She would look back at the door through the worn opening in the wild privet hedge and then she would go back and repeat the whole ritual!

I had forgotten all about Cathy from the passing of time and the living of life, until recently I found myself chucking at the door handle making sure it was locked just stopping short of kicking it three times. It woke up the memory of Cathy Kiely all those years ago.

I said to myself if Cathy is looking down - she will be saying "Did you see that Bun", with that smile in her eyes.