Sitting outside Patsy O’Donoghue’s bar at Dugort Harbour, just the sound of seagulls. Behind me, the smell of fish and seaweed, as it bobs up and down on the ebbing tide over the quay wall. Nearby, a fisherman tinkers with the engine of an antique Fordson Major which refuses to start. Anotherpint. Yes, I know, it’s an hour before opening, but there’s a “local arrangement” for the lobster men who have been out since dawn.
The guy from the fishing tackle store approaches the potholed station approach road with his donkey and cart. He’s collecting something from the morning mixed train, which took a connection from the Tralee goods in Castletown.
Turf smoke drifts from the two cottages across the road from from the station. Biddy and Sarah are opening up the paper shop. They’ve spent all their sixty-plus years in that shop, since the pair of them were born in the room above it.
In the distance, we hear the unmistakable sound of a locomotive horn. That’ll be Tully gates he’s approaching. He’ll be here in under five minutes. It sounds like one of those new American ones, not the usual Crossley. You hear that? Very different sound, isn’t it?
Probably the same one that was on yesterday. Let’s get the telephoto out and see what sort of picture we can get from here.
Here we are! Got a snap of him just coming round the bend.
Finish that pint and we’ll go over the road and watch him shunting. I think the two vans in the goods yard will be going.
Something on the wireless about the President of America bring shot. Did you hear that? Sure he was only here a few weeks ago, in New Ross.
We’ll have to get the paper tomorrow to read about it.