Writer's Notebook

From the start I'd been unsure about taking Morgana on a trip to Ireland. I know she'll blame me for the idea. She usually does. That just goes to show how good she is at planting thoughts in your head and then getting you to suggest them. It seems to be a woman's gift. I sure know, I don't have it. Not that I'd not wanted to show her my home and the country I'm still very much attached to despite my long absence. But Ireland still held a few ghosts I needed to lay to rest. And the largest of these was Dad.

Dad was the reason I left Ireland, and Dad was the reason I didn't want to go back. Not that we hated each other, or anything like that. Dad was kind and caring; he was also exceedingly smothering. In his presence nothing could bloom, let alone a 19 year old youth setting out to discover life, the world, and what his place in that world was. There was just not room for the two of us in the garden of life that Dad had etched out in his younger days. His roots were firm and solid and easily swallowed up any newcomers. Either I would be subject to the same fate, or our roots would become so entwined that any notion of personality would become meaningless. And that was what I had to avoid.

So I left. I left in order to become myself. I left because I needed my space in order to become myself. And what did I discover? But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The trip itself went well. Morgana charmed the whole world, with the possible exception of a couple of once upon a time hopefuls whose Irish eyes betrayed a different kind of green and for whom the long hiatus had changed little. Mother loved her from the start and fussed over her as only Irish mothers can. Sis came to meet us at the station and endeared herself even before Morgana got off the train. It was great just seeing how Morgana conquered all wherever she went; I was falling in love with her all over again without ever having fallen out of love.

I took her everywhere. We visited all the old haunts and I told her some, but far from all my former adventures... some things really are best left unsaid. But one place I didn't take her, was Dad's tomb. I didn't want to go there myself, so how could I take her. I knew I had to go if I was to break Dad's spell in my life, but I just couldn't bring her to do it. In the end, it was Mum who took her, and gave me a very awry look of disapproval while she was about it. We had just two days to go, before returning home again. And we'd not be back until well after the wedding. Was Dad going to dominate our life together too?

I grabbed my coat and went for a long walk. But it was no good. The path kept taking me back towards the graveyard. Coming to yet another fork I cunningly picked the more direct root, that one that went past the pub before going on to the graveyard. If I was going to have to do this, then I needed some fortification. But it was no good. I went in, greeted those standing round the bar, stammered an "I'll be back later, Gerry" and walked straight back out again. I was going to have to face up to this, and I was going to have to do it alone. Not even Guinness could help me today.

I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say or do when I got there. I just knew I had to get it done. In the end my surprise came to my aid; surprise that the tomb was so small. Could this little slab of space really hold such a giant? This man who overshadowed my life, was now lying under my feet. And he seemed so ordinary lying there as he was. I sat and began to talk to him. The more I talked the more I felt his hold slackening. I told him all I had done since leaving home. I told him about friends and about betrayal; how much I had learnt and how different things had become important to me. This was the first time in my life that I talked to my father like this, and it was the first time he'd listened. Maybe it was the first time I'd let him listen. And as I sat there I suddenly realised, how much I owed him, how many of my values came from him, how similar to him I had become. But the key thing was that I had become this on my own. And through the wind blowing in the leaves I'm sure I heard him whisper: "Thank you son. I'm proud of you."