An elderly gentleman alighted from the trap; the youthful manner in which the old man was able to egress from his former mode of transport belied the fact that he was well over his seventieth year on this Earth.

With a single wave of his hand the man, whose name was Patrick, dismissed both the trap and James its young driver, acknowledging the youth to make his own way home.  The pony and trap rattled off along the Track of the Foot road towards Ballyholland and young James’s abode.

Old Patrick pulled his overcoat tightly around himself and made his way up the hill on the Derryleckagh road into the teeth of that howling wind. The old gentleman cut an unusual if (dare I say) comical figure, with his hat pulled tightly down on his head and held in place against the wind by the simple expediency of placing his scarf across the hat and tying the said scarf in a knot under his chin.

The time was about eleven o’clock, Patrick and his friend had just returned from Hilltown, and after been dropped off at the bridge Patrick would walk the rest of the way home along the Derryleckagh Road to Mill Town, a distance of two miles or so.

With his head bent low the old Patrick struggled up the hill into the teeth of the gale. As the old gentleman laboured valiantly against the elements he thought back to the time only few hours before, when over a glass or two of Porter, his young companion and himself had struck a good bargain at Hilltown Fair.  For one thing that could always be said of Patrick, was that he was a good dealing man, especially if a glass or two of St James Gate’s Best Black was in the offering.

... more to follow ....