|
Back to First Page
Grand Opening Day By David Gardiner This story may be reproduced in whole or in part for any non-commercial purpose provided that authorship is acknowledged and credited. The copyright remains the property of the author
I have heard it said that the Devil never rests. This is quite inaccurate. The Devil is, on
the contrary, a slothful individual, given also to gluttony, lust, envy and a number of
other vices of which he is the world's foremost proponent. I suppose in this respect you
could call him the Vice Principal.
For many years, if he had been particularly busy inspiring a World War, an American
presidential campaign or the launch of a new alcho-pop, it was his habit to holiday in
rural Ireland. Western Donegal was amongst his favourite destinations, not only for the
climate, which was notably bleak, the scenery, which reminded him of home, the relative
absence of young violinists seeking to engage him in competition, but most of all for the
people themselves, whom he had always regarded as his sort of people.
On this particular occasion the Prince of Darkness, in the earthly form of a back-packing
bearded sociology student from the University of Northampton, was making his way
down a lane towards the cliffs, about two-and-a-half miles outside the town of Lower
Ballybillcaffrey. They had called it "lower" Ballybillcaffrey in case they might some day
build another one, higher up, but in fact this project had never come to fruition.
Although to the casual observer the rolling scrub above the Lower Ballybillcaffrey
headland would have appeared bereft of all human life, the progress of the spindly little
figure was in fact observed by more than one pair of eyes. Young Guard Doyle, who had
been posted to the town in recognition of his outstanding incompetence at the county
headquarters, had carefully concealed his bicycle in the longer bracken and was now
reclining on the grass in a small clearing in the bushes some hundreds of yards south of
the lane. in his arms was the teenage daughter of one of the local sheep-farmers, Imelda
Hannigan by name, who was in a disrobed and somewhat excited condition, but who
nevertheless managed to disengage her lips from his for enough time to utter the words:
"There's somebody coming down the lane, Charlie." Guard Doyle took stock of the
situation, and, with the rapid-response skills of a highly-trained professional law officer
could see in an instant what action was required of him. Firstly, he must make a full
appraisal of the facts.
"Are you sure you're sixteen, Meldy?" he asked in a suspicious undertone.
"Okay. Now I want you to put your things back on again, just for a few minutes, 'till I see
who thon fella is."
So saying he adjusted his clothing, dusted himself down, and left the disappointed Miss
Hannigan attempting to fasten her bra as he set off on foot to intercept the stranger.
"Good morning, Officer," said the Devil pleasantly as Doyle approached, "isn't it the next
thing to a miracle that it isn't raining!"
"Indeed it is that, Sir, 'tis indeed. Is it England you're from, Sir?"
"You could say that." A glint came into the Devil's eye. Even though he was off duty, he
couldn't resist a little bit of low-grade devilment, just to make the holiday interesting "I'm
doing a sociology thesis on naturist beaches. I came to see the new one you're setting-up
here."
Doyle looked puzzled. "Oh. Aye. The new naturist beach. And where would that be,
now?"
"Just below the cliff here. Haven't you seen the sign?" As he said this he flicked his head
to one side to indicate a very official-looking newly erected signpost by the side of the
lane. Guard Doyle was amazed that he had never noticed it before. In large black letters
against a yellow background, it announced in both English and Irish: LOWER
BALLYBILCAFFREY NATURIST BEACH AHEAD.
Doyle considered it for a moment. "Sure I never knew anything about that. I suppose it's
to bring in the tourists. For the bird-watching and that?"
The Devil smiled. "Somewhat crudely expressed - but essentially accurate."
Guard Doyle puzzled over the newly erected sign as the supernatural visitor continued
strolling towards the sea.
Due to the pressing nature of the duties that the Devil's arrival had interrupted it was
some time before Guard Doyle arrived back at the local Police Station, but as soon as he
did he recounted the details of the meeting to his Sergeant.
"A naturists' beach in Ballybillcaffrey? They never told me anything about that."
Sergeant Riley phoned through to Billy Costello who ran the local newspaper. Billy
hadn't heard anything either, but obviously it would have been a Council decision so the
man to talk to was the Mayor (and Publican of the Shaltree Arms) Liam Blaney. A call to
his office confirmed that he was in fact behind the bar of the Shaltree at the moment due
to the fact that Imelda Hannigan, the new barmaid, had failed to turn up for her first day's
work. Rather than waste the price of another phone-call Billy crossed the road to the
Shaltree and asked Liam for a Guinness.
"So, Liam. Tell us all about this Naturist beach. When did they vote for that?"
Liam studied the foam on top of the Guinness as it settled and mentally groped around for
an answer. He might possibly have dozed off for a moment at the last-but-one meeting,
because they'd had a big wedding reception in the function room the night before and he
hadn't got to bed ‘til dawn, but he was damned if he could remember anything about
naturalists on the beach. "Eh... how much do you know about it already, Billy?" he asked
guardedly.
"Well, the notice has already been put up at the end of the lane through Dan Rannigan's
field. So it's that little crescent of beach at the bottom of the cliff steps. But I didn't see
anything about it in the minutes. When is the opening day?"
Opening day? A civic event? Liam thought fast. His re-election came up in about three
months, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a high-profile civic event before then, make a
few speeches, invite a few dignitaries, offer ten per cent off the bar prices... yes, an
opening day was a good idea. In fact, he was going to call it the Grand Opening Day.
"The Grand Opening Day is in three week's time," he announced with a suitable flourish,
~'I was going to announce it in the Advertiser when the preparations were complete. But
now that you've found out about it anyway, I suppose you may as well give it a few
column inches. We'll be having the Bishop to say a few words, and Kieran Kelly, TD,"
those two were such publicity-seekers he didn't even have to ask them in advance,
"and...and maybe the kids from the Primary School to sing a few songs. Oh yes, and we'll
invite RTE to cover the occasion in whatever way they think best...." Liam was getting
into his stride now and as he spoke the event seemed to emerge from a hazy region of fog
at the back of his mind into sharp sunlit relief.
The Great Day dawned calm and cloudless as Mayor Liam Blaney made his way down
the lane in Hannigan's field to oversee the preparations. God is on our side, he thought to
himself, unaware of any irony.
Even from the top of the lane the sight was impressive. A colourful array of cars and
vans, mini-buses and coaches had formed an impromptu cluster near the steps, and a thin
but persistent thread of people was wending its way towards the beach. There was a
communications van with an impressive satellite dish on its roof pointing towards the
sky, and a couple of St. John's Ambulance vehicles sat in splendid isolation on the verge
at the opposite side of the lane awaiting casualties.
Down on the beach, it was even more impressive. Several hundred holidaymakers had
arrived, some from as far away as England and Scotland, in response to the
announcements that Liam had placed in the Irish and English national press. He had been
hesitant about this, it had bitten deeply into the Council's Press Fund, but now that he
could see the result he knew that it had been exactly the right thing to do. Lower
Ballybillcaffrey had never exactly featured on the West Donegal tourist trail, but now he
had obviously found the key. Who would have believed that nature held so much interest
for so many young and prosperous-looking people from every part of the British Isles?
The crowd that thronged the little crescent of sand waited patiently, though with a
slightly puzzled air, as the Bishop said a few words about the beauty of God's creation,
and blessed the beach and the visitors. The Primary School children sang "Morning has
Broken" and "Amazing Grace", together with something in Irish to a tune vaguely
reminiscent of "The Volga Boatsong". There was polite but still somewhat puzzled
applause from the beach. Kieran Kelly was next on the little podium, and he spoke at
some length about Ireland's new political maturity and its place among the nations of
Europe, ending up with a resume (which he had paraphrased from a school textbook)
regarding the birds that nested in West Donegal, the commoner fish found in her rivers
and streams, and the likelihood of sighting seals or even the occasional dolphin off her
Atlantic coast. The applause, Liam felt, was still a little muted, but the audience was
attentive, high-spirited, and obviously eager with anticipation for the Grand Opening
itself. For this, Mayor Blaney called Kieran Kelly and the Bishop back on to the podium,
feeling that this would make a better photograph.
"Ladies and gentlemen... boys and girls," he said with just the right mixture of formality
and good cheer, "on behalf of Lower Ballybillcaffrey Town Council, the Irish Free State
and the Holy Roman Catholic Church, I now declare the New Lower Ballybillcaffrey
Naturist Beach well and truly open."
At last the scale of the applause seemed in keeping with the gravity of the occasion.
Cheers and hoots went up, and the great crowd on the beach began to throw off their
clothes excitedly, obviously keen to mark the occasion with a gleeful dip in the warm
lapping waves from the North Atlantic Drift. Liam smiled happily as the first of the
bathers, mostly children, took to the water. Then the smile slowly drained from his face.
He turned first to the Bishop, then to the TD, finally to the choir-mistress of the Primary
School, whose little group of children had gone strangely quiet. The party on the podium
grew pale and totally motionless, resembling the grim official statues with which they
would never now be honoured.
It would be wrong to say that Liam's worst nightmare was coming true. Even in sleep
Liam's subconscious could never have encompassed the notion of five-hundred naked
holidaymakers frolicking around in the waves in front of himself, His Grace the Bishop,
the local TD, every well-connected citizen of Lower Ballybillcaffrey, the news reporters
of most of the country's press, and the all-seeing cameras of national television.
As the Devil slipped his rucksack back over his shoulder and started up the cliff steps, he
whistled a merry little tune that he had learned from one of Alexander the Great's soldiers
during a previous holiday to the Far East.
TO READ OR SIGN THE GUEST BOOK JUST CLICK ON THE
|
