Bruar's Rest

remainder of his day. O’Connor laughed at this, as he piled more sticks on the vigorously burning campfire. ‘For sure, some folks come into this world and don’t even know they’ve been alive. Did ye see the eyes of that skin-flinted photographer?’ he asked everyone, adding, ‘They were sitting on stalks wit the fear of him. I’ve never seen such a mouse-like creature. I should have poured a pint of the brown stuff into him, I’m sure he’d be lifting his spindles o’ legs a-jigging wit the rest of us. Mind youse, I’m thinking yon lad’s trousers were filled wit the other brown stuff.’
    Into his trouser pocket Rory rammed his hand, drew forth a Jews harp, positioned it between his teeth and let rip. ‘Come on then, you big galoot of an Irishman, let’s me see the jigging of yourself.’
    O’Connor needed no further prompting. With an almighty yelp he grabbed Rachel, threw her skyward and birled her like a peerie top.
    She drew in her breath, released a fine volley of mouth music and the party began.
    ‘If Robbie Burns just happened to be passing and him full of the drink, he’d have added tinkers alongside his witches and warlocks to his poem Tam O’ Shanter,’ whispered Jimmy into Bruar’s ear, then added, ‘Aye, and then no doubt Tam would have blamed them for cutting off his old mare’s tail.’
    The newlywed groom couldn’t take his eyes of Megan as she lifted her wedding dress, showing perfect knees. He rose up and howled at the top of his voice, grabbed her narrow waist and began dancing around the tents.
    Jimmy shook his head watching both O’Connor and Rory, who were screeching and howling like wolves, and commented, ‘Nobody does weddings like the tinker.’ He was aware that he and Bruar were only half-bred, but on that night and after such a ceremony, no one could have told the difference.
    Hours of fun and frolics passed before an exhausted Rachel called for calm. Well needing a lie down to catch their breath, the men did as she asked.
    ‘Sister,’ she said, holding out her hand to Megan who was curled into her husband’s arms, ‘Flowers of the Forest.’
    Megan got up, sat by her sister, pulled a shawl around both of them and, while stick ash smouldered in the circle of hot stones round the fire, they sang the beautiful haunting song of lost love, about the young men who never returned from some faraway battlefield. A single blackbird joined in from a nearby tree branch, and when the last note was sung, not one dry eye could be found among them. Even the nearby McAllisters, who had stayed silent in their tent through all the day’s events, were heard sniffling.
    So, as that wonderful, long-awaited day finally ended, a happy band of travellers slept in perfect peace. Love ruled in the tent of the newlyweds but only under a mound of heavy blankets. Each might have frozen to death if one inch of flesh had been exposed to the bite of winter.

     
    As day followed d,ay each rallied to help in whatever way they could, making sure baby Macallister had enough food while keeping a watchful eye on O’Connor, who drank more with the passing of each week. Many nights Rory and his sons scoured the frost- and moss-covered dykes calling his name, thinking that sooner or later their shouts would fall on dead ears. But he was a hardy Irishman with the luck of the leprechauns, and like a blind dog would find his way home. However, he soon discovered that trekking to the pub and broiling in fights with the ploughmen was becoming more of a hazard with the snow drifts and freezing winds, so he began to stay in his tent, brewing worse home-made concoctions than ever before.
    Rory stayed off the demon liquid, and seemed to enjoy seeing to himself now his sons had wives to look after. Rachel and Jimmy too found sharing a bed their choice for the future. There was no ceremony, just a night beneath the covers and the bond was made. Jimmy expertly recovered Annie’s dingy tent with deerskin and old cardboard boxes, to serve as their home from then on.
    Trapped rabbits, pheasants and hare were few and far between at this time, because the rabbits dug deep down in their burrows, opting to live off their own droppings. Pheasants filled fox bellies before they came within reach of humans. Hare were the hardest to catch, staying as they did on the high mountains. Anyway, tinker people feel uneasy about eating hare. The old belief that they were shape-changers, like werewolves, put a fear in their