Irish Letter C

My husband and I took a trip to Ireland in September. I got very sick on the return trip and have been laid up, but I decided to try and participate in Alphabe-Thursday this round with my own little tales of Ireland.

This Letter C is also the third part of a story.   It just happened that way and it's not really going to be a continuing story but more of an exercise to write about the experience.

If you want to read the letter B first, you can find it here.

Intermission?

 

The word was not quite appropriate for what the three of us encountered when we entered the old stable converted to fellowship hall.

 

It should have been called a ‘crush’.

 

 

I can honestly say I’ve never, ever, ever experienced anything like it before.

 

Mr. Jenny led the way in through the open door and the three of us stopped.

 

Literally.

 

The entire space was packed with Irish folk crushed together and talking loudly.

 

It was a roar in the large stone room.

 

The roar wasn’t the amazing thing, though.

 

The amazing thing was the fact that almost every single person was holding a cup and saucer and drinking tea…

 

…and no-one was getting scalded.

 

Mr. Jenny started to wriggle his way to the left where the boozy refreshments were…

 

The middle Grandlittle started to wriggle her way forward to where the sweets table was…

 

…and I started to wriggle my way to the right and the very long tea table.

 

Men walked through the crowd with round trays held above their head laden with steaming cups of tea.

 

People crushed together with barely a half inch between them laughed and talked and drank tea and spirits.

 

On the way to the tea table…

 

I talked to the lovely vocalist who said she had noticed I was moved by the music. 

 

I talked to several wool clad women with a raffle table set up. 

 

I talked to my wide-eyed Grandlittle who wriggled easily through the crowd and who was astonished and happy at the greedy array of sweets.

 

I talked to Anne who hugged me vigorously.  I saw her mouth moving but I couldn’t understand a word she said over the cacophony of Irish voices raised around me.

 

 At the tea table…

 

I talked to several of the men serving up steaming cups and saucers.

 

I talked to several more wool clad women who explained the merits of various pots of tea…I admit to not understanding anything they said.

 

I talked to my Grandlittle who came back to drag me to the sweets table.   I suspect my eyes were as wide as hers as I saw the home-baked, home-canned, home-made array on display.

 

Mr. Jenny and I finally made our way back together when Anne announced from the doorway, “Intermission is over!”

 

The crush of people evaporated, almost literally, as the crowd magically departed to return to the church.

 

The three of us looked at each other in astonishment and then followed.

 

 

This little part of our Irish travel story is linked to the letter C.   C is for crush.   To read other C offerings, just click here.