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Miraculous events in a tiny Irish village bring out the best - and worst - in everyone.
When old Limpy McGhee swears he's seen the Virgin Mary and received a miraculous cure at the ancient Mass Rock, the villagers of Inisbreen are sceptical. But they reckon without the religious fervour and ambition of Father Burke, the youngest parish priest in Ireland.
It's not long before the devout, the hopeful and the gullible arrive, one of whom is an apprentice hack from the Northern Reporter who believes he's stumbled upon a major scoop and a shortcut to a Pulitzer Prize.
And through all of this, the miracle man himself is plotting to get back with his lost love of forty years before.
Set in a tiny village on the Irish coast, this is a humorous novel packed full of colourful characters, comical situations and hilarious incidents.
"An enchanting book. The author has a wonderful ear for dialogue . . . and his eye for detail is quite superb. His characters spring off the page, full of vitality, humour and an essential Irishness that is irresistible."
Broo Doherty, Literary Agent
Dark shapes swam into vision and then out of it. High up somewhere - surely in the sky - there was something white, something moving, a person maybe, and a voice talking to him, saying words he couldn't quite understand. Or was it the old eyes? They weren't so good these days, but he'd be damned if he'd ever wear glasses. He craned forward. It was somebody surely. A woman dressed in white high above him, her two arms extended and a heavenly glow all around her. Again she might have spoken but still the words weren't clear. At the third attempt, he struggled to his feet, to take a few tentative steps towards her. His head ached where he had hit it on the ground and a sharp pain gnawed at his bad leg, but nothing a drink wouldn't put right. Now the woman, if woman she had been, was nowhere to be seen, so after shaking his head to clear it, Limpy started again for his little house, the terrain easier now, more even and with fewer of the boulders strewn from a broken wall. With an unusual turn of speed he strode across the grass. Indeed, he fairly flew over it. Need to ask O'Neill what the hell he was putting in the drink. Best poteen for sure. It's the only thing that would do it. And then Limpy came to a dead stop, to stand rigid at the entrance to his front yard, his mouth wide open and a gentle swaying motion moving his entire body. First one foot went forward gingerly and then the other, as though he were treading with bare feet on hot coals. He considered this for a few seconds and then tried another few steps, less cautious than the first ones. Then quicker they came, across the yard and back again with lengthening stride, wheeling at the top like a guardsman, faster and yet faster until his legs raced to pass one another in a frenzy of movement. And when he finally scrunched to a halt in the middle of the yard, his breath coming in short gasps, Limpy McGhee lifted his arms and eyes heavenward and in a voice soft with reverence said, "Jasus Christ Almighty - it's gone. It's bloody well gone!"