Ulster’s beautiful coastline and countryside should be
regularly visited now that Northern Ireland relies on
democracy rather than guns. Early days of course, I don’t
disagree, but on the right road at last surely? It’s a
wonderful country, with very friendly people. It has
unspoilt miles of sandy beaches too and one which my family
will never forget.
The Prodigal Ring
Some forty years ago, before the era of the ubiquitous
holiday jet flight, we spent our family summer holiday at
Port Stewart, on the Antrim coast. With miles of bright
clean sand and many dunes bordered by long sharp grass, it
is one of Britain’s best beaches. It was on that beach one
Saturday afternoon when disaster struck.
It was a warm sunny day. We had enjoyed a picnic at our
dune which sheltered us from a mild breeze and gave us
warmth. After a suitable post lunch rest, we stripped into
our bathing costumes and ran as fast as we could into the
cold sea. We jumped, shouted and screamed until we had
ducked into the sea and begun to swim. An annual holiday
was never a total success without a swim and my sister and
brother swam safely and happily with me on that carefree
afternoon.
My father, however, could not swim. Nor would he want to
swim. But he saw his children enjoying themselves so much
and he wanted to join in, as any parent would wish. His
preparation for the sea was much more cautious than ours.
He sat on the sand and removed first his shoes, then his
socks, then he took off his wedding ring. To keep it safe,
he carefully placed the ring inside his sock. Then the sock
was tucked into the toe of his shoe. It was most surely
safe there.
He ventured towards us as far as he could go. Carefully he
felt his way forward and soon found the water, waist high.
He knew that was deep enough for him. We gave him
instructions as to how to swim but he knew, as we knew, he
would never be able to swim. Our instructions were not
irrelevant however. What we were saying was ‘Dad, this is
how to do it’. And every child knows that special day when
they can confidently tell their parents how to do
something, which they can do while their parent can not!
The fun in the water gradually came to an end. We returned
to the dune and were given orange juice and a biscuit. A
chittery bit, as we always called it, was gratefully
received. Our teeth chattered, we dried ourselves and drank
our juice. A flask of hot tea awaited our parents.
Dad dried himself with a multicoloured beach towel. He sat
down on the beach to put his socks on. He lifted one sock
and as he did so, a gleaming ring spun into the air and
after a moment of parabola flight, it settled on the sand
near by. In his anxiety to retrieve it instantly, Dad’s
hand disturbed the sand and the ring vanished from sight.
Magically, it disappeared from view, never to reappear. He
announced the disaster. We all took turns searching for the
wedding ring. Surely it could not be lost. The sand was
sifted, the area was expanded, scooped, grabbed and
harvested but there was never any further sight of the
ring.
Dad returned after an evening meal and searched for a
further three hours on his own until the sun had set. A few
evening walkers joined in for a while after they had
learned about his plight. But as the sun disappeared, Dad
returned home depressed.
He could not sleep. The ring which Mum had placed on his
finger, almost thirteen years previously, was gone but he
still could not accept that a ring could vanish so easily.
Its disappearance had defied reason as well as a thorough
search.
The following morning was Sunday morning. At 6a.m, before
anyone had risen, Dad returned to the beach. Despite
numerous identical dunes weaving along the coastline, he
knew exactly which one we had been on that previous day. He
had marked it by tying a knot of grass. It was another
sunny morning with the sun already sharing its morning heat
- and its light. For, as he approached the dune, Dad saw to
his surprise his bright gold ring sitting proudly where he
had once sat. He approached it slowly. He bent down and
placed his hand over the ring. He grabbed a handful of sand
beneath the ring and sat down. As he sifted the sand
through his fingers, sheer joy replaced his depression as
he felt the ring in his palm. The prodigal ring was placed
securely on his finger once more.
A smiling Dad appeared for breakfast. He proudly displayed
his left hand bearing the errant wedding ring. We could not
explain why the ring had evaded so many hands and eyes the
previous afternoon and evening. Its disappearance had
mystified the family. Yet there must have been a reason for
its constant inconspicuousness.
We concluded that somewhere, a leprechaun knew more than it
would tell.
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Love Tinka