Memory with Cruelty

Ireland 1968

 

Three boys sitting on a dry stone wall on an island off the coast of western Ireland in the summer of 1968.

A dry stone paddock on a cliff edge. The Atlantic side of the island. Green sea below and large breakers on large rocks. The smell and the sound of it. Hot in the sunshine.

One boy is crying, one is throwing rocks towards the cliff edge but not quite reaching. The final boy is picking small stones from amongst the seagull droppings on the wall.

Two large men without shirts and red flesh, walk up the hill behind the ruined crofter’s cottage near the paddock. One man carries a dirty, soiled pink saddle strap.

The paddock wall has been damaged in several places. There is a large hole in the wall on the cliffward face. Several of the larger stones have been displaced along the top of the wall.

A number of seagulls float, parallel with the top of the cliff.

The broken body of a skewbald horse lies at the bottom of the cliff, its head moving slowly, delicately in the white and green water. The waves slowly turning pink.


 

 

Reviews

[Vallerie]

Will the boys grow to think this is acceptable behaviour?
The gulls float on silently.
Cruelty to anyone or thing should be intolerable by all. Those that look on and do nothing are just as guilty as the perpertrator.
So much said with so little words.
A heavy saddness

[Tony Jordan]

Vallerie he hasn't changed a bit - still ignoring his readers ... (joking) hi and good lunchikins Ken :))

[Jimmy Yetts]

Image: Almost Clear.
Some learn to resist--and, eventually, eradicate--such cruelty, others merely continue to reinforce their inhuman behavior.
Devastating account, Ken!

[Ken Simm.]

Many thanks Jimmy.

[Gee]

Now this is what I aspire to when writing, probably never get there but no harm trying. I could easily be sitting up there with them, ignorant to the cruelty, wrapped up in a carefree mind.

[Ken Simm.]

True story unfortunately. Was one of the snot noses on the wall. I'd just been riding the colts mother caslled number 10 and the colt bit me. This has stuck ever since. Thank you so much my friend.

[Gee]

As sad as it was, it was still a pleasure to read. Hopefully you, like me, have more good than bad memories of childhood.

[Ken Simm.]

Good and bad, never actually counted but thanks for asking. Experience and all grist for the mill. He said rather self importantly. didn't know any better I suppose. I did get a book out of them however. I can't believe I just advertised myself. Bugger.

[Tony Jordan]

Those same boys these days would think nothing of dying the whole ocean with human red cells these days Ken.
My dad said once that "The troubles begat organized crime and drugs and that has stolen the heart of Ireland like the British never could."
S**t this is heart-wrenching.

[Ken Simm.]

It was a small island off the coast of Cork called Sherkin. This was when we got there in a pony and trap and our boatman drank the poteen from a stone jug. He was the one with the saddle strap. Its where I learned to ride. I was 14. Thank you my good friend.

[Tony Jordan]

Wow - was that a Gaeltacht?
Our teachers handed out corporal punishment with those straps lol. One had a strap with tan leather on one side and black polished on the other with big old stitching holding it together.
His favourite quip was - pre-punishment - "Well boy, which do you prefer, taffee or liquorice."

My pleasure Ken. :)
One in particular

[Ken Simm.]

It was a trip with school. The favourite punishment of one of my teachers was a bunsen burner pip with the end melted so it bubbled and then split. He was a master at catching you just so with the very end.

[Ken Simm.]

Meant pipe not pip although......

[FJ Davis]

A poignant story; illustrative of the fact that human cruelty can crop up (lousy pun not intended) unexpectedly--is happening, constantly.
Look around, the world is slowly turning pink!
Excellent work, Ken!

[...]

. i cannot comprehend this cruelty ... i cannot comprehend any cruelty ... it makes no sense to me and i don't understand how it can make sense to anybody ... how can anyone inflict such suffering ? ... how do they justify it to themselves ? ... do they not know what they'll do to the waves before they do it ? ...

[emmajoy]

A masterpiece painted in words. I know, I've written that about your writing before. Somehow, however ever simple the background or situation you write about, you turn it into something outside our world .. a view from a vantage point in place or time.

You've shown the reader the scene and the performers and, the finale is just heart-breaking, heart-breaking. My thoughts are that creature was loved by the boys, maybe was their family's most valuable possession.. don't know, we all see things in our own way, that's what makes words so incredibly and magically special.

'The waves slowly turning pink.' - that makes me cry .. a bloody hue, a bloody event.

[Ed Hart]

the title is a gate...something is going to happen...no, something already happened...talk about you pictures!

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

A sad story, a sad memory and a tale that stays with a person that sat by near helplessly to do a thing - to look away, to remember - to mourn... this is a kind of rites of passage as well - isn't it? The justice is in the telling.

kath

[Emily B]

I thought I had read this before. But it seems that was a longer story. This almost seems like poetry. The vivid ending that didn't say the thing, but left us to guess that horror that must have been. Some men shouldn't handle horses, they don't have the good common sense. One went down and broke it's leg and the battlefield last year. It had to be put down. It was avoidable. It didn't have to happen.

The descriptions are somewhat ethereal. As if the narrator is looking down on the boys and the men from somewhere up above. The peacefulness of the boys and the nonchalant actions of the men give a monstrous contrast to the condition of the horse.

[Pema Dorje]

the image is meticulous, a painting of a real moment; shock and awe ...