Off to Ireland (Part 2 of 3)

When the trio arrived in Shannon, they were met at the airport by a small man that introduced himself simply as snáidid.[1]

The snáidid drove them to a cove in a remote part of western Ireland.  Seanathair Smith pointed to a distant Island that almost glowed green against the dark grey sea.  “That is Oileán Thiar Mitchell.  That is where they are holding Queen Ruth.”

As Seanathair Smith finished pointing out the Island, the evil Taibhse Lochlannach appeared.  He explained in a mix of ancient Gaelic and Norse that both Mitchell and Seanathair Smith could magically understand, “It is the contest once again.  We will cross the sea to the Island and who ever touches land first will have ownership of the Island.  The winner will also claim Queen Ruth as theirs.  It is also written that only a Prince of the Smith Clan can compete.  That is why your grandson Mitchell was allowed to travel with you.  He will compete against me!”

The Taibhse Lochlannach let out an evil gáire[2] as he walked to his rowboat. 

Mitchell, whose feet were bound in his corrective shoes and bar, could not yet walk, was carried to his waiting rowboat by Seanathair Smith.  Mitchell said, gugh mugugu gah, which Seanathair Smith understood correctly to mean, “Don’t worry grandfather, I will cross the sea and claim our island and save Queen Ruth.  Just set me on the beach and I will take care of the rest.” (You see, baby talk is a very efficient language).  

The snáidid pulled out a pistol from his cloak and fired it.  The Taibhse Lochlannach began rowing with all his might.

Mitchell stood up, took his thumb out of his mouth, and let out a commanding post nursing burp.  This was a surprise to every one as Mitchell had not been fed in quite some time.  Immediately Franklin ran up to the beach dragging his leash.  Mitchell grabbed the leash and Franklin jumped into the water and began swimming.  Mitchell expertly guided the swimming dog through the waves like a banshee on his way to a wake, on his shoe bar turned ski. 

The Taibhse Lochlannach in his rowboat and Mitchell on his ski were tied about 20 yards from the shore.  Franklin’s dog paddle was meeting the Taibhse Lochlannach’s oars stoke for stroke.  Then it happened.  Franklin breathed in when he should have breathed out.  The momentary wash of sea water in his uniquely delicate nose allowed the Taibhse Lochlannach to move slightly ahead.  It looked as if the Vikings would win and Queen Ruth would be lost to the Norsemen.

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[1] The escort

[2] laugh

Glac bog an saol agus glacfaidh an saol bog tú .........Take the world nice and easy, and the world will take you the same. (Part 1 of 3)

“In ancient Ireland, a contest was held between the Vikings greatest warrior and the young Celtic Prince. It was agreed that whoever could row their boat the quickest and touch the land fist would be declared ruler of the Emerald Isle.  The Viking warrior was an experienced and able rower.  The Prince was a great horseman, but had little experience with the sea.  The Viking warrior rowed more quickly and was about to touch the shore with the young Prince some 20 yards behind him and farther out to sea. However, the young Prince was declared the winner and inherited the kingdom.”

Grandpa Smith was just about to finish telling this old Irish tale to his great grandson, Mitchell when Franklin, Mitchell’s dog came in the room with a letter clutched tight in his mouth.  He dropped the letter at the feet of Grandpa Smith and began to bark to get his attention.

“What is this?” Grandpa Smith asked Franklin.  Franklin answered with another distinctive bark that sounded a lot like a sneeze.  

“Open the letter grandpa!” suggested Mitchell in baby talk that sounded to anyone else like agu ahh.  Grandpa Smith was the only person who understood Mitchell’s words as plainly as anyone else’s speech. 

Grandpa Smith broke the beeswax seal on the letter, opened the flap and pulled out a piece of beautiful handmade paper. He began to read:

Máistir[1] Smith:

We have Queen Ruth locked in the castle on Oileán Thiar[2].  Come quickly if you want us to release her. 

Tionlaic your grandson Mitchell[3].

Taibhse Lochlannach[4]

 Franklin began barking again.  Mitchell, who could understand Franklin’s words explained, using his secret code for his great grandpa, “Seanathair[5], Franklin says we need to leave right a way to save Queen Ruth.”

Than off we go Mitchell.  It seems Franklin knows what is going on here, so let’s bring him with us. 

So off the trio flew to the Emerald Isle:  Seanathair Smith who could understand the words and wisdom of Mitchell; Mitchell, who could understand the words and wisdom of Franklin the dog; and Franklin, who was the only one who knew the true identity of Seanathair Smith.

On the flight to Ireland, Seanathair Smith explained to Mitchell that Oileán Thiar was the rightful home of the Smith clan and all its descendants, including Mitchell.  The Vikings tried to take the island away from the Smiths a thousand years ago.  “The story I was told as a boy was that the ghost of the Viking king would rise again in a millennium of time to try to take the Island that felt they were robbed of all those years ago.  You see, the story that is told of the Irish Prince and the Viking warrior is true.  It happened just as it is told and happened at Oileán Thiar.  The Irish Prince who was about to lose wanted the Island more than the Viking and actually chopped off his hand and threw it to the Island, this touching land before the Vikings.  Unfortunately, the Prince died shortly after the contest.  You see, he could not tie a tourniquet on his injured arm with just one hand.” 

Mitchell didn’t say a word.  Franklin began to whimper.

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[1] Master Smith

[2] West Island

[3] Only your grandson Mitchell can accompany you

[4] Signed: The Viking Ghost

[5] Grandfather

 And thus began a simple story shared between a grandson and his grandfather.  

More on this next week.