Primal Sneeze

The local hotel all but had a sign over the door saying underage drinkers welcome. In appreciation of their welcoming us over the previous year or so that’s where met up the night before the Leaving Cert results were released. The plan was just two pints to settle the nerves and we stuck to it. Well almost.

Mags came by. We loved Mags. A complete and utter fruit cake. Plus she was four years older and working for a fruit importer which meant she always had money (and free fruit). She treated us all to a third one (welcome indeed) and better still her folks were away, she had her dad’s Escort Estate and would drive us home (even more welcome). The only snag was with so many of us someone would have to travel in the boot. Me!

Mags went a bit wide at a Y-junction and the car spun on the gravel sending it sideways across the road. It clipped a telephone pole and dropped tail first into a ditch. The door of the boot had shot open and I had been slung out.

Someone shouted to call an ambulance and two of us ran off in search of a phone. We scanned the wires overhead at each house until we found one that had a phone. This was 1983 and mobiles weren’t invented and many homes didn’t even have a landline.

The ambulance took Mags and one of the guys and the rest of us followed with the man whose phone we’d used.

She had knocked her head on the steering wheel an was bleeding badly and concussed. Two of the lads had broken an arm. The others had minor cuts and sprains. I was the last to be looked at. And what ails you? asked the doctor. I got stung by nettles and had a kiwi fruit squashed into my back. In his opinion I didn’t have need of his medical skills though he did take the time to enquire about kiwi fruit. This was 1983. Exotic fruits had just been invented and were even less common than landlines.

In the early hours of the following morning were allowed see Mags. She was fine but they would keep her under observation for a while longer. Could someone please, please, please get the car out of the ditch before the neighbours see it? She would face her parents when they got home. Guess who was volunteered? Me!

At 7 I set off with my neighbour in his tractor armed a strong chain. We came across a pile of boxes scattered over the road. Cartons of salt, cornflour, sugar, tea, polish, cleaning sprays, all manner of goods that had fallen of a truck heading for the nearby warehouse. We put everything into the front loader. This job would pay for itself.

I knocked on a door and explained to an elderly lady about the crash and asked could we tow the car into her yard. It’ll only be here for a week until the girl’s folks get home. They’ll take it away then. She wasn’t convinced. The last time a crashed car was put in here they never came back for it, she said pointing out a pile of rust in the garden. It was an IO reg - that’ll tell you how old it was.

Do you drink tea? Do you take sugar? Would you use some lavender polish? So we paid for parking with trucksam and left.

A few eyebrows were raised when the tractor drove in the monastery gates and up the avenue. Would you care to enlighten me as to your chosen mode of conveyance, Mr. Sneeze? You don’ want to know, Brother. I see. I should know better than to ask - you do get yourself into some strange situations. Well here are your results. Well done. Thanks, Boss. I mean, Brother. Hey, do ya want some cornflour? He didn’t.

At the hospital, Mags asked if I was there to bring her home. Jayzez, I can’t Mags, sorry. We’ve no room. The front loader’s full of salt and stuff.

That night we met at the hotel again. Casts were signed. Stitches counted and admired. I showed off the exact spot on my back that the kiwi had been squashed. As you’d expect, the results were mentioned. How did I do? I didn’t know. In all the excitement I never opened the envelope. It was at home, in a box, wedged between bottles of Jif.