An Irish Doctor in Peace and at War Read Online Free PDF Page A

luckier for having you to live here with me—”
    The rest of his words were drowned by a strangled yodelling coming from his back garden.
    O’Reilly stopped at the garden gate, where Arthur Guinness stood with his front paws on the top, tongue lolling from his great square Labrador’s head.
    â€œNot today, lummox,” O’Reilly said, patting the dog. “Back to bed.”
    Arthur’s sigh would have softened Pharaoh’s hard heart, but the big dog obeyed.
    â€œRight,” said O’Reilly. “Everybody into the car. Party time today.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. Party time indeed today. But it would be back to porridge tomorrow with Fingal and Barry running the practice. Next week things would get more interesting when young Doctor Jenny Bradley, her training under Doctor Graham Harley of the Royal Maternity Hospital complete, would be starting her first well-woman clinic.
    â€œFingal,” Kitty said as they moved onto the main road, “drive carefully, please, and watch out for cyclists.”

4
    Only the First Step That Is Difficult
    O’Reilly glanced up, his attention caught by the sun’s rays being reflected from the cut-glass chandelier over the bog oak dining room table. The table had stood in the dining room at Number One Main Street, Ballybucklebo, long before he’d come here as an assistant twenty-eight years ago, just a year before the war. “Those poor divils have been in the wars,” he said, nodding at the remnants of lunch.
    The heads and bones of three brown trout, one each on his plate and those of Barry Laverty and Jenny Bradley, were mute testimony to the meal’s success. Barry had caught the fish two days ago from the beat on the Bucklebo River where the marquis owned the fishing rights. There was a distinctly piscine aroma in the room, which probably was why twice during the meal Jenny had had to ask Lady Macbeth to get her little, white, feline self off Jenny’s lap—the second time with a certain amount of force.
    â€œI must ask Kinky for the recipe for the sauce,” Jenny said. “Anyone can grill fish, but that sauce—”
    â€œAnyone?” O’Reilly said. “With Kitty at work and Kinky away on honeymoon, I’ll have you know that anyone was me.” O’Reilly smiled broadly at Jenny and, still seated, made a deep bow and extended his left arm.
    â€œTa-da. Drum roll please, maestro,” Barry said.
    â€œLess of your lip, Laverty,” O’Reilly said, chuckling, delighted by how the youngster’s self-confidence was growing. “But you’re right, Jenny, the sauce is a different matter. I know Kinky uses horseradish, but what else is in it is a mystery. Good thing she keeps a jar in the fridge. You’ll have to wait for her and Archie to come home on Saturday from Newcastle, where,” O’Reilly sang,
    â€¦ the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
    â€œI was so sorry to miss the wedding, but it was a very important last couple of days on the course,” said Jenny. “Nice to think of Kinky only a couple of hours away in Newcastle. The town’s got the loveliest beach.”
    O’Reilly looked over at Jenny’s shining young face, her obvious pleasure in thinking of Kinky off on her honeymoon. God, but it was good to be here in County Down in early spring with Jenny fresh from her three months of training at the Royal Victoria Hospital under the aegis of Doctor Harley, raring to start her well-woman clinic, and Barry back from trying specialising, choosing general practice instead, and fitting nicely into his new role as partner.
    Barry added, “Did you know that Percy French, who wrote that song, was quite the watercolourist too? I’ve seen some of his paintings in the Slieve Donard Hotel in Newcastle. I don’t suppose Kinky and Mister Auchinleck are staying there, are they? I mean,