On a Clear Day Read Online Free PDF

and he’d get himself so dirty in the forge. If there’s somewhere to get dirty then William’ll find it,’ she added sadly.
    The strange thing about this child, thought Matron, is that although she’s repeating what she’sheard her parents say, she has thought about it and she understands what she’s saying in her own way. If she makes the Unemployment Bureau sound like the High King of Ireland it’s hardly her fault. That’s what she’s heard so that’s what she calls it. A very sharp ear for what people say, Matron decided, as she listened to Clare’s account of her family.
    The large black telephone on Matron’s desk rang so loudly it made Clare jump.
    ‘Yes, I’ll come immediately,’ Matron said, standing up as she put the receiver back. ‘I’m sorry Clare, I have to go, but as soon as I can we’ll go on with our talk. Why don’t you go and have a wee walk yourself while William’s busy. If you see the gardener he’ll give you some flowers if you ask him nicely.’
     
    Clare had never seen so many flowers in her life. Formal wreaths in great circular mounds, crosses and emblems with words and mottoes picked out in individual blooms, sprays and posies from local gardens of every colour and hue. In the shady greenness of the Presbyterian burying ground, the spill of colour washed so far beyond the newly-cut graves that from the moment her father’s youngest brother parked his car and opened the heavy iron gates at the end of the long beech avenue to let her and Auntie Polly pass through, she could see quite clearly where her parents lay.
    She walked quickly, her own flowers in one hand, a shopping bag with a jam pot and a tightly screwed up bottle of water in the other. She wondered where she was going to put her bunch of marigolds and asters with all these other beautiful flowers spread everywhere. She looked over her shoulder and found that Auntie Polly and Uncle Jack were now a long way behind.
    Jack and Polly had met for the first time two days earlier, the morning of the funeral, when Jack had met Polly’s train at Armagh station and taken her to the church on the Mall. Now Clare observed that they were walking very slowly, talking quietly, nodding towards other graves they passed, people they both knew though their own lives had been separated by Polly’s fourteen years of absence and by Jack being sixteen years her junior. As they moved towards the double burial, Clare saw Uncle Jack point out to Auntie Polly how the grass for yards around had been tramped flat by the feet of hundreds of mourners.
    The wreaths all had little cards with messages written in black ink in beautiful handwriting, except for some that said Interflora on the back and had messages in ball-point from London and Toronto, Michigan and Vancouver. ‘In loving memory of a valued and respected colleague – The Staff of Harold Mitchell Ltd, Scotch Street.’ ‘Safe in the arms of Jesus – a beloved sister andbrother-in-law, Robert and Sadie Scott and family, Ballymena.’ ‘We shall met again on the other side of Jordan – John and Sarah Scott and family, Enniskillen’, ‘With fond memories of Ellie and Sam – Armagh Lawn Tennis and Archery Club’.
    Clare read every single label, puzzling over names she had never heard of before, cousins of her parents from places that were quite unknown to her, both in Ulster and abroad. She had to guess at some words smudged by a light shower of rain the previous evening. All these people, known and unknown, must be very sad about Mummy and Daddy to write such lovely messages. The flowers blurred and she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan.
    She heard Uncle Jack’s voice behind her. He was speaking very quietly but in the deep silence that lay under the tall trees it was impossible not to hear every word he said.
    ‘Polly dear, I wouldn’t for the world want to hurry the wee lassie but if ye want to get back to Belfast the night we’d need to be gettin’ a move on