About forty years ago. I had a holiday hitch-hiking around Ireland. It took me hours to get a lift out of Dublin – but that was the exception. For the rest of the trip I got a lift within an hour and sometimes I’d get out of one car and the very next one would pick me up – which is probably a good thing as in some places there was only one car per hour.
I did have one problem. I’m English and so was my map, but on the west coast of Ireland up near Galway and Connemara the signs were in Irish.
It was raining, which wasn’t a surprise for Ireland. I’d come prepared with a brand-new umbrella. I was trying to figure out which way to go when I car stopped and the driver translated the place names for me, while I steamed up his car.
The driver wasn’t wearing a cape – but he’s not the hero in this story. He just helped get me nearer to the place where I met the hero.
I’d arrived in Galway and there I saw a sign!
It was in English and it told me about a special offer – a ferry trip across to Aran Islands in Galway Bay, and it included two nights stay at a hostel. The ferry didn’t leave until very late in the afternoon and took longer than I expected. It was about 90 minutes and then on the Aran islands we had a long mini-bus journey to the hostel.
There are shops on the Aran Islands. There’s was whole village at the ferry port. There might even have been a restaurant. But the mini bus took us away from them, away from civilisation along narrow winding roads confined by dry stone walls. From the hostel you couldn’t see any other houses – you couldn’t even see any other lights. I was in the middle of nowhere, with money in my money belt, but nowhere to spend it.
Sometimes, you can find food in the communal kitchens left by former guests – but not this time. But there were current guests, who noticed me not eating and filled my bowl with pasta. They were not wearing capes – but they were not the heroes of this story. They just gave me the sustenance I needed to continue my quest.
The next day I got a lift to the metropolis and found shops. I found food and I found adventure. I hired a bike.
The island is only about ten miles long. I wanted to cycle the whole of it so I headed south east until I hit the coast and then turned around and cycled back the way I’d come and on to the other end.
Cycling on the Aran Islands is not like cycling in the Leeds where you’re always dodging cars and people, and dogs and potholes. There were no cars, no people, no dogs – but there were potholes. Potholes you couldn’t avoid. The roads were made of rocks and holes.
There were rocks everywhere. The whole island has been divided again and again by dry stone walls. Some fields were smaller than a tennis court. Maybe it all started with one family and they had two children so it was split in two. No this was Ireland – there would have been many more than two children so you can see why the fields ended up so small.
In reality that’s not what happened. It’s just that there were so many rocks that the only way to create a field was to move them. You have to put the rocks somewhere, so why not build walls? And build roads – rocky roads filled with holes.
I had a lovely day. It was actually sunny so when I reached the tip of the island, I sunk down in the shade with my back against a wall to enjoy my packed lunch. I’d done it. I’d bounced my way from one end of the island to the other.
Suddenly I heard a shout. It was strange. I was sat out of sight behind a wall. I was miles from any house or farm. I hadn’t seen a single person all day but there was this person waving at me and holding something. I don’t really remember much about the person. I don’t remember what they looked like.
I do remember the feeling. My chest knew something was terribly wrong. I had a dry mouth and suddenly the air felt cold as I breathed it in. Even now, forty years later I can physically feel the panic as I remember that moment.
I approached the man? Woman? Person? Angel? They held out their hand. I took the belt. I tied it back around my waist. The belt with all my money. My passport. My return ferry ticket to Galway and my ticket back to England. Everything that I needed to stay safe and to get home.
I was so focussed on the belt that I don’t remember what happened to the person. They’d gone. It was strange. There wasn’t anywhere for them to go to.
I really don’t remember much about them. I don’t even remember what they were wearing – but I’m sure it wasn’t a cape.
After all – not all heroes wear capes!