Welcome Backwards to Ireland - an excerpt from The Troubles
(please keep in mind this is still in editing)
Mom replied with her strong British accent. “Yes, but we’re hoping you’ll have no trouble with him.”
“Well, we’ll certainly do our very best, Mrs. Nixon. Don’t you worry about a t’ing,” Blackmore said.
Then he led us over to the dorms, ominously located next to his house. Mine looked out over the dining hall. Rickety metal beds, each identically made up with a cream-colored blanket and white sheets, lined both long walls. At the foot end of each bed, a colorful rug belonging to its occupant provided the illusion of individualism. Beside each was a small wooden locker for stowing valuables. I noticed these could not be locked. I wondered was this a ward of throwaways from the hospital across the street?
Uneven wooden planks worn with age and glazed over with years of use served as the floor. Fluorescent tubes, hung from bare fixtures, buzzed noisily overhead, casting a cold, white light that somehow highlighted the peeling paint while making the room feel darker than it really was. Here and there, the plaster walls had pockmarks left uncared for.
At the far end of the dorm, a closet for hanging coats, and a doorway that led into the washroom and toilet. No showers or even a bath in there,
just three sinks and a single stall with no door. From the bathroom window I could see the rugby pitch that rose sharply at the far corner; beyond it the river I’d seen those giant silver fish - mullet the locals had called them, come out of.
I shivered even though the temperature was not much different to what I’d left behind and, for a moment, I thought back to Alaska, to the night Roger and I had toasted our going to Ireland with a couple of Guinness in the camper. “A wee taste of Ireland,” Roger had said.
I’d sniffed the bottle, taken a sip, and immediately had thought then that I didn’t care much for the taste of Ireland - dark, bitter, and harsh.
Mr. Blackmore broke the uneasy silence saying, “showers are downstairs, in the changing rooms.” I later found out what the washroom lacked in showers, the changing rooms lacked in heat.
We walked back towards the head end of the dorm. Mr. Blackmore smiled at me and pointed to the last unassigned bed. “This one,” he grunted as he cleared his throat, “is yours.”