Autumn Gold
By Peggy Hernon
At some point in a busy day at the very end of summer, the season changed at Inis Mor Airport. When we opened that morning there was bright sunlight on the dunes that said beach, & a cold one afterwards at Joe Mac’s Pub. But when the last flight departed that day, it was an autumn evening of long shadows and a breeze that had turned sharp. Tea & fireside came to mind, schoolrooms and woolly cardigans. The move into autumn is more than just a weather change for us. As soon as school re-opens, the number of families and tourists visiting Arain decreases dramatically and immediately. One day we’re handling 23 flights; on the next it’s 10. In between, the school bell rang! Aer Arann Islands operates seven days a week, 362 days a year, but a change of season means a change in the pace of the day and a change in the kind of passengers carried.
In autumn the number of island residents travelling on the morning flights increases. Like myself, many islanders work in tourism-related businesses that keep us busy minding the shop all summer. Autumn is the time for our own holidays, or just a day or two in Galway to shop, become a redhead perhaps, or try a cuisine not available on the island. This morning at check-in for the 0845, my passengers split into two groups while waiting for the plane. The men went to the back to talk horses with crewman Dan who has a Connemara pony. The ladies settled at the front tables for a chat. By chance, three of them were going to Galway to see chiropodists. Talk of bunions, corns and ingrown toenails past & present flowed around me as I wrote tickets and jotted down weights on the manifest. One lady asked me politely if I had foot problems, but just then Charlie Echo (EI-BCE) called finals. I clicked on the safety video and gave it my wholehearted attention as though I’d never seen it before. Thus I was spared from shattering the friendly mood by telling them the truth: I have trouble-free feet, not so much as a blister. Now, had the chat been about tooth problems & dentistry, I would have jumped into the conversation with both my wonderful feet.
Charlie Echo departs, does a neat turn and heads north to Inverin across Galway Bay. I head inside to wash my hands before coffee and a rummage through the biscuit tin. Taps running, I stopped just in time. On my left hand I’ve written the mobile phone numbers of two separate passengers who came in on the first flight. Both are scheduled to depart on the 1615, both hope to leave earlier if their business is finished and earlier seats become available. Many passengers in off-season are in this category. Workmen, salesmen, and specialists of all kinds arrive for a service call, a consult, or a working lunch meeting, and depart again a short time later. We’re good at accommodating requests from passengers for earlier or later flights if it’s at all possible, but we need to have the passenger’s phone number to reach them. A variation of “Murphy’s Law” applies to mobile phone numbers: If you have it, you won’t need it, but if you don’t, you will.
Autumn is also when special interest groups visit Arain – hikers, archaeology buffs, photographers and golden age clubs, to name a few. On this fine October day, a group arrived on the 1130 flight from Inverin kitted out in anoraks and sturdy boots. The crew emptied the luggage bay of rucksacks, folding campstools, golf-size brollies and flasks. This is a literary group, here to read Celtic poetry & prose as Inis Mor has many Celtic sites. It’s easy to go back in time on Inis Mor. A fifteen minute hill walk from the main road up to the spine of the island will bring you to places where there’s nothing to tell you what century you are in – no houses, telephone poles or sign posts. Once there, you’re in an elemental landscape of rock, sea and sky.
The Pilot sitting out with us is good at DIY and I have a few questions about decking for the back of my house. Inside, the microwave is humming and sandwiches are being unwrapped. Talk meanders around airport fencing, the grey seal population of Ireland, and fuel prices. I ask my decking questions; the fire chief asks about laying down sod. Then silence as books are picked up and newspapers unfolded. To me this is the real gold of autumn. It’s not money or pretty foliage – you’ll never find an abundance of either on Arain. Autumn gold is Time.
Inverin calls. A flight has been added that will leave Inis Mor at 1500 so it’s back to work. I make changes to the outbound passenger list for the afternoon, and then get on the phone to round up the chicks for the 1500: Pilot (out walking), crew (doing errands), bus driver (taking the Celtic group from Dun Eochla to Tempeall Ciaran). My two passengers of the nearly washed away phone numbers are given their changed pick-up time, as is a teacher at the Tech. The others have their own way to the airport. A printer for Galway and a pair of crutches for Inis Oirr will leave at 1500 as well. A quick check of lounge & loos to make sure we’re decent and I start writing the manifest. The Pilot is with the aircraft and the crew is doing the runway check when the first passengers arrive.
The Celtic literary group is leaving on the 1645. They got back to the airport with ruddy faces and big smiles. I told the group leader that I envied them their day of ancient words in ancient places. From his rucksack he took the Celtic poem that I’m passing along to you, with the same words he said to me, “have a nugget.”
The Bright Field
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is in the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
R. S. Thomas, Laboratories of the Spirit (MacMillan 1975)
At some point in a busy day at the very end of summer, the season changed at Inis Mor Airport. When we opened that morning there was bright sunlight on the dunes that said beach, & a cold one afterwards at Joe Mac’s Pub. But when the last flight departed that day, it was an autumn evening of long shadows and a breeze that had turned sharp. Tea & fireside came to mind, schoolrooms and woolly cardigans. The move into autumn is more than just a weather change for us. As soon as school re-opens, the number of families and tourists visiting Arain decreases dramatically and immediately. One day we’re handling 23 flights; on the next it’s 10. In between, the school bell rang! Aer Arann Islands operates seven days a week, 362 days a year, but a change of season means a change in the pace of the day and a change in the kind of passengers carried.
In autumn the number of island residents travelling on the morning flights increases. Like myself, many islanders work in tourism-related businesses that keep us busy minding the shop all summer. Autumn is the time for our own holidays, or just a day or two in Galway to shop, become a redhead perhaps, or try a cuisine not available on the island. This morning at check-in for the 0845, my passengers split into two groups while waiting for the plane. The men went to the back to talk horses with crewman Dan who has a Connemara pony. The ladies settled at the front tables for a chat. By chance, three of them were going to Galway to see chiropodists. Talk of bunions, corns and ingrown toenails past & present flowed around me as I wrote tickets and jotted down weights on the manifest. One lady asked me politely if I had foot problems, but just then Charlie Echo (EI-BCE) called finals. I clicked on the safety video and gave it my wholehearted attention as though I’d never seen it before. Thus I was spared from shattering the friendly mood by telling them the truth: I have trouble-free feet, not so much as a blister. Now, had the chat been about tooth problems & dentistry, I would have jumped into the conversation with both my wonderful feet.
Charlie Echo departs, does a neat turn and heads north to Inverin across Galway Bay. I head inside to wash my hands before coffee and a rummage through the biscuit tin. Taps running, I stopped just in time. On my left hand I’ve written the mobile phone numbers of two separate passengers who came in on the first flight. Both are scheduled to depart on the 1615, both hope to leave earlier if their business is finished and earlier seats become available. Many passengers in off-season are in this category. Workmen, salesmen, and specialists of all kinds arrive for a service call, a consult, or a working lunch meeting, and depart again a short time later. We’re good at accommodating requests from passengers for earlier or later flights if it’s at all possible, but we need to have the passenger’s phone number to reach them. A variation of “Murphy’s Law” applies to mobile phone numbers: If you have it, you won’t need it, but if you don’t, you will.
Autumn is also when special interest groups visit Arain – hikers, archaeology buffs, photographers and golden age clubs, to name a few. On this fine October day, a group arrived on the 1130 flight from Inverin kitted out in anoraks and sturdy boots. The crew emptied the luggage bay of rucksacks, folding campstools, golf-size brollies and flasks. This is a literary group, here to read Celtic poetry & prose as Inis Mor has many Celtic sites. It’s easy to go back in time on Inis Mor. A fifteen minute hill walk from the main road up to the spine of the island will bring you to places where there’s nothing to tell you what century you are in – no houses, telephone poles or sign posts. Once there, you’re in an elemental landscape of rock, sea and sky.
The Pilot sitting out with us is good at DIY and I have a few questions about decking for the back of my house. Inside, the microwave is humming and sandwiches are being unwrapped. Talk meanders around airport fencing, the grey seal population of Ireland, and fuel prices. I ask my decking questions; the fire chief asks about laying down sod. Then silence as books are picked up and newspapers unfolded. To me this is the real gold of autumn. It’s not money or pretty foliage – you’ll never find an abundance of either on Arain. Autumn gold is Time.
Inverin calls. A flight has been added that will leave Inis Mor at 1500 so it’s back to work. I make changes to the outbound passenger list for the afternoon, and then get on the phone to round up the chicks for the 1500: Pilot (out walking), crew (doing errands), bus driver (taking the Celtic group from Dun Eochla to Tempeall Ciaran). My two passengers of the nearly washed away phone numbers are given their changed pick-up time, as is a teacher at the Tech. The others have their own way to the airport. A printer for Galway and a pair of crutches for Inis Oirr will leave at 1500 as well. A quick check of lounge & loos to make sure we’re decent and I start writing the manifest. The Pilot is with the aircraft and the crew is doing the runway check when the first passengers arrive.
The Celtic literary group is leaving on the 1645. They got back to the airport with ruddy faces and big smiles. I told the group leader that I envied them their day of ancient words in ancient places. From his rucksack he took the Celtic poem that I’m passing along to you, with the same words he said to me, “have a nugget.”
The Bright Field
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is in the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
R. S. Thomas, Laboratories of the Spirit (MacMillan 1975)
