'I have a good heritage'

October 6, 2007 (continued).

So, Claire and I drove on our way to Carrickfergus, talking about the people we know. Claire told me about her friends, explaining to me some of their quirks, their experiences, their gifts and abilities. She's very close friends with Robert McCollum, Emmaline's cousin, who in many ways is similar to Andy McKelvey in that they both do everything well (think of Avery and Garrett Mann, for those of you who know them...).

We were driving through countryside. Not a long drive. Around the outthrust spur of a tall hill on the top of which was perched a war monument; down through the narrow streets of a little village; past a field of black and white sheep grazing on the green grass. Carrickfergus, to my delight, turned out to be a small, sleepy town perched right on the edge of the sea. Looking south, across the water, we could see the long dark arm of Belfast Loch, with Holywood and Bangor on the slopes of the land, and Belfast away to the southwest. Claire pointed out the two big H&W cranes on the wharf where the Titanic was built. To the east spread the flat shimmering surface of the loch, shimmering away endlessly until it passed out between the two arms of the land and met the horizon. The afternoon was warm, a thin veil of clouds over the blue sky, and darker clouds coming up out of the southwest over Belfast. The sun struck down through the dark clouds, long spear-shafts of white light on the water and on the distant slopes of the Belfast shore.

We pulled up in the parking lot by the castle. Carrick Castle loomed over us, its big squat square Norman tower bulking up against the sky, its thick walls curling around the spur of rock on which it was built. Not a high castle: one had the distinct impression of the castle as a crouching brute, a boar with great muscled shoulders. The castle sat on a small peninsula, a jut of rock. On the east side was a steep drop to a rocky beach; on the west side, the drop was not so steep, and there was a small harbor with fishing boats and sailboats moored at the quays. We went round up the long ramp and through the thick wooden doors. Claire paid for tickets for both of us, and we went inside.

Inside, the castle was quiet, sunshine lingering between the massive stone walls. Claire and I spent about an hour climbing all over the castle. There were plenty of other people about, but not enough to crowd the place. Claire and I found peculiar metal statues, painted bright colors, scattered around the castle, like life-size toy soldiers. On one of the ramparts, looking east, was a gunnery crew decked out in scarlet coats and Revolutionary War-era hats, aiming the big cannons across a stony beach towards the ugly nearby stack of a power plant. Down in a cubbyhole under the walls, in a room with several slitted windows, was Cuthbert the Crossbowman, a statue dressed in brightly-painted hose and tunic, posed with his bow pointed out one of the window-slits, where gulls strutted and stalked over beds of brown kelp washed up on the rocks below. In another room, above the gate, Claire and I found the steward of the castle, posed at a table with a couple of castiron dogs at his feet, painted brown and white. We also found the chapel, which had moss growing on the underside of the ceiling.

We explored upstairs and downstairs, in and out. We found the oubliette, where prisoners were dumped through a hole in the floor and forgotten. We found a random soldier standing posed sleepily against a battlement. We climbed finally from the outer courtyard to the inner courtyard, where the great stone tower of the keep stood watch over the whole castle. We climbed inside the keep, which has been restored and refurbished, outfitted with modern windows and staircases. There was a banquet hall, a Great Hall, a solar, a kitchen, and other rooms, all fitted with mock medieval-era tapestries, furniture, and banners. On the high table on the dais in the small banqueting hall was the big salt cellar, shaped like a ship under full sail. On the big open floor of the Great Hall a couple of big playing mats were set out for children, with three-foot-tall chess pieces. A couple of girls were playing chess with their mother.

Claire and I went outside and walked around on top of the battlements. Down below us, inside the inner court, there was a lawn of vivid green grass. Children had come for a birthday party, and they were running around, shouting and yelling. They were all dressed up in (very fake) medieval costumes, as knights with plastic helmets or friars with plastic crucifixes or maidens with plastic cones on their heads. They were all having a screamingly good time (literally!), running around the green grass in their costumes, red and yellow and orange and teal caught vividly in the sun. I found a hidey-hole in one of the windows--a narrow opening, which opened onto a tiny chamber not quite tall enough for me to stand up in, with a barred window at the other end. Claire and I both got in, and then she ran down outside the castle and took pictures of me sitting in the window in the walls. Then I ran out, out over the grass of the inner court, out under the big archway, out over the cobblestones of the outer court, and out through the thick wooden door, and down to meet her in the parking lot.

We drove from the castle into Carrickfergus. A row of shops and houses faced the main street, which ran between the town and the sea. We went into Maud's and bought ice cream in little cups, and perched on the warm stone wall facing out, beyond the road, towards the sea. The smell of the sea came up to us. We watched the ferry from Scotland come in, pushing slowly up the loch. Out on the shimmering water, people were jetskiing. Sailboats like moths with tiny pointed wings flitted about on the water. We sat quietly, eating our ice cream slowly. The afternoon was perfect, warm with just a little breeze, reminding me of those occasional October Oklahoma days when the sky hangs still and milky over the yellowing arms of the maple trees.

When we'd finished our ice cream, we drove up through the narrow streets of the town and parked by a Presbyterian Church. Mrs. Wilson had asked us to buy carrots, if we could, so we looked around for a grocer's shop that would sell fresh carrots, but the only ones we could find were in a supermarket in plastic bags, which Mrs. Wilson had expressly warned us against. So then we looked for a drugstore where Claire could print some digital pictures. We found one, and I nosed around the store while she printed her pictures. Evening was coming on, and the small sleepy town was becoming even sleepier. The red, white, and blue bunting strung between the shops over the town square fluttered vaguely in a light breeze. Claire and I took silly pictures of each other posing in the old town stocks (the wall of the house behind the stocks was painted with humorous scenes from the middle ages--dogs and boys and two men yelling at each other). Then we drove back to the Wilsons' house.

Claire and I settled ourselves down in the living room to sit around for a bit. Claire turned on the TV, but there wasn't much on--stupid silly home videos and that sort of thing. We did find a 'Planet Earth'-type program, depicting the changing of seasons in the ocean, so we watched that for awhile, and when Calvin came home from work, he joined us (and he had a packet of gummy fruit candies that he shared with us). We sat laughing and poking fun of all the weird undersea creatures--sea slugs and plankton and baby crabs. Fiesta colors spread flagrantly all over reefs and kelp forests, though of course God is the only one who can properly see and enjoy them all the time. There was gorgeous footage of kelp forests growing in the summer, and of orcas hunting in the winter, clicking and whining eerily to locate their prey. When that TV show ended, Calvin wanted to watch an episode of 24, an American crime show.

After that ended, it was suppertime (about seven o'clock). Night had settled down outside. Mrs. Wilson had fixed pizza for us for supper, with bell peppers, onions, mushrooms, and bacon. Quite good. Claire and Calvin teased each other during the meal, and Calvin practiced his imitation of an American accent, which he has to use for his school's production of Annie. Claire and I sat and laughed at him. After the meal, Mr. Wilson gathered all of us around the table, and we had family worship. Mr. Wilson read the passage in Matthew where Christ prophesies about the destruction of the temple. Since I was the guest, they let me choose a Psalm, and I chose Psalm 101, the Psalm I sang on my first night alone in Renwick, and also with a tune that's familiar to users of the Irish Psalter. Then Mr. Wilson prayed.

Calvin went out with his friends tonight, after being direly warned by both his parents to look after himself. Claire and I did the dishes. Then I fixed tea for us, and cut slices of apple crumble, and served smarties ice cream (smarties are the equivalent of M&Ms) for both of us, and we went upstairs to the guest room where I'm staying, and settled down on the big double bed. Claire brought in her laptop, and we watched the Bourne Identity, the first of the Bourne films, which are some of Claire's favorites. It was a good movie, after all (I must admit that I was a bit skeptical after all the media hype over the release of the last one). Fairly clean, just a plain, uncomplicated action-adventure thriller, not requiring too much thought. Claire and I both enjoyed it. Claire nearly screamed at one surprising point in the film, though she'd seen it before (I sat and laughed at her).

The movie ended at about ten-thirty, and Claire said good-night and went to bed. I took a shower and then sat up for awhile, chatting with Logan online, which was good (no one else was logged into Skype, except the Spitlers, who were away, I suppose). It was about midnight when I finally went to sleep.