Review ‘Old God’s Time’ by Sebastian Barry

This was going to be a St Patrick’s Day post so it is a little late. However, it’s superlative Irish storytelling from Sebastian Barry. A restless novel about love, this is cruel life, and this is an ageing retired police officer who sinks in and out of memories, reality and daydreams. Tom Kettle lives in a small dwelling added onto the side of a castle on a stretch of Irish coastline overlooking granite jetties and a rather fetching island “skulking in the near distance.”

Tom’s past may or may not come to haunt him regarding a murder case he was involved in many years ago. He still has his policeman wits about him when the cops come a-knocking and he goes along with the re-opening of a cold case, the death of a well-known priest which seemed an accident and was logged as an accident but modern forensics has reopened the evidence file and started testing old DNA results.

A touch of the surreal here, words weave in and out of Tom’s mind like an hypnotic dance of discomfort, me thinking How did the priest die? Who was involved? What will the DNA testing reveal?
Gradually, old God’s time exposes the past…

The background story ebbs and flows recounting the past and present of Tom’s life, adored wife June and their two children Winnie and Joe. I puzzled over the things he sees, reality or illusions? Who lives, who has died? Mr Tomelty must be his landlord, but the mother, the mysterious others? What is past, what is present, what is true? There are some quite graphic retellings as well. The paedophile priest who horribly abused and traumatised young children. Not a novel for immature or sensitive readers, it does contain adult experiences, thoughts and flashbacks. It would certainly make a strong addition to any book club discussion.

My Favourite Quote
Tom musing “Enough time goes by and it is as if old things never happened.
Things once fresh, immediate, terrible, receding away into old God’s time,
like the walkers walking so far along Killiney Strand that,
as you watch them,
there is a moment when they are only a black speck,
and then they’re gone.”
Page 166 “Old God’s Time” by Sebastian Barry 2023

The mind of author Sebastian Barry must be a complex thing. I cannot describe the intense settings and the lyrical descriptions Barry has used, the language of description I think many Irish writers seem to instinctively master. Page 104 “On remembering towns, Tom thought every single place would be a peg with a memory hanging from it.” Further along, his flight to Mexico was odd but grimly relevant.

This book reminds me of, but is not similar to, “Under Milkwood” by Dylan Thomas and “One Moonlit Night” by Caradog Prichard, both use human strength, sadness and suffering taken almost to an art-form. I also enjoyed the modern twist in “Himself” by Jess Kidd and “Love and Summer” by humanist William Trevor (yes, mixing Irish and Welsh authors) who mastered that dark troublesome inner voice, that unforgettable undercurrent which makes a good story excellent.

On the whole, I wanted Tom to stay safe in his little room overlooking the sea but the direction and pace of this novel had other ideas. It enchanted me. If you like mystery fiction with a twist, you will be swept along by remarkable literary undercurrents with this one.

❤ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

‘The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls’ Longfellow

Tidal flats of Wynnum Manly foreshore Moreton Bay, Queensland © Dot Bernet 2021

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,

The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;

Along the sea-sands damp and brown

The traveller hastens toward the town,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,

But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;

The little waves, with their soft, white hands,

Efface the footprints in the sands,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls

Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;

The day returns, but nevermore

Returns the traveller to the shore,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

* * * * *

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet (1807-1882)

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44651/the-tide-rises-the-tide-falls

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Twilight falls on Wynnum Manly foreshore Moreton Bay, Queensland © Dot Bernet 2021

Shells and Summer Days

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I started to add tags to my photo and realised that most things associated with the beach start with the letter ‘S’ and I’d barely scratched the surface. Sand, sea, swimming, shells. I paused at shells because a sunbeam tinged my glass bowl of seashells which holds countless memories.

… I drifted away… the smell of sunscreen and the feel of sand sifting through my fingers… one day I will take those shells back to the ocean…

In case you missed my front page Photo Of The Week, below I have reproduced the wording which accompanied a close-up photo of my shell collection. More scientific than personal but nonetheless I found it fascinating:

“SHELLS are made of calcium carbonate, in the mineral form of calcite or aragonite. Animals build their shells by extracting the necessary ingredients—dissolved calcium and bicarbonate—from their environment. As the animal grows, its home—the protective shell that surrounds it—must get bigger, and so they grow their shells layer upon layer, creating ‘growth-bands’, or growth increments, within the shell.

“Some of these growth increments are visible on the external surface of the shell, while others are only visible in the internal structure. But the interesting thing about the growth increments is that their width, or thickness, is affected by environmental conditions, like temperature. Some growth increments are a reflection of tidal cycles, some show annual periodicity.

“So the series of growth increments within a shell are essentially a record of the animal’s lifetime and, similar to the study of tree-rings, some scientists study them to make interpretations about the environment where that animal lived and grew. The oldest known individual animal lived in a shell—a specimen of the shellfish Arctica islandica has been documented to be 507 years old.”

For colours, shapes, biodiversity visit Academy of Science
https://www.science.org.au/curious/earth-environment/sea-shells

FOSSIL collector, dealer and palaeontologist Mary Anning (1799 –1847) was the inspiration for the tongue twister “She sells sea shells by the sea shore” from the original song written in 1908 by Terry Sullivan relating to Mary Anning’s beach-combing lifestyle. Anning is known for the important finds she made in Jurassic marine fossil beds in the cliffs along the English Channel at Lyme Regis in the county of Dorset in Southwest England.

The fascinating truth behind the old tongue twister
https://www.littlethings.com/she-sells-seashells-meaning

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

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A Poem by Pete Crowther

‘On Holding a Granite Pebble Found on the Beach’

Beach 04

How many tides

have rolled it round,

this stone I hold

warm in my hand?

Rose-pink and grey

it is, you’d say,

the sky at dawn,

or held this way,

the silver glitter

of sun on water.

Sea-washed and smooth

it seems to breathe,

familiar there

like an old friend,

or a father’s warm palm

to the hand of a child.

Poem by Pete Crowther

‘On Holding a Granite Pebble Found on the Beach’
https://www.poemhunter.com/poems/beach/page-2/613435/
Pete Crowther
https://www.poemhunter.com/pete-crowther/biography/
Website
https://www.poemhunter.com/

This is a break from my poetry and I do love this one.

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

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Wobble Jellyfish

Wobble Jellyfish was wobbling along under the sea when
Swoosh, whoosh, splash!
A wave stranded her on a sandy beach.
It was midday and it was hot.
A seagull eyed her suspiciously.
Wobble Jellyfish hardly had time to take a breath when
Swoosh, whoosh, splash!
She was slopping along in the bottom of a plastic bucket.
Wobble slowly blubbed her way up and peeked over the side.
The water park was full of wet, squealing children.
She saw a huge swimming pool ahead and got ready to slip overboard.
With a squeeze of her tentacles, she oozed up and over the edge.
Plop! She missed the swimming pool.
This water was cold and bubbly and swirled Wobble up, up and over.
The fountain tossed her around and around like a washing machine.
Wobble waved her tentacles helplessly then plopped back into the water.
She grasped hold of a long purple ribbon dangling in the foam.
The person wearing the long purple ribbon stood up.
Aagh! The young girl swung her long plait to get rid of Wobble.
Wobble soared high and fell with a splat on the hard ground.
A water canon spray hosed Wobble off the pathway into the gutter.
The force of the water swished her straight down the stormwater drain.
It was dark and stinky and slimy in the drain.
Wobble wrapped her tentacles tightly around her body.
“Oh, ooh, oooh, I want to get out of here,” said Wobble Jellyfish.
Many empty water bottles floated past and she grabbed one.
It was a bouncy ride, up and down through the pipes.
The bottle got jammed between the bars of a stormwater grate.
Wobble sucked in her jelly belly and squeezed through.
Now the water was quieter and flowed more smoothly.
Grass lined the bank and the sun shone on a long stretch of clear water.
It made Wobble feel relaxed but the water was not salty.
She longed for the tang of the ocean, the surge and swell of the current.
A boy’s face loomed above her and another plastic bucket scooped her up.
The ride was sloppy and jerky hanging from the handlebars of his bike.
Wobble heard lots of voices talking and saw cheerful colours flash overhead.
Swoosh, whoosh, splash!
Wobble was sluiced over the side of the bucket into a square glass tank.
The first thing she saw was another jellyfish. He was very small.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Irukandji, or Iru for short.”
Wobble thought his smile was unfriendly.
She didn’t like his long, quivering tentacles and backed away.
Something sharp poked her side and she wobbled around to look.
It was a large starfish. He said “My name is Spike.”
Wobble slubbed and blubbed “I’m not surprised.”
She introduced herself and peered closely at Spike “You’re a beautiful colour.”
Spike showed her around the glass tank.
He was proud of the rocks and the seaweed and a tiny pirate ship.
“But they are not real,” said Wobble.
“They are to me,” said Spike.
That made Wobble cry but nobody saw her tears because of the clean tap water.
“We have to get back to the sea!” she said.
Wobble saw blurry people lift the fish tank “Up ya go!” and “In ya go!”
The light dulled as a heavy canvas was pulled over the back of the ute.
Water slopped everywhere as the old ute bucked back and forth along the track.
The canvas was lifted and Wobble, Spike and Iru blinked at the bright sun.
The tank was hoisted up and carried along the beach towards tall cliffs.
At the base of the cliffs, the blurry figures stopped.
Wobble could see large rock pools and waves splashing over them.
Spike and Iru were very quiet, hardly daring to move.
Wobble rose to the top of the fish tank and blub blubbed excitedly.
The fish tank moved again, closer to the waves and the sea.
A huge sparkling wave rose up, curling and churning towards the rock pools.
The blurry figures leaned over and tipped the tank.
Swoosh, whoosh, splash!
Wobble, Spike and Iru caught the wave and rode it high into the air.
They tumbled and mingled with the fresh, cool, salty water.
Whoo hoo! shouted Wobble and Spike and Iru.
Seaspray carried them higher and higher until the wave rolled back into the sea.
Briefly they touched, careful of Iru’s stingers, then turned towards home.
Wobble Jellyfish had the tiny pirate ship wrapped in one of her tentacles.
She was going to show it to a real sunken pirate ship.