HORACE An Irish Tale

Chapter 1

My Arrival

They say that it's impossible to remember being born. They say that our brains are not formed fully, and our eyes are not yet open, and our brains are not conditioned to remember anything at birth. They say our senses are not engaged enough to take in or remember the new world we have emerged into. They say it is simply not at all possible to remember being born.

But you know what? I don't believe this, since I can remember. Yes, I can remember being born, as clear a yesterday although in fact it was over ninety-seven years ago.

Now they say when you are dying you see a bright white light as if you are heading through a dark tunnel with a bright light at the end. They say to enter heaven; you must go through this bright light, they call it "going into the light". Well, I can tell you it's the same being born. You emerge from the darkness as you head towards and into a very bright light. Now some say that we all must die to be born again (in which case I wonder, wouldn't it be strange if there was any connection, between the light of dying and the light of birth. As if we just transcend from one life to another?

Well I guess that could form the thoughts of another book, but not this one, this one is about me.

As I emerged into bright light, I remember it being very cold and my little body shook as I was suspended by my ankles and then received a sudden stinging slap on my bottom. I gulped in big lungs full of cold fresh air as I gurgled and cried to clearing my throat. Most of all I remember the comforting soft warmth of my beloved mothers' body. Even though they say I couldn't possibly remember. I really do! I remember my mother's warm voice, her smell, her smile and I knew right then, from the very beginning that I would love her passionately all my life (and I did). She was a gentle, beautiful, loving, kind soul who would die far, far too young.

For most people the 16th August 1918, appeared to be just another Sunday. But I when I decided to arrive, kicking and screaming into the world I changed this sleepy Sunday for a middle-class family, living in a little market town in rural Northern Ireland. Arriving a few weeks earlier than expected my mother's labour pains came as a sudden surprise to both of my parents, but some form of universal wisdom, had decided that it was time for me to make my debut as their first child and first son. It was not at all common in those days to give birth in a hospital, most deliveries were at home assisted by the local doctor or midwife and since I was early, the doctor was called directly when my mother's contractions started. It was lucky for us that the doctor had not far to travel, in fact he lived just across the street and arrived at the house within a matter of minutes. With clean white sheets unfolded, pots of boiling water bubbling over the fireplace and all things that could be sterilized, had been sterilized, the man of the family (my father and friends) were ushered into the parlour to "wait it out". Water was fetched, doctors implements, and tools arranged, and my mother's breathing controlled under supervision. Even though it appeared I was in a rush to get here, my entrance or perhaps better put my arrival was not as easy and it took nearly three hours of labour contraction and pain until I finally arrived. I think it came as a relief to all and especially my mother that I eventually arrived healthy and full of life. Since I was a boy and their first child, there was much joy in the Wilton residence; cigars were given out, whisky opened and the doctor had his hand shaken vigorously by all, until I am sure his arm and fingers were sore and numb.

In those days having a boy as first child was desirable, almost necessary since he was regarded as heir apparent. Equality of the sexes had not yet been fought for and it was still then very much a male dominated world (or it appeared to be because I have learnt since through marriage, that the woman of the house often leads the way behind the scenes and you can generally rest assure only when the lady of the house is happy is everyone else happy).