Would you answer a ringing phone from inside a shed? A shed that had nothing to do with you? A shed you just happened to be passing? A shed on an island that was off a peninsula, and that was part of a greater island and off the coast of a vast continent?
To all intents and purposes, a phone that was ringing out over the edge of the world.
Well, thankfully someone did.
A group of us were visiting Dursey Island years ago. We were spending a few days on the Beara Peninsula and had decided to give the cable car a go. Only six could fit in at a time and the door was fastened by one of those latches with hooks and eyes that immediately brought me back to the lock on the toilet that opened out to my granny’s back yard.
It was just a perfect day... until we got to the Dursey Island cable car
Dedicated to the one I hate: Frank McNally on how a book inscription came back to haunt Patrick Kavanagh
‘The measure of my dreams’: Rainy Night in Soho lives on, almost 40 years after its release
A mixed schoolbag: Noel Costello on turbulent classroom days and being taught by John McGahern
The cable car trundled into action and the journey began. One of us spotted a prayer tucked away discreetly towards the back of the car. It came from the Book of Psalms and extolled the faithful to believe in the mercy of the Lord when it came to storms at sea and sailors in distress. My friend took great pleasure in reading this aloud as we wobbled our way over the heaving, swirling ocean below.
The weather was glorious. We’d planned a walk and had packed a picnic. Hours later we dug into our sandwiches, looking out over the expanse of the Atlantic.
Slowly and lazily, we made our way back to the cable car slipway. We weren’t the only ones who’d made the trek over to the island and the slipway was filled with bodies sitting and sprawling in the sunshine.
As the capacity of the cable car was limited, with the journey each way taking 10 minutes, it didn’t take long to calculate that a three-hour wait was ahead of us.
But how could we complain? It was the most perfect of days. There was nothing to do but find a spot and eyes closed, succumb to the August heat and gentle west Cork breeze.
Our turn came around and we entered the car. An intercom sputtered into action and a dismembered voice informed us that there would be a 10-minute break and more importantly to leave the door open for the duration. We did as instructed.
We chatted with the couple sharing the cable car, comparing notes on the exploits of the day.
Ten minutes came and went. Nothing happened. We continued our chat. More time passed and a note of puzzlement entered the conversation. Had they forgotten about us?
And then a commotion of sorts took place on the slipway. A wave of noise rose and fell as it moved through the day-trippers. It took a moment for it to reach the car. And another for it to register.
“Close the door, tell them to close the door!”
We duly did and the cable car jolted into life.
The man on the mainline was waiting for us, with something large and bulky in hand. The battery in the intercom had failed, he explained. He had no way to communicate with the passengers in the cable car. There was no dedicated cable car worker on the island and he didn’t know what to do. And then he remembered. There was a phone in a shed, a little further up from the slipway.
He rang the number, hoping someone would pick up. And someone did. A tourist, who just happened to be in the vicinity.
“Tell them to close the door of the cable car,” the passerby was instructed. The tourist shouted the instruction down the line until it eventually came to us in the cable car.
“I’m going to change the battery now,” this resourceful worker informed us as he entered the car.
In the intervening years, I’ve asked friends and colleagues if they would have answered that phone and it never fails to surprise me when someone announces, with an understated certainty, that of course they would have done so. How could they not?
You see, I know for sure that had it been me passing that shed on the edge of the world, with the phone ringing within, the door to the shed would have remained unopened. No inquiries would have been made as to who was ringing and why. No instructions would have been received.
I would have studiously walked on by.
