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Luckily, we decided to check the house ourselves before Tim to see if she still lived there. Tim waited in the minibus while Charlie knocked on the door of the house. A woman came to the door and when Charlie mentioned that Tim was here she almost collapsed with the shock. She pleaded with Charlie not to let Tim know she was living there, calling her husband at work for support. Charlie had to agree. She took a number for Tim’s brother in Dublin and we left telling Tim that the sister had moved with no forwarding address. It was Tim’s birthday on the day we returned so we had a wee party on the boat for him with a cake and we bought him a Guinness scarf and a watch from the ship's shop. John went to visit Tim at his hostel two days after we got back to London and the watch was gone.

James hadn’t been back to Ireland in over 40 years and the changes were a constant source of wonder to him, particularly the new roads and he was amazed at the smart holiday cottages we stayed in. James had been street homeless in London for many years and was used to drinking very strong White Ace cider. We weaned him onto Guinness in the first couple of days and he was quite happy, believing that the 13-and-a-half percent printed on the can was actually the alcohol content not the extra volume that it actually was. We had not held out much hope of James’s reunion with his sister being too successful, fearing a repeat of Tim’s unhappy experience, as she had seemed distant on the phone and not too enthusiastic to see James. She kept saying that she couldn’t put him up and could only see him for an hour or so. In the event, James stayed for the whole week visiting his mother’s grave and coming back the night before we left. He is planning to go back in May with Aisling when we can drop him off on the way to Donegal. Dominic also stayed with his family in Donegal for the week, his sister–in-law meeting us at Swinford on the way to Mulranny on the morning we arrived, dropping him back at the end of the week, all spick and span and grinning from ear to ear.

One day we went out to Keem Bay. Out on the farthest edge of Achill Island, the bay is a haven of peace, sheltered in the shade of high mountains accessible by a white-knuckle pass. The weather was, as usual rainy and windy but as our minibus climbed over the pass the rain died down and the sun came out in shafts like god’s fingers from the gaps in the clouds. There is only one road into Keem Bay and the same one out, when we arrived there was one car parked on the road above the beach and we parked beside it. As we walked down the steep path to the beach we saw a man and a woman carrying a sheet between them with what appeared to be a body inside. They saw us and exchanged nervous glances with each other for a moment and continued down to the waters edge. As we stood and watched a few yards away they heave-hoed their burden into the tide. It was a baby seal that sailed out from the bed sheet and landed in the foam of the incoming tide. The sea washed back and the grey pup was left on the sand. The next wave didn’t take him away either and so the couple tried to lift him by the back flippers to swing him into the water again. This was a lot trickier even than it sounds as the pup wasn’t having any of it. As they approached he swung round with his jaws wide open exposing his sharp teeth and snapped at their hands. Undaunted they grabbed him and with a mighty lunge tossed him high, snarling and howling into the waves. Timing it seems is everything in seal rescue and unfortunately Sammy floated back again on the tide.

The tide was turning now and they had missed their chance of getting him out on the waves. Sammy (as Pat and Mairead had nick-named him) was too exhausted to swim against the tide. After a half an hour they gave up and left him in a rock pool hoping that he would regain his strength enough to swim out on the next tide. Mairead and Pat were locals who had come across Sammy washed up on the fields high above the road in a storm three days ago and had tried to nurse him back to strength for the journey back to the sea. He was distressed and snapped at his would-be rescuers as they attempted to feed him with fresh fish. Mairead explained that when they are afraid seals tend to head for the shore and it was always going to be difficult to get him back safely to his natural environment. I thought that sounded a lot like us but it was invigorating to be in the wind and spray of the Atlantic and to be part of a human endeavour to rescue a living creature.

On the way back to Mulranny just outside of Keel a car overtook us going fast and in a flurry of feathers crashed through a gaggle of geese crossing the road to a farmyard. Most of them escaped without harm but one was lying twitching in the road as we passed. We pulled onto the side of the road just as Pat, who we had last seen with the seal pup at Keem Bay, pulled his car over behind us and got out to help. The goose was done for and we laid him down on the doorstep of the farm. I suppose it would come in handy at Christmas. I said to Pat that if only he had a film crew following him around he would be like the Irish David Attenborough.

Tony too spent most of the week with his family. They seem to have all done very well for themselves, Tony was full of stories about all of the things they have and how much their cars and houses cost, the amount of land they have and how much it costs for a site to build a house. Tony drank very little during his week and he was far more coherent than I had ever known him. It was like he was coming out a coma. On the boat going home Tony was once again telling me about all the possession his family had. I asked would he like to go back to live and if so wouldn’t there be a chance of having a bit of the land for himself, sharing in the family’s good fortune, as he was the eldest son, surely he would be entitled to it. Tony gave me a rueful smile ‘Oh, no! I don’t think they would be happy about that. It’s alright to come back for a weeks holiday but not any longer.’

Pat had been persuaded by his brother to come with Aisling on this trip. I had been trying to get Pat to go for the last 10 years at least but it had been around thirty years since his last visit to Ireland. Pat is from Waterford and wasn’t ready yet to go back to his home county but was happy and very much at home in Mulranny spending most of his time looking out the window and walking on the beach between showers. Pat also managed to cut back on his drinking, keeping to low strength lagers and mostly drinking in the pub compared to his binge drinking in London. Pat has a great knack of finding free drink scams: down the road from where he lives is a very busy club and at the weekends many of the clubbers take drinks along which are confiscated by the bouncers. The bouncers are all keep fit fanatics and non-drinkers so they let Pat take the drinks away for himself. Since we got back to London Pat has been off the drink and is planning to go back to Waterford soon.

On the day we set out, a few extra people from Arlington House had turned up at the Irish Centre on the off chance of a lift home and I had agreed to take them as long as we had room. Usually we have a couple of spare seats but we were full to bursting point and I had to let the lads down and drop them back to the house. I imagine Arlington House never looked grimmer to Jimmy and Joe that evening. When we pulled up on the way back at Arlington House to drop the lads off Jimmy and Joe were standing on the step where we had left them a week earlier. Mayo Michael, who had been very subdued all the way back, took me to one side as we were unloading the luggage and apologised for his bad behaviour during the week, ‘It was hard being back in Mayo, I was nervous about going back and I couldn’t face going to my home town, I didn’t know what people would say to me. It will be different next time…if you’ll have me’

Well, I don’t know about that, now...

reports on other Aisling trips