My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

76

I needn’t have feared Mrs. P.’s reception of my arrival. As soon as she saw me enter the Queen of Tarts with Lee and Joe, she clapped her hands and rushed over through the busy eatery.

“Admiral. How wonderful! Lee told me you might be joining us this morning. I know how much he’s been looking forward to your visit. I do hope you’ll be able to join us at the Leprechaun Museum, among other things on our itinerary,” she added as she led us over to the only available table, which was a bit close to the kitchen’s swinging doors. “Well,” she continued, “I’ll leave you to all your submarine talk.”

“So,” I asked, as we were finally seated, and Mrs. P. had returned to her own crowded table, “what did you want to speak to me about, Lee, or is it too personal for here and now?”

“Nothing like that, Harry. Edith called and said she found some old O’Hara Nelson parish records and graves in County Clare, near the town of Ennis. She’s not certain if there’s a family connection, but...”

“I’d be delighted to visit the place, but isn’t Clare on the other side of this emerald isle?”

“Yeah...I’d hate to disappoint Mrs. P. again, but maybe we could sneak over later today or tomorrow. They have great train service here....or maybe when the tour is over...if you’re not too busy with Seaview, that is.”

“Actually, the fumigation process won’t take long, but I am planning on hosting an American barbeque for the Royal Navy as a thank you for all their help. Why don’t we plan visiting the town after your tour’s all finished? By then Seaview will have been able to skirt the coast up and over to the western shore. I know I'd love to see the Cliffs of Moher.”

“Sorry about the delay, gents,” an aged, harried waitress interrupted, about to hand us our menus.

“We won’t need these,” Lee said, “I’m sure anything you think we’d like will be fine.”

I noticed he’d used his ‘little boy’ look at her.

“You’re a dear, sweetie. I’ll bring you the best Irish breakfast there is.”

“But we do want coffee instead of tea,” Joe added.

“Joe,” Lee warned, “when in Rome, or Dublin as the case may be....”

“It’s all right, sonny,” the waitress ruffled Lee’s hair, “we know most Yanks prefer coffee,” she smiled and took the two steps through the swinging door.

“Was that wise, Lee?” I asked. “No telling what kind of food we’ll get.”

“It’ll make her day, anyway.”

“You’re a soft touch, son,” I chuckled.

“How’s Maleficent doing?” Joe asked. “And what kind of cat is she?”

“Haven’t a clue about the breed, but I do have a picture,” I said, taking out my cell and handing it over, “you’ll have to find it, I still can’t figure out these damn things. Edith’s right when she calls me a dinosaur at times.”

“Aw,” Joe said when the image formed, “kind of a mixed breed I guess. What a lot of fur...”

“Let me see,” Lee said, a tinge of worry on his face. “Oh gawd...”

“What?” Joe and I asked.

“I can just imagine the hairballs all over my nice clean deck.”

I couldn’t help laughing. And did I dare hope? ‘His’ nice clean deck?

“So,” I changed the subject, “where are we off to today other than the museum?”

“Dublin Castle,” Joe said, “and supper at O’Neil’s Pub. Tomorrow’s the National Wax Museum and Malahilde Castle and Gardens...”

Just then the waitress returned with our coffee, accompanied by a scowling young man in a business suit.

“I need to apologize, sir,” she said to Lee, noticeably upset, “for taking the liberty...”

“What’s this all about?” Lee asked.

“I saw her ruffle your hair, sir,” the man said.

“Young man,"Lee said coolly, rising, “I don’t know who you are or what business it is of yours, but she can ruffle my hair any time she likes. It was a very sweet gesture, especially since I’m so far away from home and my own mother.”

Bingo! You could almost hear the ‘aww’s from the now silent  but  very interested crowd.

“Then you weren’t offended?” he asked, surprised, “I mean, you Yanks are so ‘my space’ oriented....”

“Of course I wasn’t offended...now, if you don’t mind, I’m sure she has a great deal to do.”

“What’s going on here,” a pretty woman in sensible shoes asked as she emerged from the kitchen doors, probably having been alerted by the staff of a problem.

“I thought Mabel had overstepped,” the man began.

“My God, Lee!”

“Maggie? Fancy meeting you here!” Lee said, giving her a small embrace.

“And fancy you having become that best damn submarine captain after all,” she said, and ran her hand over his cheek, “not to mention getting rather famous, or infamous, I hear, for not showing up for meals with the Piccadilly tour at times. So,” she said, returning her attention to the matter at hand. “What’s the problem here, Tim?”

“He thought,” Lee said before Tim could answer, “that he was saving me from being accosted by this most charming lady. There’s no problem except in his imagination.”

“We’ll discuss this later, Tim. My apologies, Mabel.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, then positively glowed at Lee. “I’ll get your meals...Irish Special,” she added for Maggie’s benefit.

“Won’t you join us, Maggie?” Lee asked, “if you’re not too busy...”

“Oh gosh,” she said positively blushing, and sat down as Lee pulled over a chair from the wall.

“May I introduce my father, Admiral Harriman Nelson, and my friend, Commander Joe Jackson.”

“Delighted.”

So was I. He’d actually introduced me as his father, that title taking precedence to my naval one.

“How, um,” I asked, “do you two know each other?”

“Fender bender," she said. "I was a student at San Diego State University. We exchanged insurance info and one thing led to another. Short lived, oh, not an affair. The Ensign  and I weren’t exactly taking things too seriously back then, but we had some good times, and not the kind you’re thinking, just good companionship, good food...did you know he can make a mean fried egg sandwich?”

“Er, yes,” I said.

“But not much else,” she laughed. “Lee helped me decide to go into the hospitality and culinary program. I wanted to, but was afraid I couldn’t make it. He told me otherwise...pretty darn convincing when he wants to be...and, here I am...assistant manager in the best little hole in the wall in Ireland.”

“Hardly that,” I said. “This place is famous!”

“Thank you, I’m sure the boss will be glad to hear it.”

Just then our meals came.

“Is that...Blood Pudding?” Joe asked, as wary as I could see that Lee was.

“It certainly is,” Maggie said proudly, cutting into the mass on Lee’s plate, taking a forkful and tapping Lee’s mouth with it. “Go ahead, try it, Lee. It won’t bite.”

Lee accepted the forkful, and grinned as he chewed the foodstuff.

“See? Now, you sure you don’t want any tea?”

“You’ve convinced me,” Lee said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Mabel?” she said, “a nice pot of tea for our American friend.”

“Yes’m.  And the other gents?”

“Sure,” I said, “I’ll try some.”

“Me too,” Joe said, following my lead.

Soon we were stuffing ourselves with one item after another of the huge spread, washed down with tea and coffee. Conversation drifted between Seaview’s new cat, which Mabel assured us was a Maine Coon, or at least partly, and the best places to visit in Ireland.

As the other diners began to depart and board the tour bus, Mrs. P. came over.

“Do you need a lift back to the hotel?”

“We’ll be fine, Mrs. P.” Lee said.

“Very well, but remember, boys, we’ll be leaving from the hotel in about an hour and a half. We’ll only be able to hold it for ten minutes, so you’d best hurry up and finish here.”

“We’ll be there,” I said, glad to include myself as one of the ‘boys’.

“Oh,” she continued, “and please wear the green top hats I have waiting at the desk. To honor our hosts. By the way,” she now addressed Maggie, “fabulous fare. I’ll highly recommend the Queen of Tarts to all my colleagues.”

“Thank you Mrs. Piccadilly,” Maggie said.

“And thank you for getting the captain to eat...”Mrs. P. said. “Sometimes he pretends by moving things around on his plate.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow at Lee.

“I have a problem with my appetite sometimes.”

“Except for fried rattlesnake!” Mrs. P. said. “Well, I’ll be off. See you soon.”

Everyone laughed, and Lee and Maggie held hands and exchanged affectionate looks. I wasn’t sure at all about the ‘nothing serious’ that Maggie had stressed earlier.

I’m back at the hotel, having brushed my teeth and secured one of the shamrock tie tacks from the front desk. It didn’t really go with my shirt, but as Lee had said ‘when in Rome, er... Dublin....

It remains to be seen just what our trip to the Leprechaun Museum will entail. But after that O’Shaunessy driver, well, who knows.