The Leg – a true story

It’s all I have so far, but working on the rest………

Chapter 1

On a hill in the townland of Aghyaran, in a remote graveyard, a tiny wooden coffin is lowered into a small hole dug the night before by grave digger Jimmy Duggan. And just like any other funeral the prayers were read by the priest, joined by a few mourners gathered at the graveside to pay their respects to Patrick McHugh. A fine man, farmer, philosopher, traveller, hard worker, fair and honest man, lover of animals, Father to Rose, Paddy, Willy and Mary, Grandfather to fourteen and wife to Lizzie, all long gone now, and away living in England.

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be they name, thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

If any of the mourners found it odd or amusing to watch a wee box being lowered into the consecrated ground at St Patricks, they did not show it. No one smirked, there was no nudging of elbows, no pointing or laughing. But then again, eye contact was avoided at all costs and for now the man was given the respect of his friends, family and villagers, so high was the regard with which he was held. Well actually his right leg was given the respect of his family, friends and villagers, as Patrick McHugh was still alive and well and lying in Omagh hospital recovering from the amputation, enjoying some home comforts he’d long since forgotten.

“Eternal rest, grant unto him O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon him. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”

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