Poisoned Glen , livre ebook

Austin Macauley Publishers - Declan Gallagher

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69 pages

English

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This is a gripping tale of emigrants from rural Ireland in the mid-1970s to the bright lights of New York City, and the journey of widower Pat Boyle and his 12-year-old daughter, Georgina, and what they encounter along the way. Pat, a master carpenter, has no problem finding work but learns very quickly the danger of working there after the Mafia murders a work colleague. Georgina, in her late teenage years, is the total opposite of her father, practising shooting guns and rifles in a secret chamber in her friend's basement. She begins working as a barmaid in Dolan's Bar, Woodside, Queens. Her attitude and appearance change to an outwardly strong female that takes no-nonsense approach towards the drunk male Irish workers who frequent her bar. When she hears of her cousin Bosco being held captive by two leading Mafia brothers, she takes the law into her own hands with devastating consequences.

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Thriller

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	12 décembre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781528966566
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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The Poisoned Glen
Declan Gallagher
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-12-12
The Poisoned Glen About The Author Dedication Copyright Information ©
About The Author
Declan Gallagher is from the town of Letterkenny in Co Donegal. He worked in the construction industry from an early age. He emigrated to London in the mid-eighties and then to New York, a year later, where he worked in a Mafia-controlled Concrete Union, then to Carpenter Union using false names provided by the construction companies.
During his time there, he became aware of the danger of working with these companies and how many Irish men were murdered for crossing the Mafia.
New York of today is a much safer place, and the Mafia no longer have the same control in the construction industry.
The Poisoned Glen tells the story of the influence this had on illegal Irish emigrants and how some met their untimely death.
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to my late father,
Eamonn Gallagher.
Copyright Information ©
Declan Gallagher (2019)
The right of Declan Gallagher to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Austin Macauley is committed to publish works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s choice.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528931175 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528966566 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ

The day begins, as the sun ascends over the mountains, rays dissipating a night of darkness
Light descends across the valley, the Poisoned Glen.
Reflecting on Dunlewy Lake, peering the vacant windows or the old ruin church.
Sacred walls once echoed words of redemption, a roof that once sheltered, now open to the heavens.
Past congregations who worshipped within its walls, have now entered their promise of life eternal, for some their failed atone, certain retribution.
The morning mist slowly disperses to reveal Donegal’s highest mountain; her name is Errigal, the tallest of her seven sisters.
Her majestic beauty towers over the valley below.
She kneels on the sodden grass and leans over the damp, moss-covered stone wall, then lifts her head slowly and looks over into the clearing between tall pine forests; about one hundred yards from her, a dark figure in the distance raises its head and looks in her direction.
Rain drips from the hood of her dark green oilskin coat down her flushed red cheeks; gripping the rifle tightly, her hands feel cold, almost numb as she rests the gun over the wall.
Lowering her head slowly and closing one eye, she then looks down the telescopic sight, now magnified and in focus. She can see that beast clearly as it seems to sense danger. Georgina’s decision will have to be fast, a neck shot, she then decides. So much pressure all at once for an eleven-year-old girl, as she braces her small undeveloped body for such a dangerous task, the butt of the rifle pulled tenaciously against her shoulder. With her index finger on the trigger, she grits her teeth tightly. The sound of rain echoes louder as it splatters on the hood of her oilskin, breaking her concentration as she desperately adjusts her aim. Anxiety quickly sets in; her hands tremble, and her face turns pale as she tries to keep the gun steady.
That’s it , she thinks and hopes that her moment is right; she then fires. The gun jolts her shoulder and the loud bang deafens her for a moment, making her lose focus through the sight; her anxiety is raised to its peak as she ponders the outcome of her shot.
“Well done, Georgie,” her father Pat shouts in excitement as he looks through his binoculars and as he jumps to his feet. “Perfect kill,” he says as he grins from ear to ear.
She feels pain in her shoulder from the rebound; she then lifts her head over the rifle and looks into the clearing as the deer lies on its side. Its legs kick for a few moments then stop as it breathes its last breath.
She turns her head and looks at her father as he smiles at her. He places his hand on her shoulder and tells her, “Well done.”
“She is as good as you, Pat,” Jim Rodgers says as he gets up on to his feet.
“Well, she had plenty of practice shooting old bean cans back at the farm. I knew she could do it,” Pat replies. “We’d better get back, Jim, and get out of these wet clothes.”
“I’ll get the tractor down there,” Jim says as he walks towards the main road.
Pat and Georgina climb over the wall, both wearing their denim jeans tucked into their black wellington boots, soaked to the skin from walking through the long, wet grass.
They make their way towards the deer with Pat carrying the rifle.
The morning begins with glorious June sunshine but true to its unreliable nature. Irish weather can have four seasons in one day, and it slowly turns cloudy and wet. When they get there, Pat kneels on one knee and lifts the deer’s head and looks at the wound on the neck.
“She would have died instantly. You shot her through the spine. Great shot for your first time.”
“I feel terrible; she is such a beautiful animal,” she says, shaking her head from side to side as she looks into the deer’s eyes. “Why do they have to be killed anyway; what harm are they doing?” Georgina says, not feeling very proud of her achievement.
“Well, we have to keep the numbers down, that’s why we have a seasonal cull ever year.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because if there’s too many when they are foraging for food, they eat all the new tree shoots,” he tells her. “Be sure not to tell anyone about this. I could lose my licence if the wrong person heard that I let a young girl like you shoot a deer.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, not even Gran.”
Jim drives his tractor down beside the deer, and both men grab it by the legs, then pull and slide it onto a link box at the rear of the tractor. Pat and Georgina hop on and take a lift to the main road where Pat has parked his car.
Back at Pat’s farm later that evening, after a change of clothes, Jim arrives with the deer. He then reverses and parks at the shed door where both men again slide it inside.
They tie its hind legs together and use a rope and pulley attached to the rafters to winch it up with its head facing the floor. A bucket is then placed under the head and the throat cut; blood flows quickly, gravity feeds until it slowly runs dry.
After they finish, they lock up the door. Pat tells Georgina that she should get to her bed early as they plan to climb to the top of Errigal Mountain starting early next morning as a treat for Georgina’s twelfth birthday.
Next morning, she is awakened by the family dog barking, completely exhausted from walking, the day before, through the forests of Glenveagh. She keeps her eyes closed. She lies but listens to hear voices as they seem to approach her home. As she listens, she recognises her cousin Bosco and his mother Mary Kelly talking outside. Suddenly, she realises why they have arrived. It is because it is her twelfth birthday.
She had lost her brother Michael and her mother Sara who had died giving birth on July 10, 1965, fourteen months after Georgina was born. She was left with her father, Pat, and his mother Peg to look after her.
The excitement of the day ahead prises her from her warm bed as she begins to open her eyes, blinking and trying to focus while the strong sunlight filters through the pores of the blue fabric curtains. This will be the day she had waited for all her young life as her father had promised to take her to the top of Errigal for the first time. Getting out of her bed, she looks for a pair of old boots that her cousin, Bosco, had loaned her for climbing the mountain. She finds them under her bed and puts them on; as they are a little big for her, she puts on a second pair of socks. After she is fully dressed, she walks from her bedroom towards the small cold bathroom. She looks in the mirror and brushes her long, thick raven hair, then brushes her teeth. She looks in the mirror one last time before she walks towards the kitchen door. She hesitates to open the door because as she stands in front of it, she can hear her father talking to her aunt about having to take Georgina with him to live in New York in two weeks’ time. She can hear him say how he could not leave her behind and at the same time felt a terrible guilt about taking her there.
After a few minutes, Georgina opens the door and smiles as she enters the room.
“Surprise, surprise,” says Aunt Mary, who is sitting on a chair next to the kitchen table.
“Good morning,” Georgina replies, happy to see her aunt sitting there.
“Come over and give your favourite aunt a big hug,” Aunt Mary says with a smile, sitting at opposite end of the kitchen table from Georgina’s grandmother.
Georgina runs with open arms towards her aunt and throws her arms around her.
“Happy birthday, Georgina,” her aunt whispers in her ear. Georgina tilts her head back and smiles as she looks into her aunt’s eyes. Her aunt kisses Georgina on the forehead and then tells her to look at what is on the table.
On the table is a chocolate sponge cake with ‘Happy birthday Georgina’ written on it in white icing, also a box of small candles in an assortment of colours. Her aunt has made the cake as she has always done for Georgina’s birthdays. Granny asks, “What do you