Tom & The Eggs

Tom and Geraldine McCarthy lived in a small farming village on the outskirts of Boyle, Co Roscommon. Their cottage was 3 miles from the crossroads and although they had a good few neighbours within a 10 mile radius, there was no shop in the village. The year was 1990 and Boyle was the big shopping town back then. As was the case in many households in those days, one person made the weekly trek to Boyle to get groceries.

In the McCarthy household, this duty fell on Tom’s shoulders and he usually set off in the early AM of a Friday to get the supplies that they didn’t produce on the farm.

This routine was working out just fine until one memorable Saturday when Geraldine realised she’d forgotten to put eggs on Tom’s list. Geraldine had planned to do extra baking this week and knew the hens weren’t going to produce the number that she needed as apple tarts and scones were on her to-bake list this week.

No problem, right? Tom would just make a quick trip to Boyle despite being there the day before.

Tom set off, and Geraldine didn’t expect him back any time soon. Tom had a habit of lingering when he went to Boyle, especially around Dodds. She expected him to prop up the bar for a few hours and swap stories with the boys.

What she didn’t expect was for Tom to not come home at all that night. 

There Geraldine was, eggless and clueless, with no Tom in sight. This was back in the day when phones were as rare as hens’ teeth, so news only travelled by word of mouth. Unfortunately, none of her neighbours were in Boyle that day to spill the beans on Tom’s whereabouts.

Sunday morning rolled around, and still no Tom. As strange as it sounds, Geraldine didn’t panic. Tom was known to wander off every few years and spend a night in Boyle. She figured he’d roll in Sunday night, ready for a hearty homecoming.

But Sunday night came and went with no sign of Tom. At 10 pm, there was a knock at the door. Geraldine flung it open, ready to give Tom a piece of her mind, but instead, there stood a nervous-looking neighbour.

“Geraldine,” he said, shuffling his feet, “Tom’s in Boyle. He’s got the eggs but won’t be home for a few days.”

 “A FEW DAYS?!” Geraldine exploded. “What’s the fecker doing in Boyle?”

“He’s with a few of the boys and just said to tell you he’s sound.“ 

“SOUND, MY FOOT,” she grumbled, slamming the door.

Monday came and went. No word. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday passed by… still nothing. No Tom, no eggs, and no clue what he was up to.

Geraldine, busy with jobs on the farm, didn’t have time to dwell on Tom’s disappearing act. She hadn’t been to Boyle in 12 years and she wasn’t about to show her face there now just because Tom went gallivanting. She trusted he was okay—bad news travels fast, and she hadn’t heard anything.

It was 9 AM on the following Monday. Geraldine was milking the cows when she heard the front gate rattle.

She rushed out, and there he was…

The Home Coming

Tom, holding the eggs, still in the same clothes from ten days ago. He looked like he’d been dragged through every bush from the village to Boyle —messy hair, puffy red eyes, and Geraldine was sure he hadn’t sleep a wink for the time he was away.

“AND WHERE WERE YOU, YA FECKER?” she yelled.

“Ah, Geraldine, I was in Boyle. I’ve a bit of a headache,” Tom replied, as if that explained everything.

“I know you were in Boyle, ya feckin’ eejit! I sent ya in for eggs last Saturday and haven’t seen ya since. WHAT TOOK YA?” 

“Well, Geraldine, you know how it is. One thing led to another and the lads were planning a card game on Sunday night. I couldn’t exactly leave, could I? I’d already put the eggs in Mick’s fridge by then, safe and sound.”

 “Safe and sound, my foot! What about Monday? You didn’t think to come home on Monday?”

“Ah, now Monday… Monday was another story. See, Seamus came by with that new sheepdog of his, and you know I couldn’t miss a chance to see it in action. We went out to the fields for a bit, and well, you know how time flies.”

“Time flies? Tom, it’s been over a week! What about Tuesday?”

“Tuesday, right. Tuesday was market day in Boyle as you well know. I figured since I was already there, I’d pick up a few more things. Only problem was, Mick had my wallet, and I had to wait until he finished his shift at the bar.”

“Ah, of course, the bar,” Geraldine said, rolling her eyes. “And I suppose you were in the bar on Wednesday too?” 

“Wednesday, Geraldine! Wednesday was the darts tournament. I’d promised the lads on Saturday after a few pints that I’d be there. I couldn’t back out on a promise, could I? And I figured since I was in Boyle….”

Geraldine shook her head, barely able to contain her frustration. “And Thursday, Tom?”

“Thursday, well, that was the monthly pub quiz. You know how much I love those. We almost won and the craic was mighty. We had know-it-all John Joe on the team and we only lost by a point. It was tight!”

“Tight alright. Friday, Tom. What about Friday?”

“Ah, Friday was something else. Remember old Paddy? Well, he’d just returned from visiting his sister in Galway and had loads of stories to tell about the new fella she’s seeing. He was a bit down in the dumps so we couldn’t just leave him talking to himself, could we?”

 “And Saturday?!”

“Well, Saturday was the Roscommon match. The whole town was watching it and I had to support the lads, you know. Mick’s cousin bought me a half one ten minutes into the first half  and I couldn’t leave.”

 “And Sunday, Tom, I’m talking about the second Sunday?”

“Ah, Geraldine, by Sunday I was ready to come home for something decent to eat…BUT… low and behold, a bad shower hit Boyle and the roads were flooded. There was no one on the road so I couldn’t thumb a lift. I did the sensible thing… I stayed put till it passed.“

Geraldine crossed her arms, glaring at Tom. “And today? What’s your excuse for today?“

Tom held up the eggs, looking sheepish. “I came straight home as soon as the weather cleared. Didn’t even stop for a pint!”

Geraldine let out a sigh, shaking her head. “Tom, you absolute eejit. Next time, I’m getting my own eggs and you’re not going to Boyle again until I say so. If only I could get my hands on that Mick fella!”

Tom grinned, stepping closer. “Now, Geraldine, you know you missed me.”

“MISSED YOU? I was too busy milking cows and running the farm to miss you. Now get inside, get cleaned up, and make yourself useful. And Tom,” she added, with a slight smile, “thanks for getting the eggs.”

Tom laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Anything for you, love. Anything for you.”

And with that, Tom and his long-awaited eggs finally made it into the cottage, bringing an end to one of the most unexpectedly adventurous grocery runs Boyle had ever seen.

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