"What." he started, but before he could finish the question, the wail rose up again and engulfed the camp. Dad's hands was like ghosts between us, and he gripping his own blanket close to his chest. We wasn't sure what'd wakened us until we heard it again: a keen, raw and sharp. And then there was an almighty screeching howl that went up, and my purple horse vanished, and I was sitting up straight as a fencepost in the dark, my blanket wrapped 'round my fist and my heart hammering.ĭad was sitting up beside me, too, and we blinked confusion at each other in the dark. I whispered to him, "Go on, bucko," and he went and went, and we was leaving Martin and his horse in our dust. I had the coarse thickness of my horse's mane wrapped full around my fist, and I squeezed his big, strong neck with my knees and kept my head down close beside his twitching ear. Our purple stallions was sixteen hands high at least, and we was so swift on them we nearly took flight.
And the crowd waved their colors and they roared for us, never mind that we was travellers. No, in this dream, me and Martin raced thundering thoroughbreds at a proper race meeting, like at Punchestown in Dublin. These wasn't no strong, slow, piebald gypsy ponies like most of us travellers had in them days in Ireland, for pulling our wagon-homes behind us wherever we went. Myself on one and Martin on the other, and we was bareback, and we was racing. "synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title. But then the discovery of an old newspaper photograph, and a long-buried secret from his mother’s mysterious past, changes his life forever. But still, always, they are treated as outsiders.Īs Christy struggles to find his way amid the more conventional lives of his new classmates, he starts to question who he is and where he belongs. His father decides to settle briefly, in a town, where Christy and his cousin can receive proper schooling and prepare for their first communions. The wandering life is the only one Christy has ever known, but when his grandfather dies, everything changes. Christy carries with him a burden of guilt as well, haunted by the story of his mother’s death in childbirth.
Ireland, 1959: Young Christopher Hurley is a tinker, a Pavee gypsy, who roams with his father and extended family from town to town, carrying all their worldly possessions in their wagons. A poignant, coming of age novel about an Irish gypsy boy’s childhood in the 1950’s from the national bestselling author of A Rip in Heaven and American Dirt.
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