"Pleased to meet you, Mr Owen Kelly"

It is a gusty morning. The clouds disperse and clad in the sky. The fields are green. The car bumps down a winding country road and extends into insignificance on the horizon. A car travels ahead of us at a distance. We pass a ramshackle house that is evidently no longer in use but all remains of life have been left behind. My curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself saying: "Stop. Stop. I have to get photos of this." I stand back at first, taking in the beauty of the lifeless skeletal structure before me and then I notice the tea pot in the grass. I step forward gingerly, realising that there is a story here which I would love to know but a secret it will most probably remain.

In stepping closer I realise that there are no locks on the door. I peer into the windows. I desperately try to piece together why all the remains of a well off life have stayed behind;why a home that was once beautiful has been left to ruin and rot, to brave the elements and the vandals. My heart says "go in". Calvin whispers behind me that I am trespassing. I look back, half smiling, saying: "I know, but I need to see more."

And then before I can gingerly step in, the car that was ahead of us has parked in front of us. An old man aged about 75 opens the windows and greets in a distinct Irish dialect. Calvin enquired from him as to whether he was from the area, hoping that no explanation for his trespassing wife would need to be given. He eagerly replied that he was and then proceeded to ask whether or not we wanted to know the story behind the house. I ran over, hearing the conversation and eagerly enquired as to whether we could go into the house. "Well of course lass. Come on in. "

Mr and Mrs O'Connor lived in the tidy little house for many years. Sadly they passed away with absolutely no relations to take care of their affairs and almost eerily the house stands testament to a life lived with no legacy. Shoes are still tucked under the hearth. Her purse lies on the kitchen table as if she came in yesterday from town and left it just there. The fireplace has logs and ash from yesteryear in its bosom and the window is ajar with a table setting all ready for breakfast. Mrs O'Connor was such a pedantic woman that when the farmers would walk past with their sheep so as to put them through the dipping pen, should would constantly sweep the gravel to ensure that no sheep hoof markings would remain behind to ruin her perfect little house and its driveway. "Pleasant enough though," Mr Kelly remarked.

All the while I just want to go upstairs but half the stairwell has rotted away and Calvin is eyeing the floorboards saying: "No Claire, you are going to fall through," to which Mr Kelly tartly replied: "Naaah lass, he's just in love, you come on over and climb onto the old man's back, he will lift you up." To this of course Calvin tartly replied: "Claire you are going to fall through the floorboards. " By this time I was up on the landing already and half way into the first room, happily snapping away. I carefully stepped into the second room, Calvin's words ringing in my mind. I immediately knew that I was going to fall and it was going to be a hard one when I felt the rotten wood start, millimetre by millimetre, to give way. I tried to throw my weight out of the door but I was too late and everything just creaked and moaned beneath my weight as the floorboards gave way and my legs lay dangling from the first floor landing into the kitchen.

I started giggling and then Calvin's voice broke the reverie: "Darn it, I told you not to do it. Are you ok?" Mr Kelly looked up at my dangling legs shrugged off the statement and said: "Naah, aai the lass she be a wee bit ok." By this time I was in stitches.

And so Mr Owen Kelly (aka OK as he calls himself), a slightly disgruntled Calvin, a giggling Claire and a bleating sheep share the sunshine outside the house with a story. We are about to leave when Mr Kelly decides that he is not quite ready to let us go and that a further tour of the farm are needed. He took an immediate liking to me considering Calvin to be "a coward in love, protecting his lass" but slowly as we traipse across the marshy hills and dipping pens and old farm sheds are explained to us, so too does his affection for two young people grow.

We left about an hour later with a severly bruised, cut and swollen leg, a telephone number, an invite to return for a cup of tea, a few more stories, memorable photos and a precious memory never to be forgotten.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Owen Kelly."