Page 34 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

Cookery was always popular and here, so close to the town of Kindale, the coast was part of the Wild Atlantic Way on the West Cork food trail. She’d spoken to Chef Connor and he was busy putting together ideas for afternoon classes that included fresh fish and locally sourced ingredients. The guests could learn how to prepare and cook dishes, then enjoy the fruits of their labour at dinner.

The newly formed in-house team could contribute too. Declan would host gardening to coincide with the regeneration of the grounds and Finbar might take a singing class in the music room, which had wonderful acoustics and was an ideal venue. As an after dinner speaker at events for the Institute of Professional Butlers, James had volunteered to tutor public speaking, a skill many boomers might utilise.

Jo had set an opening date for early June and would begin with a weekend of taster sessions. This would be marketed on the current mailing list to regular Boomerville guests. The Manor website and social media accounts were ready to roll out and she would also advertise within the Kindale and Cork area. They’d have an official opening day and invite local people.

Engrossed in her plans, Jo didn’t notice Finbar slip through the front door and make his way across the hallway.

‘May God bless you, on this beautiful morning,’ he said.

‘Hello, Finbar.’ Jo pushed her notepad to one side. ‘I’m glad you’re here, I’ve something to ask you.’

Grabbing a chair, Finbar straddled the seat and gazed at Jo. ‘May the most you wish for be the least you get,’ he said.

‘Er, thank you.’

Finbar’s eyes twinkled, disarming Jo, reminding her of the captivating colour of emeralds, flecked with strands of gold.

‘And what is your question?’

‘Do you think you could run a singing class.’

‘At Flatterley Manor?’

‘Yes, although I’ve renamed it Boomerville Manor.’

‘’Tis a grand name.’

‘I thought you could use the music room.’

‘The music room?’ Finbar stood and pushed the chair to one side. ‘You want me to hold singing classes in the music room?’

‘It seems an ideal place.’

‘The music room?’ Finbar repeated with eyes wide.

‘Well, the acoustics are good in there and might inspire your students.’ Jo wondered if she’d made a mistake.

‘My God, Jo, there is nothing in the world that I would like more!’ Finbar rushed over and pulled Jo to her feet. ‘Imagine! Singing in the room where the great Long Tom Hendry composed some of his finest songs.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’

‘I’ll find new talent and roll it out.’ Finbar grabbed Jo’s hands. ‘I could become an agent sending singers all over the world.’

‘Possibly not to begin with.’ Jo admired his enthusiasm but visualised her elderly guests forming nothing more taxing than a Can’t Sing Choir. ‘But feel free to use the music room whenever you like, to practice and put sessions together.’

Finbar’s voice softened. ‘It will be my honour to perform this service for you,’ he said, ‘and in tribute to the great man himself, we’ll sing songs by Long Tom too.’

‘Let’s keep it varied,’ Jo said, visualizing her boomers bumping and grinding to the reggae or rock versions of Long Tom’s hits. It might put a few hips and knees out of action and her public liability insurance was agonisingly expensive. ‘I’ll leave it all in your capable hands,’ she said.

‘You won’t regret it.’ Finbar beamed. ‘When will the manor open?’

‘I’ve a date in mind for the middle of June, perhaps with a fete on opening day.’

‘That will be grand.’

‘It’s only a few weeks away and there’s a lot to be done.’

‘It’s not a fish until it’s on the bank, but we’ll have all hands on the deck.’

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