I was driving from Limerick to Sligo with a police sergeant one foul winter’s night and I was as guilty as sin.
I wasn’t a bank robber or even a drinker in those days. I was twenty-one and amazingly well-behaved for my age.
This guilt I felt was all of my own imagining. Still it hung over me like a pall.
It was my brother’s fault that I came to be driving with this policeman. He was engaged to the policeman’s daughter and we had been down to admire the home they were busy making.
I wanted to get back for the weekend and Joe had to get back to police-work so it was obvious that we should go together.
Obvious but awkward.
Although Joe was, and still is, one of the most congenial, accessible men on earth, I knew it was going to be hellish. You see, I had never been in a car with a real live policeman before.
We bade farewell to Limerick and started out all brightness and lively chat but soon enough dusk and silence fell. The radio went on the blink.
And then it started to rain. It started to pour. I had never seen precipitation like it in my life. We both leaned really close into the windscreen wipers and willed ourselves down the road. The rain even opened a brief conversational ploy.
“It’s very heavy”, I said.
“It surely is,” said Joe.
And that was it.
The downpour became hypnotic and I was just starting to doze when I suddenly thought I saw a large green frog jump up in the headlights of the car. I jumped too.
“Are you all right?,” asked Joe.
"Fine!"
I wasn’t going to tell him I saw a big frog, no way.
Suddenly there was another one and another and another. They leapt up into the full-beams, did a little flip and were gone. I rubbed my eyes but still there seemed to be amphibians in the headlights. Were they real? I wasn't at all sure. The heavy rain was throwing up huge splashes which looked a bit like frogs too. It could all be just an optical illusion.
The silence in the car got very heavy indeed.
If I were to tell Joe I was seeing frogs, and it turned out that he wasn’t, I could find myself in some trouble. Conclusions involving substance abuse could well be drawn. I decided to hold my peace.
For an age we drove through the downpour as a constant roll-call of little green Kermits did their party piece in front of my eyes. Finally a particularly large one jumped up and winked at me. Then it was my turn to flip.
“Joe...," I said quickly, "are you seeing frogs?”
The police sergeant looked over at me, indicated left, and eased the car to a stop. He glared at me.
“Thank God,” he said, “I thought I was going mad.”
Over time I'm sure I would have learned the truth - that policemen are often regular guys just like the rest of us. The frogs just taught me it that little bit quicker.
And I’ve since found that it is a well-documented occurrence. Heavy rain fills the ditches with water and hoards of frogs get evicted up onto the road to hop around in car headlights.
It may be hard to believe but I saw it.
And, in case you don't believe me, the policeman saw it too.
(c) Ken Armstrong
I wasn’t a bank robber or even a drinker in those days. I was twenty-one and amazingly well-behaved for my age.
This guilt I felt was all of my own imagining. Still it hung over me like a pall.
It was my brother’s fault that I came to be driving with this policeman. He was engaged to the policeman’s daughter and we had been down to admire the home they were busy making.
I wanted to get back for the weekend and Joe had to get back to police-work so it was obvious that we should go together.
Obvious but awkward.
Although Joe was, and still is, one of the most congenial, accessible men on earth, I knew it was going to be hellish. You see, I had never been in a car with a real live policeman before.
We bade farewell to Limerick and started out all brightness and lively chat but soon enough dusk and silence fell. The radio went on the blink.
And then it started to rain. It started to pour. I had never seen precipitation like it in my life. We both leaned really close into the windscreen wipers and willed ourselves down the road. The rain even opened a brief conversational ploy.
“It’s very heavy”, I said.
“It surely is,” said Joe.
And that was it.
The downpour became hypnotic and I was just starting to doze when I suddenly thought I saw a large green frog jump up in the headlights of the car. I jumped too.
“Are you all right?,” asked Joe.
"Fine!"
I wasn’t going to tell him I saw a big frog, no way.
Suddenly there was another one and another and another. They leapt up into the full-beams, did a little flip and were gone. I rubbed my eyes but still there seemed to be amphibians in the headlights. Were they real? I wasn't at all sure. The heavy rain was throwing up huge splashes which looked a bit like frogs too. It could all be just an optical illusion.
The silence in the car got very heavy indeed.
If I were to tell Joe I was seeing frogs, and it turned out that he wasn’t, I could find myself in some trouble. Conclusions involving substance abuse could well be drawn. I decided to hold my peace.
For an age we drove through the downpour as a constant roll-call of little green Kermits did their party piece in front of my eyes. Finally a particularly large one jumped up and winked at me. Then it was my turn to flip.
“Joe...," I said quickly, "are you seeing frogs?”
The police sergeant looked over at me, indicated left, and eased the car to a stop. He glared at me.
“Thank God,” he said, “I thought I was going mad.”
Over time I'm sure I would have learned the truth - that policemen are often regular guys just like the rest of us. The frogs just taught me it that little bit quicker.
And I’ve since found that it is a well-documented occurrence. Heavy rain fills the ditches with water and hoards of frogs get evicted up onto the road to hop around in car headlights.
It may be hard to believe but I saw it.
And, in case you don't believe me, the policeman saw it too.
(c) Ken Armstrong
