Maughold miracle (Kerry)

“Lie back and think of England,” I call through the fog to Sally. She snorts appreciatively at my inept reference, flings her pack on the ground and stretches out on the wet rock to ease her aching back.

I know how she feels. Every muscle is burning with exhaustion, my shoulders are aching from the pull of the heavy backpack, my hands are freezing inside wet gloves and my feet are rubbed raw by wet socks. This is the tenth day of our trek and we have experienced the full blast of bitter weather off the Irish Sea every day.

Sally has been moving more slowly this morning and I have climbed on ahead of her to see if I can get a glimpse of the country beyond the fog. I ease my pack off as well and lower myself gingerly onto a rock. I close my eyes for a few minutes but it’s impossible to erase the vision of foliage dripping in the mist and paths treacherously slippery with wet mossy rocks.

I am worried about Sally. She has developed an alarming cough and is complaining of a sore throat. In the tent last night she was tossing fitfully in her sleeping bag. Neither of us slept well.

I call to her again when I hear her coughing weakly in the distance. “Fancy a stiff whisky, Sal?”

She doesn’t answer immediately and I wonder whether I should go back to check on her. But then I hear her defiant response. “Double, on the rocks, please.”

I smile to myself. “Take a rain-check on it?” I ask.

"Very amusing," she mutters, loudly enough for me to hear.

To encourage her back on to the climb I add, “Let’s go, Sal. It’s only a mile to Maughold from here.”

“OK, slave-driver,” she shouts bravely.

I am waiting for her with my pack on when she emerges slowly through the mist a few minutes later. She looks pale and strained. The dark rings under her eyes are a warning to me that she needs medical attention and I wonder whether Maughold has a clinic. It’s a tiny village with little more than a church, according to the guide.

We climb the final steep slope up to the village in silence. We are both out of breath and exhausted.

The arrow to the well seems to be pointing down the cliff face on our left and we almost pass by without noticing it. We are drawn down the narrow path to the well. It is set back against the cliff on a small flat area.

Following the directions on the faded sign, we each kneel at the well, slip off our gloves and scoop the water up in the palm of our hands three times. I fervently revolve my wish around in my mind. Despite being icy cold, the water has a mysterious warming effect as I swallow.

Afterwards, Sally and I lean with our backs against the cliff. I hold her freezing hand as we gaze out at the fog ahead of us.

Slowly our world opens up. We watch in stunned silence as the mist dissolves, revealing the sun high in a cloudless sky. I feel Sally’s hand warming in my grasp and see the rings under her eyes fade as we stand, stupefied by the miracle of our wishes coming true.