Looking at the oldest Ordnance Survey maps, initially it’s Gleann an Loch Dubh, The Valley of the Black Lake. It is reasonable to assume that the lake was named for its’ colour, being fed by numerous streams emanating from the surrounding peatland. In the next series of maps, it has been shortened to Gleann Dubh, thus the Valley of the Black Lake had become, simply, the Black Valley. This was subsequently anglicised to Glandoo. The locals knew it either as the Black Valley or Glandoo.

The locals? Four households. Three, including mine, were farming. The fourth was a returnee, that is the Granddaughter of an original inhabitant who had returned to the Black Valley with her two daughters following the untimely death of her husband in the Gulf. She had holidayed in Ireland with her husband and daughters and was apparently taken by the place. Following his death, she wrote to my father and asked to buy the ancestral family house, now derelict, in the one-time family farm, long since acquired by my family. My parents, on confirming her identity, leased the site and the entrance from the public road to her for £1 a year for 99 years: One of our own was coming home!

The Valley was remote, about six miles from the local town, and accessed only by one road. There had been many more households, the tracks of their ruined homesteads and fields extending from the lake into the surrounding hills now fading into the landscape. The first depopulation occurred during the Great Famine of the mid 1840’s. The potato blight had reduced the number of families from about 20 to 10. A two-stage battle during the War of Independence had further reduced this to 6 homesteads, and the dreary economic stagnation of the 1950’s had reduced this to three.

There was a plaque at the road junction celebrating a “Victory” in the War of Independence in 1920. When my grandparents related the story, I didn’t particularly see it as a victory. Apparently, a group of British Irregulars, known as the “Black and Tans”, “’Tans” for short, raided the valley in October, 1920. The local inhabitants and insurgents were aware of their approach as the Quisling constabulary, the RIC, was completely infiltrated. The raiders found nothing, pictures of the King on the walls of every house, and condemnation of the insurgents on the lips of every inhabitant of the valley. The ‘Tans mustn’t have noticed the complete absence of young men and as they withdrew from the Valley, they were ambushed and wiped out to a man.

Retribution was swift and brutal. The valley inhabitants, knowing what was to come, had fled with everything they could carry, over the surrounding hills into the country beyond. The ‘Tans returned the following week in some force and burned every house in the Valley. Four families never returned, making their way to the US.

Now, as I was growing up there at the dawn of the third millennium, the Valley was no longer the poverty-stricken backwater of previous centuries. Accession to the EEC, now the European Union, had led to considerable prosperity for the country generally, agriculture included. The three remaining farms were now reasonably prosperous dairy enterprises and “reclamation” grants had enabled the farmers to turn previous marginal land into reasonably fertile fields capable of raising cattle, although the upper slopes of the hills, once farmed in pre-famine times, had been ceded to the bog. The access road had been surfaced, “tarred” we called it.

In the year 2004, at age 12 I moved from Primary to Secondary School, both in the small local town, Ballymore, its’ name ironically derived from the Irish Baile Mor, or Big Town. Uniquely, there would now be 4 students from the Black Valley in the same year. My neighbour, Ciara had been with me through Primary School and was the same age as me. Our two new American neighbours, twins Aoife and Saoirse, although a year older than us, were starting a year behind what would have been their natural start point to allow for differences in the Irish and American Educational systems. Ciara and I were both delighted by this. The Twins were exotic, very pretty, sophisticated, athletic and poised. Their mother, Niamh, now in her early 40’s, had kept the 50-year-old family tradition of using Irish names ever since her grandparents had emigrated in the 1950s. Niamh herself was a force of nature. She was vivacious, outgoing and alternative. Reasonably financially independent being the recipient of an American Army KIA pension, she made her living from selling paintings. She had had a small modern house constructed on the site of her ancestral home, clad in the original stone and merging seamlessly into the landscape. A large adjacent barn had been refurbished as a two-storey art studio. The upper level, with an abundance of natural light and a commanding view over the lake was the studio; downstairs was mainly unoccupied. The whole place smelled faintly of the roll-your-own herbal cigarettes that Niamh occasionally smoked.

Six miles in and out to school each day meant 24 miles a day in total for the driver. Sensibly, the families decided to club together and established a flexible rota whereby one driver delivered and collected the 4 of us each day. This worked well enough for formal school but effectively ruled out post school activities unless the participants family was willing to do a private run. That meant that none of us could play in the local boys’ or girls’ football teams. Then, word was circulated about the initiation of a Study Club in the school. This was to be run on a voluntary basis, for a small fee each term. Participating teachers supervised and were paid “expenses” directly from the fee collected… thus keeping the taxman out of the arrangement! The study club would run from 6pm to 9pm each evening, Fridays excepted.

This arrangement really only suited the “townies”. Even if the Black Valley carpool was to delay its pickup time to 9pm, that would have meant that we would have to hang around from 4pm when school finished, to 6pm when study started. Proposals to commence the study session at 4:15pm were rebuffed on the grounds that, particularly in Spring and Autumn, it was important that students availed of a break during daylight. It was not an unreasonable position for the school to adopt. Nevertheless, the Black Valley parents felt that we would lose out and fall behind our contemporaries.

Niamh solved the problem. She would host a Black Valley Study Club, 6-9PM, in the vacant room below her studio in the converted barn. Delighted with the proposal Ciara’s father and mine spent a day making the place habitable. A large square table occupied one end of the room, with a chair on each side, a very convivial study arrangement. Half the room was still free and the whole area was heated by a peat-fuelled pot-bellied stove in the centre of the room.

So it was, that in mid-September, Ciara and I arrived at the barn at 5:45pm. I have always preferred to be too early rather than too late; my mother believed that lateness was rudeness. I had met Ciara on the road, or rather saw her leaving her own house and waited for her. Although the three houses were approximately equidistance from each other as the crow flies, I had a considerably longer road walk or cycle to get to Niamh’s house, even though it was surrounded by our land. As we approached we could hear voices, obviously the Twins, chanting something rhythmical. Gingerly we opened the door to see the girls, in matching short skirts and t-shirts, doing a dance in front of a large TV, itself featuring a cheerleader team practicing their routine. Barely glancing at us, they continued their routine for another 5 minutes until there was a break in the TV instruction. Then they stopped and received a round of applause from Ciara and me as Aoife turned off the DVD player.

“Wow girls, that was awesome!”

Ciara, like me, had picked up on the Twins’ tendency to use overly extravagant language; we would only use it in private with them as otherwise we would have attracted negative attention from our peers, parents or teachers.

“Did you learn that at school?”

I only had a hazy idea of the cheerleading scene in the US.

“In a way, it’s extra-curricular but a lot of girls do it…”

The Twins bounced off to their house to get changed; their schoolbags were already on the large table. Ciara and I deposited our bags likewise and got some books out. Niamh came in along with the Twins, now changed into “normal” dresses.

“Now I’m not here to supervise like a teacher”, she started, “but I have a few suggestions to make. Given that you’re all in the one class, would it make sense for you to take some time at the start of each session to ask for help from each other with anything that you didn’t understand that day?”

It was school policy to stream classes by academic ability and the 4 of us were in the “Honours” class. Remaining there depended on not falling behind the main body of the class. Understanding mainly applied to maths and some of the science subjects. A lot of the remaining subjects were simply learned!

We all nodded… it made sense…

“And at the end, you could ask each other questions on what you studied?” Niamh continued.

Again, we all nodded… particularly in languages, we were expected to learn words, or grammar while studying and class often started with a quiz on the homework that we were expected to have done the night before.

It was also agreed that, mirroring what happened in the School Study Club, we would take a 15-minute break from 7.30 to 7:45pm. Toilet beaks should, where possible, be confined to this time. Ciara and I were shown where the bathroom was in the house; I was conscious that, as the only male using it, I needed to be extra careful!

And so we got down to work, pens scratching on paper, the occasional squeak of a chair as someone changed position, the occasional question from someone in relation to a subject, we were quite a diligent group. At our first break, Ciara asked the Twins about the cheerleading and they started to show her some basic moves. I watched on for a bit sitting at the table then Saoirse, suddenly remembering that I was there, pulled me out of my chair.

“Come on, don’t just sit there; join in!”

I was too much in awe of her to object even though I had never heard of boys doing cheerleading. I discovered later that there were mixed teams with the boys’ strength being quite useful for some elements. But I did not know this then, and tried to follow the moves in a somewhat awkward and self-conscious way. Break over, then back to work.

As we were leaving Aoife asked Ciara if she would like to come over half-an-hour earlier the next day and they would show her some more cheerleading exercises and routines. Ciara was delighted and as we both slipped out the door, Saoirse caught my arm…

“You’re coming too…”

I didn’t know if it was a command or a question; I nodded and Ciara and I headed off together, splitting up as we got to the lane leading to her house.

Ciara and I met on the road again the next day; she could see me leaving my house and time her departure. She was wearing runners, shorts and a T-shirt; I hadn’t thought to change my normal jeans and shoes for something more appropriate. We arrived at the barn at 5:25pm and the Twins were finishing up their routine: They had started early to accommodate us. They looked approvingly at Ciara’s gear, then less approvingly at me.

“Sorry! I didn’t think…”

“That’s boys for you!”

The Twins had a way of talking in unison that was both appealing and scary at the same time.

We started off with some simple stuff… and within a few minutes I was wrecked. I wasn’t aware of how much fitness was required for cheerleading. I had discarded my shoes and socks and was working along with the three girls in my feet. At some stage I was aware that Niamh had slipped in to watch, then she disappeared again. Eventually I was glad when the session ended and the Twins hopped away to change. Ciara excused herself and changed in the bathroom. We sat down to study on time.

The next day I was better prepared, coming in shorts and runners with my jeans in a small carryall. I had told my parents that there was an exercise session before study. I didn’t dare mention that it was cheerleading! The routine was much easier to perform in shorts and I imagined even easier for the Twins in their skirts. I started to wonder what it would be like to wear a skirt, or even a dress. They seemed much more comfortable… When the session ended it was agreed that I would change in the bathroom while the three girls changed in the Twins’ bedroom. I couldn’t change in the Barn as Niamh was upstairs in the studio.

This routine continued through September, into October. At some stage my parents became aware that the exercise session was cheerleading. They accepted Niamh’s assurance that this was now a mixed activity in the US, there was even an Army mixed cheerleading team. Although the evenings were drawing in, we were enjoying an “Indian Summer”, a late period of good weather, not guaranteed each year but regular enough to have acquired this name. Ciara and I no longer felt the need to arrive together as we became more used to being with the Twins around at their place.

One of the features of living in a hilly area is that hills generate their own cloud. Even a small protuberance in the ground can cause the airflow to deflect upwards and the rising air condenses into cloud. These can vary from fluffy cumulous clouds that cast a moving shadow over the ground and the surface of the lake, to the towering, menacing, cumulonimbus clouds that are generated when the atmosphere is sufficiently unstable. One dry warm October evening, with only a few cumulous clouds in evidence, I left my own house wearing my shorts and runners and with my jeans rolled in a small cloth bag that had once contained an expensive pair of shoes. Ciara and I, at the Twins suggestion, had long since adopted the habit of leaving our school bags and books overnight either in the barn, or in Niamh’s car if she was to drive the following day, . There was no point in bringing them home and the same practice had been adopted by most of those attending the School Study Club. It saved many an aching back! On this particular October day, as I was about two-thirds of the way between our house and Niamh’s, a malevolent Cumulonimbus which I hadn’t spotted forming, decided to empty its’ considerable burden of water, in the form of mixed rain and hailstones, directly on me. With no coat or cap, I could only drape my jeans over my head to deflect the hailstones, and trudged on the remaining 3-400 metres to the Barn. I arrived a sodden, cold mess, and to add insult to injury, the rain stopped and the sun appeared just as I reached the door. Ciara was already there, having escaped the deluge.

The girl’s initial laughter quickly turned to concern as I tried to shake the water off and Saoirse disappeared into her house and returned with a towel, and Niamh. Niamh took one look at me.

“Go inside to the bathroom, take off those wet clothes and dry yourself. I’ll get you something to wear.”

A little embarrassed, I did what I was told. We were not in the habit of challenging authoritative adults’ instructions in that place and time. I started to dry myself off, and discovered that I was soaked through, even my underwear. There was a knock on the door and, standing behind it in my wet underwear, I opened the door slightly. Two hands appeared, one of the Twins, not Niamh, one hand underneath balancing and the other on top steadying a small bundle of folded clothes.

“These will do fine for the cheerleading practice… hurry up or we’ll be too late to start…there’s shoes outside the door…”

I took the bundle and left it down on a small vanity unit, finished drying off as quickly as possible and pulled on the sweat top that was on top of the bundle. I knew that it was one of the Twins’ tops and didn’t have any particular concerns in that regard. A top is a top, even if the colours are not typically male. Being one year older, at that age the Twins were still a little taller than me so it fitted well. I put on the socks that were next in line in the bundle, then paused and had a minor panic attack. What I thought was a pair of shorts was actually one of the Twins pleated cheerleading skirts…

I have found down through the years, that I can process information and thoughts at an amazing speed when under pressure. Probably in the space of two or three seconds, a series of thoughts passed through my mind before I made my decision.
 The girls are playing a practical joke…
 I’ll be laughed at…
 Word will get around the school and the Black Valley families…
 Niamh and the Twins have always been nice; they aren’t the type to play a cruel practical joke…
 I had never seen the Twins exercise in shorts - they probably didn’t have any?
 I really wanted to wear that skirt!!!

I quickly changed my underwear for the dark knickers that were on top of the skirt, slipped the skirt on, stuffed my wet clothes into the cloth bag that my jeans had been in, put on the trainers left at the bathroom door, and joined the girls in the Barn.

Nobody batted an eyelid; either the girls by themselves, or at Niamh’s prompting, had decided to treat this as the most normal thing in the world! We quickly got down to practice for the 20 minutes or so remaining. Freedom! Freedom from the confines of shorts and trousers! Practising really was much easier in a skirt, especially once I forgot to be self-conscious when the skirt flipped up and showed my underwear! Practice completed, the girls hopped off to change back into normal dresses. I of course, didn’t have anything dry to change into and was not unhappy to stay in my cheerleader’s skirt and top until study ended.

Study started and continued as if all was normal, as if there wasn’t a male sitting there wearing a very girly outfit. Only when we took our 7:30pm break was the subject broached: The girls all agreed that I had been a great sport and had carried the whole episode off with great aplomb. Then Ciara, a little lost in her thoughts, mused…

“You know, I think this is giving me an idea…hmmm..”

“What sort of idea?”

I was trying to sound wary… I would have jumped at any idea that would see me able to continue to wear that skirt.

“Maybe we could do a routine at the School Concert… Black Valley Cheerleaders?”

“Not sure how that would work… cheerleaders usually perform in large groups at games and events…”

Aoife was dubious… four cheerleaders doing a routine on stage wasn’t her idea of a show.

We got back to study. For the last 15 minutes or so we quizzed each other on French vocabulary; Niamh slipped in towards the end.

“What about a girl group?”

Saoirse obviously hadn’t been only concentrating on her French.

“I don’t know, like who?” Ciara was more enthused by the idea than her words suggested. She was sitting up in her chair, her post study tiredness suddenly evaporated.

“Bangles, Spice Girls, whoever, maybe them both”, Aoife was clicking into her twin sister’s thought process.

“What’s all this?” Niamh was trying to catch up with the conversation.

“You know there’s a School Concert at Christmas on the last day of class?” Aoife explained. Niamh shook her head; the Twins had never mentioned it.

“Well, given that we’re never around for practice, we thought that we wouldn’t be involved”, Ciara continued. “But now I’m just thinking that we could do our own 4-piece girl-band act…”

“Just one problem”, I chimed in. “There’s only 3 girls.”

“Oh, I think we could work on that…”, Saoirse put her arm around my shoulder and her face alongside mine in a girly way.

I was trying hard to disguise the thrill of anticipation.

“OK girls, you need to give this some thought and we’ll see if we can develop the idea tomorrow.” Niamh was anxious to get the barn to herself. She normally relaxed with one of her roll-your-own herbal cigarettes in her studio before turning in. She turned to me;

“Have you thought about how you’ll get home?”

I hadn’t. My clothes were still soaking in their bag.

“Good job I called your mother and explained; she’s just turning in the driveway now.”

I had expected that my mother would have brought dry clothes; she hadn’t.

“Thanks for looking after him Niamh, I’ll drop these clothes back tomorrow”, she said as I climbed into the front seat, trying to retain some dignity in a mid-thigh length skirt. I fastened the seatbelt and tugged at the hem of the skirt.

I thought I saw the ghost of a smile flicker across my mother's face.