Uncle Tommy's Zephyr freewheeled, making a slow rightward turn into the small, gravelled space at the side of the house.

I stared out the windows, trying to make sense of what I saw. But the bright sun dappling through the trees blinkered my eyes, making the tall-man flicker in and out of focus.

Tommy jerked the handbrake up, causing me to lurch forward and splutter, "Who's that man?"

"What man?" asked Uncle Tommy, opening the door and hauling himself out of the Zephyr. I didn't answer. Instead, I jumped out and raced round to the front of the house, stopping abruptly – there was no one there.

Dermot rushed past me and disappeared into the house, followed by an equally eager Maria, "Come on, Gerard, come in and see Granny," she said, hot on Dermot's heels.

Tommy's voice jolted me, "What are you looking at?" I looked back at him, looking over his Zephyr.

"There was a man at the door. I saw him when we wheeled past; he's gone now."

Tommy was emphatic, "All the men of the house are working at this hour, you might have seen the tall-man ghost, or you're raving from the journey," he said, walking past me and into the house.

I stood in the sun and noticed the silence. On my English council estate, noise was constant. Here, quietness surrounded me, and at that moment, it unsettled me – I dashed into The House in The Hollow, where Maria and Dermot's excited chatter shattered the spooking silence.

......

"Get that into you; there's nothing of ya. Do they not feed you over there?"

Granny welcomed me with slices of warm buttered current soda bread.

I tucked in while Maria answered for me, "He's a picky eater Granny."

Watching me eat her home-baked bread with gusto pleased Granny. She beamed and patted my shoulder, "Well, don't be picking the apples from the college orchard and bringing the vexed Bishop down to me, do you hear me?" she said.

I nodded my yes, while Uncle Tommy spoke, "It's Dermot who'll be vexing the bishop. Gerard'll be busy wandering, looking for the tall- man. There's no harm in that mammy."

I swallowed the bread and washed it down with a mouth full of sweet tea, "Who was that man at the door, Granny?" I asked. She looked at Tommy.

When he rolled his eyes, she looked at me, "There was no man at the door; the men are all out working," she said, wiping her hands on a cloth and stepping down into the scullery.

......

Maria and Dermot barely chewed their breakfast; such was their eagerness to get to the college farmyard. Dermot grabbed his wellies and ran out the door, while Maria paused, "You coming with us?"

"I'll see you there when I'm finished," I said, lifting my second slice of soda bread.

......

When Uncle Tommy left for work, I sat alone in the small room, the heart of the home. I listened to the various noises coming from the scullery – the sounds of Granny preparing dinner for her family created a nurturing symphony that soothed me.

Finishing my tea, I looked around, seeking difference. My young life had experienced a cacophony of change since I last sat in this room, yet everything here remained the same. The lack of change kindled warmth in the pit of my belly.

My attention turned to Jesus. He gazed down at me from his prime position above the table. I tilted my head to match the tilt of his and silently mouthed, "Help me find the tall-man, please." Then I winced at the open wounds on his outstretched hands and headed for the door.

......

Outside, the bright light momentarily blinded me. Once my eyes adjusted, I climbed the three small steps up to the road but noticing my city shoes, I turned back to get my wellies – that's when I saw something.

To my right, a shape moved. A grey silhouette sailed across the green grass, slowly disappearing behind the house.

I wasn't frightened. Rarely did I feel fear during the day; I felt protected by its light. I took off in the direction of this shadowy shape.

Turning around the gable of the house, I was hit by a blaze of colour. Wild roses, chrysanthemums, heather bells, geraniums, and poppies clustered together, creating a bouquet of epic proportions. But I had little time to admire its beauty, for a rustling sound broke the silence, and my eyes followed its source.

The natural bouquet was contained by a rickety fence, which formed the bannisters to narrow stone steps that led down to a stream – my favourite part of the house's environs.

The stream was home to minnow and tadpoles, the latter of which I would collect and delight in watching their metamorphosis. Walking towards the moss-covered, slippery stone steps, I knew there was something more than aquatic life down there.

I didn't feel a spectral presence. Instead, my earlier sighting of a tall-man, coupled with the rustling sound and shadowy silhouette, had given me a sense of something tangible – someone, or perhaps some thing, was down at the stream.

And yet, I still wasn't scared.

It was intrigue that compelled me to take the first step down to the stream, grabbing both sides of the bannister to steady myself. Bramble and other fauna grew wildly, converging to create a foliage tunnel that thrust the stream into a dim light.

The trickle of fast-flowing water was the only sound as I took another step downwards. About to take the third step, a series of hard splashes punctured the soft trickle, prompting me to hesitate.

Instinctively I squatted down, still holding tight to either side of the bannister. I focussed hard, and when my sight acclimatised to the dark ahead of me, I saw the figure of a tall-man again.

To be precise, I saw his wellington boots, which I followed upwards. He stood with his back to me, swirling his feet in the water. His considerable stature meant I couldn't see above his waist.

I leaned in, looking for any astral signs that might make him spectral. But I saw neither haze nor glow. No, he was human, and I called out, "Hello."

He swiftly turned and stooped; his face tilted up at mine – a black man stared at me.

He lowered his head into a beam of sunlight, which illuminated the bright blue of his eyes. I'd never seen a blue-eyed black man before. I stared back, charmed by the sight of him.

He stretched his hand towards me, "Ah, yous have arrived," said my great uncle Micky, granny's brother. He loomed up the stone steps and scooped me up in his coal-blackened hands, "Yee didn't give me time to wash the coal tar off me face," he said, hoisting me up like I was a mere baby.

I marvelled at the view from his great height. I felt exactly like Uncle Micky's nickname – Lofty.

......

"Lofty, what are you doing home?" asked my surprised Granny.

"I came home to greet the childer," he replied, slightly stooped as his height prevented him from standing fully erect in the house. Granny looked irked, "You'll see them at tea-time, get yourself back to work," she said, scurrying back down into the scullery to resume her own work.

Lofty's space in the house was on a battered chaise longue that ran the entire length of the front wall, nestled by the window. He sat down, "I'll clean me pipe, then be on my way," he said, swinging his long legs onto the cracked leather.

I watched him, fascinated. Not by his ritualistic pipe cleaning but by his conversation with someone who wasn't in the room. "Will you go and feck off now, be gone with ya." He made a dry spitting action, then continued to converse with an invisible yet antagonistic presence. "I did not, and well you know it, now don't be at me. You're always at me," he said, looking increasingly agitated.

"Who're you talking to, Uncle Micky?" I asked.

Immediately his agitation dropped away, and he looked at me, "Tis the finest of days. Would you get out into the sunshine and enjoy your holidays."

He drew on his pipe before resuming his verbal fight with an imaginary foe.

I matched his mood change, jumped from my chair, and pulled my wellies from my case.

Shoving them on, I excitedly told Uncle Micky of my mission, "I'm searching for the tall-man. Have you seen him?" I asked.

Micky re-lit his pipe, "I haven't, but I often see his friend." He inhaled, exhaled a great waft of smoke, leaned in, and said, "He has a big auld crow that looks out for him, if you ever see that bird perched on the corner of the byre, you'll know the tall-man's roaming."

......

I dashed from the house, eager to get to the college farmyard. The entrance to it lay across the road from the house. A rusting gate opened onto a manure saturated pathway, which led upwards to the farm complex. I couldn't open the gate, so I climbed over it, and as I did, the acrid sting of cow shit hit the back of my throat.

But I wasn't bothered by the invasive smell, for I was distracted by a call above me – the screech of a circling crow's caw.