Chapter One

My name is Patrick Joseph Riley and many of you will say I don’t exist, and you’re right I don’t, unless of course I do – that’s for you to decide. You have but to check the records at the old St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin and you’ll find me registered there.  Sixth child and only son of Joseph and Elizabeth Riley, I was baptised on Easter Sunday 1701 by no less a personage than Jonathan Swift, the famous author of Gulliver’s Travels, who was Dean of the Cathedral at the time. That alone should be proof that I exist, but of course there is the little matter of another record in the same church – that of my burial on June 6,1769, just six days after Eric, the youngest of my four sons sailed for the new world. If you’re confused, don’t worry you aren’t alone; all of my descendents have the same problem.

The mystery, if there is one, begins on June 4, 1769, that’s the day old Paddy Riley, as I was known to my friends and acquaintances, departed this life. The problem was, as I discovered almost immediately, I wasn’t dead! Sure the  corpse of poor old Paddy was there but I was still alive, the only dilemma was no one could see or hear me. Now there’s an old saying that if you wish for something before you die, you’ll get your wish, and I wanted to go to Newfoundland with my sons. So while the rest of the souls, winged their way to heaven or were dragged off  to Hades, I took flight across the North Atlantic to join my son Eric, on The Irish Princess, as she ploughed her way to the new world. It was onboard this ship that the rumors of my existence, or if you like, non-existence first began.

Conditions onboard ship were never good, but now she was battling a fierce summer storm and searching for Eric, I found him in his bunk, nearly dead from seasickness.  The thing with us “Ghosts” as I was to learn later, is that once in a while someone can see us, and this must have been one of these times, for when Eric opened his eyes he turned as white as – well you know. I think the scare must have made him forget all about the seasickness, because soon he was telling the crew and other passengers that his poor old father must be dying because he had seen his fetch!  In any case he ate a little that day and gradually his health began to improve. When I was satisfied that he would be okay, I decided to go visit my other three sons with already established premises in St. John’s, but that’s a story for another time.