A less than industrious neighbour of mine has gone to his reward. To describe him as a “character” fails to do justice to the word. Oddly, he hasn’t kith or kin, cousins or any known form of relative.
The tales of his escapades both motoring and portering ought to be chronicled by the folklore commission. His affection for porter was matched only by his capacity for same. He never countenanced the term 20 pints preferring to keep the tally in terms of gallons. In his prime the magic 4 gallons could be banished on a Summers Sunday.
About this time and day 20 odd years ago, in similar scorching conditions, he flew past en route to the village. I was heading to the village around 9sh when I noticed his cattle were in his meadows and having a bonanza time.
In the Abbey Bar our man is perched, pint in hand and 2 batch loaves, a lb.of ham and milk at his feet.
The cattle are in the meadows a chara says I…
Fuck them, says he, the hoors will be sorry when the winter comes.
You omitted the crucial (in this case) E.
We were into double-barrelled christain before the fad moved to surnames.
A tremendous character. McGahern ( whom he despised) could have gotten a whole book out of him.
We have a funeral for one of ours tomorrow, dead from liver cancer at 27. Was over in London with the last few years and had been called up for their hurlers when he was diagnosed. Supposed to be a few coming back from his London club for it, and the two clubs here doing a guard of honour past the field. It’s not like it should be, but it’s something.
He was reared after his mother died in the barracks in Cootehall by his father. He went to secondary school in Carrick so I suppose the Chamber of Commerce or some such organisation have commissioned this. His wife invited the glitterati to a lunch in the Bush Hotel in the aftermath of his burial which is clearly visible in the photo. Dolan in the hotel wouldn’t be a flat tyre either in promotional matters.
A local commented on the choice of lunch venue in the following manner:
I see she’s treating these fuckers to lunch where the travellers had the wedding - in The Bush…
