A Day-Trip to
Forget.......
I
sometimes wonder if half of what I remember about my youth in the 60’s really
happened or whether I just imagine those strange goings-on of the
times. This was before I left home in Ireland and came to
London.
You see, there is a saying that ‘If you remember the 60’s, you weren’t really there at all’.
It has nothing to do with ‘drugs’ that
were all the talk of the time, nor all the so-called ‘free love’ that was supposed
to be going on all around us. For my friends and I, it was just plain
drink, more
drink and even more drink. So how on
earth it came to be that we, that is, my friends and I, were actually ‘deported’ from
the Isle of
Man’ after our famous or
infamous ’day trip’ there
on a fine June day
in 1961, leaves a lot of questions to be answered........
By the way, all that talk of ‘free love’ that
was supposed to be going on at the time is a total load of old
codswallop. If everyone was supposed to be getting their
quota all I can say is that someone else was getting my share of the damn
thing as well as their own...............
(At this point I must clear the air: On 21st December
next, I shall commence my 38th year - yes 38 years - on the wagon. I have
not touched a drop of alcohol for all that time - and I am very proud of the
fact)
.Anyway, to get back to the story, the gang of six of us had a
tip for a couple of dogs that were running at the Saturday night meeting
at Shelbourne Park Dog
Track in Dublin. So, after a few drinks we made
our way up there and backed the first one with half our
money.
Lo and behold the little beauty raced home at odds of six to
one. It was such a good winner that when the next race
came up, we doubled our bets and yes once again, the second little beauty
romped home at five to one. We had won about
twenty-five pounds each and we were rich beyond our
imagination.........................
You see, that sort of money was a lot in those days when I was
earning fourteen pounds a week – and that was considered very good money for a
twenty year old...............
It was ‘Whacker’
Mooney who brought us back to our senses after the second win
and insisted that we not test our luck by having any more
bets. We adjourned to the nearest bar and ‘got at it’ with pints
of Guinness and
Jamison whiskey chasers.
With only a short break to get something to eat, we made our way
back to Joe McGinn's where
we knew we could get ‘afters’ when
the pub closed to the general public. We were intent on getting really stocious drunk..............
I think it must have been about three o’clock in the morning
when Whacker came
out with what was a brilliant suggestion. I must have been very
drunk at the time for what he came out with included a boat trip. I
always got seasick even when I had no drink inside me but I still agreed to
join in the adventure......................
He suggested that we catch the 5am sailing for a day trip to
the Isle of Man.
For those who do not know, the Isle of Man is a true island half way between
mainland Britain and Ireland,
with an area of about 220 square miles. In fact, the Irish say that the Manx
are really Dubliners who could swim. It is known
internationally by those interested in motor cycle racing for its annual T.T.
racing. From my school days I remember that it has one of the
oldest parliaments in the world even though it is ruled and has the laws of the
UK. It also
has a cat with no tail.................odd that I should remember that and
little else about one of Ireland’s closest neighbours.........
So
to carry on: away we staggered down to the Liffey and across Butt Bridge and along
the North Quay. We
got our tickets and poured ourselves on board. We sailed out
of Dublin’s fair city at the stroke of five as the sun was
rising. As soon as we reached open sea would you believe
it but they opened the bar. When one of the lads
mentioned having a drink I nearly cried..............even the thought of drinking was
making my stomach queasier by the minute...............................
I thanked my God that the sea was flat calm and without any
mishap we arrived at Douglas the
main city on the island. As we walked down the gangway
the weather had a suggestion that it might rain and we had no coats with
us. “Sure
why worry” said Whacker (always the
practical one at times like these), “If we don’t like
it, we can always catch an earlier boat and be home for tea”....
And you know something, within half-an-hour of landing the sun
came out and started to split the heavens..............
As we strolled around Douglas, I noticed that the others
were beginning to show signs of wear and tear. I too was
knackered so suggested that we find a Bed
and Breakfast where we could have a lie-down before the
afternoon’s activities. We all agreed and stopped an old lady
and asked for her suggestion. She immediately pointed to
a nearby house that seemed to serve the purpose and we were surprised to find
that the landlady was in fact from Dublin herself and welcomed
us with open arms and hugs all round..........................
She cooked us a full Irish breakfast which included two of
everything and loads of fried potato leftovers from the day
before. Fully refreshed we made our way to our beds
where we all slept soundly until twelve o’clock noon. Remarkably we all
looked as fresh as daisies but I suppose that is what being young is all
about.......
Now I don’t know if the names of the pubs we visited have
changed over the years but we firstly went into Dick Darbie's. The
pint of Guinness left a lot to be desired so we finished up by having a row
with the barman and got ourselves ‘barred’ from there.
When we came out into the fresh air the temperature was up in
the eighties so once again Whacker suggested we have a
swim. With no swimming trunks
with us, we all got to a quiet corner near the cliffs and
stripped off naked and swam around for about twenty minutes until we began to
get strange looks from some people nearby. We dried ourselves
off with our shirts, got dressed and made our way back into town.
Our next port of call was a lovely bar called the Manx Kitten where we
found the Guinness to be exceptionally good. After
several pints, Seaneen
Burke met a man called McShane whom he knew
from the building trade. He joined us and offered to
show us the sights of his fair island. He managed to
hire a taxi and the seven of us all piled in.
He took us to some wonderful sights where the scenery was as
good, well I should say nearly as good as
back home. We stopped and had a wonderful meal
which was to set us up for the evening’s entertainment.
He took us to The
Texas Bar. Now as I said before I don’t know
if these places are still called the same or in fact are still standing, but
this bar had all the makings of a good old fashioned punch
up. There was sawdust on the floor, cracked glass in the
windows and the bar looked like it had not had a wipe of a dishcloth for years.
However, it did have its benefits in that the beer was cheap and
there were numerous young ladies arriving in
groups. Whacker, whom you would think that butter would
not melt in his mouth when sober, became a sexual predator when he had too much
to drink. Maybe for clarity I should have said an unsuccessful
predator.
Every woman who came within hearing distance of him got the same
‘come-on’. “Hello me darlin’”
he would say “if it’s a
man you’re after you’ve just found him”. All
he ever seemed to get back in reply were sneers.............
Not to be a man who gives up easily, he soon set his targets on
a big woman who was talking in a corner with a heavily built man who turned out
to be from Liverpool. Whacker
kept giving her the eye and winking at her. As it turns
out, she must have been trying to get away from the Liverpudlian for she
began to give the eye
back to Whacker.
When he made his way towards her we all knew that
there was going to be trouble for the man she was with had obviously been
plying her with copious amounts of expensive drinks in the hope of having his
evil way with her. He was not in the least bit
pleased when Whacker began dancing with ‘his’ woman.
They had been dancing for a mere ten minutes when the man she
had been with was joined by about ten others who were apparently his
friends. Two of them went onto the dance floor and
suffice is to say that Whacker was well whacked with six or seven good whacks
which left him writhing on the floor on his back in great
discomfort.
“Unfair”,
one of our lads called out and we quickly went to the aid of poor
Whacker. The other Liverpool lads on seeing what we were
up to quickly joined in and soon the
whole dance-floor was erupting into one big massive
brawl. There were men fighting men, kicking and gouging, women
rolling around the floor pulling other women’s hair, even some women
were wreaking revenge on some ex-boyfriends. It was total mayhem.........
Now it seemed that the punch-up had only been going on for a
couple of minutes when suddenly the sound of whistles began to pierce the
noise. It was the local police with their truncheons
drawn. They laid into all and sundry – men and
women. As soon as things quietened down, our little
group was pointed out as the instigators. We were all rounded up and thrown into
the police van..............
Oddly enough, we were only kept in the cells for a couple of
hours then taken by van to the harbour where we were literally herded onto the
boat for Dublin. The Sergeant gave us a warning that if we
ever returned to the Island he would make sure that the next time we would be
put on the boat in coffins. I would like to think that he was only joking but somehow
I think he was serious.................
So there you have it,
the end of our Day Trip
to the Isle of Man. All that remains to be said is
that it was the best bit of craic
(fun) that I ever had but not one that I would like to see ever
repeated....................
But you know something: putting these few memories together
here, over fifty years after the events has once again raised the
question................Did it really happen or is my imagination working
overtime once again.................I (and you) unfortunately will never
know...................
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Based on the song ‘The Craic
was Ninety in the Isle of Man’
Sung by the Dubliners on this
link:
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