A Caged Wild Bird

Ann, The Tinkerman's Daughter.....

It was late September 1956 and although the Autumn weather was still holding fair, Johnny Morehouse and his tinker family were making their way to the vicinity of Kenmare in Kerry where they would set up camp for the winter. The last of the swallows were gathering and soon they would be making their dash to a warmer climate in Africa. The harvesting that the family worked to help to bring in was now complete and the horse fair at Ballinasloe had been poor this year. Money would be tight this winter…

There were several sites that they used year in year out that were just far enough away from the local villages not to cause any problems with the Gardai. The family was made up of Johnny, his wife Mary and their eight children, the eldest at 16 being his red-headed daughter Ann.

Ann was a fine strong and good looking young woman and Johnny was getting more frustrated every year when he tried to ‘marry her off’ to one of the better young men from the travelling fraternity. She declined them all. Johnny and Mary were worried that the way of life for the travelling people was coming to an end. Great changes were on the horizon….................

As the late evening began to fall, they pulled their two horse-drawn caravans off the road and onto the banks of the River Feale not far from Listowel. They had used the site for many years and the local farmer caused them no problem provided they did not remain there for more than a couple of days.

The land in fact bordered the farm of Seamus Duffy, a forty-five year old bachelor. He was known in the area as a ‘decent man’ but was finding the running of the farm on his own a burden lately. His two brothers had sailed away to America shortly after their father died.

As fate would have it, Seamus was strolling down by the riverside the same evening that the Morehouses set up camp. The sun was setting and throwing its last rays on the calm water of the river. There was also a soft warm breeze drifting across the fields. The tinker’s fire was blazing and both lights caught the figure of Ann in them. Seamus was transfixed for the first time in his life. He had never felt the same about any woman in his life before and was stuck to the spot by her beauty. Johnny saw him and called across the river to him. They waved to each other to signal that all was well…

Seamus returned to the farmhouse and was shocked that he was unable to eat. All he could think of was the sight of beautiful Ann. During the night, he awoke several times and eventually had to get up and walk around the farmyard. He had never felt love before in his life and could not understand the feelings that were stirring inside. However, he made up his mind, then and there to speak to Johnny the next morning.

He waited until dawn had broken and made his way down to the other side of the river and waited until he saw some stirring at the tinker’s campsite. When he saw Ann his stomach churned and he thought he was going to be sick. She was soon joined by Johnny and they began to cook breakfast. Seamus pretended that he was just passing and gave a ‘hello’ to both. Johnny invited him to have a cup of tea and Seamus accepted. Ann soon had the kettle boiling and the two men stood some distance away drinking their strong, sweet, milk-less tea.

“I was thinking Johnny” Seamus began in a soft voice “that I was going to pay a visit to Dan Paddy O’Sullivan the matchmaker over in Lyreacrompane to see if there was a woman for me. ‘Tis about time I got me-self a wife. Working a farm on me own is a lonely life and I should get me-self married. What do you think Johnny?” Seamus asked. “Well now Seamus” Johnny answered, nodding his head towards Ann, “If it ‘tis a good wife you would be looking for, sure there is no need to look no further. Ann is a fine strong woman and she would look after you and the farm”. 

“Begob now Johnny” Seamus answered with a blush to his cheeks “sure I never thought of that, do you think she would be willin’?” “Now Seamus” Johnny whispered “you just leave it with me and don’t be talking about ould Dan Paddy O’Sullivan, sure he would fix you up with some old Biddy who would rob you left right and centre. I’ll come over to the farm this afternoon and I’ll have news for you”.

With that Seamus left with a big grin on his face. He returned home and began to give the house a good clean-up which it had not seen for many months.

At about three in the afternoon, he heard the sound of voices outside the door and when he opened it, there standing in the sunlight were both Johnny and Ann. They had both put on their best clothes and although Seamus did not notice what Johnny was wearing, he certainly did see what Ann wore. She looked absolutely beautiful in a spotlessly white blouse and red pleated skirt. Seamus could hardly speak. He did however manage to invite them both in to the living room.

He saw that Ann was looking all around her at some of the expensive furnishings that Seamus’s mother had bought a few years before she died. There were things that Ann had only dreamed about. She nodded to Johnny but did not say anything.

“You run along now Ann back to the caravans” Johnny said to her, “I’ll have a little chat with Seamus here and make the arrangements”. Before she left, Ann turned to Seamus and merely said “I accept your proposal Mr. Duffy and I promise you that I will not let you down”. She then skipped across the farmyard and ran down towards the river.

“Right then Seamus” Johnny spoke in an official voice. “The arrangements, if you don’t mind. It would be taken as a great slight on our family if some form of dowry was not offered and accepted. What do you suggest?” Seamus did not have the faintest idea of what to say. “Let us stroll around the farm” suggested Johnny “and see what we can come up with”.

They were not a hundred yards from the house when Johnny pointed to a white pony in one of the fields. “Never tell another tinkerman what we agreed Seamus if one should ever ask, just mention a large sum of money”. Seamus nodded but said nothing. “Right then” Johnny continued “the pony it is, I’ll have the pony and you have a wife. Do you agree?” Again Seamus could not speak, he merely nodded his head. Johnny spat on his hand, took Seamus’s palm and slapped them together. The deal was done…..............

Two days later the marriage ceremony took place in the local church and they all returned to the farm. The tinkers had moved their caravans into the farmyard the day before and plenty of food and drink had been prepared by Johnny’s wife Mary, Ann and the other younger girls.

In the evening as the caravans were leaving the yard, the crunch of the iron wheels on the gravel brought tears to the eyes of Ann. Already she was missing the freedom of the roads.

Ann put her heart and soul into the marriage but after a month or two, she used every excuse under the sun to get out of the house and work the land. The four walls began to press tighter and tighter by the day and she felt trapped within them. She constantly compared herself to a wild bird caged…..............

As the first frosts of winter and the first snow arrived, Ann found the confinement torturous. On Christmas night she could not stand it any longer. She slipped out of the bed and silently left the house. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

When Seamus awoke and went down to the kitchen he noticed that the fire had not been set. He called for Ann but no sound was heard. He went out into the yard and called and called without any answer. He began to panic…

He saddled up one of the horses and made his way into the town asking people he met if anyone had seen his wife. One, a young man claimed to have seen a young woman wrapped in a blanket making her way by foot along the road close to one of the distant villages.

He rode on without finding any trace of her. He rode on until he had searched the usual caravan sites when eventually he found Johnny and his family. No-one could help him. When he returned to his farm he began to wander around the fields calling her name. All was silent apart from the call of the crows in the distant trees. He made his way down to the riverside and suddenly noticed something floating by the water’s edge. As he got closer he panicked more and more. It was the blanket from his bed. There was no sign of Ann…

Seamus began to curse the river. He cursed life. He cursed his bad fortune. He finally began to curse Ann and all tinkers. “Be damned if ever one more tinker ever comes onto my land. I’ll shoot the lot of you” he shouted at the top of his voice.

And so the torment of Seamus began. It fermented into total hatred of everything. He sat at his doorway during most of the day with a shotgun on his lap and at night he took it to bed with him. Whenever he heard the crunch of iron-clad wheels on the roadway he would run to the door and shoot off the shotgun.

Six months later Sheamus’ dead body was found floating in the nearby river close to where he had found the blanket. Some locals believe that he at last had forgiven Ann and as he could not live without her in this world, he had decided to join her in the next….................

----------------------------------

Recommend him for the Olympics

The Long and the Short of It.............

When I was confirmed as a Detective and posted to a station down by the Thames, I was mustard keen and worked hard.   Crime in the locality was high and required a lot more expertise than I possessed.   I would have to keep my head down and listen to some of the best detectives in London.

One Monday morning, I was allocated a number of crimes to investigate and began to make my way from one to the next.   The second or third one I attended was to the grounds of the Tower of London.   It appeared that a large paving slab had been thrown from above through the roof of a restaurant causing quite a lot of damage.

This was well before the advent of CCTV and with no ordinary housing in the vicinity my local enquiries were severely limited.   There was no likelihood of finding those responsible unless further information came to light.

I returned to the station and completed the Crime Report.   Under the ‘Method’ section I wrote ‘Effected by a person or persons unknown, throwing a paving slab from London Bridge through the roof of restaurant in the grounds of the Tower of London’.

It was about an hour later, when the Detective Chief Inspector called out ‘Get yourself in here pronto’.    Old George, the Chief was one of the greatest detectives I ever worked with.   He was always good humoured, liked a ‘half of beer’ and once in a while, a ‘laudi dah’ – a small cigar.

‘What’s the problem Guvnor?’ I asked ‘Nothing really Mike, but let me put it this way, if you ever do find the geezer who did that damage down at the Tower, you better put him forward to the Olympic Committed as a great shot putter.   According to you, he threw the concrete slab from London Bridge – about a mile and a half away’.

Needless to say, I was fined a ‘half of beer’ and a ‘’laudi dah’ but it was worth it......

...................Mike..................

Two Peas in a Pod

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee.....

Eddie was Irish, aged about 50 and a bit of a rogue - as was his wife. His two boys took after their father and were always up to some mischief or other. It was about 1970 and I was their local Community Police Officer in the East End of London.   A high percentage of the minor crime on 'my patch' was down to the family, mostly the sons......

I had arrested Eddie for buying a gold cigarette lighter from a seven-year-old girl for one shilling (10 cents US). The magistrate commended me for the manner in which I dealt with the matter rather than admonish me. You see, I spoke to Eddie in the local vernacular and instead of using the correct legal terminology, I merely said to him ˜Get your boots on Eddie, you're nicked".  He was found guilty and fined £5. There were no hard feelings between us...............

Whenever the two boys were causing me trouble, Eddie had given me permission to 'clip their ears' if they were doing anything wrong. I never did in fact, as the threat to do so was always good enough. Eventually I transferred to the CID (Criminal Investigation Department) and moved to another police station a few miles away.

About two years later, I heard a radio message reporting a fire in an empty property on my old area and as we were in a car and nearby, we decided to attend. The fire officers stated that it had been caused deliberately and although the damage was slight, it could have been disastrous.   I went walkabout and spoke to some of the local children. Immediately, Eddie's two sons were put 'in the frame' as those responsible. They had returned to their school locally.

We went there and I arrested the two boys. In fact they readily admitted causing the fire but denied that it was in order to cause damage. They claimed it was an accident. I asked them if Eddie was at home and the older of the two boys said ˜I am sorry PC Paddy, but he caught pneumonia about six months ago and died". I told him that I was sorry to hear that and asked about his mother. He bowed his head and quietly said ˜After Dad died, she took some pills and also died". I was truly shocked and saddened at the news.......................

I asked them who I should call to attend the station and the older said ˜Our Uncle Peter". He gave me a local telephone number.

I was sitting in the Charge room doing some paperwork with the boys nearby when the door opened and Eddie walked in with the Desk Sergeant. I went up to the older boy and threatened to hit him for what he said about his father. I turned to Eddie and said ˜The little basket said you and Mary were dead Eddie, you better give him a good hiding when you get him home". Eddie put up his hands and shouted ˜No, don't. Eddie is dead; I'm Peter his brother". I went over to him and I swear I would have bet my month's wages that 'he' was Eddie.

I was in shock. You see he was also wearing Eddie's old clothes and it turned out that they were identical twins. Peter added that when the local Catholic Church had run a Charity Dance for the family and when he had attended, he had his ears boxed 'for playing such a dirty trick'. It was the first time in my life that I had ever come across  adult identical twins.

I had a long chat with the two boys, marked up the arrest papers for a 'Caution', which was granted. This meant that they did not have to go to court. Many years later I heard that both had never been in trouble with the police after that day and both were doing well in life.

Since the events of that day I have come across three other sets of adult identical twins, one set in fact married another set but never had any children. There were two other women and no one could tell them apart.

They were like two peas in a pod.................

------Mike-----

A Sad Tale from Down Under

A Dark View of the World….

Once upon a time in a far-off land there lived an old blind man. Some of his neighbours said that he was at least ninety years old but there was no one around who could verify his date of birth. He was in fact 93 years of age and had lived through all types of hardship, both personal and national, throughout his life. However he did not have one ounce of bitterness in the smallest bone in his body. In fact, he still loved life and looked forward to even better times to come.

It was during the great fire seventy years ago that he had lost his sight but he could still see clearly in his mind’s eye the beauty of the landscape that he had enjoyed from boyhood.

He merely had to relax in the bright sunshine and he could ‘see’ some of the most beautiful sights that those with two good eyes were blind to. When one of the village children brought him his food they would usually bring him also one of the bright coloured flowers from the riverbank. He could ‘see’ the bright yellow of the flower and the red streaks that traced their way through the petals. He could ‘see’ the lightly coloured green stalk and the one leaf that each stalk held. Ah but the scent. Now that was real. The all-powerful aroma that brought back memories of his beloved wife caused the salty tears to form in his unseeing eyes and to roll down his cheeks into the corner of his mouth.

The same fire that cost him his sight had also cost him his beloved. When the flames raced through the long grasses towards them they had tried to outrun them. She had tripped and fallen. When he heard her cry he had not hesitated, he had turned and run back into the danger that was obvious but without a second thought he would willingly have given his life to save hers. It was not to be. He had picked her up and with his clothing and hair alight, he had run carrying her. He ran like a man possessed until he reached the riverbank.

He could barely see but without hesitation he jumped from the bank into the dangerous river knowing that there were things there that were just as dangerous as the fire. He had swum out into the middle of the river holding dearly to his beloved. He could not see anything at all now but it did not worry him. All his thoughts were on his beloved and the fact that he could feel not a trace of a pulse. He refused to accept that she was dead and held tightly to her whilst threading water...............

It was then that he heard the crack, crack cracking of rifle fire from the riverbank. He also heard the laughter of the white-mens’ voices shouting and cheering. He heard the splash, splash splashing as bullets hit the water around him. But he still clung to his beloved. He now knew that she was dead but also knew that she deserved a proper ritual burial. For that reason he would not release her body.

As he took the deepest breath that he had ever taken, he prayed to his spirit guide for protection. He then dived under the water until he reached the riverbed some fifteen feet deep. He held firmly onto his beloved with one arm and to a large rock with the other for what seemed like ten minutes. It was probably not that long but if he could only hold on for another minute or two maybe the white-men would leave and he could reach the riverbank.

Still clinging to his beloved, he silently swam to the bright sky, which he could still see through his closed burned eyes. He put his head above the water and listened for any human sound. There was total silence...............

He swam to the shore and lay on the water’s edge with his beloved beside him. Within minutes he heard a noise coming towards him from the nearby reeds. A voice spoke to him in his native tongue and he realised that he was now safe. He told the other about his blindness and the other helped him to carry his beloved into the nearby bushes.

Suddenly, the old man awoke...........

With the warm sunshine on his face he had fallen asleep and dreamt of the past. He was happy that he felt no bitterness or hatred within himself for something that had not only changed his life all those years ago but which had also changed his land for all time.

The year was 1930 in the ‘outback’ of Australia where the white settlers were paying retribution on the Native Australians for stealing some chickens to feed their families.

-----------Mike---------

A Fireside Ghost Story

A Fishy Tale.......................

As we sat around the roaring peat fire in the almost complete darkness of my grandparents old cottage, the paraffin oil lamp in the corner flickered as if the flame was about to die.  Granny Gorman sat in an upright wooden chair to the side of the fire whilst Granddad Gorman sat almost on top of it in his old armchair.

And sure he was entitled to the warmest seat in the house as he suffered greatly from rheumatism and a little arthritis caused by all the winter gathering of the sugar beet crops over the previous fifty years or more. Uncle Jack stood smoking close to the half-door looking out at the dark moonless night that engulfed the village whilst Uncle Mick leaned against the wall close to the lamp trying to read a folded over cheap paperback book.

I sat in my favourite spot, right up in the heart of the fire almost under the chimney breast on what I called the hob.  I was almost asleep, as this was the latest I had ever stayed up in my short life so far. I had only passed my seventh birthday a few months previously.

My two older brothers, Jack and Ger sat on a wooden couch, which once it was time for bed, it would be folded out into a type of modern style bed-settee. In fact it must have been a hundred years old yet I still remember the wonderful night’s sleep one could get in it when tucked in under an equally old genuine feather down quilt. I absolutely adored coming down to visit my grandparents every six months or so.

In those days, just after the Second World War, 1947, there was no such thing as television and the radio was only on for a couple of hours each day. Even that had to be worked by a big glass battery type thing, as there was no electricity in the village. Likewise there was no street lighting and as the village sat in the centre of Ireland, miles from anywhere, there were no cars passing by to light up the roads.

As Granddad Gorman began to snore softly all that could be heard was the click-clicking of the knitting needles being worked at a fantastic speed in Granny Gorman’s hands. She knitted woolen socks by the score whether anyone needed them or not.......................

Suddenly Uncle Jack broke the silence. He spoke in a loud, beautiful rounded tone that echoed around the room. "Mick" he said, referring to his brother and not me "tell us all that story you gave us last Christmas. The one about the big trout the lad caught and, you know the one, where it was saved by the Banshee".

Uncle Mick was not in the least bit annoyed as he folded back the book and put it into his pocket. I could barely see his face in the dark but I suddenly saw his bright shiny teeth in a lovely smile.

"Begob I will" he replied "but you can take the blame if the lads are awake all night with nightmares".   At the mention of the word ‘nightmares’ I was suddenly wide awake, as were my two brothers. "Please tell us Uncle Mick" we called in chorus.

Mick moved over towards us and began in a quiet voice. "You all better believe every word I tell you, because it is the God’s honest truth, every last word I tell you.

You see, Jimmy Doyle, the boy in the story never believed in what the old people said about trout in that river and the magic that they could perform. He thought he was smart and being clever – but he learned his lesson and is still paying the price for what he did to this very day. He is nothing more than a gibbering idiot most of the time now. Do you all understand me?" he asked.

I looked at the others, including Uncle Jack but no one said anything. We all slowly nodded our heads including Jack.  

Mick continued: "Jimmy loved a bit of fishing and was a dab hand at the art. He could catch fish in a puddle of water on the roadside after a heavy fall of rain. He was that good. He would go out every Thursday night with a tin of the largest worms you ever saw and be back inside an hour or so with enough fish to feed the family on Friday – the day of abstinence you know. He always fished the Lower river – the one furthest down the main road from the village. You see, the upper river, the one not so far down had a curse put on it by an old hag who used to live by the riverside. 

The old house is still there if you look, although it’s falling apart now. She put the curse on the river when it took her only son when he was four years old. The poor child, God Rest His Soul, wandered out the door and fell into the water. Not only that, but her husband on hearing the screams from the house, ran from the fields and tried to save the baby. He too was taken. Well the old one, she cried bitter tears for years and years and on the anniversary of the deaths, she would renew her curse until the day she died.

Mick paused and took a deep breath; he took a few puffs from Jack’s cigarette and then continued. "What curse did she say?" asked my brother Ger, as he was probably the only one of the three of us who knew what a curse in fact was. 

"Shush now" ordered Mick, quickly followed by Jack. In fact, Uncle Jack was as engrossed in the story as we three young ones were and that was bearing in mind that he had heard it all before. Granddad Gorman had also awoken and was listening intently whilst Granny Gorman had for once stopped knitting and had her hand over her mouth as if in some kind of fear or apprehension.

"Anyway" Mick continued "one Thursday, young Jimmy got out his fishing rod and dug some worms and as he made his way past the Upper river, he noticed some huge circles made by fish not far down the river near the old broken down house.

‘Begob’, young Jimmy said to himself ‘sure nobody ever fishes that drop of water, there must be some huge trout in it’. However, he continued on his way to the Lower river.

"The first thing he noticed was that the water was low and as clear as the best potteen. He did not give himself much chance of catching enough fish for tomorrow’s dinner. However, he tried and tried but did not have a single bite for the hour he fished. ‘I bet if I tried the other river and had one or two good sized fish, we would have enough in them’ he said aloud. With that, he got his tackle and bait and began running up the road to the Upper river.

"He got over the fence and walked down to the large pool close to the old house. He knew that he would have no more than half-an-hour to fish as the evening was now beginning to get dark. A fine mist was beginning to swirl across the top of the water towards the old house. He began to fish and within minutes he had a good bite. He struck but failed to hook what he knew was a good-sized fish. He re-baited and cast again. Almost as soon as his bait hit the water, he heard the most soul-wrenching cry from the building behind him. The cry got louder and louder and seemed to be coming out of the derelict house towards him”.

"At the same moment, he felt a huge tug on his line and being a good fisherman, he made sure he pulled in his line and fish although frightened out of his wits by the continuous crying and wailing. He landed a most beautiful brown trout that must have weighted at least five pound. Before he could do another thing, a large white piece of wet cloth encircled his head and face. He could now hear the noise of the howling as if it was just a foot or less from him. Without looking, he dropped everything and ran as fast as his legs would carry him back up to the road and straight home.

"’What in the name of the good God happened to you Jimmy’ his mother asked him ‘you look like you have seen a ghost’. ‘As true as God mother’ Jimmy replied ‘I have just been touched by the Banshee down by the death house on the Upper river. ‘Tis true mother, I swear by it’. ‘And sure and haven’t you been told a hundred times to keep away from that haunted place. It serves you right’.

"The following day, Jimmy Doyle, who was still shaking from the fright the previous evening, and his mother and father had to make do with eggs for Friday lunch for the first time in over a year. There was no fish on the plate.

"However, not far away, Patsy McNamara sat down alone to a beautiful fish dinner with some lovely floury potatoes. ‘Nothing like a nice piece of fresh brown trout’ he said aloud ‘and that little acting role of mine should keep the legend of the dead baby going for another ten or twenty years’"……………..

Granddad Gorman began to laugh, quickly joined by Granny whilst Uncle Jack just sat there with a puzzled look on his face. Jack and Ger were sound asleep and seemed to have been so for most of the story.

I was very, very happy at the outcome and even happier to be sitting close to the roaring fire. You see, when I heard about the Banshee, I had got so excited that I wet my pants. I only hoped that it would be dry before we had to go to bed………………….

----------Mike-----------

The Call of the Sea.

                        

He has swallowed the anchor so obviously

And he’s now afraid to return to the sea.

For forty odd years he had sailed from the shore,

Now he stands there forlorn - a sailor no more.

Whilst he was unwed and with no one to grieve,

He sailed round the Horn - not a bye or a leave,

But now with sweet Jenny and child in the cove,

No more will he wander away from their love.

He was but a lad when he first sailed at ten,

To far distant places, again and again,

He had seen far off China, the Americas,

By the time he was twenty, he saw all there was.

But the fight between loves, is so hard to bear,

The call of the waves, or the waves of her hair,

So although he is pining for his lost love, the sea,

He’ll stay with his true loves, his child and Jenny.

Though the call of the sea, is a call to the heart,

The call of a true love can tear it apart,

Like sails in a storm, all tattered and torn,

Love leaves you as naked as the day you were born.

So all you wild rovers, who sail on the main,

Will soon find a new love, who’ll drive you insane,

You’ll walk off your Clipper, one of these fine days,

You’ll see her, and win her, and then change your ways.

---------Mike--------------

Murphys Pension

Tis the Truth I’m Tellin’ You….

Irish stories, like ‘Chinese Whispers’, gain in the telling. After a story has been repeated several times, it is hard to know wherein the truth lies. Did I say lies? Well I honestly did not mean untruths, but you know what I mean – more like ‘fibs’..............

The one I like best is about the retired London Policeman. He was in fact from the deep South of Ireland.  Kerry in fact and as I may have alluded to before, they are supposed to be quite stupid.  In Ireland ‘the Kerryman’ is the butt of all jokes.  However, I know from my numerous holidays in that fair and beautiful county that nothing could be further from the truth. They are shrewd in every sense of the word and use their reputation to  their advantage.......................

This London Policeman had retired after thirty-five years service and returned home to the little village in Kerry to live on his retirement pension. We will call him Patrick Murphy for the purposes of the story but that is not his real name. He continued to collect his pension year in and year out.

When he reached his seventieth birthday he had to have the signature of the local Garda Sergeant (that is the Irish Police) to confirm that the claimant was still alive.

This procedure continued every five years and lo and behold, when he was about to reach his one hundredth birthday, the Commissioner in London sent a letter to the local Chief Superintendent in Kerry asking that a presentation be made to Murphy to celebrate the fact.

On the day of his birthday, a big black car drove up to Murphy’s little thatched cottage and out stepped three senior Garda officers in their flashy uniforms.  They made their way to the door of the house where they knocked on the door frame.   There was in fact no reason to for the barking of the old sheep dog had announced their arrival a good ten minutes before they actually reached it.

A woman in her forties answered their knocks. When they asked to speak to ‘Patrick Murphy’, she introduced herself as his wife and that Patrick was down in the lower field ploughing. The three officers were more than amazed; they were in fact quite shocked.   You see she was no more than forty-five and a fine strapping country woman................

They made their way down the ‘boreen’ (little road) and saw a man ploughing in a field nearby. They made their way to him and when he saw them, he jumped off his new tractor and made his way briskly towards them. He looked as fit and healthy as many a man of fifty. He had a fine head of hair and a tanned complexion as if he was always out in the sunshine. (Now, don’t be like that, the sun certainly does shine in Kerry – in fact it has a semi-tropical climate due to the Gulf Steam which bathes its shores).

"Mr. Murphy?" one of the officers asked. "Yes, indeed sir, at your service" Murphy replied. "Mr. Patrick Murphy?"  the officer again asked. "None other than meself" Murphy replied. "Begob Murphy" the Chief Superintendent spoke "but you are a fine figure of a man and dare I say it, but a lot healthier looking than many a man half your age". "That would be kind of you to say so sir, thank you. Now how can I  help  you?" Murphy asked.

The Chief Superintendent made a small cough then began. "I am directed by the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police in London to congratulate you, as one of their retired officers, on reaching your one hundredth birthday". "A hundred did you say sir?" Murphy seemed puzzled, "but I am not yet fifty" he added. 

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide as if something had just occurred to him. "Sure you must mean me Uncle Pat who was a policeman in London all them years ago".

The Chief Superintendent was a little shocked. "Are you not he?" he asked. "Naw, not at all, sir" Murphy replied, "Sure he died some thirty years ago". "But, but…" the Chief Superintendent stuttered "who is claiming his pension?". ”Why I am sir" Murphy seemed surprised at the question, "sure the cheque arrives every month in my name and I cash it". "And what about the check-up every five years with the local police?" he asked. "Ah sure now, and I wouldn’t want to be getting the local Sergeant into any trouble or anything, but sure he would sign anything for a bottle of whiskey" Murphy quietly answered.

Needless to say, some very clever strokes were pulled over the coming weeks to sort things out resulting in a letter being sent to the Commissioner in London from the Chief Superintendent with the "sad news that Patrick Murphy had died the day after his one hundredth birthday". 

As he said to the other officers who had made the visit, "I don’t know about you two, but as far as I am concerned, the man ploughing the field was Patrick Murphy and for a man of one hundred he certainly looked as fit as a fiddle and as strong as a horse".

A fiddle indeed – and one that cost the London Police at least a quarter of a million pounds over the years………. And they say that Kerrymen are thick………….

------------Mike-----------

A Chip off the Old Block

Ten Bags of Chips and Two Pieces of Cod....

In this modern time of plenty, with fridges, freezers and cupboards bulging with food, it is hard to imagine ravaging hunger. During the Second World War and for a few years afterwards, back home in Ireland, Mum did her best to keep the gang of us fed.   It was hard work for her. 

During late summer it was not too bad as she knew all the secret places where wild strawberries, blackberries, gooseberries, apples, nuts and other such goodies could be gathered out in the country. At other times more devious means had to be employed..................

With such a large family, Mum got extra tea coupons (Ration coupons that is, which were needed for everything). When I say they were pure gold-dust, you have to believe me. If you bargained wisely with the farming community, you could have the best farm produce for a few tea coupons. The farmers had to have their strong tea. 

Mum was obliged to be a part of it. In actual fact, even after the coupons were finished, she was remembered for them.

Almost every Thursday she would send us out the country to a farmhouse, Mrs. White, where we were to ask for a drink of water. Of course when we got there, the farmer’s wife would not dare give us water. Instead, we were given large mugs of creamy milk, chunks of freshly baked bread, (Thursday was her baking day) farmhouse butter and homemade jam. We could have as much as we could eat....

Of course, on return home, Mum would ask if anyone wanted tea but always got a chorus of “No thanks Mum, we're full"...................

One beautiful summer's Saturday night, Mum and about eight of us were sitting on the steps outside the house waiting for Dad to come home. At about ten o'clock we saw him walking up the street. 

You could see that he was in a really happy mood. He said to me, and not for the first time, “Which one are you?"   “I'm Mick, Dad" I replied, hoping that the usual follow up question and result would come from him. And that was “How old are you now Mick?"  I would say ˜Eight" or whatever and sure enough he would always say “Did I give you a birthday present on your last birthday?"   I never, ever answered “Yes" but always “No Dad, you must have forgotten" and this generally resulted in the receipt of a sixpenny piece.

However, this night, the conversation never took that route. Instead he said “Run down to Tony Kelly's", (the Fish and Chip shop man) ˜and get ten bags of chips and a nice piece of cod. Tell him they are for Paddy R...…...".  He gave me the money and away I ran.

Five minutes later, I found myself down a dark alley next to the chip shop with the paper package containing the bags of chips and fish on my lap. Two chips out of that one. Two chips out of that one, two out of that one, and so on. 

However, I was very soon in Chip Heaven and forgot the count in my delight and greed. Suddenly I realised that I might have gone too far, so I wrapped them up and put them back in the package. I ran home to where they were all sitting on the steps in anticipation. I gave him the pack and he began to pass around the bags of chips.

Suddenly he exclaimed to Mum “Mother of God, Maggie, will you look at that. There's four chips in that bag for sixpence". And a moment later “Ah now, that's bloody robbery. There's only three in that one". He continued to check the other bags and he found no improvement. “Here Mick, take them straight back to Tony Kelly and tell him that I want my money back".

Once again in my short life, (I was now about seven), FEAR took hold. It was always a battle inside me as to who I feared most. Mum could be trouble. However, I never blamed her when I got the dishcloth around my ears -just like a whip - because I always deserved it when she gave it. Although, I dreaded her giving me a lecture - once, my brothers tell me, that I did in fact ask her to stop telling me off and to hit me instead.

On the other hand, Dad frightened the living daylights out of me. Strange really, as I never saw him in a fight, have a proper row, or in fact, ever say a harsh word to my mother.

So, what was I to do? Certainly not admit my crime. Run away. No, I couldn't do that. I decided to be devious. I returned to the Chip Shop and spoke to Tony's son. I said “I bought these earlier, but my Dad says he does not want them anymore. He wants his money back". I can only think that this must have happened to him quite often, or that he did not care a damn about the business, or that he knew only too well what I had done, but he gave me the money back. I threw him the pack and ran for all I was worth..............................

Oddly enough, many years later when I mentioned this story to one of my sisters, she told me of having done the same with a loaf of bread. First a nibble, then a pinch, and before she knew it, she ended up with a shell of a crust with no dough whatsoever left inside. She reckoned Mum beat her silly..................

I learned a very important lesson that night - never eat more than two chips from each bag in future and never ever be greedy....................

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