And What Great
Depression Would That Be?
It was December 1935 in the
heartland of Ireland and money was as scarce as chickens’
teeth. Old Patsy was not the only one without two
pennies to rub together and with a young family of six children he was at his
wits end as to what he and his wife Maggie were going to do
for Christmas. He had tried everything to get a
few days work at the Manor House but with the ground being
frozen rock hard for the past month there was not an hour’s work on the land to
be had anywhere.
The summer had given them a good harvest of
potatoes and there were still some small heads of cabbage and turnips in the
back garden. The Christmas dinner this year might not be
the best they ever had but at least they would not
starve. They had discussed slaughtering one of the two healthy
chickens they possessed but decided against it as they would be needed to provide
a young batch of chicks come next spring.
Mr. Doyle and his family next door were also in a
similar financial position with regards to his old sow. She
was getting on in years now and consideration had to be given as to whether she
should be put down before spring when possibly her final litter of piglets
might be born.
The two families always
looked after each other at times such as these and the bacon would have been a
bonus to both of them. However,
all agreed that the sow should live until after the spring litter of piglets came with the grace of
God.............................
It was ten days before Christmas Day and both families were resigned to what was held in store. “I’ll check the rabbit snares” old Patsy said to Maggie “but I doubt if there is anything in them. I haven’t seen a rabbit the past month”. With that, he put on his boots and called his old sheepdog Punch to his side.
With his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck he
made his way up the lane to the back meadow. From behind
his ear, Patsy removed a dog-end of a cigarette. It was
the last trace of tobacco he would probably see for the next few months.
As he lit it with a match, he scorched his bushy
moustache and exclaimed “Bad cess to you, you ould devil”. In
doing so he dropped the cigarette butt which landed in a puddle of muddy icy
water. He continued on his way with the old dog keeping well
outside the reach of Patsy’s boot. A shrewd old dog was
Punch and knew only too well that although Patsy was a decent man, when things
went wrong, he, the dog was the first to get the blame.
Patsy climbed the gate into the top field and he
made his way around the hedgerow. As he checked the first thirty or
so snares he saw not a trace of a rabbit. As he came to
the old fallen down cottage up in the far corner he saw old Punch run off
towards the ruins. “Get back here you ould devil” Patsy
called but Punch did not pay him a blind bit of notice. “Aah
to hell with you then” Patsy swore at the dog.
Punch had entered the old house and was out of
sight. As Patsy neared he could have sworn that he heard
a low voice calling the dog’s name. He knew that there
should be no one else in the vicinity as basically the only way to the field
was up the lane past his cottage. He stood with his back against the
outside wall and listened by the old frameless
window. The voice was talking very softly and somehow it
was familiar to Patsy. He
knew that he had heard the voice before but not for many, many years……….
Old Punch came out through the collapsed entrance door
and every second or so, he would look back into the house then move a little
further away. Patsy would later swear that he heard the
sound of a soft voice saying “Good dog Punch, just a little further” coming
from inside the old house. Punch began to scratch the
earth as he often did when he had buried a bone. He scratched the partly frozen earth away
down to a depth of about ten inches.........
“Well done Punch, you’re
nearly there” the voice again spoke
from inside the broken down house. Almost immediately, Punch
began to bark. Patsy, who had not moved from where he
stood all the time, cautiously took a look inside the broken
window. There was no one or nothing to be
seen.
He moved over to where
Punch was now standing and barking and as he looked where the dog had been
digging, Patsy saw something shining through the loose
earth. As he bent down he saw that it was
a coin – a shiny coin. Patsy picked it up and
after a gentle rub between his fingers, the golden colour and markings of a
half-Sovereign appeared. A couple of more wipes against
his trousers leg and it shone like a new penny. It was indeed –
it was a gold half-sovereign.
“Be Jazus Punch, but you’re a
rare ould dog, will you look what you found” Patsy spoke as he stroked the dog. Punch
allowed him to do so for just as he could tell when Patsy was in a foul mood,
he also knew when he was fully in his favour.
However, Punch began to
bark again and again gently scratched at the earth. Patsy
looked down and sure enough, there was another
coin. This time it was a full gold
Sovereign. He stood there in amazement and said a little
prayer thanking God for his good fortune. Without
further ado, he literally ran over to and jumped the gate and ran back down the
lane to Mr. Doyle his neighbour. He said nothing other than
dragging him next door where he picked up two shovels.
“What in the name of God
are you up to Patsy?” Mr. Doyle asked “have
you lost your senses”. Old Patsy, after all the excitement
and exertion merely showed Mr. Doyle the two coins. “Tell
me Jim” Patsy stuttered “am I seeing things or is this all a
dream?” “Good God Almighty Patsy” Mr. Doyle
exclaimed “them’s gold sovereigns. Where in the name of God
did they come from? Did you rob the Manor House?”
Patsy said nothing but continued to drag Mr. Doyle
up the lane and into the field. When he got to the old
building he handed Mr. Doyle a shovel and they both began to dig at the hole
that the dog had made.
Well if I tell you that they continued digging
until they went down all of four feet and covered an area about ten feet square
before they stopped. In all they found six more
sovereigns, two halves and four full ones. They sat down on the steps of the old house
and both men cried..................
That Christmas was one of
the greatest ever seen in the village. Patsy bought himself a
new pipe and plenty of tobacco to go with it. All the children
received a wonderful present and every house had a portion of Mr. Doyle’s pig
which was slaughtered. A new and younger one would be bought
in March.
One of the half sovereigns
was given to the local priest to say Masses for all the dead of the village
over the past ten years. No one was left without, not even old Punch – he lived for the next
three months on the bones from the old pig. Old Patsy never
raised his voice, let alone his boot, to the old dog
ever again…………
Oh yes. As it turned out the old
house had not been lived in for more than forty years and in fact it had
belonged to an old uncle of Patsy who had been a sea captain and had come back
to the village to live out his retirement.
As for the Great Depression of the
Thirties – as old Patsy used to say for many years after the ‘find’ – “And what great depression would that be
now. Sure we never had one of them in our village at all, at
all”………………
--------------Mike----------------
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