The Travelling People..

A Freeborn Man …..

Old Paddy Riley was regularly seen sitting on the steps of the fountain outside the Town Hall on Main Street back home in Ireland whenever the weather was fine.   He was considered old in those days, in his sixties I would say, but still had a long brown beard.   

Few people ever acknowledged him as he was what is known in Ireland as a ‘Tinker Man’.    My old Mum, (God rest her soul) spoke very highly of him and in fact stood firm on the fact that she considered him to be one of the finest gentlemen in the town.   More than one of the neighbours took great exception to such a statement but in truth, she could not have cared less....................

You see, during the war, Old Paddy would occasionally slip her a couple of rabbits that he had snared to feed her now growing family.   Dad was away in England in the Royal Air Force and things were tight.   

A rabbit stew with tons of potatoes, carrots and absolutely beautiful dumplings would feed a family for a few days.    Although he never asked for payment, as soon as Dad’s money would arrive from England, she would send one of us boys over to Paddy with half-a-crown.   Before taking it, he would always turn his head towards our home opposite and wait until Mum would nod her head.

Mom always encouraged us to talk with him and to listen to his ‘wisdom’ about the countryside.   I quickly learned most of the country lore that I now hold very precious from the likes of Old Paddy.   Oh just to hear some of those stories one more time......

Although now living in a small house in town, he was always restless and forever walking the countryside.   You see, he was a ‘travelling man’ and had a small horse drawn caravan in which he and his family used to travel the roads of Ireland doing farm work for the many farmers who knew that they could trust him to do a fair days work.    He picked potatoes, cabbages, carrots, turnips, and beet and helped in the harvesting and thrashing of the corn.    They all liked him, for unlike most of the casual labourers of the time, Old Paddy never took any alcohol.    He never swore or  raised his voice.   As my old Mum said, he was a perfect gentleman.

Once you could get him talking about the ‘old days and the old ways’, Old Paddy would take a long time to get going, but once started, a true smile would come upon his face and his eyes would light up.   The transformation was amazing and us young ones would sit there mesmerised for hours and hours listening to his stories.

As soon as spring arrived and the potato sowing season began, Old Paddy and his family would load up the caravan and hit the road.   Away out the country they would drive with two small Jack Russell Terriers trotting along under the axel of the caravan.   A few people, but always my mother, would stand on the kerbside and wave them goodbye.    I do not know how she knew, but she was always there when they were leaving.    They would be gone until well into late August or September.

He was able to tell stories of his ancestors and although they sounded far-fetched at the time, I have since discovered that there was more than an element of truth in them.    When Cromwell (spit and curse at the mention of his name) came to Ireland in the 1600’s Paddy’s family were landowners of some note.   They and thousands of others like him were forced off their land and exiled to Connaught.  

It was from him that I first heard the expression that Cromwell is supposed to have used “To Hell or to Connaught”.    The land there is of poor quality and within forty or fifty years the land could not provide sufficient food for the growing families.  Many took to the road where they became casual labourers for the ‘new’ landowners.   Others became repair men working on farm equipment and household wares.   That is where the name ‘Tinkers’ came from he told us.  They would repair almost anything but particularly pots and pans with tin.

This went on for a hundred years or so until the countryside was plagued with the Blight and the years of the Great Famine came to take its toll on not only many of the tinkers, but tens of thousands of ordinary people.  Far more tinkers survived as they were less dependent on farmed food.   They knew every wild berry, mushroom, greenery and such which they augmented with wild birds and animals.   They survived until they were pushed from pillar to post by the ‘new’ police regulations.   Many were forced to emigrate whilst others were forced into permanent housing.   The likes of Paddy never got used to it................

So there he sat, on the steps throughout my boyhood with us listening intently to his words of wisdom.   As I got older, the strange thing is that Old Paddy did not seem to do so.   He looked exactly the same as he did when I was a child.

Twenty years later before I left home to come to London, I was passing the Town Hall and sure enough, there was Old Paddy sitting on the steps.    I purposely went up to him and said ‘hello’.     He looked at me and I noticed that old light come into his eyes that I had known as a child.   “So you are off to London then Michael” he spoke softly, “to become a Policeman.   That’s good, your old mom must be very proud of you”.    I stood there and could not speak.    I shall never know to this day how he knew............................

Two years later on a holiday home, when I passed the Town Hall on a fine summer’s day, I intended to have a few words with him.    The steps were empty..............

I crossed the road to a friend who had a grocer’s shop opposite and asked what had happened to Old Paddy.  All my friend said was “Who on earth is Old Paddy?”    As I tried to explain to him, I suddenly realised that he did not have the faintest idea of whom I was talking.   I might as well have been asking him who was Santa Clause.

And you know something?    I think that my friend missed a very large part of Irish life by never having known Old Paddy.    He was one of the truest and purest gentlemen I had the pleasure of knowing in my life.....................

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There is a beautiful version of the song Freeborn Men by Luke Kelly

of the Dubliners on the following link:

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=0wWm9W47gV4&feature=related

Freeborn Men.... 

I’m a freeborn man of the travelling people,

Got no fixed abode, with nomads I am numbered,

Country lanes, and byways, are always my ways,

I’ve never fancied being lumbered.

Oh I knew the lanes, and the resting-places,

Where the song birds sang, when winter days were over,

Then we’d pack our load, and be on the road,

Those were good old days for the rover.

And I knew the places, where a man could linger,

For a week or two, for time was not our master.

Then away we’d jog, with me horse and dog,

Nice and easy, no need to go faster.

But I’ve known life hard, and I’ve known life easy,

And I’ve cursed the times, when winter days were dawning,

Yet I’ve laughed and sung, through the whole night long,

Seen the summer sunrise, in the morning.

So all you freeborn men, of the travelling people,

Every tinker, rolling stone, and gypsy rover,

Wind of change is blowing, old ways are going,

Your rambling days will soon be over.

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