A Cure to Clear your Head....

A Little Snuff is Enough........

I do not know what made me think of my Granny Gorman’s one and only ‘addiction’.     She drank very little alcohol except a very occasional bottle of Guinness ‘for medicinal purposes’.

 She did however quite often smoke a small ‘scut’ of a clay pipe.    Never, ever in front of Granddad but whenever she was on her own and thought that no one was looking she would get it out, light up and have a few quick puffs.

 She obviously enjoyed it but in those days the tongues would have been wagging in the village if any of her neighbours had seen her smoking.

She was not quite so devious about taking a few pinches of snuff every now and again.    She loved it as much as many addicts love their favourite narcotic.    Her enjoyment definitely bordered on a similar addiction.

Many are the times when she came ‘up town’ to visit us when the first thing she would do was to send me down to the tobacconist for ‘half a gram’ of the powder.

For those not familiar, Snuff is a form of tobacco, very finely ground with added flavours and tastes.   She preferred the strongest blend.

I have not seen anyone using snuff now for well over forty years but it was a very common habit.    Heavy users were recognised by the brown stains down the front of their clothing, the colour of their handkerchief and if a male or female had some hair over the upper lip, it too would be stained brown.

I have used it myself and did in fact have quite a habit at one time.   However, just like alcohol, it too is a thing of the past......................

I wrote the following little poem about it which is based on an old story I heard somewhere or other but most likely from either Granddad or one of my country uncles......................

The Snuff.

Paddy was a decent man, a man who rarely swore,

Peter was his oldest friend, since they were twenty-four.

But now that they were ancient, though still quite hard and tough,

They lived just for their evening pint - and a hefty pinch of snuff.

The snuffbox sat upon the bar, with compliments and free,

And while the lads sipped at their pints ‘twas plain for all to see,

That both had quite a habit, like addicts and their fix,

Each night they met and could be seen, in the bar just after six.

Until the dark day came about, when Paddy on his own,

Found the snuffbox empty, on his forehead, a deep frown.

But Paddy was a gentleman, not a rude word did he say,

So he called upon a young boy, outside the door at play.

‘ Run down to Coynes tobacconist, buy half a gram of snuff,

Here’s half-a-crown in money, I think it’s quite enough,

And if you’re back in minutes, the change it’s yours to spend’

The boy was gone in seconds, at last he’d found a friend.

Misfortune fell upon the boy, for as he passed the cross,

He came upon a group of men playing pitch and toss.

And as he watched he felt the urge, temptation was too strong,

He tried to fight the evil off, he knew that it was wrong.

Three tosses later, he was broke, the half-crown, it was lost,

He weighed up all the options, and knew what it would cost,

A solution it was called for, somehow to make things right,

When suddenly he became aware of a large dry white dogshite.

Without thinking twice, he ground it up, in a twist of old white paper,

Ran quickly back to Paddy’s pub and handed him the taper.

He never stopped to see the result of the nasty thing he’d done,

Within seconds he was far away now thinking it was fun.

Paddy quietly placed the stuff, into the old snuffbox,

Then smartly tapped upon the lid, gave it three gentle knocks,

Between his thumb and index finger, with stuff he struck a pose,

And without delay, a wait all day, he sniffed it up his nose.

Minutes later Paddy asked of others in the pub,

‘ Can you smell shite’ he called out loud, he gave his nose a rub,

All checked their shoes and boots to see, in what they might have trod,

Then with united chorus, called ‘No, no, not me, begob’.

Now in strolls Peter, his best friend as I have just said,

‘Sorry Paddy that I’m late’ his hand up to his head.

‘I have a heavy cold’ says he ‘my nose is all blocked up’

‘Sit down’ said Pad, hands him a pint ‘just take a gentle sup’.

‘ Can you smell shite in here tonight’ asks Paddy of his mate,

‘I can’t smell nothing’ Peter says ‘’Till now at any rate’.

‘I’ve had this cold for three days now, it’s going to my chest,

Tonight I’m leaving early Pad, I need a decent rest’.

‘Try a pinch of snuff’ says Pad and passes him the tin,

Again three taps upon the lid, then quietly watches him,

Peter takes a hefty pinch and sniffs it deep, deep down.

Then sits and looks around the pub, upon his face a frown.

‘ You know what’ Peter asks of Pad, his sniffle its now gone,

‘Tis the finest snuff this pub has seen, I doubt if I am wrong’.

‘And how do you make that out Pete’ asks Pad, he knows he’s right,

Then Peter answered soft and slow, ‘I now smell that dogshite’.

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