This article is from page 58 of the 2009-08-04 edition of The Clare People. OCR mistakes are to be expected so download the original SWF or the rendered page 58 JPG
I SUPPOSE a common sight in many villages and small towns is a few of the senior citizens who have “borne the heat of the day” for many years, rambling the quiet lanes around the outskirts, somewhat like the char- acters in the British TV show “Last of the Summer Wine’. Well, our vil- lage, way back in the last Century had such a group who were promi- nent whenever the weather suited such leisurely activity.
The group varied in number from four to five and by their disparate make up spawned many a humorous anecdote. The Master — long retired but in good health as he approached 80 probably had the best attendance record. A quiet erudite man he was also the least confrontational mem- ber: while giving his opinion he never openly contradicted any of his peers.
Matt was an ageing, sable-clothed parish clerk who took his church du- ties very seriously and indeed had a serious view of life in general. His conversatism often caused heated debates and proof positive had to be 100% positive.
Foxy Pa, the village 60 something artful dodger, was the third mem- ber and was an erratic attender — his presence was dependant on fiscal conditions. If he was in funds, he was elsewhere: usually where there was a counter and some sawdust.
Mike, who lived alone at the edge of the village had been in England
and had served in the army — a fact which he did not advertise, but which was broadly accepted as being driven more by hunger than political con- viction.
John, who worked in London in one of the most upmarket homes for the mentally disturbed upper class, had retired to a nice tidy cottage by the river’s edge and promised to “hus- band out life’s taper at the close” in the Sugan city which he had left as a boy.
This July evening the five had walked nice and easy up to the Can- on’s gate and were now resting by the little bridge near the creamery. Foxy had gone over to Mary Ellen’s for five woodbines and when he rejoined the group they were in deep discus- sion about a very rich and unmarried neighbour who had recently died. They debated who would greatly benefit from his death and wondered which of his many neighbours would be left the farm in the will. Foxy dis- lodged one Woodbine, assumed an air of great gravity and pronounced “T hear he made no will at all, at all, he died intestine.’ John, who was quite articulate and accurate in speech winced visibly “Oh Jesus, Pa, | eaemucbuseme
As they sat on the window-sill of one of the village pubs soaking up the comforting rays of a declining sun, they waited for Matt’s return after he rang the Angelus bell. The bell-ringing had directed their think- ing towards a religious subject. They debated aspects of the Old Testament
and wondered as to how many off- spring Adam and Eve had produced. The master opined that the Bible didn’t provide much information on the subject. Matt was adamant — Cain and Abel and the old fellow Methusalah were the only siblings mentioned — the Good Book had spo- ken and that was that. It didn’t seem to solve the burning question at all, but until the Bible indicated other- wise Matt was adamant; John soberly disagreed and submitted that without a female input the human race would never have got off the ground. Foxy Pa was the unlikely one that broke the deadlock “You know ‘tis like a dream to me that there was a few lit- tle girls in it that went to America an they young.” A local habit.
A week of fierce South Westerly gales and terrible downpours had scourged the Peninsula and had con- fined the strollers indoors. Saturday had relented and the Master had read in The Irish Press that the gales had done much damage: as they ventured down the village the weather was the only topic. Matt had heard in an an- cient Philco that much damage had been done along the coast and many strange events had occurred due to high tides. A whale had been washed up somewhere. Matt didn’t rightly know where, but Foxy Pa had it all solved. “Iwas ayther Tullamore or Atklone an’ I’m thinking twas Ark- ey none
The master’s forbearance overcame his Geographic knowledge and he declined to comment.