The postman brought a letter,
And gave it to Tim that day,
He couldn’t believe when he opened it,
So he shouted loud for James,
Who ran like lightning from the yard,
Saying, “My God, what ails you Tim?
I know your hearing’s not too good,
But you’re creating an awful din.”
Says Tim, his voice was shaking,
“I bought a ticket in town,
From the Parish Priest, last Saturday,
The frst prize I got right now.
It is a trip to London,
For you and me, my Lad,
’Twill be the first time ever,
We left our home and land.”
Now, James began to shake all over,
Whisha, Tim, go easy Man,
We two are not spring chickens,
We’d ne’er survive, Be Damn.”
“It’s only a week, Young Fellow, says Tim,
Proceeding to rub his jaw,
Unless the priest gives us the money ,instead,
Sure we might bring home a squaw.”
Our neighbour, Jack, will look after things,
And feed the cows and pig,
The district nurse will advise us how,
To dress like two bachelor kings.”
Nurse Carey, kind and helpful,
Gave them her best suitcase,
She bought them two pyjamas,
And drove them to the train.
They marvelled at the fine green fields,
Well stocked with cattle and sheep,
And horses too, and pedigree herds,
Until Tim gave a loud, loud screech.
“Jamey, look at that enormous sow,
In bonham, sure she is,
She’ll shed them any minute now,”
Other passengers began to grin.
One lady about to eat her cake,
Looked disgusted at the pair,
With their ancient clothes and laced up boots,
And long untidy hair.
“Tim, talk more easy, Man,”says James,
You’ve frightened that woman there,”
Tim gave a long sarcastic laugh,
’Twas evident he didn’t care.
“Frighten her,” says he, “Young James,”
With her face like frothy foam,
With sheep dip neath her eye brows,
And her lips like a hen’s red comb.”
The train it stopped in Dublin,
In Heuston, to be quite exact.
The boys then hailed a taxi,
Owned by a good old Dublin Jack.
“We’re heading for the airport,”
Tim shouted loud and clear,
“We’re kind of nervous of traffic jams,
I hope you don’t break the speed.”
The taxi man, a good humoured bloke,
Smiled at the two quaint men,
“You’re flying to London, Gents, I guess,
By Jove, that should be fun.”
“Indeed, we are apprehensive,
We don’t like the thought of flying,
To be honest, my good Taxi man,
We’re in this city for our very first time.
A mighty place is Dublin,
With cars going round and round,
And buses painted lovely,
I miss seeing the odd old cow.
And houses and shops in millions,
People rushing here and there,
It’s amazing they don’t go crazy,
Rooting for money and fares.
“Are ye married, my two fne farmers?”
James laughed and looked at Tim,
To date, we’ve not met a lassie,
To suit either me or him.
The girls at home are old on the tooth,
The young ones are all gone away,
So Tim and I are happy alone,
The right woman may come some day.”
Tim nudged his younger brother,
Both were toothless for many a year,
“You see we are very particular,
’Tis n’t everyone, we’d take to bed.”
When the taxi reached the Airport,
The driver opened the door,
He took their piece of luggage,
And placed it on the road.
They paid their fare and tipped him, well,
“Be God, says James to Tim,
That taxi man was soft in the head,
He was chuckling like a hen,
It’s amazing he has a licence,
He’s not right around the clock,
No, no, he’s not the full shilling,
At the insane, we must not mock.”
The taxi man drove back to town,
And laughed and laughed with glee,
“God help you, London on the Tames,
You’re in for a mighty treat,
When the bachelor boys reach your shores,
Go get your witches broom,
‘Cause Tim and James are both unique,
And certainly are no fools.”
They’d break the heart of any saint,
With their green suits and navy boots,
The two stood by the departure desk,
Staring at the girl in green,
They gave her two wide toothless grins,
Saying “What a nice wee girl, Indeed,”
She blushed, then lowered her lashes,
Pretending she hadn’t heard,
She weighed their bag and wrote a tag,
And their passes, then she read.
A shadow passed o’er Tim’s brown face,
He pinched his brother’s hand,
Twisting his feet from right to left,
Saying”Where’s the nurse’s bag?”
By now, it had moved down yonder,
To be placed in the waiting plane,
By two stalward men from the Airport,
“It’s safe, “ the wee girl explained.
She told them go to Gate marked “B,”
Which they did without remark,
They were stopped by two in uniform,
Well groomed and looking smart.
One felt their pockets and their coats,
And frisked them right around.
“Crikey ,says Tim in one big roar,
“He’s queer and not too sound.”
“Empty your pockets,” the other said,
His tone was bossy and sour,
“You can have all the gob shit you find in there,”
Said Tim, on his face a frown.
They joined a queue going to the plane,
Two hostesses, sure looked grand,
Who smiled and greeted the bachelor boys,
As up the steps, they pranced.
They groped, then sat with a big loud thud,
And gazed at the runway, long,
“Look out, Young Man,” said Tim to James,
“It’s even bigger than our bog.
But what a grand floor it would be,
To dance on for Biddy’s Night,
We’d make the pavement rattle,
Set- dancing with all our might..”
The plane took off amidst the clouds,
The boys ne’er said a word,
Two cups of tea they sampled,
Four cakes with lemon curd.
Then when they reached old Heathrow,
Tim’s face lit up with glee,
“Open your eyes, now, Jamsey,
We’ve landed, Buiochas le Dia.”
They walked right through the Airport,
Where people rushed up and down,
“Do you know,” says Tim to Jamsey,
“Are you sure we’re in London town?”
“It looks to me like Africa,
Or Jamaica, sure I’m right,
The people are all black as coal,
Blacker than the darkest night”
“Ah, Eist
do bheal, young Timmy,
They’ll think you’re looking for fght.,
Of course we’re now in London,
’Tis here half the world abide.”
They got a taxi to the Regent,
A hotel in Picadilly fair,
Glad to sit and watch the crowds,
Thronging that historic square.
“Where to Mate,” said the taxi man,
Tim looked really puzzled, indeed,
“We don’t need “MEAT,” he answered,
“We’ve just had cake and tea.”
For the first few days they gazed out on
The busy streets and roads,
But were afraid to venture out,
Says Tim “to be knocked down and mowed.”
But then they got courageous,
Friday to be exact,
They walked out of the big hotel,
And around them slyly glanced.
Turning left, they strolled at ease,
Gazing here and there,
Until they reached old Soho,
With its red lights, stalls and wares.
A gorgeous girl, beside a door,
Waved at the two fine men,
“Crikey,” says Tim to Jamsey,
“A Spéir bhean, tall and slim.
She must be from our valley,
She seems to know us two,
Maybe she is that young wee lass,
Belonging to Micky Thade McHugh.
Let’s go over, and have a chat,
She’ll be glad to hear the news,
From her native glen away back home”
So over marched the two.
The girl spoke with a cockney twang,
“Do you want business, Gents,” says she,
Tim gave her a mighty toothless grin,
“Business, without cows and sheep,
“Ah, my wee nice girl,” he answered,
“We’re on holidays from the land,
So unless you come to Ballyho,
No bargains will pass our hands.”
The girl’s eyes grew angry
Were they wasting her precious time,
They spoke and muttered rubbish,
Grinning, insulting her pride.
She closed the door and hid inside,
Until they moved away,
“Ah that poor girl’s quite simple,
Says Tim and his face was grave.
“Ah sure the noise of cars and gangs,
Would make the soundest mind insane,
Thank God we’ll be back in Ballyho,
It’s the best place, all the same.”
The two were glad to return home,
But for years they raved and raved,
About their trip to London,
And the grand wee girls o’er there.
Yet not one girl had passed the test,
“We’ll stay single on our own,
Who wants a woman to disturb our rest,
We’re happy in Ballyho.”
COURSING
A pale sun peering through clouds,
Casting broken rays of light on an enclosure,
Where a grey- brown mountain hare
Flees for his life, with frightful leaps,
Left, right, to and fro, backwards and forwards,
Chased by two whimpering greyhounds,
Their shadows growing and stretching,
Tongues protruding, frothing for the kill.
Motionless, I stood helpless, frightened
As that panting little quadruped,
Its furry body, teased, scared and then,
Caught between the pointed teeth of
Two blood thirsty greyhounds,
Who savagely tear skin from
Its furry aching neck.
Its hind legs ruptured from
Sockets of bone and flesh.
Yet the heart continued to beat
In a torn bisected body.
Its brain still functioned
In spite of pain and torture.
The agony of a long drawn out death.
At last beheaded and torn,
The remains of its mangled body,
Torn asunder by two prized hounds,
Applauded by shouts of joy and praise
From punters, who still declare
The hare died a pain less death
‘MONOLOGUES
Index of Monologues;
1) Cinema Long Ago
2) Kerry Long Ago
3) Kenmare’s Ballroom of Romance
4) Travellers in by gone days
5) The Train from Headford to Kenmare
6) The 15th of August Kenmare
CINEMA OF LONG AGO
The pictures were all black and white in the cinema in our town,
We sat on timber planks,in later years,seats soft and round,
‘There was many a breakdown through out the night,
The lads would shout and bang
Some would prance and kick around and often times they sang.
But the soft red seats brought trouble,
an invasion of hopping things,
Not the Germans or the Russians but fleas as big as tins.
We ate “ bulls eyes and peggy’s legs” and ice cream all in cones,
As we watched a thousand Indians beaten by one cowboy lone.
1 never could really fathom that, as we held our breaths in awe
That hundreds of those arrows missed the cowboy large and tall.
Yet all around the Indians fell as fast as flies at night.
One mighty shot from a cowboy’s gun, they all fell down and died.
Ah how we loved dear Chaplain in the silent movies grand
We wondered at his charisma, he drove the women mad.
But passing years brought changes,
improved films in sight and sound
With lights in multi colours and a lady walking round
With tray filled up with chocolates, popcorn, and drinks so neat
The prices too gave one big leap and the fleas all disappeared.
Twas many the happy couple sat in the back seat holding hands
Gazing at Clark Gable , he set all our hearts abang.
Jane Russell, too, and Marilyn, brought many a sigh and gasp,
Ah, how the. young boys loved them, and likewise did their Dads.
But progress may be brilliant, in the cinema goer’s world,
But give me the old dark film house with its
musty smell and curtains.
To some its pictures were so real, they believed behind that veil,
Were horses . strong and cowboys and girls all fine and hail
The film house is gone ,Alas, replaced by a building high
We often laughed and clapped with glee,
and many the time we cried.
Nostalgia is a terrible thing, it brings thoughts of pain and joy
its like being in a time machine ,
and roam back past years and time.
When we were then teenagers. and thought we’d ne’er grow old.
But to the youngsters. of to day ,I say, your day will come a Stor.
When You’ll be not as sprightly and may suffer pains and cold,
But from seed to bud to full grown tree, the world will stroll along
And baby grows to adulthood, by the river of life he trods,
Then falls asleep in the ocean of the fatherly love of God.
KERRY LONG AGO
The fair day in my native town
Was fun for young and old.
The traveling people came in droves,
With lame horses and piebald colts.
Their women folk with babies fat,
Wrapped in their shawls of black.
“Give us a penny for the child
And God will guide your track.”
But woe betide, if you said “No”
You’d hear a different tale.
The devil’s curse would be
showered on you
“May your children end up in jail,
May you die for want of water,
You scrawny mean old man,
In a pauper’s grave may you lie
Without priest or prayer at hand.”
But should you help the traveller.
Such praise you were sure to get
“May the good Lord reward you kindly,
You’ll be lucky Sir, I bet.
May you never want for comfort
Or a friend to soothe your pain
And may you go to Heaven”
Is the traveling woman’s prayer.
We watched them buying and selling,
Ah! ’twas fun on that fair day,
The jobbers all looked big and strong,
Big boots so tightly laced.
And farmers and their gorsoons,
Blackthorn sticks in hand,
Those fine young men in Wellingtons,
With their healthy country tan.
How much for that scrawny skeleton
Says the jobber to the boy.
Pointing to a fine young copper colt,
With shining teeth and eyes.
“A hundred guineas, Sir,” says he
“You’ll ne’er get better than that,”
“You’re joking,” says the Jobber
“It’s no bigger than a Persian cat.”
For half an hour or maybe more,
Insults were flying high,
We pitied the poor animal,
Who was described as nearly dying.
But like a stroke of thunder,
The Jobber spat on palm
And clasped the farmer and his son,
Now relaxed he was more calm.
“I’ll give you eighty, nothing more
And a round in the Roughty Bar,
You’ll give me luck money, then I’m sure,
Our friendship it won’t mar.
I have a fine young girl at home
Who would suit that son of yours,
She has a healthy fortune,
And two dazzling eyes of blue.
“Ah! beauty never boiled the pot,”
The cute old farmer said.
I hope she sews and makes good tay,
And goes early to her bed.
She must be fond of children
And tell a yarn, be it lie or true,
She’d suit my son. Herself and me,
And nurse us when we’ve flu.
KENMARE’S BALLROOM OF ROMANCE
’Twas in the dance ball in Kenmare, the action all began,
Just underneath the Library,and midnight’s hour at hand.
The Ladies gathered earlier, some sat, some stood in rows,
Awaiting for the pubs to close, as they powdered cheeks and nose.
And then the noisy entrance of males both old and. young,
Some unsteady on their feet all set for a good night’s fun. .
Poems for All Occasions Page 5