Duke attempts the Impossible

[duke3016]

I used to take walks in the fields at the back of the shop most evenings, before I found the delights of the two G's Guinness & Girls. I wouldn't walk further than the house to the car now.

Whilst on one of these aimless walks I was treated to a lesson in Mother Nature's survival of the fittest.

As I walked alongside the ditch with the sun beginning to lose its power on a beautiful summer's evening, a rabbit broke out from the ditch near my feet. It was a young rabbit and its gait was broken, not the usual skip of a carefree rabbit. I was no threat to it, so it wasn't me making this creature run, terrified to the point of death.

It broke past me across the wide open field and I heard it, quite literally, cry in a heart tugging way I had never heard before, as it ran across the field, aimlessly, not in any given direction towards any kind of freedom.

Then I saw the object of its terror, it was what I had always called a weasel, but was probably a stoat. It came from further away, out of the same ditch. It seemed to be in no hurry at all, as this deadly little predator closed in on its quarry. Now I knew that the small rabbit was already dead when it passed me by.

Rooted to the spot I saw that streak of ferocity close in on the rabbit in the middle of the field, even the birds seemed to have stopped singing. He went for the throat with his razor sharp teeth. I would almost swear that the young rabbit died of heart failure, of pure fear, even before the actual physical killing took place before my eyes.

Nature at work in its most violent but strangely beautiful form. I must get off my fat arse and do some walks.

[duke3016]

I walked into our kitchen at home one fine morning, and my mother was seated at the table having one of her one hundred cups of tea.

“You haven't forgotten that you promised to accompany the Old Folks on their pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick today?” she inquired sweetly knowing that I probably had.

FML I had agreed in a moment of madness to accompany 10 of the senior citizens in a mini bus on this pilgrimage. They obviously thought I was serious. No backing out now.

“Of course not, I am looking forward to it” I lied

Now Mt Croagh Patrick is a mountain near the town of Westport in County Mayo. St Patrick is said to have climbed it in 441 AD. Each year, a few of the senior citizens make the trek to the top to pray at the stations of the cross, participate in Mass, do penance (in which case the rocky journey is undertaken barefoot or for the really bad sinners on their knees). There are three pilgrimage stations on the way to the summit of Croagh Patrick, each of which has a sign with instructions for the proper rituals and prayers.

When the time arrived and the Senior Citizens arrived I was not surprised to find that they were all women. My mother made the obligatory pot of tea and we waited for the mini bus. We all piled in and of course, as befits a holy pilgrimage, the prayers started. We prayed all the way to Westport, took a good few hours.

The piled out of the bus and started to take their shoes off. FFS we just covered 3-4 hours of the rosary, we can't be that much in need of penance. My job was to of course accompany them and help them along the way in any way possible. So off came the shoes.

We started at the base of the mountain, the first station, by walking around a mound of stones 7 times whilst saying 7 Our Fathers, 7 Hail Marys and 1 creed. I will go straight to heaven after that can I put my shoes back on please no chance.

Now the mountain is approximately 2500 feet high and to get to the summit is a fecking long walk over stony paths that threaten to rip your feet apart if you were stupid enough to do it with your shoes off. I looked at the motley crew of women who looked as if a walk to the shops would do them in. FML I am in for a busy afternoon.

Who was I kidding the religious fervour in their brains was a drug that spurned them on and when we reached the summit, which took 3 hours, they were like excited school children and I was knackered, wheezing and coughing like an old man.

The second station is near the chapel and the prayer odds are ramped up. Kneel and say: 7 Our Fathers, 7 Hail Marys, 1 Creed, Pray near the chapel for the Pope"s intentions, Walk 15 times around the chapel while saying: 15 Our Fathers, 15 Hail Marys, Walk 7 times around Patrick"s Bed saying: 7 Our Fathers, 7 Hail Marys, 1 Creed. I was on the fast path to salvation..

I was a physical wreck at this point, but we still had the third station to do. This consisted of Walking 7 times around each mound of stones saying: 7 Our Fathers, 7 Hail Marys, 1 Creed and Walking 7 times around the whole enclosure praying. I was now being considered for canonisation.

I had to be assisted down by the fresh as a daisy Senior Citizens of Bodyke and I slept all the way home as the women prayed again for the whole trip. I surprised myself as I really enjoyed the trip and foolishly signed up for the next trip.

Priceless

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

You have probably heard references in this ranting drivel about a certain Margaret Ryan. Now Margaret was a legend in her own lifetime. She was always a fixture around our house. She started in the employ of my Great Aunt Molly a goodly number of years in the distant past. When my mother inherited from Molly, Margaret was in the package.

She ran the post office and did general chores for my great aunt and when we took over the post office and built the shop, she just naturally came with the territory.

She had a caustic tongue and could strip the paint from a door at 50 paces and despite her diminutive size, you didn't mess with Margaret. She scorned all the trappings of the electronic age and did all the post office processes manually, much to the dismay and frustration of the powers that be. She handled all the pensions, dole and farmers AI phone calls (and the “I” did not stand for intelligence).

Her age was a mystery until in the last years of her life she broke her hip and had to tell me on the way to the hospital. She managed the Post Office well past official retirement despite numerous attempts to force her into retirement. This was not helped by the fact that Margaret did not have a birth certificate and was never out of Ireland in her life, so had no need of a Passport etc.

One particular Wednesday, which was half day in the Post Office, an officious looking man arrived into the shop.

“Good afternoon, my name is Mr O'Sneaky-jobsworth-smarmy-fecker” says he
“And” says the ould lad, in fine form
“I wish to discuss the Post Mistress with you” says greasy man
“And, who the feck are you” says the ould lad
“I am a representative of the post master general” replied tiny man drawing himself to his full height of 5 foot. And flashing his ID

Now the ould lad was a little gruff at the best of times but his treatment of officialdom was legendary.

“Fire away” says the ould lad
“When was Miss Margaret Ryan born” says official jobsworth
“No Idea” says the ould lad
“Roughly” says soppy ******
“Sorry, I have roughly no idea” says the ould lad
“We believe her to be past retirement age” says smarmy git
“Get away” says the ould lad.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, he got nowhere and my mother was no direct help either and he went away no wiser. This little charade was to be a regular occurrence every year as the wheels of government tried to turf Margaret out of a job.

When the ould lad sold the shop Margaret didn't like the new owners much so she retired of her own accord and working back from the hip incident I calculated that she was 85 years young when she retired (about Tikay's age).

Great woman.

[duke3016]

After the debacle with the donkey kicking in the Shiite house door the ould lad decided that we had to have a fully functioning proper flush toilet on the premises. It was decided that he would have one built just outside the back door as there was no room in the house to install one.

He decided to get a handyman to build it and do the plumbing etc and he also decided that because he wasn't prepared to pay a man with a JCB I would dig the septic tank. That was ball breaking work I can tell you.

Anyway the hole was dug and the sides bricked and the top created and the trench dug back to the site of the new toilet. Paddy Welch was selected to build and plumb the toilet.

The previous week we had cleared out the house and placed some furniture and stuff in the out house and my Mother had received a flyer in the door from some people looking to buy old furniture and metalwork etc. There was one particularly large table that we took out of the parlour that we thought might fetch a few bob. So the mother rang them and they said they would be round in the next couple of days to take a look.

Paddy was getting on great and had built and plumbed the toilet and was in the process of building the door from some slats that were in the shed. Bliss a flush toilet at last.

The buyers arrived and we haggled over a few items and my Mother was quite happy with the price received and we then came to the table. Well the man's eyes lit up, it would seem that this was a particularly sought after piece of furniture. They examined it and said.

“Have you got the extension leaves for this Missus?”
“Ah don't know about that” says my Mother
“Pity, as it is, it is worth £200, with the leaves it would have been worth £500” says the man

Anyway my mother was made up with the £200 so they paid up, loaded up and left. The ould lad could not recall the extension leaves either but he was quite calm about the whole thing.

The ould lad then paid off Paddy for the toilet work and declared.

“Right off to christen the toilet”

He went out the back door and into the toilet and of course we walked to the back door to make sure that the device functioned properly. If the truth was told I was hoping it would back up while he was still on it.

He had closed the door and possibly just had time to drop the pants and sit down, when he launched into a tirade of the foulest, most abusive language even by his standards.

We waited until he and all the local animals had calmed down, which was quite a while. He came out of the toilet speechless with anger and pointed at the door.

We had found the extension leaves for the table. Paddy had cut them up and used them as the cross members.

Now whenever the ould lad went to the toilet he would say.

“I'm off to have a fecking £300 shiite”

Priceless

[duke3016]

Now Margaret Ryan was a simple soul, who practically never left the village her whole life. When asked she would shrug and say “why?”. There was no answer to that.

She was slight of build, but boy, could she eat. Her meals were of the simple kind meat, veg and loads of potatoes. When she sat down to eat the sparks would fly off the cutlery and steam would rise from the plate as fork to mouth was at the speed of light.

If you mentioned curries or pasta she would look you in the eye.

“Don't eat that foreign rubbish” she would spit

We were visiting my mother one summer and Gabrielle announced that she would cook a family meal and we of course invited Margaret to join us. Gabrielle was in the kitchen preparing and we were all in the parlour having a chat and the conversation turned to Margaret's dislike of any sort of sauce or condiment other that the base salt & pepper.

“So, you don't like garlic” says Marie
“Hate it” says Margaret

Bugger, I excused myself and went to the Kitchen.

“Gabrielle, what's for dinner” says I
“Chicken breast parcels baked in the oven” says she
“In what” says I
“Homemade garlic butter, why?” says she
“No reason” says I

This should be good then. The dinner was served and the chicken was dripping in garlic you could smell it a mile away. Margaret lifted the knife and fork and proceeded to devour the dinner in her usual fashion.

We waited for the inevitable grimace and were surprised when it was not forthcoming.

“Lovely dinner maam” says she
“Thank you” says Gabrielle
“So Margaret, would you ever even try a bit of garlic” says I

Well Margaret's forehead was beginning to get the sheen of the garlic as she replied.

“Never, it ruins the food” says she
“Have you ever tried it” says I
“No, and I have no intention of it” says she

Before Marie or Ger could open their mouth's I gave them a swift kick and a shake of the head, because they were laughing fit to bust and were about to spill the beans.

“Aye it's overrated” says I

“You fecking eejit Margaret, you've just eaten loads of it” says My Mother
“That wasn't Garlic, that was chicken” Margaret smugly replied

Gotta love her -- Priceless   

[duke3016]

When Margaret broke her hip the children found her on the floor in her part of the house, of course at the time we didn't know it was broke. I rang for the doctor and he was not at home but his wife said to bring Margaret up to Feakle as he would be home soon.

God love her she must have been in pain and she didn't complain. I drove up to Feakle and left Margaret in the car while I went in for the Doctor. It was Dr McGuire and he was waiting for me.

“She's in the car Manus” says I
“Let's take a look then” says he

We went out to the car and he did a bit of prodding and summoned me back inside.

“She has broken her hip” says he
“Oh” says I
“Take her straight to the hospital” says he “Limerick would be better”
“Sound” says I
“That'll be £20” says he

No NHS in Ireland but I think Margaret had a medical card but that wasn't the point. I had driven a woman 6 miles with a broken hip on his wife's advice and I was now having to drive her 26 miles to Limerick general. However being the nice polite respecter of the Medical profession I said.

“You can go and feck yourself you money grabbing bar steward” and I left

The fecking cheek

More on Margaret in the hospital and various nursing homes later

Limerick hospital
Raheen and my cousin
Killaloe and the lack of care

[duke3016]

When I arrived at Limerick Hospital with Margaret, I pulled up in from of the main entrance and got out with the intention of getting some assistance.

“You can't park here” says a peaked hat jobsworth

I brushed past him replying something about his parentage and went inside.

“I'll have it towed” he roared after me

I went to the front desk and explained the situation and was told to bring her in.

“She's broken her hip” says I
“Bring her in to the triage nurse” says face ache
“She's broken her hip” was my dogged reply
“We'll take a look when you bring her in” says face ache
“What part of broken hip do you not understand” says I a little loudly

Anyway it was like getting a dog off a fecking bone as she was not giving in. So I grabbed one of those large wheely chair things and went back to the car.

“I'll have it towed” says Jobsworth
“Well, before you do give me a hand to take this woman with a broken hip out of the car”

He assisted me in gingerly moving Margaret from the car to the chair and I started to wheel her in.

“I'll still have it towed” he muttered

When we got inside and it was confirmed that she did indeed have a broken hip, they transferred her to a trolley in the corridor. I quickly said that I must move the car and ran outside.

“I'll have it towed”

Sigh, I got into the car and moved it to the main car park and walked back to the entrance.

“I would have had it towed” says misery guts

OMG, I resisted a retort and went inside. Margaret was still in the corridor. I knew they were busy so I didn't think too much into it. God bless her she was just lying there not complaining. After at least 4 hours of waiting, when lesser injuries seemed to take precedence because the patient was complaining long and hard, and asking politely about when she would be seen wasn't working , I decided direct action would have to be employed.

“Hang in there Margaret I will get a Doctor” says I
“Don't bother them” says shebless

I marched up to the nursing station and got extremely loud and extremely angry and would not budge until a Doctor was summoned. I was not for moving and they eventually caved in and a Doctor arrived.

They wheeled her off to x-ray and after the x-ray she was immediately placed on a ward. Now I know they are always busy but their priority seemed to be with those who shouted the longest and loudest. I just played the game.

They were not going to allow me onto the ward, but saw the error of their ways and condescended to let me stay for 30 minutes.

That was the start of a long and difficult journey for Margaret .. more later

[duke3016]

When Margaret was moved from Limerick to Raheen hospital you kinda knew that it was the beginning of the end. They never said as much, but Raheen is a hospice really and people sent there at her age didn't usually make it out.

Myself and the wee man went to see her when she was there and she was chipper enough and we were having a grand chat. Her ward was full of “senior” patients and do you know what it's great to talk to them. Despite their ailments they are great people to talk to, their outlook and stoicism is a lesson to us all.

In the bed next to Margaret there was a woman curled under the blankets fast asleep for the whole time we were there. Until dinner time that was. The dinner came round and we were going to leave but Margaret wanted us to stay. She tucked into the meager fayre, at least her appetite hadn't suffered.

Anyway the lady in the next bed came to life, she sat up, her hair all awry and proceeded to demolish the contents of the plate very, very, loudly. God could she eat. She looked like she had come down the mountain for the first time. It looked to all the world like she was from a different planet. All the time she was eating her wild eyes would scour the room defying anyone to come near her. She ate as if someone would come along and steal it from her if she let down her guard.

She finished, washed it down with a slug of water, belched loudly, dropped the greatest fart I have ever heard, rolled over and was asleep immediately.

“Who the hell is that?” I whispered to Margaret 
“It's your cousin” she grinned (She was my Father's first cousin as it turned out)

FML -- priceless

[duke3016]

In the early 70's I used to have a tent and sleeping bag permanently in the boot for use at weekends and suchlike to go to festivals or just on the piss.

I passed on burners and suchlike as I would eat out. In all honesty eating on the weekends away was going to be a haphazard thing anyway. One particular weekend myself and Richie Maloney headed for Achill Island. We arrived latish on Friday night and secured a patch of grass belonging to the owner of one of the pubs we went into.

As is normal on the West coast of Ireland it rained on Friday night but we were in good spirits, two pints and a game of pool for £1 might have had something to do with that.

Anyway on Saturday it lashed it down all day. We didn't really care as we were in the pub for the whole day and had great craic. We retired at some hour of the morning intent of sleeping it off and heading for home on the Sunday.

That night was a belter, the rain was incessant and the wind began to pick up as we settled down in our sleeping bags. Now numerous pints of the foaming brew are a great remedy for insomnia as we were out like a light in seconds.

I woke up at some hour of the morning and I felt a wet sensation on my exposed head. I opened my eyes cautiously and all I could see was a translucent bit of canvas inches from my face. I went to sit up and found that the frigging tent had collapsed and was lying flat upon us.

I tried to get out of the sleeping bag but the tent was like a straight jacket and the more I struggled the more entangled I got. I tried to kick Richie awake but it isn't easy to do that in a sleeping bag.

I twisted around and located the zip on the opening and managed to open it enough to crawl out like a fecking caterpillar. It was still lashing it down and as I was already drenched it didn't matter too much. I went to the car and dressed with difficulty into dry clothes before I decided to wake Richie.

As I put on my coat and was trudging back to the car I noticed him struggling in the tent. It was a howl, I left him for a while before deciding to go to his assistance. He extricated himself from the sopping canvas and trudged to the car to get into some dry clothes.

He walked back to me and we looked at each other, then looked at the tent, then back to each other and if as by some tacit agreement we walked to the car and began the journey home leaving the tent and any enthusiasm for camping back in that field.

Never been camping since

Priceless.

[duke3016]

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