We were in Mike's one Friday evening holding the usual discussion about where to end the night. I really don't know why we bothered, because we always ended up in Vaughan's in Broadford. Anyway Pat Touhy came in late on and said that the forestry was on fire.
Now there was a large wood on what we call the mountain and it was owned by the Forestry Commission and provided good employment to a variety of Bodyke residents. Its demise would be a blow to quite a few people.
So we volunteered to a man to go up there and lend a hand. About 10 of us, in varying degrees of sobriety, piled into a couple of cars and headed up the mountain. When we arrived at the edge of the fire it had taken quite a hold and the fire brigade, well one tender from Scarriff anyway, was in attendance. Because of the lack of a water source for sustained dowsing, we were detailed to beat the living Shiite out of the edge of the fire in order to contain it.
This involved letting the original fire burn itself out. Simple you might think, however it was really hard work as the fire was pretty close and fecking hot. Because the underlying soil was peat based as soon as you beat out the flames they would spring up a couple of minutes later.
"FFS will the fecking fire ever go out" says Denis
"Seems perpetual" says I
"Perpet what" says Denis
"Never mind, keep beating" says I
"No, what did you say" says he
"Don't worry" says I
"You saying I'm thick" says he
"No just neurally challenged" says I
"That's alright then" says he, going back to his beating
27 hours we spent on that fecking mountain catching sleep now and again and beating the living Shiite out of the same patch of land over and over again. We were told that we had done a fine job and we could now go home. The forestry man was there and took our names saying that we would get the normal hourly rate for our efforts.
We headed down and as it was now midnight on Saturday we decided to have a couple of pints before retiring. There we were lined up against the bar smelling of smoke and sweat, but do you know what we were proud of ourselves and toasted one another. Well the couple of pints led to another couple and we all left at about 2am.
As we walked out of the bar door we looked up to the mountain whose fire we had beat. Feck me if the mountain didn't look back and say "You don't beat me that easy you scrawny, insignificant feckers" and a reddish glow could be seen.
FFS we all piled into Philip Hogan's car, because he didn't drink, and headed back up the mountain, where we stayed beating for another 12 hours. At the end of the stint we couldn't slap another patch of fire, we were knackered, but this time we had it beat.
I got a cheque in the post and for the life of me I can't remember the amount, but it wasn't a lot. However that weekend showed the good side of the community and as such was very fulfilling (apart from Denis trying to plant his brother when he hit him with a beater)
Good spirit, great people, priceless.