not been paying such rapt attention to the teaching consultant he would have seen Johnny Columbo Connors making for him with frightening intent.
His father’s right-hand man in the constituency had stood with Con Abernethy at every rain-sodden commemoration. He had canvassed at doors without number and remained resolutely cheerful even when they slammed in his face. He attended funerals of people he had never heard of and made sure his candidate knew the name of the bereaved spouse and any children’s names so he would appear heartfelt in his sympathy. Columbo wore out three pairs of shoes at every general election campaign making sure that Con would be returned to his Dáil seat. His job was to serve the party and the party deemed Con Abernethy to be the right man to represent them. Columbo did not appear to possess any latent ambition ever to be the candidate himself or, if he did, its concealment was impeccable.
Con Abernethy was never seen anywhere without his faithful servant close by ready to shake a hand, pass on a request or stand a drink to grease a palm.
Columbo’s constant presence meant that Dan had been slagged endlessly by lads in his class in Leachlara Community School. In the run-up to any election the ribbing became ever more vigorous.
‘So tell us, Dan, how does your mam feel when she wakes up to find your dad and Columbo in the bed with her talking quotas and strategy?’
‘Does Columbo eat the dinner with you all or does he have a dog bowl at the foot of the table?’
‘Will it be your mother or Columbo that gets the first passionate snog the night of the election count?’
On and on it went and Dan coped by laughing the loudest of all. He could have swung a languid punch and knocked any of the smart alecs on the side of their cocky jaw. As the tallest of all his classmates, one punch might have been enough to silence a multitude. He decided early on that the relaxed approach was the best one. Leachlara had plenty to say about the Abernethys without hot-headedness from Dan giving them further ammunition.
As an only child Dan relished the company of the lads in school. He found the quietness and order at home stifling. His father even ran his TD clinics from Shanahan’s pub on Main Street because his wife would not allow the great unwashed of Leachlara to step on her carpets or put their car keys on her French-polished furniture. In truth the dog-bowl-for-Columbo jibe was nottoo far off the mark. There was a green mug that he always got his tea in when he called to see Con. Columbo took it as an honour that he was so much part of the family he had his own mug. In truth Mary Abernethy did not want Columbo’s dentures, and the filth she imagined they carried, defiling the china. She mostly discouraged Con from bringing him further than the back door and certainly no further than the kitchen table, where the tiles could cope better than her carpets with anything that might fall from his shoes. Columbo felt he had a seat at the heart of Con’s home and that was an honour in itself. As for the trench coat that had earned him his nickname, well, she tried not to think where that had been and how long it had travelled without so much as a whistle of dry cleaning. She had made Con give Columbo a generous voucher for Harty’s Gentleman’s Outfitters in Tipperary when he topped the poll at the last election, in the hope that he would get a new overcoat. A pair of brand-new wellington boots for the ploughing championships seemed to be the only purchase so far and possibly some fabulously loud neckties which were whipped out with overwhelming pride for party functions, especially the odd nights in the Dáil bar when Con brought the faithful to the city to reward their hard and relentless work on his behalf.
‘Tell him to buy himself a decent coat, Con. He is no addition to you dressed like that.’
Dan watched his mother vigorously clean the chair that Columbo had just vacated with a small lake of
His father’s right-hand man in the constituency had stood with Con Abernethy at every rain-sodden commemoration. He had canvassed at doors without number and remained resolutely cheerful even when they slammed in his face. He attended funerals of people he had never heard of and made sure his candidate knew the name of the bereaved spouse and any children’s names so he would appear heartfelt in his sympathy. Columbo wore out three pairs of shoes at every general election campaign making sure that Con would be returned to his Dáil seat. His job was to serve the party and the party deemed Con Abernethy to be the right man to represent them. Columbo did not appear to possess any latent ambition ever to be the candidate himself or, if he did, its concealment was impeccable.
Con Abernethy was never seen anywhere without his faithful servant close by ready to shake a hand, pass on a request or stand a drink to grease a palm.
Columbo’s constant presence meant that Dan had been slagged endlessly by lads in his class in Leachlara Community School. In the run-up to any election the ribbing became ever more vigorous.
‘So tell us, Dan, how does your mam feel when she wakes up to find your dad and Columbo in the bed with her talking quotas and strategy?’
‘Does Columbo eat the dinner with you all or does he have a dog bowl at the foot of the table?’
‘Will it be your mother or Columbo that gets the first passionate snog the night of the election count?’
On and on it went and Dan coped by laughing the loudest of all. He could have swung a languid punch and knocked any of the smart alecs on the side of their cocky jaw. As the tallest of all his classmates, one punch might have been enough to silence a multitude. He decided early on that the relaxed approach was the best one. Leachlara had plenty to say about the Abernethys without hot-headedness from Dan giving them further ammunition.
As an only child Dan relished the company of the lads in school. He found the quietness and order at home stifling. His father even ran his TD clinics from Shanahan’s pub on Main Street because his wife would not allow the great unwashed of Leachlara to step on her carpets or put their car keys on her French-polished furniture. In truth the dog-bowl-for-Columbo jibe was nottoo far off the mark. There was a green mug that he always got his tea in when he called to see Con. Columbo took it as an honour that he was so much part of the family he had his own mug. In truth Mary Abernethy did not want Columbo’s dentures, and the filth she imagined they carried, defiling the china. She mostly discouraged Con from bringing him further than the back door and certainly no further than the kitchen table, where the tiles could cope better than her carpets with anything that might fall from his shoes. Columbo felt he had a seat at the heart of Con’s home and that was an honour in itself. As for the trench coat that had earned him his nickname, well, she tried not to think where that had been and how long it had travelled without so much as a whistle of dry cleaning. She had made Con give Columbo a generous voucher for Harty’s Gentleman’s Outfitters in Tipperary when he topped the poll at the last election, in the hope that he would get a new overcoat. A pair of brand-new wellington boots for the ploughing championships seemed to be the only purchase so far and possibly some fabulously loud neckties which were whipped out with overwhelming pride for party functions, especially the odd nights in the Dáil bar when Con brought the faithful to the city to reward their hard and relentless work on his behalf.
‘Tell him to buy himself a decent coat, Con. He is no addition to you dressed like that.’
Dan watched his mother vigorously clean the chair that Columbo had just vacated with a small lake of
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