Read Online The Street and other stories by Gerry Adams - Free Book Online
Authors: Gerry Adams
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if he doesn’t go soon he’ll be here till the New Year.”
“No problem,” Geordie grinned. I could see he was enjoying the old man who was now lilting merrily away to himself.
“De euw did eh euw, did eh euw did del de.”
“Paddy, these two men’ll give you a wee lift home.”
Paddy was delighted.
“Surely to God, boys, but youse is great men so youse are. Here, we’ll have another wee one before we go. A
wee deoch don dorais
. * All right, John?”
“Indeed and it isn’t,” John told him. “Kate’ll be worrying about you and these two lads can’t wait. Isn’t that right, boys?”
“Well, let it never be said that I kept men from their work,” Paddy compromised.
“A happy New Year to you, John.” The three of us saluted ourhost and retreated into the crisp afternoon air.
“It’ll snow the night,” our newfound friend and passenger announced, sniffing the air. I was carrying his box.
He did a jig, to Geordie’s great amusement, when he saw that we were travelling in a drinks van.
“It’ll be the talk of the place!” he laughed as we settled him into the passenger seat while I wedged myself against the door. Geordie gave him a bottle of stout as we pulled away.
“Do you want a glass?” I asked. “There’s some here.”
“A glass? Sure youse are well organised. Youse must be from Belfast! No, son, I don’t need a glass, thanks all the same. This is grand by the neck. By the way, my name’s Paddy O’Brien.”
We introduced ourselves.
“You’ll never get a job in the shipyard with a name like that,” Geordie slagged him.
“And I wouldn’t want it. ’Tis an Orange hole, begging your pardon, lads, and no offence, but them that’s there neither works nor wants.”
To my relief Geordie guffawed loudly, winking at me as he did. For the rest of the journey Paddy regaled us with stories of his mishaps in black holes and other places.
“I wouldn’t like to live in Belfast. I’ll tell youse that for sure. I worked there often enough, in both quarters, mind you, and I always found the people as decent as people anywhere else. I was at the building and I went often enough to Casement Park, surely to God I did, for the football and some grand games I saw, but I wouldn’t live there. Thon’s a tough town!”
“It’s not so bad,” I said loyally, while all the time looking beyond Paddy and past Geordie to where Narrow Water flashed past us and the hills of County Louth dipped their toes in Carlingford Bay.
“No, give me the Mournes,” Paddy persisted. “Were youse ever in the Mournes?” He emphasised “in”.
“Nawh,” we told him. Geordie began to enthuse about our week journeying around the county.
“Sure youse have a great time of it,” Paddy agreed. “I’ll come with youse the next time. Work? Youse wouldn’t know what work was. But boys, I’m telling youse this. Don’t be leaving this day without going into the Mournes. There’s a road youse could take, wouldn’t be out of your way, so it wouldn’t. After youse drop me off, go on towards Annalong on this road, and a wee bit outside the village on the Newcastle side there’s a side road at Glassdrummond that’ll take you up to Silent Valley. It’s a straight road from here right through to Glassdrummond, boys. Youse can’t miss it.”
“That sounds good to me,” Geordie agreed.
“Well, that’s the best I can do for youse, boys. Come back some day and I’ll take youse on better roads right into the heart of the mountains, but it’ll be dark soon and snowing as well and my Kate’ll kill me, so the Silent Valley’ll have t’ do youse. You’ll be able to see where youse Belfast ones gets your good County Down water from to water your whiskey with and to wash your necks.”
“Is Slieve Donard the highest of the Mournes?” I asked, trying to find my faithful guide book below Paddy’s seat.
“Donard? The highest? It’ll only take you a couple of hours to climb up there; but, boys, you
“No problem,” Geordie grinned. I could see he was enjoying the old man who was now lilting merrily away to himself.
“De euw did eh euw, did eh euw did del de.”
“Paddy, these two men’ll give you a wee lift home.”
Paddy was delighted.
“Surely to God, boys, but youse is great men so youse are. Here, we’ll have another wee one before we go. A
wee deoch don dorais
. * All right, John?”
“Indeed and it isn’t,” John told him. “Kate’ll be worrying about you and these two lads can’t wait. Isn’t that right, boys?”
“Well, let it never be said that I kept men from their work,” Paddy compromised.
“A happy New Year to you, John.” The three of us saluted ourhost and retreated into the crisp afternoon air.
“It’ll snow the night,” our newfound friend and passenger announced, sniffing the air. I was carrying his box.
He did a jig, to Geordie’s great amusement, when he saw that we were travelling in a drinks van.
“It’ll be the talk of the place!” he laughed as we settled him into the passenger seat while I wedged myself against the door. Geordie gave him a bottle of stout as we pulled away.
“Do you want a glass?” I asked. “There’s some here.”
“A glass? Sure youse are well organised. Youse must be from Belfast! No, son, I don’t need a glass, thanks all the same. This is grand by the neck. By the way, my name’s Paddy O’Brien.”
We introduced ourselves.
“You’ll never get a job in the shipyard with a name like that,” Geordie slagged him.
“And I wouldn’t want it. ’Tis an Orange hole, begging your pardon, lads, and no offence, but them that’s there neither works nor wants.”
To my relief Geordie guffawed loudly, winking at me as he did. For the rest of the journey Paddy regaled us with stories of his mishaps in black holes and other places.
“I wouldn’t like to live in Belfast. I’ll tell youse that for sure. I worked there often enough, in both quarters, mind you, and I always found the people as decent as people anywhere else. I was at the building and I went often enough to Casement Park, surely to God I did, for the football and some grand games I saw, but I wouldn’t live there. Thon’s a tough town!”
“It’s not so bad,” I said loyally, while all the time looking beyond Paddy and past Geordie to where Narrow Water flashed past us and the hills of County Louth dipped their toes in Carlingford Bay.
“No, give me the Mournes,” Paddy persisted. “Were youse ever in the Mournes?” He emphasised “in”.
“Nawh,” we told him. Geordie began to enthuse about our week journeying around the county.
“Sure youse have a great time of it,” Paddy agreed. “I’ll come with youse the next time. Work? Youse wouldn’t know what work was. But boys, I’m telling youse this. Don’t be leaving this day without going into the Mournes. There’s a road youse could take, wouldn’t be out of your way, so it wouldn’t. After youse drop me off, go on towards Annalong on this road, and a wee bit outside the village on the Newcastle side there’s a side road at Glassdrummond that’ll take you up to Silent Valley. It’s a straight road from here right through to Glassdrummond, boys. Youse can’t miss it.”
“That sounds good to me,” Geordie agreed.
“Well, that’s the best I can do for youse, boys. Come back some day and I’ll take youse on better roads right into the heart of the mountains, but it’ll be dark soon and snowing as well and my Kate’ll kill me, so the Silent Valley’ll have t’ do youse. You’ll be able to see where youse Belfast ones gets your good County Down water from to water your whiskey with and to wash your necks.”
“Is Slieve Donard the highest of the Mournes?” I asked, trying to find my faithful guide book below Paddy’s seat.
“Donard? The highest? It’ll only take you a couple of hours to climb up there; but, boys, you
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