It Occurs to Me: Millie's tribute to Creeslough

Many years ago, I first visited the Mullingar Scribblers to facilitate storytelling and creative writing workshops.

On the way home, I called to the Maxol Station for petrol, and when the proprietor heard my accent, he shouted effusively: "Ah Donegal, the pride of all!"

When I called again during the Mullingar Fleadh, he greeted me with “Donegal Danny's been here, me boys!”.
Millie is a larger than life character, works all the hours God gives him, and is to the Midlands town what Brendan Behan was to Dublin. "And how's Daniel?" he'll enquire.

After a visit to a local school last week, I pulled in for petrol again, only to be met by a tearful Millie, shaking his head, and heartbroken about the news from Creeslough. He presented me with a beautiful Legion of Mary Care Pack, complete with holy water, lovely blue and green Rosary beads, prayers and novenas. He simply shook my hand and said: "We're all with them up there...give them this from me." He also had his flag flying at half mast.

Millie is short for Camillus, in Latin meaning "Helper to the priest". I'll pass the pack on to Father John Joe Duffy in Creeslough, another remarkable Christian gentleman.

ANOTHER RIGHT ‘METH’!
The mention of Carrigart last week reminds me that Columba Boyce has been an amazing asset to his hometown for many decades, both as an enthusiastic community activist and spokesman for The Tidy Towns. One of the many highlights of his long campaigns was getting President Mary McAleese to officially open the beautiful Strand Park near the shore.

Some time ago, he reminded me of one of his favourite yarns, which he asked me to retell sometime, one which centred around my holidays from St. Eunan’s College in the 1970’s. Like most summers, I worked in Boyce's Supermarket, alternating between the bacon counter and the fishing tackle.

This alternation often resulted in Fawlty Towers-like confusion. There was nothing more disconcerting for a regular customer, who is watching you wrap a pound of sausages, than the sound of an agitated foreign voice asking from the other counter: "Are these the only flies you have, please?"

Patrick and Columba were very benevolent employers, and I'm sure they often had occasion to scratch their heads at the 'dreamer', who had more interest in hook sizes and gut strengths, than distinguishing back from lean.

One Monday morning as I wrestled with sleep and a vain attempt to remember the lyrics of the latest hit on Speer's jukebox, an elderly lady tapped the counter and asked me to keep "a pound of mince" until Wednesday. Before I had time to remind her that she would be better buying a fresh pound on Wednesday, rather than keeping one of Monday's for two days, she was gone.

Remembering the adage "The customer is always right", I simply put a pound of mince aside, in a white bag, in the corner of the cooler.
She landed back on Wednesday morning; "Have you got my parcel?", says she. I handed her the white bag and to this day I can see the look of increasing bewilderment crease her features as she gingerly prodded the bag and said: "It's a bit soft, isn't it?" I reminded her once again that she would have been better buying a fresh one that morning, rather than keeping Monday's. This only served to make her pupils dilate with increasing incredulity, and her laboured walk towards the checkout was punctuated with worried backward glances in my direction and further prodding of the pound of mince.

Derryman pleads guilty to extorting €15,000 from couple in Donegal

The man appeared at Letterkenny Circuit Court this week

The story resumes as it was subsequently relayed to me by the checkout girl - Sophia - in the throes of a wet hysteria. The old lady put the package down at the till - as if the contents were fragile in the extreme - and whispered to Sophia: "I asked young Frankie to keep me a 'pint of meth' on Monday and he's trying to tell me that if I bought it today, it wouldn't be as soft!"
What I recall about Patrick Boyce's response was that he smiled, in that way that wardens in lunatic asylums do, just before coaxing a troublesome inmate into a white suit with one sleeve.

The gaffe was the stuff of legend. That evening as I fumbled for sixpence for the jukebox, there was a chorus of "A pound of minth and a pint of meth, pleath, Galligan!" By the following morning, my father had heard the story and concluded with typical Cavan understanding that I was well on my way to becoming a "right half-eegit" - a half-eegit in Cavan being twice the eejit that a full Donegal one was.
In mitigation, he informed his friend and colleague, Guard Pa Sheerin - who gleefully recounted this to me - that I had recently taken to writing poetry and "sure what other way would the goson's head be?"

DON’T STEP ON MY BLUE SUEDE SHOES!
The Omagh Music Festival was a huge success, not only celebrating the wealth of local folk and traditional music but the history of the showbands, many of whom emanated from the town and environs…Brian Coll, The Plattermen, The Melody Aces, Frankie McBride and the Polka Dots, Frank Chisum, and many more.

Dominic Kirwan's performance brought the house down, as did Brian Coll’s brothers, Martin and Frank.

As well as the music, the craic was mighty and I was delighted to meet an old friend, Ray Moore, formerly of the Plattermen and still a magician on the keyboards. We celebrated his 80th birthday on stage and afterwards shared some great yarns.

Ray, like myself, is a great lover of puns and he was telling me of a recent visit to his doctor in Omagh who informed him: “I think you may have a kidney problem, Ray” to which Moore replied: “Ah damn, that’ll be the urination of me!”
Another one told of the increasing use of botox and plastic surgery amongst his young female friends, to whom he gave a stern lecture. I asked him how they had responded, to which he replied: “Not one of them raised an eyebrow!”

Not to be outdone, the Chairman of Fermanagh/Omagh District Council, Barry McElduff, joined us, and told us a brilliant tale of an American tourist who decides to visit Bellaghy, after Seamus Heaney won the Nobel Prize for Literature.
He met an oul’ buck on the street and enquired: “Have you heard of Seamus Heaney?” The old man shook his head in disgust and retorted: ”Don’t bloody well mention that buck! He lost us a Minor Final!”

It turns out that Seamus had been a goalkeeper and let the ball slip through his hands for a goal in the County Final.
The story that had everyone equally in stitches was the one concerning the legendary Frank Chisum, possibly the greatest Elvis impersonator we’ve ever had. Frank’s van was a spectacular one, with the letters ELVIS embossed in gold along the side. One night, his driver was coming back to Omagh through the dreaded Aughnacloy checkpoint, when he was stopped by the army.

A soldier looked in at him and laughed: “Elvis is dead!” Your man retorted: “I wouldn’t be too sure about that!”
He was asked to open the rear door and when the soldier looked in, Frank was lying asleep in his Las Vegas white jumpsuit, large belt buckle and matching boots. The soldier was startled and could only utter “Elvis? Frank opened one eye, dropped his shoulder and simply whispered: “Uh huh huh…”
They were waved thr…ou…gh...uh...uh..uh!