Though I knew you
I knew you not.
True , you were in my childhood.
Nothing more than a peripheral character
always trying to cadge my football boots.
I remember playing against you
in that concrete, dark
stark industrial school
all so establishment, so establishment.
But that’s all I remember.
The Jez was bright, lucid.
Luck dictated college and emigration for me
my decades away changed me forever.
Your decades were not so kind.
I oft espied you on your patrols through town
hid or scuppered before I was touched
now and then you would collar me for odds
gladly given
as you enquired about Bridget and Chick.
You had that thirst rarely slated.
A.m to P.m., Monday to Sunday, sunrise to sunset
all the same to our bould Denny.
We estimated you drank the Corrib thrice over
your choice of beverage twice as toxic.
For many years I chased the Fleece
copped on, settled down happy with my lot.
Your drinking days were legend.
Your patrolling days now spent limping to see friends.
You had survived the very worst they threw at you.
“Look at that filthy Alco, disgraceful”, sniped the Galway 4’s.
But we knew you as simple harmless Denny.
“His own worst enemy”, as Annie Howley often said.
You talked and you talked the cuppa was like a truth serum
your memory was truly amazing.
You could tell me all the names on our under fourteen team
you could recall all the neighbours in the seventies.
I couldn’t remember last Friday night and me with six degrees.
We were both born young there our paths diverged.
At three you nailed your first fart to the wall
your Dad took off, your mother died.
You were an overnight orphan
obviously your own fault.
From the orphanage to the Industrial school.
Motto “ The school of more beatings than lessons”.
You said Hell would be a better address.
“Look at the filthy Alco, disgraceful”, sniped the Galway 4’s
You would speak no more on it. Done and dusted.
Your aunt bailed you out at fourteen.
You flirted with work for two years
a messenger boy on your bike for McCambridge’s
famously throwing bills into the Corrib
as you felt sorry for the ‘poor people’.
One day you took a mad notion
nostrils ammonia filled, you did the right thing
off to Camden Town to find your father.
Looking for answers, but all you got were questions.
Arrested , boat home; Aunt screamed Ballinasloe
the cheek of it, a kid looking for his father
into the looney bin, shrieked the Galway 4’s.
The Doc sent you home at eighteen
“ You are sane, always were, besides we need your bed”.
Your brother, Chuck, gave you your first lager, a Celebration
it was quickly followed by your tenth.
You cut loose, you never looked back.
The rest is neither here nor there
cos you were everywhere and nowhere.
You took to the gargle with a vengeance
You played an absolute blinder
all, all was geared to gargle. All.
Every stratagem, cadge manoeuvre, legerdemain
all, all totally geared to ‘ any odds’.
The Gardai got to know you well
even the squirt Gardai fresh from Templemore
you were like a family pet to them.
Every Christmas eve for 8 years, the call went out
‘Watch Denny, watch McCambridge’s window’
They watched you, advised you not to but you still smashed the
window.
Part of the famous 8 in a row.
Nothing personal you would say as the Gardai led you away.
Limerick jail awaited.
“Where else could I go, the dinner was lovely.
The cell warm. The screws were sound to me, like family”.
In 1991 Hurricane Debbie left her calling card
took two of your friends
Fractured you upside down. You survived.
You had a good decade left in your drinking
your motto was start early in the year
finish late
from a.m. to p.m. to oblivion.
You gave it stick and I mean stick.
You patrolled left, right, city center
in fact every and which where
“Disgraceful, lock him up”. Shrieked the Galway 4’s.
Finally in 2001, your share drank, you retired.
Undefeated.
Irony played its card.
All changed, utterly changed.
You now reside adjacent to the Industrial School of old.
You tend to your flowers, you make match stick models
you got a few bob to quell your troubles.
The decent sort you are, a lot benefited.
You erected a gravestone to a long neglected one.
You are a queer soul, truly a queer soul
but a good one.
You have come back to us.
The Galway 4’s see you no longer
they see little.
You are a real ould flower, a magnolia i would venture.
The days of the wet brains are well done, gone.
Quick, put on the kettle, Denny is on the way.
Go to Mike Farragher’s
Get Jaffa cakes
they are his favourite.
All Hail Denny.
