FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
I am walking up High St. when I see him coming towards me. I don’t know who he is but I know what he is. He is wearing a three-piece black corduroy suit, white shirt and tie, and he is carrying a rucksack and a large stick not at all unlike a good old Irish shillelagh. I stop him. “Excuse me,” say’ “but are you a Zimmerman?”
“I am that,” he replies in a slight foreign accent and surprised that I know what he is. “How you know this?” he asks.
“Because I met three Zimmermen here in Kilkenny almost 10 years ago.”
“Where you meet them?”
“In a pub just down the street.”
He laughs. Under normal circumstances I would have bought him a coffee, a meal even, but I was late for an appointment. I wished him well on his travels as part of his apprenticeship to carpentry. “And how you know this?” he asks. I explain. And here’s how I first met the Zimmermen and an insight into who, and what, they are.
Over the years I have brought the odd person back to our home from the pub. Recently I brought home, not one, not two, but three men I had never met in my life, three strange men in rather strange dress. I met them in my local around 10.30 pm. They were dressed identically, in three-piece black corduroy suits with white shirts and ties. On the table, beside their drinks, were three black bowler-type hats while at their feet was a collection of knapsacks and three large unusual looking walking sticks. I assumed they were Morris dancers.
They were not – they were Zimmermen, three travelling apprentice carpenters from Germany. They explain that Zimmerman comes from the German zimber for room and that they are apprentice carpenters.
Over a few drinks, Matthias, 24, Kai, 23 and Tómas 25, explain how travelling for three years is part of their apprenticeship; they seek out work in various towns and are paid in cash or in kind. Tómas shows me his travel book in which I read the following: “The possessor of this travel-book is on his traditional walk in order to get acquainted with the practices of work and way of living in other countries and thus improve his knowledge about his profession and extend his experience of life. The companion is bound to behave at all places in an honest and respectable manner.”
The Zimmermen hitch from town to town and came to Ireland because of its friendliness.
Curious about their outfits, they explain that they wear corduroy because it’s easily cleaned, their trousers are flared to avoid dust getting into their shoes, their waistcoats have four buttons on each side, representing the eight hours a day that they work while their jackets have three buttons on each sleeve, symbols of their six-day week. The walking sticks they cut themselves in the wood and carve with their own personal design; the sticks are used to help carry their knapsacks and to fend off unruly canines.
Matthias tells me that there are five stipulations for becoming a Zimmerman: You must be under 30, must not be married, must have a clean police record, have your diploma in woodwork and you must have no debts.
Regarding money, the Zimmermen fund their travels by saving hard prior to travelling while on the day of their departure, they walk the length of their village as people tuck money into their pockets. They then pool their resources which they share equally among themselves.
I am hugely impressed by these young men’s work ethic and their trusting outlook on life. When I enquire where they are staying I am astounded to discover that they have not arranged any accommodation! When I express my concern, Matthias casually remarks that they will find a “not so windy shed”.
That’s when the ‘good Samaritan’ breaks out in me and I offer them a bed which they gladly accept. Then I text my wife: “Don’t be shocked but you may find three young men all dressed in black at the breakfast table. Good guys, honest, respectable, they’re called ‘Zimmermen’ and may even fix those chutes I keep meaning to get round to.”
