FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
Every now and again we talk about ‘characters’ in the pub (a much needed respite from politics and sport). We talk about the ‘characters’ from our childhood and our youth. We remember ‘Aeroplane’ Meehan, May Timmins, Kitty Saunders with her numerous dogs in tow, Kevin Traynor, selling the Press and Herald in and around the Harp Bar if I remember correctly, Packy Da, positioned, as always, outside Allied Irish Bank , little Davy Phelan and, of course, the one and only Dan Quigley leading the hearse at every funeral in town.
Indeed when I was very young I thought Dan was a cousin of ours as every funeral of an elderly relation, be they grandfather, grandmother, Godmother, uncle or aunt there was Dan leading out the hearse. And there’s the iconic anecdote about Dan who, when asked by someone who was dead, replied: “The man in the coffin.”
And then the inevitable question: “Are there any characters left in Kilkenny?” to which I always reply: “But, of course, there’ll always be ‘characters’ among us, it’s just that we don’t always recognise them until later, much later.”
And then there’s the other question: “What exactly is a character?”
Mmm. Tricky this. Seems there may be two types of ‘characters’ – those who don’t, and never did, see themselves as ‘characters’ and wouldn’t appreciate being labelled so. And then there are those ‘characters’ who know full well what they are and revel in their ‘character’ status. These folks are, for the most part, witty, good story tellers and great company. Two of the aforementioned come immediately to mind: the late publican ‘Spud’ Murphy and the late Gus Carey. When these two names surface in a conversation – the stories and yarns come quick and fast, one better than the other. Legends for sure.
My favourite story about ‘Spud’ is when he was having the ‘late one’ with his locals and a couple of bowsies knocked on the window to get in. “We’re closed,” ‘Spud’ told them. “If you don’t let us in, we’ll call the guards.”
“If ye don’t feck off ,” says ‘Spud’, “I’ll send them out to ye.”
Now I could rattle off the names of some ‘characters’ who are alive and well among us but I’m not so sure they’d appreciate the tag. Then again, some might revel in it. And then there was the night in my local when, as we discussed the topic of ‘characters’, someone in the company remarked: “Sure maybe you’re a bit of a ‘character’ yourself, Gerry.” I didn’t know if it was a compliment or an insult.
And then there are those other ‘characters’ – ‘characters’ in a category all of their own. Eccentrics. And what exactly is an eccentric you may well ask. Mmm. Don’t have a definition to hand but I reckon odd might suffice. Or oddball. And you can make up your own mind as to how many, if any, eccentrics live in this city of ours. But to help you understand what an eccentric is, here are some famous ones:
Sir George Sitwell (1860 – 1943)
Sis George was rather bizarre in many ways. A keen gardener and, annoyed by wasps in his garden, he invented a pistol for shooting them. After he moved to Italy to avoid paying taxes in Britain he refused to pay his new wife’s debts which resulted in her spending three months in prison. He had the cows on his estate stencilled in blue and white Chinese willow pattern to make them look better.
Gerald Tyrwhitt-Wilson (1883 – 1950)
(And an interesting name doesn’t go astray if you‘re an eccentric).
Gerald had the pigeons on his stately home dyed in a variety of colours; he also kept a pet giraffe with which he would have afternoon tea regularly. His chauffeur had to fit out his Rolls Royce with a harpsichord in order for Gerald to play music while being driven around the countryside.
Finally, our own Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)
Oscar exuded eccentricities. Whatever about always wearing an unnaturally dyed, green carnation in his lapel while studying at Oxford University he would walk through the streets with a lobster on a leash! Try that on High Street some busy Saturday afternoon.
So, do you think you know anyone in Kilkenny who fits the bill as an eccentric?
