By John Fitzgerald
The true story of a football match that Bill Walsh, the postman, and his brother Larry played in on Callan’s Fair Green would take some beating: Their side was losing by four points and only a minute remained in the game.
But then Larry was fouled and the ref awarded a free. Bill got to take the free. Tension mounted as hundreds of fans waited to see if he would settle for a point or go for a goal. Either way, they presumed, the opposing team was heading for victory.
Bill blessed himself and sent the ball hurtling towards the goal. The unthinkable happened: the ball, which was made from pig’s bladders, hit the crossbar and burst in two. Half of it went over the bar and the rest of it went under.
As the rules of the game had not allowed for such a development, Bill was deemed to have scored both a goal and a point, making the sides level. Seconds later, the final whistle blew. Bill had held the opposition to a draw!
Martin Walsh of Slade bosheen had his own peculiar sense of logic that sometimes baffled his contemporaries. One evening, some locals asked him why he was pushing a bike with a broken chain up Green Street on a rainy day in winter. “Sure ‘tis better than walking” he told them.
Jim Kearney was a renowned joker in the town. One day, he called aside Johnnie Roughan in a pub and asked him if he could tell him something in confidence. After swearing Johnnie to secrecy, Jim claimed that he had got a peep at Molloy’s order book for coffins and had seen Johnnie’s name down as number six on a list of “Probables.”
Shaking his head in disillusionment, Johnnie said, “Well, that’s finished me with Pat Molloy. I’m going straight down to Ben Delahunty and he’ll make my coffin when the times comes.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t do that either Johnnie”, Jim retorted, “I had a look at his order book too, and you’re down as number three on the list.”
Jack Molloy, a Callan-based County Councillor, was so popular among a section of the local electorate that voters repeated the well-worn mantra that “the man could walk on water”. While he can hardly be said to have literally followed in the footsteps of Jesus by performing that time-honoured feat, he came remarkably close to it.
It is said that Jack was swept away from an armchair in the house he was sleeping in by the raging waters of the King’s River. This allegedly happened during the Great Flood of 1932. Josie Cuddihy remembers the day he was seen floating like “a vessel adrift” or a runaway torpedo along Callan streets.
He appeared as stiff and as solid as a boat, his arms by his side and eyes closed, oblivious to the danger he faced, as the flood waters bore him past mortified householders who watched his progress from their upstairs windows and shouted at him to wake up.
Jack was rescued eventually, and calmly explained that he had fallen asleep after a few whiskeys and that the alcohol had “anaesthesitised” him against the effects of his frightful experience.
In the 1940s, Vincent Lanigan was a well-known local entrepreneur and businessman. He was never slow to identify a niche in the market and to turn it to his considerable advantage. He ran a “cheap jack’s” outlet from a building on the cross, situated where Vaughan’s chip shop now stands. He sold all sorts of household items, clothes, footwear, bicycle spare parts, and other gadgets. He had a strict policy of allowing customers to fit on or examine items of interest before a potential purchase.
He had an impressive collection of chamber pots. These were in demand at a time when toilets were a luxury. One morning, a refined and elegant lady from a neighbouring town approached the counter of his shop, which was packed with customers, and whispered: “Mr. Lanigan, I wonder if I might purchase a suitable chamber pot, I’m told you have them in many different sizes.”
Instead of directing her to the relevant corner of the shop, Vincent produced one of the unmentionable but very necessary contrivances and planked it loudly on the counter. “Try that for size, missus!” he advised.
Another day, somebody asked him why he had so many babies’ prams: He had twenty of them lined up on the path in front of his shop.
“Didn’t you hear?” he said, “the Eighth Battalion is spending a week out in Desart…”
