My Time In Ireland
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
Irish Blessing
May those who love us — love us
And those who don’t love us
May God turn their hearts around
And if he doesn’t turn their hearts around
May he turn their ankles
So we will know them by their limping
I found this in an old file and thought I might have scribbled it at some time, but not likely it sounds too spiritual for me.
When Mary and I were in Ireland, that was far too many moons ago, we travelled with a bus-load of Australians and an American couple. Obviously the Yanks were Democrats or they would have been booted off the bus and set adrift in Galway Bay with Bing Crosby.
Australians are good folks and except for the fact they carry their children in little belly pouches and hop from place to place they are much like Canadians that speak funny. We thought about moving down under until we heard the water in their toilets (I believe the Aussies call them didgeridoos) whirls the wrong way when flushed. We could never get used to that and would probably have to hold on to the didgeridoo seats lest we faint and fall into the dunny.
That all happened fourteen years ago and was a memorable experience.
Thinking back, two odd things happened the first day of our tour. First, Michael Higgins, the President of Ireland walked through the lobby of our Dublin hotel just a few feet from us. He was on his way to speak at a conference in one of the hotel’s prestigious meeting rooms. He was a friendly guy and waved as if he knew us. Maybe he did; he could have recognized me from my picture in the Packet and Times. (I still use it even though it was taken in 1986.)
But Mike was not the memorable part of the incident, it was his security. His whole team consisted of one person, a slim and highly attractive blonde lady dressed in a tan pant suit sort of uniform. Do you know how sometimes a warning bell goes off in your brain for some reason, well I knew instinctively if I made one of the classic moves I have perfected to pick up members of the opposite sex I would be flying home in a body bag.
Now I know this will sound like an attack on our neighbours to the south it isn’t. We were supposed to be starting our tour with a visit to the Guinness Brewery. Can you imagine the wonders a person would see wandering through a world-class brewery? No doubt they would hand out a quart or two as samples of this wonderful product. The bus hadn’t even moved and already the Aussies were pushing and shoving to get to the front of the line. Good drinkers, Australians!
Well the Guinness visit got cancelled. Why? Because Michelle Obama, the American First Lady at the time, and her kids were in town, that’s why. Michelle got our free drinks and probably a coaster, even a few snackies (they call them billabongs), we got a tour of a cemetery full of dead people we didn’t know.
I understand the need for security when a famous person needs an eye opener first thing in the morning, but shuttling 34 Australians, a couple of Yanks, and two touring diplomats from Orillia, Ontario, to a graveyard is going a bit too far.
I have long since forgiven Michelle. I know it was nothing personal, just politics, but someone must pay and I’m afraid it has to be Guinness. In retaliation for this slight, I refuse to drink any more than two or three drafts of their stout a day unless someone else is buying.
We actually had the experience of sitting in a pub in the heart of Dublin when some guy started to sing. Before we knew it everyone there was in full voice. We would have stayed all afternoon but someone found out we were Protestants and we had to run for our lives – kidding of course, the Irish are great people. Did I mention my Granny was a Conley (I’m not sure of this but I think Connellys are Teagues and Conleys are Prods) and my dad remembered his grandmother sitting in a rocking chair by the fire smoking a clay pipe?
What I still have trouble understanding is Northern Ireland. We were there at the end of June and already Belfast was gearing up for the Glorious Twelfth. There were Union Jacks and fifes and drums, all over the place. The Battle of the Boyne was 336 years ago, it is long past the time for you lads to give it a rest.
(Image Supplied)
