Characters #1

Only recently moved into the area he didn’t realise who he was dealing with. With a lopsided grin he remarked on old Bill Drennan’s ample beer gut - If that belly was on a woman you’d think she was pregnant.

It was. And she is.

Of all the characters I’ve known, Bill is the most colourful. Not because he is widely travelled, well read, a linguist. He is none of these. But he is the quickest wit. He is in his early nineties now and confined to bed in a nursing home but he can still cut you down to size with his quips.

He was a legend in the locality. Before he had to go to the home he knew every man, woman and child by name. And they knew him. No-one would pass him on the street without stopping for a chat. As he grew old, everyone looked out for him.

He was a martyr for the drink so he needed more looking after than most. His next door neighbour would cook his meals and stand over him to make sure he ate. She would patrol like a customs officer, confiscating any alcohol we tried to smuggle down the laneway past what he called the dry line. Some of us hated seeing him going without his drop and concocted various schemes. A half-bottle of Power’s Gold Label concealed in a Pringles container worked for me until the customs officer developed a taste for sour cream & onion.

As with most characters, Bill was at his best in the pub. That is where his victims were most relaxed and let their guard down. A barmaid, a large girl to put it mildly, introduced him to her new boyfriend, an equally heavy individual. Well the handicapper got it right for once. On another occasion the same barmaid was leaning over the counter blathering away to an unhappy customer - unhappy, as while normally a welcome sight, her ample bosom was obscuring his racing page. He asked if she would remove her bouncy castles off his paper. Bouncy castles me arse. Fekin hanging baskets them.

Great with his hands, Bill was seldom stuck for work. When he was young the main employers were farmers and he spent many years with one of the bigger landowners in the area, Dan Coughlan. At meal times, Mrs. Coughlan would dish out enormous quantities of potatoes and turnips to the men. The meat would then be served - one slice for each worker but the farmer’s plate would be piled high. On his (unintended) last day in the job, Bill couldn’t hold back when Dan made the same remark he made every mealtime - Oh ho lads, ya can hear the bull roaring in that. Well it’s not for the want of fekin jayzez turnips he’s roaring.

Later the main employers were builders. Repairs were being made to the sewerage system up at the big house. Bill was dispatched to speak to her Ladyship. Cap in hand he relayed the message. We’re starting work on the pipes now, ma’am. We’d be grateful if you’d refrain from using the facilities until further notice. We apologise for the disturbance, but it is quite necessary. We hope you understand, ma’am. The pipe from the top floor was being dismantled when it became obvious her Ladyship had ignored the request. Two men were being hosed down while Bill was dispatched again. I thought I told ya not to shite, ma’am. Do it again and I’ll ram this shovel so far up your arse ye’ll craping crooked for a month.

I know it’s not true, but I always like to think the character Fr. Jack Hackett in the Father Ted series was based on our Bill.