Thurles – Sure It’s All In A Days Work

Johnny Smith was an elderly, feeble man living alone in a run down house here in Thurles, Co. Tipperary. His family history was one of continued hardship and failure.

His only surviving relative, a son named Paddy, was serving a five year stretch in Portlaoise Prison. It seems that when Paddy was younger, he used to pray for a Honda Accord 2.2i-DTEC Executive 4DR car, but as the years passed, Paddy came to the realisation that God doesn’t work that way, so he stole one from Dennis Kinnanes Garage and prayed instead for forgiveness. But Police caught up with him before God could answer his nightly prayers.

At the subsequent court hearing, Paddy claimed, despite the best advice of his solicitor, that his religious conviction was the sole reason for this act of thievery. Paddy informed the Magistrate that both Jesus and his Apostles all drove Honda’s, and he wanted to follow in his masters footsteps. To support his belief, he claimed Jesus had a Honda but didn’ t like to talk about it and cited as proof a verse from St. John 12:49, where Jesus tells the crowd, “For I did not speak of my own Accord.” He further supported this claim regarding Honda ownership by the Apostles, with a quote from Young’s Literal Bible Translation, Acts 2:1 ” They were all with one Accord at the same place.”  The Magistrate was not impressed by this biblical defence and hence the five year detention.

Potato Sowing

Paddy’s Uncle,  Jimmy Smith, his fathers sole younger brother, had emigrated to America in 1963, but had died suddenly and tragically having being executed in the electric chair. His Father Johnny had managed to kept the news quiet from the local Tipperary Star Newspaper. The local paper had carried a correct, yet somewhat misleading account of Jimmy’s sudden passing.

The local paper article had read, “It is with sincere regret that we announce the recent passing of Jimmy Smith, late of Sing Sing, New York and Thurles, Co Tipperary. Prior to his death the late Mr Smith had occupied a Chair of Applied Electronics, at an important American Government Institution, a position to which he was attached by the strongest of ties. His sudden and untimely death came as a huge shock.”

There was a massive out-poring of sympathy locally, as you can imagine.

Anyway, I digress, I’m supposed to be telling you about old Johnny Smith’s predicament, but I’m inclined to ramble a bit these days.

Old Johnny Smith had a major problem this Spring, his rheumatoid arthritis was playing up hell, inflamming his joints and the surrounding tissue. He had dosed himself with all the recommended known cures, like stinging himself with nettles, cranberry juice, Epsom salts, cod liver oil and eating porridge daily, but to no avail.

He wanted to get his annual potato crop sown, as one does, best before the 17th of March every year or before the next full moon. Unable now to use the spade himself, because of his affliction, he didn’t know anyone who was prepared to spade up his potato garden for him.

At a loss and as a last resort, Johnny wrote to his incarcerated son Paddy about this problem and received the following reply, “For HEAVENS SAKE, don’t dig up that garden, that’s where I buried the GUNS from my last failed robbery.”

Last Friday morning, 6.00am, old Johnny was awakened by the sound of a dozen or more Gardaí, both male and female, complete with yellow reflective jackets, spades and an assortment of other gardening equipment, busy digging up his entire garden plot. No guns were found and although old Johnny was interviewed, he could not tell the inquisitive gardaí anything.

Now further confused, Johnny wrote to his son Paddy, telling him what had happened and asking in the letter what he should do next.
His son’s reply was brief and to the point: “Just plant those bloody potatoes. Expect to be home in three months.”

Ah, sure it’s all in a day’s work here in Thurles and as my granny used to say “People usually get what’s coming to them… unless of course it was sent in the mail.”

Sure if it weren’t for electricity we’d all be watching television, here in Thurles, by candlelight.