“How is she cuttin Mary” says I. “Not bad at all, tell me now, you that’s well educated, where would I get a few chestnuts. The young lad needs them for the upcoming Conker Championships”, said Mary. “Try St. Mary’s graveyard” said I “If you search around, the wind last week should have shifted a few unto the ground”.
Of course I did not convey the story that Mikey Ryan had related to me last evening up in the Arch Bar in Liberty Square, and as true as God, this incident happened this very Autumn.
You see, on the outskirts of Thurles town, there is a big, tall, Chestnut tree, growing just inside the graveyard wall. One day, unknown to Mikey Ryan, two young lads climbed over the wall at dusk and successfully filled up a bucketful of Chestnuts. Then they sat down behind a headstone, out of sight, before beginning to divide up the nuts into two plastic shopping bags. “One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me,” said the ringleader as he set about sharing. During this transaction several of the nuts dropped and rolled down toward the narrow back iron gateway.
Then who but Mikey Ryan should come riding along Ikerrin road, on his bicycle. As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the graveyard. He slowed down and went back to investigate. Sure enough, he heard, “One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me”.
Alarmed, he was convinced he knew what these voices were. He jumped back on his bike and rode on. Just around the bend on Kickham Street, he met ‘Monopod Ted’; sure you know the fellow with the wooden leg, who just happened to be hobbling along; supported by his underarm crutch. [Actually, I must confess, I stole his wooden leg once in Thurles swimming pool. He was hopping mad!]
Anyway, Mikey braked, bringing his bike to a sudden halt. “Come here quick,” Mikey called in a low voice, “you won’t believe what I heard. It looks like Satan and God are over in the graveyard dividing, up souls!”
A not very impressed and grumpy ‘Monopod Ted’ suggested that Mikey should “Beat it”, (or words to that effect), adding “you idiot, can’t you see it’s very hard for me to walk”. But when Mikey insisted, “Monopod Ted’ hobbled slowly over the short distance, to nearby St. Mary’s graveyard gate.
Standing by the back gate they heard the voice, “One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me”.
‘Monopod Ted’ was now fully convinced and whispered, “Mikey, looks like you’ve been tellin’ me the truth boy. Let’s see if we can see the Lord!” Now both, each shaking with fear; peered through the bars of the gate, but failed to see anything. ‘Monopod Ted‘ and Mikey gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence tighter and tighter, as they attempted, on tippytoes, to get a glimpse of Our Lord.
At last, they heard, “One for you, one for me. That’s all. Now let’s go get those nuts by the gate and we’ll be finished”.
Mikey swore that ‘Monopod Ted’ took the lead for a good half-mile, down the Mill Road, before Mikey himself managed to eventually pass him on his bike.
“In seven weeks time it will be almost over for another year”, said Mikey Ryan, “and only God knows if we will ever see another one in this life”
We were above in the Arch Bar on Liberty Square, which recently took Gold in Radio TippFm’s Best of Tipp Awards; each enjoying our usual Saturday night tipple.
“Another what”, says I.
“Christmas”, said Mikey, before continuing; “You know I had a dream last night. I dreamed that 3 Tipperary men died last Christmas eve. One was from the village of Littleton, one from nearby Two-Mile-Borris and the third was from here in Thurles town”.
“I think you need to stay off that Cashel Blue cheese and fresh crusty bread last thing at night”, said I.
“No let me finish”, said Mikey. “The other apostles had taken the night off and St. Peter was alone, supervising in person at the Pearly Gate. He informed the 3 Tipperary men, queued in single file, that to get into heaven on Christmas Eve, they must have something on their person that represented the Christmas season, otherwise they would end up in that ‘fiery lake of burning sulphur’, better known as Hell.”
The 3 men looked at each other, before the Littleton man flicks his cigarette lighter and says: “Peter this is a Christmas candle”. St. Peter lets him pass without further questions.
The Two-Mile-Borris man jingles his bunch of keys stating, “Peter these are jingle bells”. St. Peter nods and again lets him pass without further questions.
The Thurles man steps up to the gate and pulls a woman’s black brassière out of his inside jacket pocket. St. Peter asks, “What in the name of all things good and holy has that bra got to do with Christmas?” “These are Carols”, replies the Thurles man.
“Go away out of that”, said I, “I thought you were being serious. Give us the same again there Pat.”
We have seen, or at the very least heard of ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’, the 1984 American supernatural slasher film; the plot of which concerns a group of teenagers who are targeted by Freddy Krueger, latter an undead former child killer, who can murder people through their dreams; as retribution against their parents, who burned him alive.
Well our picture above shows ‘Crater on Croke Street’ which today measured 71.12cm(28ins) across at its widest, and 12.7cm(5ins) at its deepest, and which can be found at the junction of Croke Gardens and Croke Street. The hole, which has grown considerably larger since first observed, has the ability to slashtyres, or break the axle of a vehicles. [Compare its size to the now defunct small Uisce manhole cover.]
So do take care when driving in this area, as local Thurles Municipal Council officials seem to have become entirely unforthcoming with their shovel of cold tarmac and also with regard to their responsibility as highly paid administrators.
Thurles Tourism promoters take note: I bet you won’t see one of these beauties outside Leinster House on Kildare St, Dublin 2.
Attention Local Councillors: Time to chat-up the Minister for Transport as promisedat recent talk shop.
“Setting someone on fire could be construed as a heart-warming gesture”, Mikey quickly retorted, “so what’s that one’s story?”
But before I could relate Amy’s breaking news, Mikey began to extol a tale of a heart-warming gesture he had personally experienced himself.
“No word of a lie”, said Mikey, “As you know I used to drive a bus for CIE at one time. It was at that time that I got a tap on my shoulder, and looking into the rear view mirror didn’t I spot two little old lady passengers behind me. One of them is offering me a large handful of peanuts, which not having had much breakfast, I gratefully began munching. After about 15 minutes, she taps me on my shoulder again, before handing me yet another handful of peanuts. She must have repeated this gesture about five or six more times and just when she was about to hand me yet another batch; I politely asked this little old dear as to, why she didn’t eat the peanuts herself?”
“The truth is my travelling companion and myself can’t chew peanuts because we’ve got no teeth,” she replied in a low whisper. “So why do you bother buying them in the first place missus?” I asked her, being somewhat puzzled.
The old lady smiled at me before replying, “We just love sucking the chocolate that they are covered in”.
“Pat, whenever you are ready, give Mikey a pint and you had better give me a half brandy, my stomach is beginning to act up”, said I.
So why, for the past 9 weeks, is the signpost offering directions to the town of Nenagh, Co. Tipperary, pointing in the opposite direction; now today continuing to remain angled, pointing down towards Wolfe Tone Place, latter situated at the junction of Westgate and Liberty Square.
Yesterday, in a survey, we asked a few of the locals for their views on this nine week old phenomenon and were offered the following explanations:-
(1) It is an political effort by Fianna Fáil to highlight the annual Wolfe Tone Commemoration, due to take place on the Sunday nearest June 20th 2024, next year in Bodenstown graveyard, Co. Kildare; latter date in June the birthdate of Wolfe Tone, known as the Father of Republicanism.
(2) It’s an effort to avoid the multitude of potholes on every road driving into and driving out of Thurles.
(3) A concerted effort by those who consistently fail to attract tourism to Thurles, to delay visitors, by sending them up a short road that is blocked off at one end; better known by the French word ‘cul-de-sac’ or translated into English ‘bottom of the bag’.
(4) A deliberate attempt by public representatives, including TDs to increase their motor milage, when asked to attend meetings in Nenagh Co. Council offices and Dáil Éireann.
What do I think, you ask? Well now that you do ask, and having viewed all the other signposts pointing in the wrong direction in Thurles, [e.g. to name but one, the Thurles carpark sign supposedly directing motorists to the new carpark off Liberty Square, ]; other issues, such as the weeds now growing actively up through our pavements; the state of our river Suir, and the overall dowdy appearance of what was once a hive of industry; I would put it down to simply just poor town administration.
Explain for what are we paying Property Tax annually?
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