Chapter One

In the small town of Graig-óg, that straddles the gently meandering Barrow river as it wanders across the plains of Laois in central, rural Ireland stands a large, attractive building that serves as a pub, a grocery store and a community centre. It is named The Rooters’ Rest. It is an imposing presence overlooking the town square and has long endeared itself to the inhabitants. It is a venue for parties and celebrations as well as being an iconic meeting place for friends and acquaintances.

It was there one early evening in mid-March in the spacious lounge of the pub that two young men in their twenties, namely Seán Coyle and Nole Deegan, close friends, sat and engaged in conversation over a drink whilst awaiting the arrival of another mutual associate, Tom Doyle, who had previously arranged to meet them there.

“Do you think Tom will turn up, Seán?” Nole asked, seemingly uncertain about Tom’s commitment to the agreement.

“I’ve never known him not to keep his word and if he should fail on this occasion I’m sure he will have a legitimate excuse,” Seán replied, and added out of curiosity, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was just thinkin’ as it’s Friday today, there’s usually a Western film on television after the evenin’ news at nine o’clock. So I was hoping to be home for nine thirty to catch it, that’s all.”

“Well, Nole, you can dismiss that little worry because I have promised my true love, Maura, soon to be my wife, that I would be at her parents’ home by nine o’clock and I’ll be dropping you off just before that, so-”

“Yeah, yeah, I see. That’s fine, then,” Nole agreed. After a brief pause he asked, “Will you be offerin’ to drop Tom off at his house too on the way, as you usually do, if he turns up?”

“Of course, how could I refuse? It’s only a five-minute detour criss-crossing the Barrow river en route and that will save him from having to cycle the two miles home. He isn’t too stable on his bike after a few pints of Guinness. I’ve encountered him on a number of occasions wobbling along and stopped to pick him up and slide his bike into the van through the side door. He was always grateful for my generosity.”

“Yeah, I know. He always showers you with praise when we meet. I watched him set off for home on his bike from here, wobblin’ like a drunken duck, and I used to wonder, and still do, how he manages to make it home safely. He has ended up in a cluster of brambles on the verge of the lane that leads from the main road to his house several times and even ended up in the ditch more than once.”

“I can believe that,” Seán agreed, and continued, “that would account for the bruises and scratches I’ve noticed on his face occasionally.”

“It would indeed and don’t waste your breath reminding him that he shouldn’t drink and ride a bike afterwards because he will answer without hesitation that the drink doesn’t affect his cyclin’ skill. He told me that now and then he was forced to make a sudden swerve along the lane to home to avoid running over a fox that darted out across his path unexpectedly from an open gateway, causing him to lose control of his bike and finishing up prostrate in a pile of brambles, nettles and sometimes, as I’ve already said, in a ditch. According to him that’s the reason for the bruises and scratches on his face and neck. He also said it was a price worth payin’ for havin’ saved the fox’s life,” Nole concluded.

Seán laughed and remarked, “Well, he does have a humanitarian nature, and that aside you’ve got to give him credit for his ingenuity if he does invent seemingly heroic reasons for his lack of balance under the influence of alcohol.”

“Oh, I do indeed, Seán. He’s a lovable character and I enjoy listening to his lengthy explanations, but if I try to question him during one of his charming accounts he simply dismisses it with another unexpected yet believable excuse.”

“Yes, that’s a fitting description of Tom and he - would you believe it, the man himself has arrived!” Seán exclaimed and raised a hand to attract Tom’s attention.

The latter noticed Seán’s gesture and he went directly to greet his two friends.

“Well, hello, Seán and Nole. I’m glad to see you both looking fit and healthy, and I must add neither of you look a day older than you were last week,” and he laughed before continuing, “all’s well with your family members too, I hope?”

Seán and Nole assured him that where their family members were concerned all was ticking over nicely.

“And your wife Nora and the children, Tom - how are they faring?” Seán enquired.

“Well now, Seán, they’re fine, and as long as they are fine then so am I and there you have it.”

“Will you be having a pint of Guinness as usual, Tom?” Seán suggested invitingly.

“Well, Seán, unless they’ve changed the name that’s exactly what I’ll be having,” he answered with a witty laugh.

“Are you having the same again, Nole?” Seán asked out of force of habit.

“I am indeed and I have two suggestions to make. The first is that I pay for this round and-”

“Oh no, Nole!” Seán interrupted. “You paid for the last round.”

“I know, but you’re only drinking lemonade and I don’t think it’s fair on you,” Nole voiced his opinion.

“Well, that’s thoughtful of you, Nole, but I must insist regardless of what I’m drinking. I’ll be driving the van home later with you and Tom for company and I have a rule I never break - namely, I never drink alcohol and drive under its influence. I also pay for my round in company regardless of drink prices. After all, the conversation can be more nourishing than the drink. And now, Nole, what’s the second suggestion?”

“Well, that relates to what Tom answered when you asked him if his drink was Guinness and his answer was yes unless the name had been changed. So, I’m suggesting changing the name to a pet form - namely, bainne dubh. How does that sound to you two?” Nole posed the question.

“Bainne dubh, that’s Gaelic for black milk!” Seán mused and agreed. “Yes, I like it. What do you think, Tom?”

“Well, as long as it doesn’t change the taste I’d say it’s a spark of inspiration, and I’m glad my remark was its instigation,” Tom enthused.

“Right, Nole, I’ll put your proposition to Ben Murphy, the barman, and see what he makes of it,” Seán remarked as he departed to get a round of drinks. When he returned with the drinks on a tray he smiled and said to Nole, “I asked Ben for two pints of bainne dubh and he hesitated a moment before answering, ‘That’s Gaelic for black milk and that must refer to Guinness.’ So, I said ‘correct’ and informed him of your suggestion to baptise Guinness with the endearing pet name bainne dubh, at least here in The Roosters’ Rest, and he agreed that it was an appropriate pet name for the world-famous drink. So, he’s going to put your request to the clientele as soon as he gets a quiet moment.”

“You will be famous round here if that name catches on, Nole.” Tom stoked the embers of excitement and joked, “You’ll still talk to us if you become famous, won’t you?”

“Well now, Tom, I could hardly ignore you since you’re a walking advertisement for the drink.” And he laughed aloud and Tom and Seán joined in the laughter.

A little later Ben Murphy’s voice echoed round the spacious lounge as Nole’s suggestion was put to the few dozen customers scattered about the area. “And just in case any of you have forgotten your Gaelic, bainne dubh means black milk. So what do you think?”

A brief silence followed, broken by a long-time regular drinker of Guinness in the pub who exclaimed loudly, “Hooray for the bainne dubh!” And his outburst was quickly followed by a cascading echo of approval from all present and Nole was showered with compliments as well, much to his embarrassment.

“Congratulations, Nole!” Tom praised, adding, “And I’m glad I played a little part in your success.”

“I’m glad too, Tom, and thanks for being the source of my inspirin’ thought.” Nole thoughtfully shared the credit.

“The thought has just struck me, Tom. You look a bit older than you did last week,” Seán remarked, and Tom was taken by surprise.

“Do you really think so, Seán?” he nervously asked, concerned by the latter’s observation.

“Yes, but it’s merely the visible effect of the bruising on your cheekbone and the side of your forehead. You haven’t been hit by a bucket or walked into a telegraph post by accident, have you?”

“No, no,” he answered, smiling, and continued, “it was an encounter with a fox along the lane leading to my house. I told you about it before, Nole, remember?”

“Yeah, I do. The one that caused you to crash your bike into a hawthorn hedge ditch?” Nole confirmed.

“That’s right! It happened more than once and I’m beginnin’ to think the fox targets me deliberately and always unexpectedly, darting out in front of me and causing me to swerve suddenly, losing my balance in the process and crashing into thorny brambles or nettles. The result of that is the visible bruising and scratches on my head and neck as well as the aches and pains that accompany them,” Tom explained.

“When did the latest incident occur?” Seán enquired, his curiosity aroused.

“Last Monday evening when I was cycling along the lane leading to my home. Out on to the lane from a field gateway the fox suddenly appeared and hesitated a moment to glance at me. Had I not veered sideways instantly I would probably have run over it, but my sudden deviation caused the accident I’ve just described.” Tom concluded.

“Now, wouldn’t you think that a fox, renowned for its cleverness, would have changed its routine after the first near-fatal encounter such as you’ve just related, Tom?” Nole suggested.

“Well, yeah, that was exactly what I thought after several such incidents,” Tom agreed and added, “to add insult to injury didn’t the fox just sit on its haunches a few yards away grinning at me with bared teeth, and I felt sure it was enjoying my plight.”

Nole erupted into laughter and remarked, “Well now, Tom, that’s one of the best I’ve heard - a smilin’ fox. I’ve never heard one being so described before.” He broke into another fit of laughter and both Tom and Seán joined in.

When the merriment subsided Seán suggested that Tom might have misinterpreted the fox’s grin. “It might have been the fox’s natural reaction to shock or fear or even relief. Have you considered that point of view?”

“Well, I must confess, now, the likelihood never entered my mind, but I do understand what you mean, Seán, and I’ll keep the possibility in mind,” Tom assured.

“Another important point to remember is”, Seán continued, “can you be certain that it was a real fox - a flesh-and-blood fox, that is?”

Tom was puzzled by the question and could only answer, “What other kind of fox could it be, Seán?”

“Might it possibly have been a ghost fox that you encountered instead?” Seán posed the question.

Nole laughed aloud and stated, “First we had a never-heard-of-before smiling fox and now a ghost fox. What’s next!”

All three momentarily enjoyed the developing scenario.

When the laughter ran its course, Tom asked, “What made you think it might have been a ghost fox, Seán?”

“The thought just crossed my mind, Tom, that the fox might have been the disguised spirit of your guardian angel that appeared in that form to warn you of the danger of drinking alcohol and then riding a bike afterwards to get home without considering the possible consequences for yourself and family dependants.”

Tom pondered on Seán’s line of thought before commenting, “Yeah... yeah, I see what you mean, Seán, and it’s certainly no laughing matter. And furthermore I’m not goin’ to forget what you just said in a hurry.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Tom. Wise words indeed,” Nole stated, and added, “and the smiling fox and the ghost fox suddenly seem more meaningful now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I agree, Nole.” Tom endorsed Nole’s statement and continued, “I always felt there was something about that fox appearing unexpectedly in my path somewhere along the lane home. So, your explanation Seán... well, it can’t be dismissed. It keeps gnawing away at my mentality,” Tom confessed.

Seán smiled and replied, “I’ll say this much about my suggestion, it was a deep-thought-inspired opinion, and yourself and Nole seem quite interested in the possibility.”

“Well, credit where it’s due, Seán, and I confess you may well have hit the nail on the head,” Nole conceded.

“Neatly summed up and delivered, Nole. And now are you ready for another pint of bainne dubh?” Tom uttered, rising to his feet and adding, “I’d like to buy you one too, Seán, but I might be offendin’ if I were to utter the words of temptation.”

“Oh no, Tom, you wouldn’t be offending me in the least, but the fairies might take a dim view of it,” Seán remarked.

Tom smiled and repeated, “The fairies might take a dim view of it. How would they even know if I were to ask?” he probed.

“Because they would have overheard you, Tom,” Seán remarked.

“But how would they have heard me if they’re not here?” Tom’s curiosity led him on.

“But they are here, Tom,” Seán assured him.

“Well, if that’s the case why can’t we see them?”

“Because they’re invisible, Tom, just like the ghost fox. You only see them when they work their magic, and there’s always a good reason for that.” Seán spoke like a man who had an insight into the world of the little people.

Tom was impressed by Seán’s knowledge and remarked, “Well, I’ve got nothing against the fairies. I respect their unseen presence and I have no intention of stoking up their ire, not after some of the stories I heard whilst growing up and still hear from time to time.” He paused briefly before asking, “Are there a lot of fairies wandering about, Seán?”

“More of them than human beings, Tom - a hell of a lot more,” Seán stated with conviction.

“So many!” Tom exclaimed, surprised, and Seán nodded affirmatively.

“If that’s the case I had better be extra careful about what I say from now on with so many ears secretly listening,” Tom reminded himself, half convinced.

“And don’t forget your thoughts as well, Tom,” Seán added, pointing a finger to his head.

“You mean they also know what we think!” Tom exclaimed with a surprised expression.

“They know what we all think, Tom, whether it is good or bad, and if the latter they activate our conscience and that makes us pay for our iniquities sooner or later,” Seán revealed.

Tom pondered the significance of Seán’s revelation and then remarked, “So, might that mean that the unexpected accidents with the fox that caused the bruises and lacerations to parts of my body weren’t as accidental as they have seemed to be, Seán?”

“Well, that possibility can’t be ruled out, Tom.” Seán stretched the point.

“I’ll be lying in bed tonight wide awake thinking about that.” After a slight pause Tom reminded himself, “Well, I’d better go and get the bainne dubh! Do you want anything with yours, Nole?” he asked.

“Ah well, just remind him to put it into a jar,” Nole jokingly suggested, and erupted into laughter which the other two joined in.

“As witty as ever, Nole,” Tom commented and continued, “you want to be careful or you might pass yourself out one of these days.”

“Ah, there’ll be no fear of that Tom since I’m not a fast talker,” Nole answered with another short burst of laughter.

“You’ll need to rise very early in the morning to catch Nole off guard, Tom,” Seán remarked with a wry grin.

“That wouldn’t be good enough, Seán.” Tom conceded, adding, “Even if I were to stay awake all night I’m sure it would be a waste of time.” And with a broad smile he headed for the bar.

“I did say, Seán, that Tom would have an excuse for every wound, scratch and bruise on his body noticed and questioned by anyone with whom he came into contact and I was proved right, but I must admit your out-of-the-ordinary explanation all but convinced him and me that you were right. So, my question is, were you serious or were you leading him on in a ring-a-ring-a-rosy?” Nole asked, seeking clarification.

“I was as serious of the possibility, Nole, as another person might be of the impossibility; and as I don’t believe in the impossible, all that I said was my opinion of what is possible. As you know, opinions differ and everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”

“There now, as always you gave me an honest answer. I know you are a deep thinker, but I didn’t think you were that deep. Still, it was a thought-provoking possibility you posed and I certainly wouldn’t have the audacity to contradict it.” Nole declared his acceptance of Seán’s theory.

When Tom returned with the drinks on a tray Nole noticed there were three pints of Guinness and a glass of lemonade and immediately remarked, “You’ve got three pints of bainne dubh, Tom. Are you feeling extra thirsty this evening?”

“No, that extra one is for you with the compliments of Ben Murphy, the barman, for the inspired pet name for Guinness, which, he said, will go down in history as having been baptised with the name here in The Roosters’ Rest in Graig-óg by you, Nole. Now what do you say about that?” Tom posed the question.

“I’m speechless with surprise,” Nole replied, and after the initial shock added, “that was thoughtful of him. I’ll have to remember to thank him later, and in the meantime I want to share my prize with you, Tom. So, when you’ve got halfway down your pint I’ll top it up with this free pint,” Nole suggested.

“Well, for fear of offending you by refusing your kind offer, Nole, I accept, and I’ll always remember this occasion of the baptism of the Guinness with the pet name bainne dubh,” Tom congratulated.

After a brief lull in the conversation Seán asked, “Did you remember to bring the vegetable seed lists with you, Tom?”

“I did indeed, Seán. I have them here.” Plunging a hand into a bag slung from his right shoulder to his left hip he withdrew a bundle of printed pages and passed one each to Seán and Nole saying, “Have a look and just tick whatever you need.”

“Kerr’s Pink, King Edward, Record.” Seán spoke the names of potato varieties and made his decision. “I’ll have two stone of each of them. Is that OK with you, Tom?”

“Kerr’s Pink and King Edward, yes, but Record? Well, they might not be available even though they are the most cultivated potato, and I believe you know the reason why, Seán,” Tom reminded.

“Yes, the potato-crisp conglomerates and the appeasement of the demon, greed,” Seán declared.

“Yes, that about sums it up precisely, I suppose,” Tom agreed and continued, “and what might be your potato choice, Nole?”

“The same as Seán’s and instead of the most likely unavailable Record I will have two stone of Desiree.”

“Yeah, I believe they are plentiful,” Tom assured.

“I’ll have two stone of Desiree as well,” Seán added.

“Right, just tick what vegetable seed and quantity you need whilst I leave this bundle of lists on the bar for other interested clients,” Tom announced as he stood upright and moved towards the bar.

“Have you turned your vegetable plot over yet, Seán?” Nole asked out of curiosity.

“Yes, my father and I started it at the beginning of the month and we expect to have it ready for potato planting from mid-April onwards as is the usual plan, weather permitting. And you, Nole?”

“My father and I have our plot partly dug over, but there’s no rush. Just pace along like the day at your leisure, as my father always says.”

“That’s the ideal way to deal with life. This ‘rush, rush, rush’ trend that’s gathering pace these days is driven by greed and the truth is we are going nowhere fast,” Seán philosophised.

“Come to think of it now, you’re right, Seán. How do you manage to see the truth behind all these goings-on? I don’t know how you do it,” Nole remarked.

“Scientific simplicity, deep thought, that’s the way to the truth, Nole, and simplicity is the result,” Seán stated.

At that moment Tom returned and sat down. “I haven’t missed anything, have I?” he asked.

“No, not really, Tom. We were just talking about the increasing pace of life,” Nole informed.

Tom took a long drink from his jar of bainne dubh, and when he replaced it on the table Nole promptly topped it up from his free one and poured the remainder into his own jar.

“You’re certainly a man of your word, Nole. Thanks. And regarding the increasing pace of life, that hasn’t gone unnoticed by me, and I’ve been thinking lately of investing in a motorbike to keep up with it - the pace of life, that is. What do you two think? I’d appreciate your advice.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tom; have you considered the implications involved?” Seán advised and questioned.

“What implications?” Tom enquired, obviously not having thought beyond the advantage of having a faster means of travel.

“A motorbike comes under the ‘motorised vehicle’ classification, which means you will have to get a licence to use it and insurance to cover yourself for accident injuries, plus road tax and plus fuel to propel it, and, alas, you will also come under the alcohol restrictions imposed when in charge of such a vehicle,” Seán explained.

“Ah well, I will make sure to stay under the limit of alcohol allowed when using it,” Tom assured.

“And so said a lot of men down through the years who are now prematurely imprisoned in the long sleep in graveyards all over the country,” Nole chipped in to remind Tom of the danger associated with drinking and driving a vehicle under the influence of alcohol.

“Well, they were probably travelling too fast and brought it upon themselves,” Tom argued.

“That is exactly what alcohol makes one do. It dulls the senses and slows down their reactions, so that when something unexpected happens, like you with the fox, the driver is denied the precious seconds to take evasive action because of the speed of movement, and it’s speed that kills.” Seán emphasised the danger.

“You wouldn’t want to suddenly depart from this life and deprive Nora and your children of your presence for the rest of their lives, would you, Tom?” Nole stressed the possibility.

Tom thought for a moment before answering, “Well, no, I would not and I doubt whether any other man in a similar position would either.”

“True, Tom, and yet sadly and unintentionally, through drinking and driving, many have done just that,” Seán reminded.

“So you are both advising me not to invest in a motorbike, then, is that it?” Tom asked.

“No, Tom, we are not advising against buying a motorbike, but we are advising you, if you decide to get one, not to use it whilst under the influence of alcohol. Would you agree with that, Nole?” Seán asked.

“Absolutely! I couldn’t have put it better,” Nole agreed.

Tom fell silent for a long moment before suddenly announcing, “Thank you both for your advice, and I’ve decided not to invest in a motorbike after all.”

“That’s a wise decision, Tom - congratulations,” Seán commented.

“And likewise from me, Tom. I’d hate to be tormented by the thought of having to go to the graveyard to have a silent chat with you,” Nole remarked. He continued, “Drink up now and we’ll have a celebratory toast before we leave for home.”

“Will you be coming with us, Tom?” Seán asked and suggested, “If you are you can put your bike in the back of the van and climb in with it and I’ll drop you off at your house on the way.”

“Yeah, I will, Seán, and thanks for the offer. You always make sure I get home safely when I’m in your company and even, at times, when I’m not. You’re very kind, Seán, and I appreciate it.” Tom expressed his gratitude.

“Oh, think nothing of it, Tom. It’s no great effort, and, after all, shouldn’t friends help each other?”

“Yeah, they should, Seán, but since the pace of life began to speed up friends and friendships are becoming overstretched and people are more and more preoccupied with their own self-interests.” Tom identified the problem in modern-day society.

“You’ve highlighted the truth there, Tom. The community spirit in society is like a fading flower,” he elaborated and added, “and it’s being replaced by a more austere side of human nature that is fuelled by corporate greed and manipulated by false fear.”

“That’s a fact, Seán,” Nole agreed. “The growing trend nowadays is to get the maximum out of life for the minimum input - a recipe for disaster if ever there was one.”

“Yeah, no doubt about it, Nole, and it’s causin’ a malaise to spread through society. It doesn’t bode well for the future,” Tom predicted.

“Well, we three seem to be, more or less, of the same opinion concerning the changing state of society, and I would describe the mood of people in general as one of spreading discontentment,” Seán concluded.

Tom and Nole agreed with the latter, commenting, “Neatly summed up, Seán,” before he headed for the bar for a round of drinks.

People had already begun filtering into the lounge, and some wandered into the concert room to settle down for the evening’s entertainment provided by any one of a number of band groups from around the county and hired for the occasion weeks in advance.

“Will you and Maura be here on Sunday, St Patrick’s Day, Seán?” Tom casually asked.

“We usually are on St Patrick’s Day and I expect you, Nora and the children will be here too?”

“Oh yeah, Nora, the children and I will be here for the parade and whatever takes place afterwards, but the evening craic I’ll have to miss after having digested all that advice you and Nole have given me here this evening. The way I feel now I’m afraid to use my bike again after a few drinks,” Tom confessed.

“That’s good news, Tom. It means the reality of the effects of alcohol and the associated danger have sunk in, so congratulations!” Seán stated.

“Well, yeah, you’re right and I see the logic, but it’s a long haul home in the dark on foot and just as dangerous,” Tom remarked despondently.

“Do you go out every evening for a few drinks, Tom?”

“Oh no, but I like to go out on a Friday evening such as now for a couple of hours to enjoy a drink and a chat with you and Nole when one or both of you are here. I like to do the same on Saturday evening and that’s about it.” Tom explained his routine.

After a moment’s contemplation Seán said, “I can solve that problem for you, Tom. I usually call here on a Friday evening, as you know, and I can pick you up on the way and drop you off at home again on the way back like I’ll be doing tonight. Then on Saturday evening I take Maura for a night out here, but I don’t drink and drive as I said previously. Instead I order a taxi, so we can still pick you up en route and drop you off at home again on the return trip. What do you say, Tom?”

Tom hesitated before replying, “Well, it’s very good of you to offer, Seán, but... I don’t like putting you to the trouble. I feel-”

“There’s no need to feel self-conscious about it, Tom,” Seán interrupted. “It’s no trouble to help a friend, and besides I’d feel that I was helping Nora and the children as well and that would make me feel good.”

“Well, in that case I accept and I’ll square up with you later, Seán.”

“There’s nothing to square up, Tom. Friends should help each other when the need arises. I suggest we put the plan into action starting tomorrow evening. Do you agree?”

“Done!” Tom exclaimed, and smiled his relief while holding his right hand out to Seán, who grasped it in a handshake of agreement. “You are a rare breed, Seán,” Tom complimented.

“And so is God,” Seán answered, smiling.

Nole returned with the drinks and the news that the band’s equipment was all set up for an eight-o’clock start.

“Good, we’ll be able to listen to a few of the old-time favourites for half an hour or so,” Seán contentedly remarked.

“It’s not far off eight o’clock now,” Nole reminded with a glance at his wristwatch.

“I like listening to the old favourites. They recall the memories that stay forever young,” Tom reminisced wistfully, and as though a wish had been mysteriously granted the band burst into life and the vocalist sang the words of ‘The Galway Shawl’ that echoed round the concert room and infiltrated into the lounge.

“That’s one of the best, if not indeed the best in waltzing airs ever composed, in my opinion anyway,” Nole stated.

“I wouldn’t argue with you over that, Nole. It has a unique-sounding melody that strongly appeals,” Seán agreed.

“It always reminds me of my wife, Nora, and the first time I met her after plucking up the courage to ask her to join me on the dance floor to waltz to the sound of ‘The Galway Shawl’. And before you two ask me I’ll tell you, yes, I was slightly intoxicated and I can’t remember how I performed, but she told me later that I had wandering feet. And I never asked her what she meant, but I had the feeling that it wasn’t a compliment.” Seán and Nole were moved to laughter and when it subsided he continued, “I always remembered the song as a heartstring plucker.”

“Yeah, I like the description, Tom. It has a kind of a-”

“Nostalgic appeal,” Seán intervened with the assist.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly that - a nostalgic appeal - and it somehow reminded me of that great old film Gone with the Wind with Clark Gable playing the main role. Do you remember it, Tom?” Nole questioned.

“I do indeed. It was a great film, but I wouldn’t compare my romantic life with his. I was more of a pampered version of Gable,” Tom modestly described the romantic period of his life and there was an eruption of laughter from all three.

“I have to give you credit, Tom - you can certainly raise a laugh,” Seán commented, still laughing. When the amusement ran its course the three concentrated on listening to the succession of songs that followed until 8.30 p.m. when Seán reminded, “Well, I think it’s time we were heading homeward.”

Tom and Nole finished off what remained of their bainne dubh and the three slipped away unnoticed as the lounge was filling up with Friday-night regulars.