Oisin
gone but not forgotten
This is one I've retrieved from my website. It is another REALLY true account of something I witnessed whilst resident in the Emerald Isle. Although it's a sort of poem/story. I decided to post it here for two reasons:
a. I didn't want to be seen as even trying to compete with the Grand Master and Greatest Knight in the whole world, JerryD, over on poetry, as doesn't come anywhere near decent poetry.
b. The Poem section appears to have disappeared.
THE BRIT and THE BANSHEE
One warm summer’s evening on the road to Glencar,
the boys were a-drinking in Matt Foley’s bar,
when the doors swung asunder and a stranger stepped through.
Tormented and hassled, his face a pale hue,
He pleaded for whiskey said, ‘please make it quick!’
His hand all a-shaking when reaching for it,
having downed it in one he called out again,
‘Another please, landlord, to help ease the pain.
For a sorrowful tail I have to tell
Of a vision that’s set me a straight course to hell.’
So those who were gathered lent him their ears
as the stranger began to relay his fears,
in an accent of English with eyes staring wild
His mouth all a-tremble he sniffed like a child.
‘I’ll tell you right now while I still have the breath,
because pretty soon I’ll be facing my death.
It’s the gospel my friends I can assure you of this,
I only came here to catch a few fish.
And I wish no evil on any good man,
In fact I will always help out if I can.
But this evening while travelling the shores of Lough Gill,
when I halted my car at the foot of a hill,
it was there while I searched for a suitable place,
that I saw a fine woman caught in the sun’s rays.
Naked was she not a trace of her clothes
as she sat on a jetty dabbling her toes.
Through the cool and the calm that spreads with the mist,
the air that she sang drifted sweet from her lips.
While the sun set behind her I witnessed her there,
carefully tending her silky black hair.
Then, all of a sudden with a terrible scream,
she twisted around and stared straight at me.
And though Celtic tradition is not of my own,
I know the power of that cold Banshee’s comb.
The instant I saw it aimed at my head
I knew before long I would be dead.
So grant one last wish to a poor English prod,
Who truly believes the forgiveness of God,
and say a quick prayer, lads and make it for me
to rescue my soul from the evil Banshee.’
The air it was thick with blessings and gloom
When Marie O’Riordan burst into the room,
her face was all flushed, she was fit to be tied,
the fury she felt burnt clear in her eyes.
‘What brings you here all on your own?’
The barman asked in a warm friendly tone,
‘Where is himself? Not ailing is he?’
Marie shook her head. ‘He’s away in Tralee.
And no worse a time could he have chose
to take off on business and leave me alone,
for such a cruel day there never has been,
you would not believe what’s happened to me.
I was there in the bathroom taking a shower,
when out went the lights and off went the power.
The pump wouldn’t work, no water flowed through,
and me lathered up in Organic’s shampoo.
Like the cream on your Guinness, all frothy and wet,
I stood there not knowing what to do next.
Then I thought of the lake just yards from my door,
so I skipped out the back and onto its shore.
The twilight was golden. The air it hung still.
The waters were magic to me in Lough Gill.
So, once I had washed my whole body clean,
I sat on the jetty to savour the scene.
The soft atmosphere soon improved on my mood,
‘til I found myself humming some ditty tune.
It was there while I sat squeezing my hair,
That I sensed I was caught in somebody’s stare.
I shot my head round to the path from the road,
and hid behind reeds I spotted that toad.
So I let out a wail,
and picked up a stick, to use as a flail.
But that durty lecher who’d ogled me bum,
spun on his heels and started to run.
The day was near gone, the light it was dim,
so I had no chance to recognise him.
But, if ever I did, boys, I’d rip him apart
And crush the life’s blood from his perverted heart.’
When Marie had finished a chill filled the place.
All eyes were fixed on the Englishman’s face,
who cleared his throat and croakily said,
With large beads of sweat dripping down his forehead,
‘I told you the truth, lads, I’ll swear on the book
I only intended to dangle me hook.’
Joe Flyn gave a smile as he tapped out his pipe
(the wisest of drinkers assembled that night),
said, ‘The Banshee or Marie, what’s in a name?
‘Twould seem true to me the curse is the same.’
THE END
a. I didn't want to be seen as even trying to compete with the Grand Master and Greatest Knight in the whole world, JerryD, over on poetry, as doesn't come anywhere near decent poetry.
b. The Poem section appears to have disappeared.
THE BRIT and THE BANSHEE
One warm summer’s evening on the road to Glencar,
the boys were a-drinking in Matt Foley’s bar,
when the doors swung asunder and a stranger stepped through.
Tormented and hassled, his face a pale hue,
He pleaded for whiskey said, ‘please make it quick!’
His hand all a-shaking when reaching for it,
having downed it in one he called out again,
‘Another please, landlord, to help ease the pain.
For a sorrowful tail I have to tell
Of a vision that’s set me a straight course to hell.’
So those who were gathered lent him their ears
as the stranger began to relay his fears,
in an accent of English with eyes staring wild
His mouth all a-tremble he sniffed like a child.
‘I’ll tell you right now while I still have the breath,
because pretty soon I’ll be facing my death.
It’s the gospel my friends I can assure you of this,
I only came here to catch a few fish.
And I wish no evil on any good man,
In fact I will always help out if I can.
But this evening while travelling the shores of Lough Gill,
when I halted my car at the foot of a hill,
it was there while I searched for a suitable place,
that I saw a fine woman caught in the sun’s rays.
Naked was she not a trace of her clothes
as she sat on a jetty dabbling her toes.
Through the cool and the calm that spreads with the mist,
the air that she sang drifted sweet from her lips.
While the sun set behind her I witnessed her there,
carefully tending her silky black hair.
Then, all of a sudden with a terrible scream,
she twisted around and stared straight at me.
And though Celtic tradition is not of my own,
I know the power of that cold Banshee’s comb.
The instant I saw it aimed at my head
I knew before long I would be dead.
So grant one last wish to a poor English prod,
Who truly believes the forgiveness of God,
and say a quick prayer, lads and make it for me
to rescue my soul from the evil Banshee.’
The air it was thick with blessings and gloom
When Marie O’Riordan burst into the room,
her face was all flushed, she was fit to be tied,
the fury she felt burnt clear in her eyes.
‘What brings you here all on your own?’
The barman asked in a warm friendly tone,
‘Where is himself? Not ailing is he?’
Marie shook her head. ‘He’s away in Tralee.
And no worse a time could he have chose
to take off on business and leave me alone,
for such a cruel day there never has been,
you would not believe what’s happened to me.
I was there in the bathroom taking a shower,
when out went the lights and off went the power.
The pump wouldn’t work, no water flowed through,
and me lathered up in Organic’s shampoo.
Like the cream on your Guinness, all frothy and wet,
I stood there not knowing what to do next.
Then I thought of the lake just yards from my door,
so I skipped out the back and onto its shore.
The twilight was golden. The air it hung still.
The waters were magic to me in Lough Gill.
So, once I had washed my whole body clean,
I sat on the jetty to savour the scene.
The soft atmosphere soon improved on my mood,
‘til I found myself humming some ditty tune.
It was there while I sat squeezing my hair,
That I sensed I was caught in somebody’s stare.
I shot my head round to the path from the road,
and hid behind reeds I spotted that toad.
So I let out a wail,
and picked up a stick, to use as a flail.
But that durty lecher who’d ogled me bum,
spun on his heels and started to run.
The day was near gone, the light it was dim,
so I had no chance to recognise him.
But, if ever I did, boys, I’d rip him apart
And crush the life’s blood from his perverted heart.’
When Marie had finished a chill filled the place.
All eyes were fixed on the Englishman’s face,
who cleared his throat and croakily said,
With large beads of sweat dripping down his forehead,
‘I told you the truth, lads, I’ll swear on the book
I only intended to dangle me hook.’
Joe Flyn gave a smile as he tapped out his pipe
(the wisest of drinkers assembled that night),
said, ‘The Banshee or Marie, what’s in a name?
‘Twould seem true to me the curse is the same.’
THE END
