A whale of a story

They are still bleating on about this bloody whale in the press back yonder. Someone had the good sense if not the taste to send the whole thing up.

Scouse Humour

Liverpudlians or scousers & scallys as they call themselves are so funny, they are a laugh-riot! That is what they tell the rest of us at least so here is some scally humour this 4th day of January.

Unfortunately, Liverpool has a latter day portrayal of a crime ridden City however true that is but as a City it has endured considerable privation especially in the Thatcher years of Government.

Liverpool Parlour Game

A Liverpool Office

A Scouse joke

A scouser was touring the USA on holiday and stopped in a remote bar in the hills of Nevada. He was chatting to the bartender when he spied an old Indian sitting in the corner.

He had tribal gear on, long white plaits, wrinkled face. 'Who's he?' said the scouser. 'That's the Memory Man.' said the bartender. 'He knows everything. He can remember any fact. Go and try him out.'

So the scouser goes over, and thinking he won't know about English football, asks 'Who won the 1965 FA Cup Final?'. 'Liverpool' replies the Memory Man. 'Who did they beat?' 'Leeds' was the reply. 'And the score?' '2-1' 'Who scored the winning goal?' 'Ian St. John' was the old man's reply.

The scouser was knocked out by this and told everyone back home about the Memory Man when he got back.

A few years later he went back to the USA and tried to find the impressive Memory Man. Eventually he found the bar and sitting in the same seat was the old Indian only this time he was older and more wrinkled. Because he was so impressed the scouser decided to greet the Indian in his native tongue. He approached him with the greeting 'How'. The Memory man replied.....'Diving header in the six yard box'.

Finally

I have many scouse acquaintances and they are good decent people, I am thinking of one in particular Eamonn Murphy, or "Murph" as he is known to his friends. Murph is a "toffee" or Everton supporter who is in ill health at the moment - I wish him and his family my best wishes and prayers at this time.

Jones the Actor, FA Cup & the Brady Bunch

VINNIE

These pictures show Vinny Jones getting friendly with England's enfant terrible Paul Gasgoine. No doubt "Gazza" was trying to be a smart-arse and Vinny was having none of it.

What can you say about Vinny that hasn't been said already. I have to say I enjoyed his contribution to the game, especially the contribution he made after 5 seconds in the 1988 FA cup final when he took the legs from under Liverpool's Steve MacMahon and received the fastest yellow card ever in a game. "Macca" was subdued after that and the "Crazy Gang" of Wimbledon FC won the cup with a shock 1-0 win.

The Wimbledon players celebrated with their fans at Plough Lane a few nights later when the players mooned their faithful and brought the "tut-tuts & their wives" out of the woodwork. The "Wombles" after this abandoned their home and began their long march in the 90's towards their near oblivion. They now are incarnated as the MK Dons while their longsuffering fans had enough, setting up a new club AFC Wimbledon in response to their team's abandonment...a sad state of affairs. The last game I saw incidentally at Stamford Bridge was a 3-1 win against them in 2000, we won 3-1 and they were relegated. I left for pastures anew a couple of weeks after that.

But back to Vinnie...

Vinny played for a while with Chelsea and it is fair to say he still is a popular figure at the"Bridge" because of his commitment to the cause even though he played for "Dirty Leeds". Still who can forget his sliding tackle on the Leeds mascot one day! Yes it really did happen! Vinny claims he slipped......

Nobody in their wildest dreams could ever have put Vinny Jones & Hollywood movie star in the same sentence and if you did, you would be asked, "what were you on?"

But he is and more power to him and has a string of appearances that would make more noted actors very envious. He is a frequent visitor to my hometown of Wexford, is a big Greyhound enthusiast and can be often found having apint in Jim Bradys bar with the proprietor & his pals from the area. My own oul fellah met him a few years ago in Capetown, South Africa and they had a laugh at how small the world is. From "Bradys to the Cape" as they remarked...

"Bradys to the Cape" is a great pub-crawl in Wexford, one to be treated with great respect and a "good fry-up" before you start. "Bradys" is in the red City of Maudlintown, technically the end of the Faythe to Eddie Macken's pub, "the Cape" in the Bull-ring.

There's a great story about "Bradys" & Brad Pitt but I'll tell that another day. There's an equally good story about Mackens but I'll digress on that one.

The FA Cup

The Competition has it's 125th incarnation this year, the 3rd round beginning this weekend when the big guns get involved.

It was in 1970 that I became a Chelsea fan, when we beat Leeds in the replay...I was 6 years old then, what a team that was! Peter Osgood scored in every round that year. Peter left us last year, he was 59 years old at the time of his passing - more on him to come in a future post.

Chelsea's win in 1997 was particularly memorable for all us Blues. It signalled an end to the long drought - all those trophyless years, Robbie Di Matteo's wonderstrike after 44 seconds, the fastest coal ever in a Cup Final, Mark Hughes' 4th medal ( & he a lifelong Chelsea fan), Matthew Harding's memory, the 4-2 win in the 3rd round v Liverpool, the contentious win against Leicester, ultimately Wisey lifting the cup and lifting a lot of monkeys off all our backs in so doing.

In 1988, little Wimbledon took on the might of Liverpool and as I described earlier with some outrageous fortune and tremendous heart took the spoils in an upset of enormous dimensions. Some Liverpool players never were the better for it after that day. Ronny Whelan, John Aldridge & Ray Houghton in particular took great heart from it and helped Ireland stage their own shock win over England in the European Championships a month later, see http://deadlydeshravenspoint.blogspot.com/2005/02/1988-and-all-that.html .

Ten years before, the Wombles of Wimbledon were playing non league football in their little nondescript ground at Plough Lane in that famous borough. Their rise was mercurial culminating in that win in 1988 in the World's oldest Cup competition.

That is the romance of "the Cup", pitting David v Goliath, amateur v professional, Non-league v Premier whatever cliche you can muster. I am sure every schoolkid that kicked a ball in the Islands of Britain & Ireland dreamt of walking out on Wembley's hallowed green turf, scoring the winning goal for their team. I know I did, rounding three Man United / Liverpool defenders in the blue of Chelsea as ITV's Brian Moore did the commentary, slipping the winning goal through the keepers legs in the dying seconds...oh happy days!

The Red Peril

Poetry Corner pt.1

Rudyard Kipling,

You may know him as the writer of the "Jungle Book", "Kim" or "The Man Who Would Be King". He wrote some interesting poetry too

There is much the man & I do not have in common; Namely his imperialism and his antipathy to all things of a nationalist Irish hue but you cannot deny that this paean, written (allegedly) to his young son - John, later to die in the terrible conflict that was WWI, is simply a sublime & profound work....

"IF"

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

But make allowance for their doubting too,

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,

If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

There is a great deal of derision amongst his fellow British poets & writers about this poem in particular, notiicably TS Elliot who dismissed him as a versifier & George Orwell who regarded him as basically a "Colonel Blimp", a prophet of Imperialism.

Read it for what it is, a series of aphorisms in verse, by happenstance, a very fine work of poetry which has endured a century now and will no doubt endure a while yet.

Simply put, enjoy it's wisdom.

I told you I was ill!

Dúirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite (I told you I was ill).

The words on Spike Milligan’s gravestone, as gaeilge (in Gaelic) as the Church would not allow the English translation in its graveyard. Even in death, there was controversy & triumph.

Spike’s foolishness was my staple reading in the years 10 to 14 (and in the years beyond to the present day). I devoured anything I could find by him, his poetry, his wartime memoirs, the irrepressible puckoon... His TV show “Q” was incredible. To others it was self indulgent dross but I loved the anarchic silliness of it all. I remember the start of one episode as Spike turns up at Broadcasting House (the Beeb’s home) and takes out a giant wind up key, inserts it into the building and winds it up, starting the building…..simply brilliant, winding the BBC up which he enjoyed doing…years later I understood why.

The man is known as the father of British comedy but to be honest that is too shallow a title as British comedy is a huge force worldwide, I believe he should be known as a father of Global humour, many comedians today owe their living to this man smashing down the walls of comedy and opening up new vistas for them to perform

The “Beeb” could not understand the man or so they let on. Spike was convinced it was his “humble” beginnings which hamstrung him. He was reportedly very insecure over his lack of third level education which the college idiots at Broadcasting house turned up their noses at.

The fact was though, Spike was a manic depressive. An episode where he was bombarded in WW2 (he was an artllery signalman) had an apparent cataclysmic effect on his psyche. Reading his memoirs, it is apparent that this was the case. It is said that the line between genius & insanity is a thread. This statement unfortunately proved to be true as later on when Spike discovered fame in the Goons, the constant pressure of turning out weekly scripts threw him over the edge. In the rest of his career, Spike suffered a constant stream of mental/nervous breakdowns – Bi-polar disorder was eventually diagnosed. Milligan's own black comedy helping him to deal with this blight.

Spike was proud of his Irish roots, indeed he was proud of his Irish Citizenship and I daresay extremely proud his epitaph perplexed the powers that be! His character was incredibly complex, capable of a thousand moods. I care to remember him as a worthwhile human being who brought laughter to me on many a dark day!

If you want to read some of his stuff, start with "Puckoon", you'll never regret it!

"DEV"

"DEV" - the long fellow casts a long shadow!

Eamonn De Valera is a big name in my house. I grew up in a Fianna Fail Household, the party founded by “Dev” and to say it was a partisan upbringing would be not a million miles from the truth.

Fianna Fail is Gaelic for “Soldiers of Destiny”. Pronounced Feena fall, its longtime adversary was and indeed is Fine Gael (family of the Irish).

Fianna Fail has many faces, I suppose, to many people. To some they were ultra conservative, to others..ultra radical. Myself, I felt that the party was a populist party which until recently had not forgotten its roots basically the common people of Ireland. A center party with strong republican ideals.

Back in the seventies, my father became more involved in politics and I grew aware even more so of Dev & his legacy through my Grandfather Mick and from ‘my mother’s knee’ as the saying goes.

It was Fianna Fail Governments which instituted the great Drives in National Housing, Social security, Health, Education, Agriculture, Fisheries, Rural Electrification, National infrastructures. Huge bounds in eradicating TB were established by the Government and an Armagh man called Dr. James Deeny well before Noel Browne took credit for it in the first Inter-party Government.

My young mind then had not heard of “the cult of personality” but it was something very much a part of “the party”. The leaders were venerated. The links to 1916 always extolled.

As I sat in dusty party rooms during elections, I listened to the old party faithful describe the opposition (primarily “Fine Gael”) as blueshirts, west brits, and traitors (these were the nice names!) whilst the Labour party were treated with indifference mostly if nothing else. When I encountered the opposition’s old party faithful, they were equally as hostile, epithets like “Spanish Bastards” & “long fools” being thrown owing to the question of Dev’s parentage, name & height.

The legacy of the Civil war was still alive in those days, (the early 70’s) especially as the trauma of Northern Ireland unfolded. Dev was President at this stage. Alone in his house “in the park”. His party about to go into a 4 year hiatus as opposition before returning under Jack lynch to a huge majority. The previous “Fine Gael” led Government being associated with incredible hardship.

Anyway, I digress; the purpose of this commentary is to applaud “Dev” for a speech he made on the 16th of May, 1945. It is a wonderful retort to the Winston Churchill’s victory speech of three days earlier. Churchill simply has to be Statesman of the 20th century (in my book at least). When one considers titans like FDR, De Gaulle, JFK, Adenauer, Ben Gurion, Golda Meir, Gorbachev, it is not a lightly given accolade but one has to admire the stance that He and Britain took against Hitler & his fascist hordes in the spring of 1940…In this cynical age, it is good to stop and think about the terrible sacrifice that the young men & women of the allies made in the defeat of a terrible evil.

On 13 May 1945, towards the end of the Second World War, Winston Churchill in his Victory in Europe speech, broadcast to the world, was critical of Taoiseach Eamonn de Valera and Ireland's policy of neutrality throughout the war.

Churchill’s problem was with the Irish Government, not the people on this issue. The “master tactician” did not figure that Ireland joining the Allies would probably have prompted a German invasion, an invasion the British let alone the Irish could not have stopped. The German invasion of Greece and their airborne invasion of Crete showed they easily could have accomplished this fact. Churchill declared,

"Owing to the action of Mr. de Valera, so much at variance with the temper and instinct of thousands of Southern Irishmen who hastened to the battle-front to prove their ancient valour, the approaches and the Southern Irish ports and airfields could so easily have guarded were closed by the hostile aircraft and U-boats. This was indeed a deadly moment in our life, and if it had not been for the loyalty and friendship of Northern Ireland we would have been forced to come to close quarters with Mr. de Valera or perish forever from the earth."

Three days later, de Valera, in a much anticipated reply, outlined Ireland's right as an independent state to remain neutral. His response was praised widely in Ireland for its strength, dignity and restraint.

It is indeed fortunate that Britain's necessity did not reach the point when Mr. Churchill would have [invaded Ireland]. All credit to him that he successfully resisted the temptation which, I have not doubt, many times assailed him in his difficulties and to which I freely admit many leaders might have easily succumbed. It is indeed hard for the strong to be just to the weak, but acting justly always has its rewards.

By resisting his temptation in this instance, Mr. Churchill, instead of adding another horrid chapter to the already bloodstained record of the relations between England and this country, has advanced the cause of international morality an important step-one of the most important, indeed, that can be taken on the road to the establishment of any sure basis for peace. . .

Mr. Churchill is proud of Britain's stand alone, after France had fallen and before America entered the War.

Could he not find in his heart the generosity to acknowledge that there is a small nation that stood alone not for one year or two, but for several hundred years against aggression; that endured spoliations, famines, massacres in endless succession; that was clubbed many times into insensibility, but that each time on returning consciousness took up the fight anew; a small nation that could never be got to accept defeat and has never surrendered her soul?

Mr. Churchill is justly proud of his nation's perseverance against heavy odds. But we in this island are still prouder of our people's perseverance for freedom through all the centuries. We, of our time, have played our part in the perseverance, and we have pledged ourselves to the dead generations who have preserved intact for us this glorious heritage, that we, too, will strive to be faithful to the end, and pass on this tradition unblemished.

Stirring stuff, eh?

I remember an old cartoon in “Dublin Opinion”, featuring the “Bould”, Winston sitting by the wireless which is emitting the words “that was An Taoiseach, Eamonn De Valera”. Winston, cigar in hand..(with the caption bubble from his mouth) saying “listen & learn”.

The fact remains that Ireland’s neutrality was a positive neutrality in favour of the allies, such as allowing downed allied airmen return to the UK whilst imprisoning German officers for the term of the war. Not to mention allowing Irishmen to join the allies. (De Valera had imposed a prohibition on Irish Nationals joining Franco’s forces in 1936 in the Spanish civil war).

Still, it is a wonderful response from “Dev” to a Statesman that the world truly owes a debt to. Churchill’s marshalling of his Country’s reserves in her darkest days is indeed a stirring epic which will be recounted in the centuries to come. The horrors of Nazi Germany were yet to be unveiled at the time of these statements.

The above is also a testimony to the schizophrenic relationship that Ireland has with England. The shared ties are paradoxically the ties that bind. The language, religion, heritages that are inextricably bound together like twisted vines around an old oak tree. These ties are fast disappearing as both nations take their place in the new Europe which ironically, actually seems to be bringing the nations closer together than ever before.

History is a poisoned chalice, we would do well to remember to never sip from that cup again.

Easter Monday, 1916

Easter Monday, 1916.

The day it all began, Ireland would never be the same again nor would the British Empire for that mater.

A mere handful of men fought the might of the British Army in a doomed battle and little more than 5 years later, managed to drive them to the negotiating table and out of Ireland, well almost.

The Empire’s denizens, suffering her imperial presence, furtively took notice and asked, “Well if the Irish can do it and they live next door! well we can do it here too!”
Whether “here” was the Indian Sub Continent, South, East or West Africa, the Middle East & Palestine. Wherever territory was ruled by the Union Jack”. Ireland’s fellow strugglers were heartened by her resolve & her spirit and adopted the Irish principle of “why not?” In the course of the next 40 years, the sun set on an ever shortening empire as people after people rose up against Whitehall.

Not much notice is taken of that week in Ireland by World Historians but its effect in history are still felt today. Just as dramatic as a certain “Tea-Party” in Boston and almost equally as important.

The irony is that those ideals that liberated Ireland in 1921 and consequently lit the torch paper to the destruction of the empire was American in its concept. The ideals of 1776 inspired those men of 1916 as the founder of Modern Irish Republicanism – Theobald Wolfe Tone was a devotee of Jefferson, Franklin & Paine.

Easter 1916

Speaking to my Mother moments ago, she told me of the easter parade in Dublin commemorating the events of this week 90 years ago in Ireland.

It was 90 years ago today that my Grandfathers Mick Wade & Paddy Kiernan were getting ready to strike a blow for Irish freedom.

Being Ireland & the Irish, The head of the Irish Volunteers ordered that Body to stand down; almost all did including my Grandfather Kiernan’s battalion in Co.Cavan.

My Grandfather Wade’s comrades in Dublin were a different matter. He was a very young adjutant under the command of a man called Eamonn DeValera, a U.S. born teacher of mathematics at Blackrock College and a rising light in the Independence movement.

They occupied Boland’s Mills guarding the approaches from (then) Kingstown’s harbour and denying the British easy egress to the city Center with re-inforcements.

Many talk, indeed sing about the G.P.O. and that doomed but beautiful struggle that lit the torch paper of Irish freedom but Boland’s Mills was different. It was a successful military operation, imposing huge casualties on the occupying forces.

My own Counties of Dublin (birth) & Wexford (upbringing) rose against the British that week plus an action in Galway.
My Grandfather Wade had a huge fondness of all things Wexford as a result ever since that date and indeed for those areas that obeyed Pearse’s instructions on that fateful Easter weekend.

At the end of the week, With the city ablaze & the native populace spitting at the participants - the British thought they had killed Irish freedom forever, but three days later as the executions began & the peals of the requiem bells rung out across the land, Freedom rose from the grave and as in the words of the poet, “a terrible beauty was born”. The irony is not lost on one as I write these words on this particular day.

I’ll write more of the events of this week later but it’s Easter Sunday. I can’t help thinking of my Grandfather Mick now. At this time 90 years ago, what thoughts were going through his young mind preparing for war. The fear & anticipation he must have felt, the anxiety & the determined knowledge that he was right. To free his homeland, a war of independence. His sacrifice and My God!., did he sacrifice a lot. He must have realized that life would never be the same again

London, July 7, 2005

London, July 7, 2005

The Morning Rush-Hour...

No words of mine are of use here but the Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone spoke for us all who love the City.

Mayor condemns terrorist attack as cowardly -

This was a cowardly attack, resulting in injury and loss of life, and aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. -->
This was a cowardly attack, which has resulted in injury and loss of life. Our thoughts are with everyone who has been injured, or lost loved ones. I want to thank the emergency services for the way they have responded.
Following the al-Qaeda attacks on September 11th in America we conducted a series of exercises in London in order to be prepared for just such an attack. One of the exercises undertaken by the government, my office and the emergency and security services was based on the possibility of multiple explosions on the transport system during the Friday rush hour. The plan that came out of that exercise is being executed today, with remarkable efficiency and courage, and I praise those staff who are involved.
I'd like to thank Londoners for the calm way in which they have responded to this cowardly attack and echo the advice of the Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Ian Blair – do everything possible to assist the police and take the advice of the police about getting home today.
I have no doubt whatsoever that this is a terrorist attack. We did hope in the first few minutes after hearing about the events on the Underground that it might simply be a maintenance tragedy. That was not the case. I have been able to stay in touch through the very excellent communications that were established for the eventuality that I might be out of the city at the time of a terrorist attack and they have worked with remarkable effectiveness. I will be in continual contact until I am back in London.
I want to say one thing specifically to the world today. This was not a terrorist attack against the mighty and the powerful. It was not aimed at Presidents or Prime Ministers. It was aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. It was an indiscriminate attempt to slaughter, irrespective of any considerations for age, for class, for religion, or whatever.
That isn't an ideology, it isn't even a perverted faith – it is just an indiscriminate attempt at mass murder and we know what the objective is. They seek to divide Londoners. They seek to turn Londoners against each other. I said yesterday to the International Olympic Committee, that the city of London is the greatest in the world, because everybody lives side by side in harmony. Londoners will not be divided by this cowardly attack. They will stand together in solidarity alongside those who have been injured and those who have been bereaved and that is why I'm proud to be the mayor of that city.
Finally, I wish to speak directly to those who came to London today to take life.
I know that you personally do not fear giving up your own life in order to take others – that is why you are so dangerous. But I know you fear that you may fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society and I can show you why you will fail.
In the days that follow look at our airports, look at our sea ports and look at our railway stations and, even after your cowardly attack, you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London to become Londoners and to fulfil their dreams and achieve their potential.
They choose to come to London, as so many have come before because they come to be free, they come to live the life they choose, they come to be able to be themselves. They flee you because you tell them how they should live. They don’t want that and nothing you do, however many of us you kill, will stop that flight to our city where freedom is strong and where people can live in harmony with one another. Whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.

Glossary of my language

One of my hobbies is etymology, if you don’t know what it means get a dictionary!
But seriously though, my American pals & colleagues always get confused and sometimes worried when I use the following terms, in conversation or work situations.

So in an effort at Détente, International Co-Operation, World Peace and simply to clarify the meanings for the American (& indeed British) reader, I have embarked on writing a small list which I may add to from time to time.

Hopefully, this list will explain words as they are to me and ought to be to them! (In my mindJ!).

Arse: Ass as in posterior.
(e.g.) “He is a right pain in the arse!” Also can be used as a term of defiance as in “I will in me arse!”

Bog: A term of disdain normally used by townies and Dubliners to the country side.
“Get back to the Bog, ya culchie!”. It can also refer to the bathroom, as in “I’m going to the bog!”

Bollocks, Bollix: means literally testes/testicles but usually as a term of enragement. However it can be used as a term of endearment depending on the tone it is said in.
“You Lousy bollocks!’ “He’s only a bollox!” “A pain in the bollocks!”

Bum: Arse
“He is a pain in the Bum!”

Crack, Craic: Fun!
(e.g.) “We had great crack in Dublin!” “What’s the crack?” meaning “What are we going to do?’

Culchie: a term usually used by Dubliners but invariably other East Coast Townies to country folk. Apparently, the term has its roots from Kiltymagh, Co. Mayo (pronounced Culchiemack) although a lot of people believe it was a reference to agriculture including the writer of this piece.

Cute: It can have the normal meaning of “awwww” or it can mean sly or cunning.
(e.g.) “Mind him! He’s a cute bastard!”

Doss: To not work. (e.g.) “I had a right doss at school today!”

Dosser: A lazy person (e.g.) “He’s a real dosser!”

Fag: a cigarette
(e.g.) “I am dying for a fag!” “I need a fag!” “I’d kill for a fag!”

Fairy: a member of the Tuatha De Danann. An ancient Irish citizen to be treated with respect and due deference when encountered on a dark night. We never refer to them as fairies normally though. The term usually referred to is “one of the other crowd!” If somebody is daydreaming, it has been heard that “He is away with the fairies!”

Feck: The Irish lite version of F*ck. Like its stronger “Anglo” cousin can mean a whole raft of meanings like
To Feck: to steal
“Feck that!” : “No way!”
“Feck off!” : “Leave me alone!”
“fecking, feckin’” Adjective of
“Fecker”: Pest or alternatively a term of endearment.
Can be used dazzlingly together like, “Feck off! Ye Feckin’ fecker!”.

Gay: happy, go lucky though it isn’t used much anymore. It also is a man’s name, shortened version of Gabriel as in Gabriel or Gay Byrne.

Gob: Mouth
(e.g.) “I’ll give you a smack in the gob!’

Gobshite: a bull shitter, a fool
(e.g.) “Never mind that Gobshite!”


Gurrier: a youth of low moral caliber. Brave when they have a few cans of cider and hunt in packs. Picking normally on an isolated or lone individual. They can be found in all social strata. Usually they grow up to be rugby players, tax collectors and lawyers.
(e.g). "They are a right, nasty bunch of Gurriers!'


Hoor: Whore nominally but as in all things Irish, it has a plethora of meanings like;
“Watch that one! He’s a cute hoor!”
“Ye hoor, yeh!” - Exclamation of surprise or disdain
“ye little hoor!” :- loving term from your mom!

Jacks: a term used by Dubliners in reference to the bathroom.
(e.g.) “I’m off to the jacks!”

Joint: side of roast beef. The traditional Irish and British Sunday dinner. Simply put an institution of both Islands.
(e.g.) “Granny really loved the Sunday Joint”. “The family had a joint on Sunday”.

Knacker: a term used for a tinker usually in a disparaging manner. It is usually referred though to a person of low social standing or class. A person of unsophisticated tastes.
(e.g.) “He’s only a knacker, don’t mind him”
“They’re a bunch of knackers!’ in reference say to a football/soccer team whose tactics are, shall we say, dubious or uncompromising at best.

From the root of Knacker, we get

Knackered: which means tired¹ but also can be used as beaten²?
(e.g.)¹ “I am Knackered, , I haven’t slept in days!’
(e.g.)² “We’re knackered now, they’ve scored again!”

Lad: A term for a boy normally but when “the ”is put before it, it has only one meaning in the Irish psyche meaning the male appendage or penis. Always referred to in the third person.
(e.g.) “How’s the lad?” a popular greeting among (usually) young Irish males in a light hearted enquiry as to one’s sex life. Amongst Older Irish males though, it is normally an enquiry about one’s self in the third person! A reflection on the libido I guess as one gets older

Mickey: Pet name for the penis as in “Me Mickey is itchy!” usually overheard from a pack of Gurriers on a Saturday night in a fast food outlet

Quare: Odd, not right.
(e.g.). “Something is quare here!” or “That’s quare!”

Quare fella: Usually a term for Satan or the devil.
(e.g.) “I think he’s in with the quare fella!”

Redneck: A term for a culchie or a countryperson. My Dublin born mammy told me it was a reference to culchies getting slapped on the back of their necks by their frustrated parents, saying “Get up to Dublin and get a job!”
(e.g.) “Go back to the bog, ya redneck!”

Smack: Slap, a blow
(e.g.) “I’ll give you a smack in the gob!” “I’ll smack the arse off you!”
(c) deadlydesh ravenspoint 2005

(image courtesy of Fr. Ted online @ http://www.fathertedonline.ukf.net)

1988 and all that

In the buildup to the European championships in Germany. The BBC did an interview with Johann Cruyff, a handy enough player in his day!

If I recall, Bob Wilson, ex Gooner & Scotland keeper was the interviewer and at the end of the segment, Bob intones the warning somewhat patronizingly that Mr. Cruyff had a surprise bet. “Don’t ignore the Irish!” he advised. “They won’t change their game for no-one! They play together as one unit, for each other!”

That was as mild as it got from the British Media regarding the Irish. The general sneering tone from paper, pundits and quotable insiders were that Ireland was there for the holidays. That Ireland played a kick & rush game. That Ireland was unsophisticated, that her players were ‘plastic paddies” and “guns for hire”. These latter labels were accredited to the fact that a number of the squad, notably John Aldridge & Ray Houghton were born in the UK…no matter that some of the England players like Terry Butcher and John Barnes were similarly challenged!

Then June 12th happened

There were many ironies that day, too numerous to mention here but the irony of it all though was that It was an Englishman who lead us through this. Too truculent and outspoken in his own association’s eyes, Jack Charlton’s direct no-nonsense, “say it as it is!” talk endeared him to Irish hearts and his subsequent loyalty to his players only heightened the respect he garnished from a grateful country, starved of meaningful success on the world stage of sport.

Jack embraced the siege mentality of the underdog. It was something he, his players and indeed his adopted country could all share in as they out on the greatest sporting adventure the country had ever experienced.

The players, native and foreign born found the dynamic of such a psychological milieu of the siege spirit a terrifically unifying force. It was something the manager had harnessed before in qualifying & friendly games particularly in matches against Scotland, Bulgaria and Brazil but now against perfidious Albion, the mental energy such a spirit engendered coupled with the raw emotion of facing “superior England” unleashed a whirlwind of commitment and passion that was very focused on one goal – victory!

England weren’t the first Country to underestimate Ireland and indeed they weren’t the last. Many Countries had previously misjudged the Irish, usually almost consistently to their cost.

The wake up call came at precisely 3.36pm local time on June 12th in the Neckar Stadion in Stuttgart when Ray Houghton headed rather cheekily over an out of place Peter Shilton after some keystone capers by the English Defense caused by Jack Charlton’s “pressure game”.


"You owe us a pint!"
Ray Houghton and Ronnie Whelan celebrate the opening of Jack Charlton's wallet

This “pressure game” basically was a system that kept the opposing team on the back foot principally in their own half. Compressing that space caused chaos for the defending team and tremendous advantages for the attacking team. It required incredible stamina and athleticism and no mean footballing skill either but the first two factors were paramount.

It wasn’t kick and rush, it was a whole new concept of the term “Total Football” that eventual tournament winners Holland and the architect of the principle, Rinus Michels had introduced to the world. The first attacker was the keeper, the first defender was the center forward. The wings were used with devastating effect on counter attacks on those rare occasions they were being pressed themselves. It was a culture shock to the footballing powers when they encountered it.

It shook England to the core as they found an Irish team that was up to it in every sense of the word.

Ireland ran England ragged in that opening 45 minutes. The Chants from the 15,000 or so strong Green army that had made the pilgrimage to Germany were stoic to say the least, as pundit after pundit was assailed from the terraces. “Are you watching Jimmy Hill, Brian Clough, etc!”. The neutral Germans loved the atmosphere as they joined in with The Irish fans in singing “Auf Weidersehn England!” to the tune of Mary Hopkin’s “those were the days!”.

It was almost as if 800 years of history was pressing down on that pitch that day. As England strove for an equalizer in the second half, it appeared that a legion of ghosts had planted themselves around Packie Bonner’s goal as chance after chance went amiss and astray for the English. Irish Goalkeeper Bonner made some outstanding saves that day, having the game of his life. The Irish Defense was magnificently marshaled by Mick McCarthy another “Anglo” who’s Waterford born father taught him hurling on the playing fields of Barnsley as a youngster.

Many an Irishman in the second 45 minutes prayed as they never had before for a victory. A power surge of prayer must have overloaded Heaven’s grid and swamped the pearly gates’ telephone exchange as devout vows were made in earnest as every minute in that half ticked tortuously by. The only rattles heard that day were the rattles of the rosary beads clicking furiously like a demented granny knitting on speed.

One was aware that potentially, history was in the making. A day that would never, ever be forgotten. This day would be retold to children & grandchildren down through the years. One realized how the ancient heroes were now not so ancient as modern day “Cuchullains” and Fionn McCumhails of our own were springing up before our eyes. Now you understood how legends were born and one could understand suddenly, how the generations that preceded us to the dawn of time loved to tell and listen of their exploits. That this day was another chapter in the Celtic Cycle.

One now knew what it really meant to be Irish!

Between the incredible keeping, heroic defense, ghosts and prayers of Irishmen saying the rosary that day all around the world (I was one!), Ireland prevailed and the biggest party the Nation had seen since the days of Brian Boru erupted in every town, village & hamlet that glorious June Evening.

Political allegiances were momentarily put aside. Hatchets were temporarily buried and feuds forgotten as warring neighbors, couples, children, friend & foe alike happily joined together in a wonderful spontaneous celebration.

One of those rare moments of joyous unifying synchronicity that a nation hardly ever experiences, happened to us that day.

To the bemused reader, it wasn’t simply a football match to us Irish. It went way beyond that. To call it a cultural phenomenon would not be profound! It would be too simplistic. It was the Colonizers getting their come-uppance from the “natives” in a most overt, dramatic and satisfyingly humiliating way. “Croppy” was not lying down anymore!

The glee and sheer delight of our victory was particularly sweet at the remembrance of our history. Waves of such remembrance simply flooded our consciousness at that precise moment, intensely emotional and fulfilling all in that same moment.

It wasn’t aimed at the ordinary Englishman in the street just at that ordinary Englishman’s Hierarchy. The establishment that was represented by anybody, in position of power and influence whether it be the FA or 10 Downing Street. To us at that juncture in time it was all the same.

It was the same Hierarchy that had rode roughshod over us for centuries. It was the same Hierarchy that had destroyed our culture, killed, starved and exiled our people over the centuries preceding, who we now cocked a smug grin at and reveled in their discomfort.

As I sat with my lifelong pals savouring the moment with a pint of "Uncle Arthur", my mind wondered how Gerry Conlon, Paul Hill & Paddy Armstrong of the "Guildford 4" felt at this moment. I thought of the Birmingham 6 and the McGuire family who were also at that time wrongly incarcerated in British prisons after being stitched up by that same Hierarchy. I remember sincerely hoping that the lads felt the same sheer ecstasy we were experiencing. I am sure it was a euphoric moment too for all Irishmen in that system.

With that final whistle. Almost at once our inherent inferiority complex to our arrogant neighbor vanished like the morning dew. The “tipping the hat” psyche replaced by a defiant two fingered salute that only denizens of the Western Isles of Europe truly know the meaning of.

Paradoxically or maybe in hindsight, rather not. It was the moment, a true, mature friendship began to finally materialize between Ireland and England. Rejoicing in at last, the unique heritage that both peoples share. The straitjacket of our common and often terrible history had finally been wrenched off........for now!

In that afternoon, I would wager Modern Ireland truly was born. The Celtic Tiger roared into the world when that final whistle blew. Defiant & proud, holding our heads up to the sun. We were, as the old song declares, a nation once again.

© deadlydesh ravenspoint 2005