'TRICKY DUBH' - A Story by Pat Watson
A year after her husband's death in 1927 it
became clear that the widow was on the lookout.
Three serious suitors were quickly into the
ring, after all her late husband, Kieran, had
left her with a snug twenty acres and a house
built into the shelter of a cut-away hill.
Thatch would last twice as long in this sheltered
position.
Of course one couldn't show ones hand too soon as
failure with one woman would hinder ones chances
in future. Funny, the way everyone fancied the
same woman while others could get no man at all.
Then again twenty acres had it's own beauty.
Rambling in at night for a chat was the most
widespread leisure activity at the time and a
man with intentions could call as a rambler
without totally revealing those intentions. After
an hour alone with the widow a man might broach
the subject. Paddy Ban (fair), John Dearg (red)
and Tricky Dubh (black) all had the same idea.
That's why all three spent every night rambling
in the widow's house this sherraft. Sherraft was
the period between Christmas and Lent and was the
time for weddings.
While their nicknames once
indicated their hair colour, now in their fourth
decade there was little difference between them.
As none had farms of their own this might well be
their last throw of the romantic dice.
Paddy Ban was a laidback dreamy romantic chap whom
a woman could love but his farming abilities were
suspect. His experience with the opposite sex was
all in his head.
John Dearg was a go-getter who
would skin a flea and skin anybody else who got
in his way. Some people called him 'John skin the
goat'. The woman who got him would never be short
of a few bob even if she were never at liberty to
spend it. His only previous romantic encounter
had ended abruptly when it transpired that the
object of his affections did not own the uncles
farm after all.
Tricky Dubh who was from a
wealthier family was gracious and charming but
was something of a black sheep who had earned his
nickname. His romantic encounters were many and
varied and indeed there were rumours of a scandal
or two.
As Ash Wednesday approached all became more
desperate and competition increased at the nightly
meetings. A four-way conversation is not an ideal
forum for suitors, especially if there is only one
lady. A man has to measure his words so as to
belittle the others without appearing vindictive.
It's not easy to get to portray one's assets,
one's physical powers, one's charms, one's
charisma, or one's manhood while in the presence
of two jealous rivals. All comments are likely to
be misconstrued, added to, laughed at, sneered at
or generally belittled.
Then, on the Friday before Ash Wednesday the
morning was the wettest for many years. If a man
got very wet out looking for a stray calf wouldn't
it be reasonable for him to seek temporary
shelter in the house of an acquaintance and if
that acquaintance happened to be the widow with
whom a man wanted to have a serious private
conversation so much the better.
Whether it's that great minds think alike or that
fools seldom differ I could not say but all three
suitors had the same idea around daylight on the
morning in question. John Dearg and Tricky Dubh
jumped out of bed and prepared to look the part.
They would need to walk in the rain for half an
hour to look suitably wet.
John Dearg, not to be
wasteful, went to the well for water making sure
to splash himself so as to look wet. Tricky Dubh
herded the widow's livestock at the back of her
house. Paddy Ban stayed in bed for a while to
think. If he had this great idea maybe the others
had it too. He got dressed, shaved and went as
far as the ivy clad tree a hundred yards north
of the widow's house. He would watch from there
for a while.
As Tricky Dubh was approaching the house from
the back he spotted John Dearg coming up the
south road. He hid behind the haycock where the
goat was suckling her two kids. About the time
John Dearg was reaching the front door, he took
the ladder from the haycock, placed it against
the low thatched roof, grabbed a kid and climbed
up to the chimney.
Up the wide chimney came the
voice of John Dearg calling, 'God save all here',
just then he dropped the kid down the chimney.
The frightened beast upturned the kettle off the
crane, the toast off the tongs, put the fire
flying round the kitchen, and broke two willow
pattern plates from the dresser before escaping
out the door.
In her fright and confusion the
widow thought that John Dearg had brought the
goat. Where else could it have come from?
Picking up the twig she attacked John Dearg
physically and verbally, raining blows on him
while calling him obscene names and ordering
him out of her house. Not knowing where the
kid came from, he was shocked by the whole
episode and ran for his life.
As he struggled
home through the rain, his heart and spirit
broken he muttered to himself, what was the
weird woman doing with the goat? Were there things
about women and goats he did not know? Now he
would never know. If that's the sort of them then
he didn't want to know. They could all go to hell
and the sooner the better.
'What on earth happened here?' said Tricky Dubh
as he watched the widow picking up the bits of
willow pattern plates?
'They were my grandmother's,' she wailed.
'And look at the fire all over the floor and my
toast, that lunatic John Dearg brought a goat
into the house and a mad goat at that.'
'A goat is it? The sign of the devil, you'll
have to get the house blessed, I always had my
doubts about poor John, and you're lucky to be
rid of him. Here let me help you tidy up.'
'Why did you throw the kid goat down the chimney?'
That's what Paddy Ban said as he came in.
'What are you talking about?' said Tricky Dubh.
'I saw you throwing the goat down the chimney.'
The widow went for the twig again, this time
with more ferocity, indeed Tricky Dubh was lucky
to escape with his life.
After Tricky Dubh left Paddy Ban had the field
to himself. Their descendants are still around,
no longer Ban or dreamy as the widow's dusky
beauty and spirited personality changed all that.
Pat Watson
'Tricky Dubh' is one of sixty lyrical
yarns from 'Original Irish Stories' by Pat Watson,
Creagh, Bealnamulla, Athlone, Ireland.
Visit: https://goo.gl/FDp48v
or you can email the author here: pjwatson77@gmail.com
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