THE WILD COLONIAL BOY
by Thomas Kelly
In my 25 or so years in west Donegal, I ran into plenty of fun loving young criminals, middle-aged delinquents, and aging reprobates, but just two complete outlaws, two brave souls who treated the law with the all utter disdain we all wished we could.
One was Jimmy Begley, the other was Conal, a.k.a. The Wild Colonial Boy, but generally referred to, often in tones of great and justifiable awe and admiration, as 'The Colonial'.
It was said of Jimmy Begley that he point-blank refused to purchase any license, tax or insurance for any vehicle.
The Colonial, they said, did get them, but only one of each, despite having, was it ?half a dozen trucks on the road at any time.
What delighted us all was that they both got away with it, again and again and again, even if it meant that Jimmy had to physically fight his way out of a Garda barracks cell on at least one occasion.
Otherwise, they were both the most agreeable of fellows, charming in the extreme.
It was universally agreed that, no matter what abuse any of the gardai poured on his head, calling him every kind of bleepiddy-bleepiddy-bleep, not to mention —-ing —-er, —ing —-ard and worse, Jimmy would simply smilingly agree,
'Ah, but you are right, Garda! That is exactly what I am!' without ever taking the very slightest offense. And why would he, when he could commit any offense under the sun, it seemed, and get clean away with it?
Oddly enough, Jimmy’s two farmer brothers were the most upright and law-abiding of citizens…
As for 'The Colonial', he showed the medical profession the same benevolent but utter disrespect he showed the law, and every other supposed authority.
I was messing with some cattle in a very dark little cow byre near Fintown one midday when a great shaggy head blotted out most of what little light was managing to get in, and the cheeriest tones I had ever heard filled the air.
'Waal, I have no idea who y’are, young man, but ye have a Roscommon man’s head on ye, so ye do, Sir!'
He told me who he was then.
Mirth and joy instantly flooded the dark cow byre. It was the bould Conal himself! I laughed out loud.
'You may be absolutely right, for all I know! I was always told my dad was a Longford man, you know, but, who knows, and those two counties are cheek by jowl, you know!'
'You are right, Sir, for which of us does know his father, right enough!'
Conal was soon telling us about his recent visits to Letterkenny General Hospital.
'Aye, waal, it aal started wuh me havin’ these wee turns the while I was drivin’, ye say. Ah, the sweat, sir, it wud fair come over me, sir, an’ twas aal I cud do tay keep yon truck on the road, for thar were this torrible pain in mah ches’ so thar were. Ah, after it heppenin’ tay me a half a dozen a’ times, ah tuk me alaang tuh me doctor, sir, an’ he, he sent me staright alaang tay Letterkenny, so he dud.'
The doc thar, he had me weighed and tuk me blood pressure an aal and says he tay me, Mr McDevitt, tell me, how much do you drink, sir?’
An Ah says, ‘Doctor, I do drink a bottle a whiskey on a bad day, an’ maybe two on a good ‘un, sir!’
‘And smoking?’ says he, “do you smoke, too, Mr McDevitt?’
An Ah says, 'Oh, aye, about three to four packs a day, Doc.’
An, man, ya shudda seen the luk he guv mah!
'Well, McDevit't, says he, ‘yuh’ll need to cut both right out, completely,’ says he, ‘for yuh have wan verrah serious heart condition on ye, Dangina, so ye have!’ says he.
Waal, I was back in there again with him for a check-up yesterday an’ he says to me, he says,
‘Waal, McDevitt, I hope ye tuk and follied me advice, did ye?’
‘What advice was that, Doc?’ says I, innocent like.
‘I hope ye cut out all the whiskey and them cigarettes, like I tault ye’ says he, aal serious.
‘Ah, doctor,’ says I, ‘not a bit a me. An’, there’s no point in me jestin’ nor jokin’ nor lyin’ nor pretendin’ to ye, Ah have not the laste intention of ever cuttin’ back on any one o’ the two o’ them, so ye may as well not be wastin’ your breath on me, for I am not worth it, Sir, an’ there’s no point in tryin’ to teach an old dog new tricks.’
Arrah, the poor man, shur aal he cud do was laugh at me, so he did, at that. And the nurse alaang with him!
It was absolutely impossible not to laugh at The Colonial, or even at the memory of him.
|
Your Family Crest
Irish Roots Search
For his services to Britain he was awarded a knighthood in 1911, retiring from the diplomatic service through ill-health and settling once more in Dublin. Despite his proven loyalty to the Crown, however, he chose to take up the Republican cause, helping to establish the Irish National Volunteers in 1913.
I joined the RAF as a lad just after the war I was amazed (bemused is probably more apt) by the number of laws that seemed to control and disrupt my own particular little (radio school) universe: Boyle’s Law, Kerchoff’s Law, Fleming’s Left-Hand Rule… the Law of Diminishing Returns.
