We were on holidays in Co Clare once many years ago, when we stopped at an isolated 'pub by the ocean...a spit and sawdust sort of a place, the walls adorned with old earthenware and flat irons...horse-shoes and bits of broken harness going mouldy.
There was a huge open fire blazing, with old wooden chairs to sit on and fat cats fast asleep on a settle...little rickety tables made less wobbly with folded bits of cardboard under the shorter leg...
I asked...did they do food perhaps...and the landlord said they did indeed. Cod and chips and fresh baked soda bread and a pot of tea with as many refills as we'd like...
The fried cod was simply to die for...flaky and tender...the chips were huge and cooked beautifully and the soda bread delicious...we ate everything and drank tea and sat back with a sigh...
Then the door opened as we were about to leave...the landlord said it'd be worth our while to stay a while...so we went back to our seats by the fire as a group of young men carrying fiddles and penny whistles...a bodhran and an Irish harp... came in and gathered together in a corner.
And they began to play. Soft lilting airs and reels...fast old tunes to tap your feet by...and sorrowful songs that pulled at the heart strings and made my eyes fill with tears.
After about half an hour they stopped playing...picked up their instruments...nodded to us and wished us a good day and away they went. Worth the staying? asked the landlord...
Worth the staying, we said.
It was during the same holiday we'd had to travel right through the centre of Cork city...the traffic suddenly came to a total standstill as a young Traveller riding bareback on a big pony came galloping by...he had maybe ten horses behind him...each one was kept in place with it's tail tied to the long forelock of the horse behind it...he shouted as he galloped by...Thankee...thankee...and he waved and smiled and his horses hooves rang out and their nostrils flared and then they were gone...
The Story-Tellers
