WordSmith - 1997: An inspector calls…
A flick through a book transported Gerard Smith back to 1997 in his latest instalment of WordSmith...
I was flicking through a kids book called ‘IRELANDOPEDIA: a compendium of maps, facts and knowledge.’ It was a large format book with a double page spread given to each county, stating highlights and achievements unique to said counties. Straight away I turned to the Cavan spread where one fact jumped out at me ‘GAELIC FOOTBALL is the most popular sport in Cavan. Their team has won the Ulster Senior Football Championship more than any other county!’
I had no idea of such glory, and shamefully I questioned the fact. I asked a friend, who confirmed it, adding it was by an impressive margin of 40 wins, with Donegal lagging behind at a mere 17. Yes, there are the detractors who’ll say the glory is mostly in the past, but who cares – it’s an impressive record that will be tough to beat anytime soon.
Talking to a relative about that winning day, she told of an unusual inspection that occurred in our county town on the most momentous of days. Since it involved a close family member of mine, I shall recount it here.
My uncles and aunts travelled to Clones to watch the game. After a tense match wherein a last minute goal ensured a one point win for Cavan; the uncles rose in rapture and headed back to Cavan to celebrate in their favourite public house.
Personally, when I look back to 1997 from my view-point, I recall it as time when pubs were at their pinnacle; for returning home on Summer weekends during that period they were plentiful, packed, and foggy with smoke – happy days.
And so it’s from this perspective I imagine my uncles being engulfed in a plume of celebratory-cigarette-smoke as they opened the door to their favourite pub (I’m not sure which one it was, but I strongly suspect The Well on Bridge Street). The atmosphere was positively raucous with patrons, young and old, enjoying a drink or two; after all, it would be rude not to on such a stupendous occasion. When the uncles entered the pub, it wasn’t a case of catching up, it was a case of getting started, as the constant jubilant back-slaps from friends slowed their progress to the bar.
And before they could make it to the bartender, the door flew open and in walked the long arm of the law. I suppose, even in the midst of jubilation we must abide by the law. I don’t know if the appearance of the garda suppressed the crowd's ardour, but I suspect it may have, somewhat. Anyway, I do know the garda walked slowly up and down the bar, throwing his authoritative eye around the premises to ensure the celebratory good cheer of the patrons was not about to veer into potential conflict – he was only doing his job.
Satisfied all was in order, the garda began his outward journey; but his eye caught that of one of my uncles. And to my uncle's surprise and growing concern the garda approached him. He stopped directly in front of him, looking the uncle up and down; finally staring him straight in the eye. The patrons immediately around them stood still, curtailing their celebrations to watch and hear of a potential misdemeanour from my mild-mannered-uncle.
The garda leaned in with a suspicious face, “Would I be right in saying you’re sober?” he asked. The uncle accompanied his, “Yes,” with a nod. The garda leant back and gave his order with a wagging finger, “I’m leaving these premises now, but if you’re still sober when I come back, I’ll be arresting you!”
The garda left to a resultant cheer, a wonderful moment that sums up the unfettered joy of that day.
Now, I have an epilogue, or more fitting would be to call it a foot-ball-note to this story. When my relative recounted the above, I had a glimmer of recognition. I wasn’t in Cavan for the 97 final, yet the incident felt familiar. I wondered if I’d dreamt it? Then it hit me, I recognised the humour in the incident; it reminded me of someone I’ve befriended since my return home.
I decided to do my own investigation and tracked down my friend. I found him sitting in a public place and I approached, “Were you a guard in Cavan during the 1997 Ulster Final?” My question induced a suspicious look in him, and he stood up, “I was.” I recalled the incident. His smiling response was immediate, “That was me, I remember it well!”
He further confirmed that his rounds did indeed take him to – The Well on Bridge Street.
READ MORE: