THE BLARNEY STONE

Come gather round all ye children, for I have a story to tell you. Sit ye doon by the fire and listen carefully, for what I shall tell you will warm your hearts.

It was in the summer of my 22^nd year. I was young, strong and full of myself, but I knew not then where my life would take me nor what it would bring.

Upon taking a walk in the forest early in the morning, I heard some strange sounds. I heard a voice rebuke the thorns and brambles as obstinate, demanding they let him go. I drew up closer, to see a very strange sight. A small man, no higher than my thigh, was caught in a bramble thicket, tangled in the thorns. He wore a dark green jacket, green corduroy trooks and had upon his head a jaunty hat with a green feather in it. His shoes, like no other I had ever seen, had points at the toes that turned up to his ankles. I knew then, for sure, I had come upon a Leprechaun, a mythical man of magic.

“Young man, will ye stop and stare at me, or will ye help me to free myself from these brambles?”

“Surely, Sir, I shall help you, but I am perplexed at why you are in such a situation.”

“I slept here the night. It was warm and comfy, but when I awoke, these thorns demanded that I stay longer. Come now, I have important business I must attend to.”

Carefully, gently, I removed the offending thorns from his clothes, pushing them aside so he could exit. His language, expressed in anger, made me blush. I had no idea these little people could find such a turn of phrase to express their anger. After much ado, he stepped free, dusted himself off and began to regain his good humour.”

“I don’t suppose you have a small piece of bread or a loaf, my young friend, I am famished after all my struggles.”

“I have a half loaf to share with you Sir, and a jar of fresh water.”

“How very kind of you, I shall repay you with great gratitude.”

At this, I wondered if all the stories about the ‘Little People’ remembered from my youth, were indeed true; if by helping one of them in their difficulty, they rewarded you with three wishes.

“Sir, if you are, as I believe a Leprechaun, it is my great pleasure to help you and see you happily on your way. May I be of any further assistance?”

“Aye, that I am, and I’ll thank e with a good heart and my blessings. If you know the stories of our kind, and if you believe in us, you will know that I must now grant you three wishes. Think on it carefully, and give me your answer when we have eaten the meal you so kindly provide.”

I said to myself; Paddy, this is the opportunity of a lifetime, you must not waste it. I thought hard as we ate, considering all the things I could ask for; good health; a good and trusting wife; fame and fortune. There were so many things to consider, so I asked him;

“Good Sir, I thank you for bestowing on me your blessings. Will you help me to choose those that will make my life a great thing, one that will convey to all who know me, your blessings.”

“You are a wise young man, beyond your years of experience. Allow me to suggest those things which we little people find so endearing. Music and song warm the heart; good food and a full stomach sustain a man; friends are a boon to those who can rely on them; and one must of course, have the means to enjoy these, not in excess, but enough money to live in comfort and ease. I can offer you these things, but you must take care how you ask for them, or I cannot oblige you.”

“Sir, if I may, my first wish is to have as much money as I need to live in comfort, as you suggest?”

“Yes, that is good. Not too much to make you careless, but enough to sustain you. It will be so.”

“For my second wish, I ask if I may be blessed with the talent to play all instruments of music, and to accompany them with a joyful voice, so that people may have pleasure in my company.”

“Yes, that I will grant you. It is a wise choice, for it will give you love, friendship and great pleasure. Think now of your third and final wish.”

“Sir, it is my wish and great love to travel, to meet many people and make many friends. For my third wish I ask that I have a talent for learning and speaking many tongues.”

“Ah, my young friend, that is a rather more perplexing wish. For it to become true, you will have to ‘kiss the blarney stone’, that mythical thing that gives one the ability to converse, but imposes upon you the need to share it with many others. You understand, I cannot offer you the stone, you must find it yourself.”

“Where shall I search for it, Sir. I have no idea what it looks like or where to begin?”

“If you play your music, sing joyful songs for your friends and travel the world, one day, the Blarney Stone will appear to you. Go on and search for it, believe with all your heart you shall find it. I thank you for your kind assistance, for which I hope I have adequately rewarded you. I must now be on my way as there is much to do. Bless you, my young friend.”

“Go well, Sir, with my thanks and blessings upon you.”

And so it was, my young friends, that I came upon this good fortune. In the public house one fine evening, I spied a ukulele, and taking it down, I began to play and sing. The music and the words came to me as if by magic, my songs were joined by all there. It was a joyous night of music, ale and song.

At the end, before I departed, I remembered me Mam’s favourite song;

When Irish eyes are smiling

All the world is bright and gay

For when Irish eyes are smiling

Sure, they’ll steal your heart away.

My friends had tears in their eyes. Not of sorrow, but of joyful memories. They too, had heard this beautiful Irish song from their mothers. We parted with merry greetings. All my friends demanded that I return to sing, play the music and tell of my encounter with a Leprechaun. My wondrous tale. Return I did, many times, but it does not pay to indulge too often, for it can leave the spirit raw.

From Belfast to Dublin and Cork, I travelled the Emerald Isle, singing my songs, playing my music. I was welcomed by all. For those brief moments, evenings of friendship and joy, all the cares were washed away as we joined together and shared our love of music. When I told them of how this had become possible, they just smiled. The ‘Little People’ are just a thing of myth and legend, but they humoured me. Even when I demanded they clench their fists, hold them to the heads, close their eyes and declare; WE BELIEVE IN LEPRECHAUNS.

Everywhere I went, I was taken care of by my new friends. I was fed, clothed and transported from one village to the next. Each demanded I stay longer or go on to their friends down the road. I had need for little. Never once did I feel hungry, lonely or uncared for. A strange thing happened as I travelled; the little money in my purse never dwindled. If I took out a coin to buy sweets for the children or buy food for the poor, it was soon back, every penny.

The call of faraway lands beckoned, drawing me away from my homeland. Across the sea, from Gibraltar to Barcelona, it took just a week or two for me learn their language, listening at first and then beginning to speak it. The songs of their land just popped into my head, their heads shaking in wonder as I sang them, just as they did, in their own language. From cantinas to bistros, bars to community gatherings, I was welcomed wherever I went. I began to tell new stories about where I had been. They listened intently, scarcely believing that songs and music could carry me over such distances.

In Portugal I was carried from town to town. They loved the songs and joined in with great gusto. We shared many meals, great wine and stories from our past and present. In every town and city there were people anxious to join me. Some travelled along at their own cost, finding their own accommodation. We became a band of troubadours, singing for our supper and drinks. My friends called their friends, getting invitations to another town, another place down the road. It was a wonderful time.

It was in France that I met the first of many women that would share my life. Alletta sang in the clubs and restaurants. Her strong, clear voice was most appealing as she sang her love songs. We met in a club and she desperately wanted to sing with me. I was the composer, she was our business manager as we toured the nation, singing in theatres, clubs, bars and restaurants. We shared our love of music and each other, spending hours walking in the parks, laughing and teasing. She often said that I had no feeling for love songs. I always told her that love songs were for the dreamers, those who lacked real imagination.

Sadly, she left me for the big time. She begged and pleaded for me to come with her. The promise of recording contracts was alluring, but not to my liking. She grew in fame and fortune, rising to join many Divas of her age as queens of music.

When the news of me Mam’s passing reached me, I was distraught. I felt guilty about not being there. She was the dearest person in my life. I wrote often, sent post cards from every new town or city, but I was not there to console her before she passed. My sisters found me, sent the message, and I left right away.

You know, my young friends, how hard is the loss of our dear mothers. I moped around the house, hearing the echo of her voice in every room. I could not sing or play my music; it was joyful and happy, not befitting the grief I felt. I played the piano and sang the hymns at her funeral service. I owed her that, but I did not sing at the wake. Yes, we honoured her memory, celebrated her life with friends and family, but I could not share my sorrow with them, did not want to let my music express this.

My sisters tried to draw me out of this depression. They showed me the box containing all my letters and post cards. They told me how, when her friends came to visit, she would lay all the recent ones out on the kitchen table. They would read them, sharing the pleasure with her. Each one I ever sent was there, treasured.

When my sisters could no longer bear my depressing habits, they got together and made a plan to lift me out of it.

“Paddy, enough of this morbid self-flagellation. Come with us now, we are going for a walk.” I muttered about the weather, not wanting to be happy again, but they insisted. We walked into the forest, the same one where I met my Leprechaun. They took me to a fallen log in a green glade and made me sit down.

“Paddy, this was Mam’s favourite spot. She came here to talk to your little friend often.”

“Did she ever see him?”

“No, but she believed he was listening. She told him how proud she was of you. Thanked him every time for blessing you, and us, with such wonderful gifts. She was so proud of you Paddy, you know that for sure don’t you.”

“I know, but I still feel I let her down.”

“Pish and hogwash Paddy, she knew you loved her, and she loved every day of her life that you were doing what was best for both of you. Now Paddy, we are telling you that you owe it to her to carry on. She would be very disappointed to hear you have gone into meltdown. We brought you here to restore your faith and to tell you, get on with it, son, don’t disappoint Mam and us.”

It was as if the clammy mist just burned away. The sun shone again. I would make Mam happy; I would sing and play my music again.

We organised a concert in memory of her in the church hall. I told the audience, hundreds of them, that I would celebrate me Mam with happy songs and good humour, the two things she enjoyed most in life. She often told me as I grew up that life without a sense of humour was like taking a shower in a raincoat. She sometimes let the wicked side of it take voice; the time she saw the Vicar with a young, pregnant woman she commented; “Heavenly Father, I think you have sinned.” We all burst out laughing. The Vicar gave us a meaningful stare. That night we sang, danced and enjoyed the company of our friends.

After that, I began doing recordings on the internet. I had a huge following, people who felt as I did, loved music and friendship. It was hard work, without the pleasure of meeting new people, sharing with friends and travelling. I missed this; not knowing where I would go to next, who I would meet and how long I would be there. Mishka worked with me. She wasn’t a singer, but she certainly knew her stuff on the internet and she cared for me. I think she loved me, but never said so.

Tired of home and recording, I told her I was going to Greece for the summer. She was overjoyed. She packed all her recording stuff and came with me. We toured the islands first, spent a week or two at some, nearly a month in Cypress. Back into the rhythm, we made many new friends, lounged in the sun by day and played and sang at night. Athens was too crowded, too busy, so we moved on quickly. It was a wonderful summer, convincing me that this was the way to go. We repeated it every year for ages. Not just Greece, but many other places. We were always welcomed. People thronged to sing with me. I could scarcely believe how they loved me.

Mishka left me eventually, looking for a steady home and normal life. She became tired of the travelling, the insecurity, and sharing my attentions with many others. I was sad, but we parted on good terms and still write to each other now and again.

The young audience seated around me began to fidget, their attention was waning.

“And now, my young friends, I shall end this tale.”

The one with long dark hair and gleaming emerald eyes was devasted.

“Uncle Paddy, you haven’t told us if you found the Blarney Stone.”

“Ah yes, you are quite right. I shall reward your attentiveness with the answer.”

“Yes please, tell us where you found it?”

“Well now, my young friends, the Blarney Stone is not a thing you can touch or hold.”

“What is it then Uncle Paddy?”

“It is a way of life. It is the joy of searching, the wonder of believing. It will be found in love, friendship and travel, all the wonderful things we search for in life. If you kiss and treasure these things, the world will be yours to enjoy.”

“Now, I must ask you to join me. Clench your fists, hold them tightly to your heads and repeat after me;

I BELIEVE IN LEPRECHAUNS; I BELIEVE LIFE IS GOOD.”