I am blessed to live in the middle of Dunderry and have a bird’s eye view of all that happens. I can’t but hear every noise. I’ve never seen more video recorders ,mobiles and digital and conventional cameras in the one spot. Today’s event is recorded for posterity on thousands (I kid you not) of visual aids. Probably aurally recorded too. How to record it in the written word? Here goes.
Woken at seven. The rumbling of motor engines,the pop of drawbar disengaging from ball joint,the clatter of steel and hammering of steel against metal and wood,,the clanking of tubular steel gates against each other as the animal keepers jostle for the best positions to showcase their wares and make secure the pens and cages. The stewards buzzing around in hob nailed boots ,waistcoats, chunky wool socks with breeches tucked in,flat caps ( that’s only the women) and badges stating their status . And the ultimate status sign. The walkie talkie prominently displayed for all to see. Constantly spoken into while rushing hither and thither. Combined with the high vis vest , it distinguishes the Maor from the Gardai,(same set up but blue vests not yellow),the Red Cross in red and The River rescue Crowd, like the Gardai but no walkie talkies.
And the sounds.Close the eyes and savour the cock’s crowing,the hens clucking ,the ducks quacking ,the geese gaggling,the pigs squealing,the cattle bellowing, the donkeys braying,the odd horse neighing and the dogs barking all at the same time. And the murmur of the crowd in animated conversation blending in with the tannoy as it belts out the “Old Dunderry Fair “, melting into the Spanish Lady’s hair wash and the Jug of Punch.Only in Dunderry.
It’s dark and somewhat overcast. Preparations are going on for months. The whole Parish have pulled together in preparation. The village is blocked off for one day ,twelve till six. This is the eight year. Thousands come to see the clock turned back and farm life of bygone years on living display. Animals and poultry of all shapes and sizes are displayed and sold. Old crafts are showcased and traders of all sort offer their wares for sale. We get one chance at this.One six hours. If it rains heavy we are snookered. We pray it won’t. It doesn’t. Showtime.
Mass is brought back from eleven to nine thirty to suit. The Mass bell rings at the earlier time. I’d say many are caught out. Somewhere a pig squeals as the Spanish lady washes the gruaig and a massive forklift moves a heavy pallet under the directions of a female Maor dressed in a crossover bib, bonnet and flouncy petticoat. The Fair Chairman pases by,a fag dangling precariously from the corner of his mouth as he contemplates the next conundrum. The tannoy announces “will the owner of car number 08 mh xxzzp ,a white volkswagon parked on the Tullaghanstown Road move it as it is causing an obstruction”. A short shower falls . The sun peeps out. The organisers breathe again. Time passes. The pre Mass bells for eleven ring.Did the priest forget to disable the preset bells? What about it. He has a lot on his plate.one man running a Parish where two were needed just a few years ago.
Kick off time comes. Midday. Angelus tolls. The ball is in the game is on. Crowd seems big. Ate the breakfast , glance at the papers , check the pockets, tighten the ferrule on the walking stick ,don the “man bag”and hobble out the gate.Stalls to the right of me, stalls to the left of me ,stalls all over the main street and the pitch and Geraghty.s field.Barriers blocking the roads. Adults charged .Kids free. Stalls of Shetland ponies,sheep ,poultry ,cattle ,ponies ,horses .dexter cattle,goats,ducks ,geese,boiled sweets,horse,pony and ass tack.
A ninety year old woman is making butter from a two litre bottle of pasteurised milk. A basket weaver is weaving baskets. A harness maker is stitching a leather strap to working saddle with an awl and waxed thread using a wooden vice of ingenious design. Beside him another man is making a three legged stool ,shaping the legs with the help of a wooden vice designed hundreds of years ago. A blacksmith is putting shoes on horses and asses. The smoke from their hooves bellow up as the red hot shoes are tested for size.The city people are in awe and the cameras click. The animals take it all in their stride.
Everywhere parents and grandparents show their awe struck kids how things work and the cameras click. And the teenagers strut their thing,coolness itself as they lay down their markers. Everybody is on the mobile telling those absent the wonderful craic they are missing and they clutch them tighter as the tannoy announces that there are pickpockets at large.As Molly said”there is always something to sour the sweet”. As auld Mc Cormack said “the curse of God on them”. I’m with auld Mc Cormack on this one.
Bouncy castles,swing boats ,balloons,all nature of fairground rides and contraptions,stalls selling treble glazed windows and all nature of thermal contraption. Walking sticks,tools ,chains and chainsaws. Everyone haggles over everything bar the food. Lovely smells of curries,fish and chips,hot dogs,burgers,bundies,fried onions ,that German sausage I can’t spell but can smell. Sandwiches,teas,coffees,buns ,cakes,ice creams,chocolates,fudge,mashed spuds,rice. No shortage of foodstuffs as hard pressed stallholders and voluntary groups are squeezed to the limit by our political masters. Not one of them in sight. Wonder why.
The GAA club selling ducks for the duck derby at a fiver a go, the juvenikle club selling tickets for its draw and the facepainting. All for good causes. For a few hours we can forget our misery.
The horse whisperer does his thing. Amazing.And a good few throw caution to the wind and down a few jars and sing the songs of Ireland. And Matt Leavy and his people are brilliant as they warm up for Crystal Srping,who strut their stuff as our Molly jives to the music. And our Emily has her photo taken with them. She is four months. And the ceili band and dancers play away around the corner and a piper pipes away to his heart’s content. All at the same time. We are spoilt for choice. There is no sound like it anywhere i’d say.God bless Dunderry.
The vintage car owners and the guys who own the horse caravans start to pack up. The matchmaker closes for business and the traveller who has been told by the vendor of a mare ass that she is young enough to breed tells him that the ass is similarly closed. No sale there. The carnival winds down and a most personable lady who had been showcasing a dog as a baby and a pig as a man on behalf of the autistic and most special of children gives yours truly a few buns as a present. Good luck down in Westmeath via Drumbarragh
And a special thanks to Fergal and Kevin who carried my purchases home for me and to the good friends, men and women, I met again today and who we had the chat with.
Till next year D.V.
And how’s it going Sean o Cearbhaill in Milton Keynes.
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