Geraint Jones writes: <\/p>\n
The switchboard light flashed angrily at the Aran Islands\u2019 only police station. Sergeant JJ Bourke stiffened when he heard the voice at the other end. \u201cYes sir. We\u2019ll get something done straight away. Leave it to us now.\u201d JJ looked hard at the young constable who shared his office. \u201cSean, it\u2019s those Sandies on Inisheer again,\u201d he said. \u201cThe Super wants a result. I think it\u2019s a job for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ad so, here in their station at Inishmore, the largest island, the two policemen hatched their plan. One that would ensure Garda Sean McCole\u2019s place in the rich folklore of Inishmore, Inishmaan and Inisheer, the three lumps of limestone off Ireland\u2019s remote west coast that make up the Aran isles. <\/p>\n
Over the centuries the islanders, a robust and independent breed, have learnt to put up with just about everything \u2013 grinding poverty, winds from hell, and the British, to name but a few. But through it all, one cherished pastime remained secure. A drop of something to cheer was always available, be it morning, noon, night or well into the wee small hours of the following day. The men of Aran like a drink. And they don\u2019t like anyone telling them when they should stop. <\/p>\n
So when JJ Bourke told Sean McCole how the Superintendent in Galway was tired of getting phone calls from Inisheer women complaining that their menfolk were seeing more of the inside of Padraic Conneely\u2019s bar than of their own homes, Sean said he would do whatever was required. Sean, a strapping 30-year-old, is new to the islands. He came a year ago, after a stint patrolling the mean streets of Dublin, and he believes the law is the law. As he says: \u201cOnce you start choosing which bits to enforce and which not to bother with, you\u2019re lost.\u201d<\/p>\n
Inisheer, at only two miles long, is the smallest of the islands. There are just 270 people, one shop and three pubs. But this pimple on the ocean has an intelligence network to rival that of Josef Stalin. Nobody arrives or leaves Inisheer without everybody knowing about it. Since there is no police presence on the island, the Gardai have to rely on a less-than-regular ferry from Inishmore to get there. JJ knew that if Sean went over in uniform the words immortalised during the days of illicit poteen \u2013 \u201cTa an garda ag teacht\u201d (the policeman is coming) \u2013 would be ringing in the ears of the island\u2019s three landlords long before yer man stepped off the boat. By the time he arrived at the pubs, everything would be \u201cin order.\u201d<\/p>\n
The police plan was for Sean to travel to Inisheer undercover, disguised as a backpacker, one of hundreds that visit the island in summer. To cover his tracks, Sean would take the ferry from County Clare on the mainland and not the one from Inishmore, where spies abound.<\/p>\n
It was a balmy Saturday evening in August when the cheery traveler set foot on the white sands of the island which give its people their nickname \u2013 Sandies. Sean went to the campsite, pitched his tent and waited. At 12:55 a.m. he strolled along the moonlit beach to Padraic\u2019s bar. There was a crowd outside, singing the old songs of Aran under the stats. He went in. The tourists were enjoying themselves noisily. In the recesses, ruddy-cheeked locals wrapped fingers the size of Cumberland sausages round their glasses and supped with a silent rhythm.<\/p>\n
Nobody paid the stranger any attention when he left a few minutes later. Sean went back to his tent, pulled his uniform out of his backpack, smoothed out the creases as best he could, and strode purposefully back to Padraic\u2019s. It was 2:20 a.m. The night air was still full of songs and the drink was flowing. Until, that is, they saw the police uniform. Ignoring suggestions that he would be better employed fighting crime than stopping people enjoying themselves, Sean completed the formalities of the charges and left. <\/p>\n
![\"Padraic\"](\"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/photo\/june13\/june363.jpg\")
<\/center><\/p>\n(Caption: No man is an island, but landlord Padraic Conneely and locals like Eanna O’Conghaile remain defiant of the law.)<\/p>\n
The island\u2019s other two pubs also received a visit, and their landlords, Mairtin Flaherty and Rory Conneely, met the same fate. Each was fined by Judge John Garavan at Kilronan District Court on Inishmore last month. Padraic was hit with 100 pounds, Rory 30, and Mairtin, who refused to appear in court, was given a 200 pound penalty. No Aran Island pub had ever been raided by the police before. <\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not our job to make the law, only to enforce it,\u201d says Sean McCole. \u201cAlso, there are two sides to every story. You have to remember that for every 60 men sitting on the tall stools, there are 60 wives back home waiting for them.\u201d He cannot stop a smile of satisfaction creeping across his face as he recalls the reaction of the drinkers to his uniform. \u201cThey were so shocked. They couldn\u2019t believe what was happening.\u201d<\/p>\n
And what of Padraic Conneely and the men who enjoyed a pint? And what of their wives back home? Who was it who blew the whistle? At Conneely\u2019s bar the questions are debated with gusto. Padraic \u2013 slight, dark and eloquent \u2013 is the spokesman for his florid-faced, luminous-eyed companions who depart from their native Gaelic tongue only when absolutely necessary. \u201cFancy coming here undercover \u2026 it\u2019s ridiculous,\u201d he says. There are nods of approval from the locals at the bar. <\/p>\n
These men are proud of their island, its heritage, and, most of all their independence. Outsiders have not done much to help them over the years, they say, so why do they want to interfere when the locals are only trying to help themselves? As Padraic explains: \u201cWe have a short summer season. You have to make your money while you can. If I tried to close at 11 o\u2019clock, the customers would laugh at me. There\u2019s nowhere else for people to enjoy themselves and they know full well there isn\u2019t a police man on the island. <\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not as if I run a disorderly house. There\u2019s no trouble here. People just like a drink and a singsong and the crack. I do try to get them out eventually. Then they take their drinks outside and sing under the stars and I pick the glasses up in the morning. This way everyone is happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
Not quite everyone is happy though. Galway police apparently received several complaints from wives on Inisheer. But true to the islanders\u2019 tight-knit traditions, no one will admit to spilling the beans. \u201cNo one will want it said that his wife is giving him trouble over him liking a few drinks,\u201d says Padraic. \u201cMe? I\u2019ve got no clue.\u201d<\/p>\n
Anyway, Padraic wants the good Gard to know that there will be no more late drinking at his bar. He has learnt his lesson. He has bought one of those clocks where the numerals go backwards. \u201cNow,\u201d he says, his eyes twinking, \u201cthe longer we drink, the earlier it gets.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Since it was a travel day, and since I’d been saving this one up … When we were in that restaurant and pub on Inisheer in the Aran isle I found this newspaper story framed on the wall. I read it over a steaming bowl of beef stew and thought I’d like to share it. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[62,35,3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-573885122","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-ireland","category-journalism","category-monday"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573885122","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=573885122"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573885122\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":573887410,"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573885122\/revisions\/573887410"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=573885122"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=573885122"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.kennysmith.org\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=573885122"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}