My friend Dave "Rookie" Roche, who’s in his mid-nineties, tells a great story about the famous Fermoy poet and full-time alcoholic Jack Devine standing outside Tommy Baker's barber shop one Sunday morning long ago as the car with the loudhailer on the roof drove past.
“COME TO FERMOY SHOW. THIS SUNDAY. FERMOY SHOW. THE CREAM OF THE COUNTRY WILL BE THERE."
"The cream of the country?" says Jack. "More like the cunts from the creamery."
"The cream of the country?" says Jack. "More like the cunts from the creamery."
Another time Jack was sinking pints above in the Forge one night when Doctor Hanley started rubbing Jack's considerable belly.
"Tell us, Jack,” he said, “when is it due?"
"Oh, any day now, any day."
"And tell us, Jack, what will you call it?"
"Tell us, Jack,” he said, “when is it due?"
"Oh, any day now, any day."
"And tell us, Jack, what will you call it?"
"Well,” replied Jack, “if ‘tis a boy, I'll call it John after my father. And if ‘tis a girl, I'll call it Mary after my mother.
"But if ‘tis what I think it's going to be, and that's a dirty big black porter shite, I'll call it Donal after you."
"But if ‘tis what I think it's going to be, and that's a dirty big black porter shite, I'll call it Donal after you."
