Is it not astonishing that even in an era of widespread newspaper reading, the hoary “Spanish Prisoner” swindle continues to find success, even in a remote location like Miltown-Malbay? The age-old tale of a captive in a donjon keep, an heir or heiress in need of a guardian, and the promise of a grand fortune awaiting those who supply the funds to bribe Barcelona’s jailers persists. Despite Limerick having been enlightened twice in the past year by letters from the incarcerated individual, the scheme has been promptly uncovered and the swindle fully exposed in local newspapers. And yet, despite all this, a simple-minded native of West Clare has responded to a similar missive by sending £55, which the recipient has not even had the courtesy to acknowledge. While it is understandable how the swindler obtains the names of potential victims in Limerick, the Miltown-Malbay case suggests the presence of an accomplice within the country, a person whom the police would do well to pursue.
When Ancient and Modern Collide
It is fascinating how ancient and modern methods occasionally intersect. Yesterday, an impressively adorned 10-horsepower motor car made its way through Jamerick, captivating all admirers as it raced towards Castleconnell at a remarkable speed of 40 miles per hour. In the evening, a slow procession paraded down Clare Street. Leading the way was a band of barefooted boys acting as an advanced guard, followed by a small donkey guided by a man of venerable appearance. Tied to the donkey by a rope was the 10-horsepower automobile. Something had gone awry, and like a disabled ocean liner, the grand machine had to be towed into port. The owner sat with folded arms, making the best of the mishap, with an expression reminiscent of those who have seen pictures of Bonaparte returning from the Nile expedition. The chauffeur exerted vigorous effort from behind, reinforcing the popular pronunciation of his name as a “shover.” The donkey wagged its head from time to time, seemingly proclaiming, “See how they must now rely on me, despite all their petrol and puff.”
Dublin Evening Telegraph – Saturday 24 September 1904
