In my last column, which regrettably was omitted from last Tuesday’s issue, I managed to disappoint my numerous readers who find solace in the occasional humor amid an earnest and perhaps even suggestively comical community. When I presented the multitude of letters I received to the Editor, seeking his guidance on crafting a reply, he succinctly responded with the words “Exigencies of space.” My playful suggestion of printing these three words on a gilded card to send to the curious inquirers was met with another three-word response that hinted at a celestial body not associated with our earthly realm. That’s an Editor for you, the sternest critic who mercilessly edits the best stanzas in the “poems” of the seventeen-year-olds who believe they’re in love. With this explanation, I hope my readers will find some satisfaction.
A sudden shock, whether from witnessing an excellent play at the Theatre Royal or hearing a brief speech from Alderman Daly, can surely jolt the nerves. However, a genuine physical tremor, an actual shaking of the earth, was an entirely new experience for Limerick. Just a couple of weeks ago, the blissful dreams of lowered rates and smoothly-paved roads were shattered by a modern-day eruption akin to Mount Pelee. Local geologists sprang into action, with Mr J. F. Bennis, recognized as one of the most eminent among them, taking the lead in enlightening fellow citizens on the matter through a letter published in the organ of respectability, loyalty, and household recipes.
A witty friend amusingly suggested that it might only be teetotalers who felt the sensation of their abodes being lifted “a quarter of an inch five times a minute,” as the reported account went. But that would be unfair and uncharitable, as the jocular writer himself was among those who didn’t feel the “shock.” I’ve experienced a number of shocks in my lifetime, but the one I recall most vividly was being accosted by an insurance agent who dampened my spirits by inquiring whether I was intending to go and meet my maker without first insuring myself in the finest office within the United Kingdom or even in the world beyond. Mr Bennis, a philosopher in his own right, has attributed the tremors to “vibrations on the earth’s crust” and various gravitational interactions between celestial bodies. However, a far less romantic explanation has emerged: the shaking of the city’s buildings and the perturbation of the local men of science were allegedly due to the commonplace blasting operations that had to be conducted within the city at night. This pragmatic explanation might not be as poetic as astronomical influences, but it certainly offers a more down-to-earth perspective. Mr Bennis might take solace in the thought that this mundane explanation was a mere vindictive suggestion from an individual who, after returning home from the club, felt the ground rising up beneath him in an unusual manner. This person, sympathizing with “blasting” operations, might have chosen words that required a bit of gunpowder to ignite.
The Limerick Corporation’s requirement for knowledge of the Irish language as part of the application process has inadvertently led to English individuals becoming more Irish than the Irish themselves. In response to a minor position advertised for the Electric Power House by the Corporation, a staggering forty-four applicants emerged, most of them reportedly from outside Ireland. Proficiency in the Irish language was listed as a qualification for success, if all other factors were equal. This unconventional requirement yielded a variety of curious and amusing applications. One English gentleman asserted that he knew the Irish language because he “worked for some years with Irishmen.” Another individual managed to circumvent the language barrier by stating that he had been in Ireland for a few years. Yet another applicant openly admitted his lack of knowledge of the Celtic tongue but optimistically expressed that he would “pick it up if possible” in a short span of time. It seems there’s no beating the English, except perhaps in South Africa.
Speaking of beats, Judge Adams has intriguingly proclaimed that a fiery red mustache can be a matrimonial attraction. If the possession of such a vibrant mustache could lead to the accumulation of a fortune, how many men of the current generation would shy away from adopting the moniker “Ginger”? A groom from Upper Pampamore, only a year into his marital journey, recently appealed to Judge Adams for the restoration of £20, a portion of the £200 he had been promised upon making his wife the blushing “Mary O’Malley.” The Judge suggested that the allure for the lady lay in Daniel’s vividly hued mustache, prompting laughter. The husband, good-humoredly admitting his age of 50, joined in the merriment and acknowledged that his prospective wife appreciated his virtues. However, he didn’t secure the £20 and had to console himself with a meager £180. Not a bad price for a lady to pay for a man, one might say, and changing her name from the mellifluous O’Malley to the garrulous Quirke. After all, what girl can resist a well-curled mustache?
When she beheld his fiery tuft,
She felt her heart’s pulse start to lift,
Down came her hand to make a gift,
And said, “I’m yours, Daniel, true.”
He took the gift and wed the lass,
But soon his whiskers met a sass,
They curled the wrong way, alas,
“I’ve not got all I’m due!”
Then to her uncle, Mary sped,
But her plea fell on deaf ears, he said,
“I won’t give you a single red,
Not even a penny, true.”
So instead of hundreds two,
Which he had wooed her with, ’tis true,
Good Daniel must make do
With just a hundred eighty, too.
Limerick Echo – Tuesday 17 October 1905
