Whack Fol The Dah Day

                                                                                       Story by DAF

Billy Stone And The Grim Reaper...

Billy 'Limey' Stone and Long Jonn Slone McRoen were of the same age with the only common forte between the two men was their love of stone. Billy Stone, an only child, attended a one-room schoolhouse in Kerry until the age of twelve, reared by a widowed mother in a hand-to-mouth existence on a hillside in a thatched cottage facing the Atlantic Ocean in County Kerry. The steady sound of waves crashing, the cries of seagulls and bleating sheep were the constant backdrop to his childhood serving as the only music he heard until he reached an age when he could attend local wakes with his mother. There, he witnessed a solitary fiddle player going through his endless repertoire of lamenting tunes that could send the mourners into a trance welling up with tears that would not normally be shed for the deceased if he or she was alive.

In a thatched cottage in County Kerry at his first wake, young Billy Stone came to know what it meant to be Irish with adults drinking, eating, and laughing with the dead figure of what was once a living-talking human being lying in a wooden box nearby, stiff and ashen, accompanied by the musty odor of decay that could sap any goodness out of a man and the air he breathed. It was a stark reminder of mortality that hung in the atmosphere like an uninvited guest within spitting distance. It was a peculiar juxtaposition of the living and their laughter ringing out like the conflicting sublime against the backdrop of grief that coexisted in a delicate balance of religion and culture.

The music flowed effortlessly from the lone fiddle player, capturing the sheer human nature of loss and longing. A symphony of emotions ranged from deep despair for some, to fleeting moments of longing for a better way of life yet to come .. God Himself promised that. Lamenting music that served as a personal purge, allowing some of the mourners to confront their emotions or to find some semblance of peace amidst the misery in their hearts, for others, it helped to renew friendships that distance and time had put between them. To young Billy Stone, he was witnessing islanders, his people for the first time in their mourning of their deceased that seeped into their hatred of colonialism that was eroding their Irishness. Remembering the stories Miss Phibbs told him, Billy realized that he was detecting more than just a display of sorrow or resentment that had been building for generations, but also the struggle for dignity and self-determination of a people who would not be colonized.

In those times, young Billy Stone acquired one of life's lessons in the fragility of existence and began to understand the intertwining of happiness and sorrow in the mere act of just living, as well as the complexities inherent in being Irish, and remembered the time with Miss Phibbs, his one-room schoolhouse teacher when she said, in one of her idiomatic philosophies...

''Being Irish meant embracing a legacy of resilience, where the pain of loss was often met with the celebration of life, where both are essential to the human experience in survival, whether you accept it or not .. but don't forget it, because .. someday you will meet up with it in the form of The Grim Reaper.''

This little fact of life stood to Billy Stone who found some solace in the reality that his mother did not endure excessive suffering in her final days but died with grace and dignity. As he watched her take her final breaths, he felt a profound sense of gratitude for the sacrifices she made so he could have a somewhat better life away from his dominating father. Surrounded by the soft glow of fading light coming from the turf fire, Billy found solace in the sense that she was free .. free from pain, free from the burdens of this world with the hope she was in a better place. Billy frequently reminded himself that the pain and anxiety that often accompanied death were absent with his mother in her final hours, she seemed to drift gently away with a feeling of acceptance. The illness that had plagued her for so long had finally taken its toll and Billy Stone was now alone.

Long Jonn And The Grim Reaper...

In contrast, Long Jonn Slone McRoen's encounter with The Grim Reaper was a far more singular and defined experience only because he never experienced a crisis of death that was close to him, or a hand-to-mouth existence, or begin a life of hard work at the age of twelve to support an ailing mother with one lung. His life was surrounded by the comforts of a stable upbringing that never knew what hunger was. His sole encounter with Death came with the passing of his parents within days of each other. This fact of life marked a significant turning point in his understanding of mortality and grief and left an indelible mark on his character, which is the part of living that is ignored by the majority of human beings. His parent's demise served as the pivotal turning point in his life, forcing him to confront the harsh realities of life that he was protected from, but, it would also boost his future gung-ho attitude to live each day as it came. The loss of his parents, who were always there for him and his five sisters left a significant void in his life with an overwhelming sense of loss and abandonment. Wrestling with feelings of anger, confusion, and despair, all of which further deepened his sense of isolation from any divine presence that he might deem worthy of his attention. The sorrow he felt was deep.

Long Jonn Slone McRoen approached life with a carefree flair and thinking and attended Trinity College Dublin, where he earned his degrees in geology and anthropology. Trinity College, a prestigious institution founded in 1592 that is recognized for its rich history and academic reputation, and it was anticipated by his parents that Jonn would attend. But it was also Long Jonn's wish because it served as a vibrant forum, a melting pot of ideas, where both students and faculty engaged in lively debates that spanned a wide range of topics, from literature and philosophy to politics and religion, to the arts and humanity .. as well as extracurricular explorations into gambling, sexuality, and Dublin's nightlife.

Long Jonn thrived in the bustling environment of Trinity, debating with fellow students and professors, some of whom were still student-minded, also die-hard members of the Society of United Irishmen making a name for themselves that held diverse opinions on various aspects of Irish politics and the future for a free Ireland. Through these debates, he explored political ideology, delving deeper into the historical context surrounding the struggle for Irish freedom, as well as some things that might not have been said openly in The Haven, locally known as the Big House, where a Scottish Protestant mother and a Roman Catholic father provided a loving environment for their children .. unlike the political situation of the country. It was also where Long Jonn would hone up on his Irish history and strengthen his friendship with Robert Emmet, who had been expelled from Trinity College due to his revolutionary political views and enticing a rebellion against British rule in Ireland. He would listen intently to everybody's arguments, considering their points of view while also sharing his views on nationalism identity and the quest for independence. It also reassured him that Irish politics was the road he wanted to go down when he returned to Stradhaven. Their insights and critiques pushed Long Jonn to think critically and express his ideas more clearly and equipped him with the understanding necessary to navigate the complexities of the country's political landscape, in stating, while in the company of some die-hard fanatics of the United Irishmen, that...

''People who proclaim that the voice of government correlates to the voice of God should not be heeded.''

 In time, Long Jonn was to develop a pragmatic approach to politics, rather than a bellicose approach.

Long Jonn was known for his frequent attendance at 'extracurricular activities' rather than the authorized lectures at Trinity College. His reputation was not built on his academic achievements or his participation in formal lectures paid for by his father, but rather for his unwavering commitment to the vibrant and often raucous discussions that took place in the college's common rooms and courtyards. These debates also characterized the free-thinking side-line activities of the renowned institution that were not printed in the syllabus but were on offer to the students who were not afraid of speaking their minds or making a name for themselves, be it good or bad.

Long Jonn, characterized by his spontaneous and lively nature, was a regular at these gatherings, where ideas would clash with opinions, but for Long Jonn, it was the thrill of intellectual sparring that edged him on. This sometimes resulted in the odd duel taking place, a tradition that seemed to be as much a part of the gatherings as the debates themselves. When words failed to settle disputes, the aggrieved parties would often take their disagreements to Phoenix Park, where the challenge of honor could be met with steel, pistols, or fists. These duels, while sometimes serious in preserving pride and honor were often more theatrical than lethal, though the odd unfortunate has died or been maimed for their bravado. Following the resolution of the dispute and the exchange of handshakes and bets, the defeated, if still standing and the victorious, buying the first round of drinks, would find their way to the taverns located in some of the more seedier places of Dublin City, as well as to the occasional excursion to The Hell Fire Club in the Dublin mountains. The taverns were known for their rowdy behavior and colorful clientele that no decent man would be seen in but provided the perfect backdrop for young men wanting to live on the edge of life. More than often it was here that their debates would continue, often becoming more spirited as the night wore on and the porter and ale flowed freely.

The taverns became a second home for Long Jonn Slone McRoen. But occasionally, Long Jonn and his friends would hire a coach and venture further afield To The Hell Fire Club, a notorious gathering place located on Montpellier Hill in the Dublin mountains. This infamous private club was known for its debauchery, secretive rituals, and scandalous reputation. It attracted those with a taste for the unconventional. Long Jonn, ever the trill-seeker, was drawn to the allure of the club, as well as a diverse crowd of intellectuals, aristocrats, writers, artists, clergy, and politicians from both sides of the fence, and free-thinkers where the boundaries of morality were often pushed to their limits. The allure of The Hell Fire Club lay not only in its hedonistic pursuits but also in the opportunity it provided for unrestrained debates. Here, Long Jonn could engage with some of the most provocative minds of his time, exploring ideas that challenged societal norms, and philosophical discussions that danced with blasphemy, Lucifer and God Himself. The nights there were filled with wild revelry and rivalry pushing the boundaries of conventional thought with a sense of danger that made Long Jonn feel alive. This was the place where the ordinary was left behind along with your money and clothes at the front door, and the extraordinary took center stage in an otherwise mundane life, leaving an indelible mark on all who dared to enter and 'know thyself'.

A Political Stance...

Long Jonn, despite his privileged upbringing liked to visit the houses of ill repute in Dublin's Monto and the quayside taverns where he would buy rum for the sailors and whalers, who would entertain Long Jonn with their accounts of voyages across vast oceans to foreign lands of exotic people, never the likes to be seen in Ireland. Long Jonn would often lose track of time and sit for hours listening to their stories of foreign lands and adventures. The taverns, well known for their raucous situations and colorful clientele, were a stark contrast to the polished halls and 'open house' Sundays of his younger days in his family home The Haven in Stradhaven, and the limestone quarries of the midlands.

Monto was a favorite haunt at the weekends of Long Jonn's in Dublin's flourishing red-light district that operated in a maze of back alleys and cobblestone lanes. Notorious for its lively nightlife and the drags and underbelly of Dublin's society, it was also a world that fascinated him. It was here, amidst the dimly lit streets and rooms of brothels filled with the sounds of laughter and rowdy singing that he offered up his virginity to the Greek god Pan with his goat-like legs and mischievous grin. The primal instincts that troubled Long Jonn were no longer hindering him in declaring a sexual liberation for all Irish virgins when he relinquished his virginity to a woman old enough to be his mother. Monto was crammed with brothels, shebeens, taverns, and burly Madams you did not want to argue with. Monto, a stone's throw from Dublin's City center, the railway station, the docks, and the numerous British army barracks and soldiers on leave from various provinces across the country served as a constant reminder of British authority, with thousands of troops stationed in Ireland to protect British interests. On the steps of every brothel, women and young girls displayed their wares in everything from an evening dress to a night dress or, little-or-nothing, and if boys were your preference, that could be provided too. Many women working the streets were often addicted to alcohol and opium or both and were most likely homeless and destitute, ending up in local courts around the country for soliciting or other crimes, such as stealing, pick-pocketing, indecency, vagrancy, or public disturbances, such as being drunk.

The soldiers, drawn from various regions across England, barracked in local towns and cities further congealing the military's presence and the realities of everyday life in a militarized society for the Irish. The army brought with it a ready-made clientele for the prostitution business to flourish in the country. As the demand grew, so did the number of women who entered the so-called profession out of desperation and necessity. While some soldiers may have formed genuine relationships with some local women, others perpetuated a cycle of exploitation and abuse. The interactions between soldiers, local women, and men were often fraught with tension spilling over into pent-up violence .. the impact of colonial rule.

''The British army's presence in Ireland was not just a matter of military strategy or brute dominance...'' was the opening sentence when Long Jonn met with Robert Emmet at a heated political debate that led to blowups of the angry crowd calling for Irish independence. Hushing the crowd to simmer down, Long Jonn continued in a calm voice...

''I know, as we all do here, that the presence of soldiers on the island and some still young enough to be on their mother's tit...''

Leading to boisterous yelps and wolf cries in the crowd echoing the collective appreciation of Long Jonn's sarcasm as he continued...

'' British soldiers on the island is leading to increased tensions, and what a fine example of it we had here tonight .. but .. as we all know, the British presence in Ireland is contributing to the shaping of Irish identity with the growth of nationalist sentiments on the up-rise...''

That said, a loud cheer erupted from the assembled crowd with hands clapping and boots stamping. Robert Emmet rose to his feet with a broad grin on his face from ear to ear. Long Jonn, at the age of twenty-four and standing six feet two, with striking red hair, inherited from his mother's Scottish genes, and that infectious charisma that made life, as it was, enjoyable for a wealthy young man whose money derived from his father's limestone quarry in the midlands. All eyes were focused on Long Jonn now, extending his arms wide, signaling to the crowd for silence. He was fully in his element, nothing could hinder his self-esteem now. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and fighting talk. Long Jonn cherished that moment as the cheers and some tears started to fade. Robert Emmet felt a fatherly pride rise in him for Long Jonn Slone McRoen as the crowd calmed down enough to enable Long Jonn to continue...

''The bad relationship between the British and Irish over the centuries is what we have now today .. British military presence in an infestation of colonial power enforcing British laws and policies that disregard the rights of the Irish people in doing their damnedest in killing off Irish culture, whatever about its people, its nothing short of a genocide...''

Sarcastic jeers and derogatory boos rang out from the now-pent-up crowd. Robert Emmet, still standing, was punching the air in rallying the crowd to pick up stones and pikes again. Long Jonn paused for a few minutes, waiting for the crowd to simmer down in its own time, and then continued...

''This military occupation serves only to reinforce the authority of the British government, creating a climate of fear and repression that will suppress any Irish form of nationalism, and God forbid, any aspirations for self-government unless we take up arms and fight .. or, are we going to wait until other times and other men will do the fighting for justice for a free Ireland so our country takes her place among the nations of the world, then, and mark my words, not till then can we call ourselves a free nation once again.''

Long Jonn Slone McRoen sat down to the deafening roars of wild Irishmen.

Long Jonn's Privilege...

Long Jonn had his days of merriment too, like the time when he and three young bucks were out on the town after sitting for their final exams at Trinity College. With the excitement of finishing and some would say, their carefree college days, the young men were eager to celebrate their academic achievements before the results of their papers were even marked and known. They strolled down

through busy streets, their spirits high, laughing and joking, reminiscing about their college days and the time fueled by brandy to see how many days and nights they could go without sleep, which reminded Long Jonn when they played cards for twenty-four hours without sleeping and said...

''I think I was playing cards half asleep that time when we did an all-nighter.''

Shaking his head in disbelief...

''And need I remind you .. you lost that bet in paying for our ale for the next two days, which meant you had to wear that ridiculous mask to lectures the next day.''

His friend replied laughing and clapping Long Jonn on his back, now that he had Long Jonn's attention and said...

''Do you think we could still pull off an all-nighter again Jonn .. I mean, we might not be as young as we used to be, but I bet we could give it a try for old time's sake.''

''Only if we have the brandy.''

Replied Long Jonn, with a mischievous grin.

The melodic sound of Irish voices resonated, some talking in their native Irish dialect of where they were born, and the odd fiddle player rolling off his jigs and reels on Grafton Street which was named after the first Duke of Grafton, who was the illegitimate son to the English King Charles ll. It was a lively environment for their carnival mood and sharing stories. Their laughter resonated off the cobblestones as they made their way up to Monto, to spend the night clinking glasses and their money with the pulsating rhythm of Irish music. They playfully nudged each other like teenage boys with the expectant thrill of a possible new experience with women who remained nameless. They felt an unspoken sense of freedom between them. They exchanged knowing glances when they encountered a blind workhorse tethered outside a brothel to the railing. No doubt its owner, also in his working clothes was spending his hard-earned cash on women and that 'intoxicant firewater of the cheap kind' that could leave you feeling the next day that you had left your head somewhere .. but just could not remember where.

The workhorse, its large milky eyes clouded with the mist of blindness seemed to gaze into the grimy surroundings, oblivious to the laughter from both young and old as they walked by, or some, stopping to make some humorous remarks at the expense of the horse and its owner. Fueled by the mix of that earlier teenage mischief the young bucks exchanged glances, each glance was a silent agreement that heeded the shenanigans within them. With a sense of comradery and foolishness, accepted from their privileged background and a shared desire to break free from the expectations that came with it .. they felt invincible, a band of brothers united. They were not just privileged young educated men embracing the wild spirit within, they were the architects of their devilishness that ignited the sparks of excitement that flowed through their veins and the shared understanding that they were untouchable .. at least for now.

Their laughter spread among them, drawing the attention of passersby. They felt the world was theirs for the taking in their tailored clothes and polished shoes, to carve out their own identities and pleasures. With every laugh and every shared glance, Long Jonn untied the workhorse from the railing, and with a sense of come-what-may, they led the blind workhorse down the cobbled lane, laughing at the absurdity of their actions and drawing the attention of passersby who watched in disbelief of four young gentlemen in their fine clothes and polished shoes leading a blind workhorse with one passerby commenting...

''The blind leading the blind, I've seen it all now.''

Their antics took a turn for the worse when they pushed the blind workhorse into a nearby haberdasher's shop, startling the horse, who panicked, its body tensing, and then did what came naturally, urinated and defecated on the polished wooden floor .. the commotion sent fabric rolls and hats flying. The haberdasher, a middle-aged stout man with a bushy mustache, emerged from a backroom with his arms raised and screaming wife. His eyes wide with shock and disbelief, cursed the young bucks in his broad Dublin pronunciations of English phrases that would only be heard in an army barracks. Long Jonn and his friends were laughing uncontrollably at the situation and the unfortunate blind workhorse, standing in its own confusion and mess on what was once a polished wooden floor started to back out of the haberdasher's shop. Before long, the commotion attracted a large crowd outside and the laughter inside quickly faded as the young bucks realized the gravity of their actions when a local constable arrived on the scene and arrested all four who started to laugh again.

Long Jonn Slone McRoen and his three privileged friends paid on-the-spot fines to the constable's pocket and compensated the damages to the haberdasher and his hysterical wife and continued their way up to Monto lilting...

''Skid-ree idle-diddle dum skid-ree idle-diddle dah whack fol the dah day...''

Family Affair...

Fate unfolds in every life, irrespective of personal aspirations. Long Jonn Slone McRoen was free from Trinity College, earning his degrees in geology and anthropology with honors despite his wild lifestyle and nights. However, he was not entirely free in the manner he had envisioned he would be, but he was on the threshold of what he considered freedom to be in his personal life .. traveling. The atmosphere in the Big House was charged with excitement since Long Jonn's return from Dublin not just as a brother, but to continue in the role of his deceased father as 'bossman' at the Slone Stone Quarry.

The Slone McRoen siblings continued in the tradition of their late parents by holding family meetings every Monday morning during breakfast where significant discussions would take place. These breakfast meetings were held to discuss and organize the week's events related to the Big House, the running of the farm and the milking herd, and other topics that might involve family members on a more personal basis. His sister's hearts swelled with pride for Long Jonn's academic achievements and how he had grown into a fine young man full of confidence, reminding them of their father when he was alive. However, during their more leisurely evenings when relaxing in the drawing room with the oil portraits of their parents listening in, Long Jonn would touch on the subject of future travels and politics, and how Irish politics increasingly influenced his self-perception in how he saw himself in life. It was something that seeped into his very being that came about when debating with men at the forefront of political actions in Dublin during his Trinity days. He would describe to his sisters how he viewed himself and his role within Irish politics, should the opportunity were to present itself for him to effect meaningful change for the country and the responsibilities that came with such a role highlighting the need and commitment he would give to the people. He believed that true progress for Ireland could only be achieved through a collective embrace of national identity and unity of its people.

As his sisters listened to Long Jonn while doing their embroidery or reading, it became obvious to them that at the heart of his aspirations lay this deep-seated belief in Irish nationalism that was not just some political stance, it became the guiding principle that shaped his vision for the future. He told his sisters that Robert Emmet had already introduced him to other influential men, mostly activists who held significant influence and had the support of the people. In sharing these thoughts with his sisters, Long Jonn was sounding them out for their understanding and encouragement, knowing that their support would be invaluable to him in the future .. but he had no reason to doubt their support, they just nodded their heads as Long Jonn talked beyond their bedtime. Long Jonn always had aspirations that were also encouraged by his late mother to travel to foreign lands before he settled down to the business of quarrying stone in the midlands of Ireland, marriage, family life, and the expectations that came with it. His five sisters knew that too, but nothing about his adventures into Monto, The Hell Fire Club, or Dublin's temptations that were on offer to a privileged young man with money in his pockets who was prepared to live life as it came.

It was during one of these Monday breakfast meetings that Paddy Boyd, the farm manager, and Billy 'Limey' Stone, the quarry manager, were also invited to breakfast to hear their reports in their managed areas. Paddy Boyd reports to the sisters and Long Jonn that they will be able to meet the brewery quota for barley on time and that two of the milking cows were not yielding at the moment. Limey Stone reports that he has one man out of work due to a twisted ankle, and later in the week, they will be opening a new face on the east side of the quarry once the roadway is laid, otherwise, all is good. The sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the breakfast room, promising a warm day ahead, and with Paddy Boyd leaving to attend to the milking herd, the fields and crops, and Limey Stone having already departed for the quarry and its blue limestone, the atmosphere in the breakfast room was calm. As the sisters contemplated their thoughts, a subtle tension began to weave its way into their sanctuary when the silence turned to the talk about Long Jonn's aspirations to do some traveling to satisfy his 'wanderlust' as his eldest sister referred to it, before he settled into a life of politics, quarrying and the Big House.

Her voice, though soft, carried an underlying attention that cut through the comfortable atmosphere in the breakfast room attracting the attention of her sisters and Long Jonn...

 ''Long Jonn...''

His eldest sister spoke when all eyes focused on him, some smiling and some a little anxious...

''To stand in the bustling markets of Marrakesh or roam around the trails of the Andes .. and God forbid, the wild jungles of Borneo .. however, maybe one should postpone such adventures in Borneo due to the political stance now. I believe the political landscape in that part of the world can be unpredictable at the best of times. But I read in last week's papers that some Englishman by the name of Brook is poking his nose around out there, presenting himself to be some kind of White Rajah. As I see it, this man Brook is attempting to position himself as a figure of power and influence among the local inhabitants, sure the man has not a drop of nobility in him .. the audacity of it. In my opinion, his motivations seem to stem more from personal gain and the bully-ho adventure of it .. sure he is nothing short of a common mercenary who just got lucky and had a bigger gun. Think about the ethical implications of this situation in Borneo, it is nothing less than a take-over .. colonialism, nothing less than imposing his will on others under the guise of leadership, his actions should be scrutinized. Here I am, rambling on on this fine day about another country so far away that faces a similar plight to our own, and may very well be unaware of our little island in the Atlantic Ocean also under that boot of colonialism. Life...''

Feet shuffled under the table, Long Jonn, with a surprised look on his face, smiled at his older sister across the table when she continued, folding her arms across her chest like some motherly matron...

''We all know how father valued the quarry and the village it supports and the confidence he had in you Long Jonn to assume responsibility, but we also know how much you have always wanted to travel since young, this longing for exploration and adventure was the little boy in you but it seems it has always been part of you that mother helped to encourage .. and now you express a yearning to engage in Irish politics. And God only knows, and I can only suppose that this venture into politics stems from your roots of our Irish Catholic and Scottish Protestant blood and the people you socialized with while in Dublin...''

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze drifting around the room that remained silent, nobody spoke, but sat quietly digesting the words that had been spoken. In her moment of sisterly attachment, she then continued...

''It feels like we're all swept up in this adventure of yours to travel that has brought us together in ways we might not have anticipated. This opportunity to pursue your dreams .. not that we would ever think of stopping you .. and Himself only knows that mother would rise from the grave at the thought of it, leaving father to turn over in his coffin to continue his well-earned undying rest.''

The atmosphere in the breakfast room was lightened by that touch of sarcasm, prompting laughter from everyone present.

Long Jonn shifted in his chair when the laughter died down to the odd giggle. Glancing around the breakfast table he noticed his sisters were smiling at him, now he could sense an undercurrent of mischief in the air. He knew then that they were toying with his feelings and that some form of agreement had been drafted between them at some other time. It was a familiar routine that they played out countless times with their younger brother when they were all a little more immature but devious to know the consequences. Long Jonn leaned back in his chair, a sly smile crept onto his face, ready to engage in their playful banter. The closeness of their lives when they were children with free-thinking parents could easily blur the lines creating an undercurrent of desire that added another dimension to their relationship. He understood that while they might be toying with his feelings and prospects now, it was still part of the intricate dance of siblinghood that bonded them, along with the presence of sexual undertones that could accompany such interactions with flirtation consistently hovering in the background. Conversations in banter could be laced with double meanings and innuendos, where innocent remarks could easily be interpreted as being suggestive to a stranger listening in, but, it was what bonded them .. and so, the fool wanders, the wise man travels, and Long Jonn takes his sabbatical for at least two years with his sister's blessings.

''Skid-ree idle-diddle dum skid-ree idle-diddle dah whack fol the dah day...''

 

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