The brit and the banshee
By PaulJ
One warm summer’s eveningon the road to Glencar,the boys were a-drinkingin Matt Foley’s bar,when the doors swung asunderand a stranger stepped through.Tormented and hassled,his face a pale hue,He pleaded for whiskeysaid, “please make it quick!”His hand all a-shakingwhen reaching for it,having downed it in onehe called out again,“Another please, landlord,to help ease the pain.For a sorrowful tailI have to tellOf a vision that’s set mea straight course to hell.”So those who were gatheredlent him their earsas the stranger beganto relay his fears,in an accent of Englishwith eyes staring wildHis mouth all a-tremblehe sniffed like a child.“I’ll tell you right nowwhile I still have the breath,because pretty soonI’ll be facing my death.It’s the gospel my friendsI can assure you of this,I only came hereto catch a few fish.And I wish no evilon any good man,In fact I will alwayshelp out if I can.But this evening while travellingthe shores of Lough Gill,when I halted my carat the foot of a hill,it was there while I searchedfor a suitable place,that I saw a fine womancaught in the sun’s rays.Naked was shenot a trace of her clothesas she sat on a jettydabbling her toes.Through the cool and the calmthat spreads with the mist,the air that she sangdrifted sweet from her lips.While the sun set behind herI witnessed her there,carefully tendingher silky black hair.Then, all of a suddenwith a terrible scream,she twisted aroundand stared straight at me.And though Celtic traditionis not of my own,I know the powerof that cold Banshee’s comb.The instant I saw itaimed at my headI knew before longI would be dead.So grant one last wishto a poor English prod,Who truly believesthe forgiveness of God, and say a quick prayer, ladsand make it for meto rescue my soulfrom the evil Banshee.”The air it was thickwith blessings and gloomWhen Marie O’Riordanburst into the room,her face was all flushed,she was fit to be tied,the fury she feltburnt clear in her eyes“What brings you hereall on your own?”The barman askedin a warm friendly tone,“Where is himself?Not ailing is he?”Marie shook her head.“He’s away in Tralee.And no worse a timecould he have choseto take off on businessand leave me alone,for such a cruel daythere never has been,you would not believewhat’s happened to me.I was there in the bathroomtaking a shower,when out went the lightsand off went the power.The pump wouldn’t work,no water flowed through,and me lathered upin Organic’s shampoo.Like the cream on your Guinness,all frothy and wet,I stood there not knowingwhat to do next.Then I thought of the lakejust yards from my door,so I skipped out the backand onto it’s shore.The twilight was golden.The air it hung still.The waters were magic to me in Lough Gill.So, once I had washedmy whole body clean,I sat on the jettyto savour the scene.The soft atmospheresoon improved on my mood,‘til I found myself hummingsome ditty tune.It was there while I satsqueezing my hair,That I sensed I was caughtin somebody’s stare.I shot my head roundto the path from the road,and hid behind reedsI spotted that toad.I let out a wail,and picked up a stick,to use as a flail.But that durty feckerwho’d ogled me bum,spun on his heelsand started to run.The day was near gone,the light it was dim,so I had no chanceto recognise him.But, if ever I did, boys,I’d rip him apartAnd crush the life’s blood from his perverted heart.”When Marie had finisheda chill filled the place.All eyes were fixedon the Englishman’s face,who cleared his throatand croakily said,With large beads of sweatdripping down his forehead,“I told you the truth, lads,I’ll swear on the bookI only intendedto dangle me hook.”Joe Flyn gave a smileas he tapped out his pipe(the wisest of drinkersassembled that night),said, “The Banshee or Marie,what’s in a name?‘Twould seem true to methe curse is the same.” Written October 13th, 2001 © on Oct 13 2001 01:58 AM PST 0 • 14
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"One warm summer’s eveningon the road to Glencar,the boys were a-drinkingin Matt Foley’s bar,when the doors swung asunderand a stranger stepped through.Tormented and hassled,his face a pale hue,He pleaded for whiskeysaid, “please make it quick!”His hand all a-shakingwhen reaching for it,having downed it in onehe called out again,“Another please, landlord,to help ease the pain.For a sorrowful tailI have to tellOf a vision that’s set mea straight course to hell.”So those who were gatheredlent him their earsas the stranger beganto relay his fears,in an accent of Englishwith eyes staring wildHis mouth all a-tremblehe sniffed like a child.“I’ll tell you right nowwhile I still have the breath,because pretty soonI’ll be facing my death.It’s the gospel my friendsI can assure you of this,I only came hereto catch a few fish.And I wish no evilon any good man,In fact I will alwayshelp out if I can.But this evening while travellingthe shores of Lough Gill,when I halted my carat the foot of a hill,it was there while I searchedfor a suitable place,that I saw a fine womancaught in the sun’s rays.Naked was shenot a trace of her clothesas she sat on a jettydabbling her toes.Through the cool and the calmthat spreads with the mist,the air that she sangdrifted sweet from her lips.While the sun set behind herI witnessed her there,carefully tendingher silky black hair.Then, all of a suddenwith a terrible scream,she twisted aroundand stared straight at me.And though Celtic traditionis not of my own,I know the powerof that cold Banshee’s comb.The instant I saw itaimed at my headI knew before longI would be dead.So grant one last wishto a poor English prod,Who truly believesthe forgiveness of God, and say a quick prayer, ladsand make it for meto rescue my soulfrom the evil Banshee.”The air it was thickwith blessings and gloomWhen Marie O’Riordanburst into the room,her face was all flushed,she was fit to be tied,the fury she feltburnt clear in her eyes“What brings you hereall on your own?”The barman askedin a warm friendly tone,“Where is himself?Not ailing is he?”Marie shook her head.“He’s away in Tralee.And no worse a timecould he have choseto take off on businessand leave me alone,for such a cruel daythere never has been,you would not believewhat’s happened to me.I was there in the bathroomtaking a shower,when out went the lightsand off went the power.The pump wouldn’t work,no water flowed through,and me lathered upin Organic’s shampoo.Like the cream on your Guinness,all frothy and wet,I stood there not knowingwhat to do next.Then I thought of the lakejust yards from my door,so I skipped out the backand onto it’s shore.The twilight was golden.The air it hung still.The waters were magic to me in Lough Gill.So, once I had washedmy whole body clean,I sat on the jettyto savour the scene.The soft atmospheresoon improved on my mood,‘til I found myself hummingsome ditty tune.It was there while I satsqueezing my hair,That I sensed I was caughtin somebody’s stare.I shot my head roundto the path from the road,and hid behind reedsI spotted that toad.I let out a wail,and picked up a stick,to use as a flail.But that durty feckerwho’d ogled me bum,spun on his heelsand started to run.The day was near gone,the light it was dim,so I had no chanceto recognise him.But, if ever I did, boys,I’d rip him apartAnd crush the life’s blood from his perverted heart.”When Marie had finisheda chill filled the place.All eyes were fixedon the Englishman’s face,who cleared his throatand croakily said,With large beads of sweatdripping down his forehead,“I told you the truth, lads,I’ll swear on the bookI only intendedto dangle me hook.”Joe Flyn gave a smileas he tapped out his pipe(the wisest of drinkersassembled that night),said, “The Banshee or Marie,what’s in a name?‘Twould seem true to methe curse is the same.”..."