THERE is a certain Irish Times sponsored programme on RTE, presented by a certain journalist, who reports that he regularly gets inquiries from charities, residents' associations, university groups etc., asking him to present quizzes worthy causes. He always says no, simply because to say yes to one is to say yes to all, and then how would we all be?
Like Seamus Heaney is the damnable answer; because the damnable truth is that he has invariably already accepted such invitations to give talks or poetry readings or judge poetry competitions. He asks no fee, will make his own way there, wouldn't dream of asking for expenses, and no doubt puts in a spot of baby sitting while in, the area, so that everybody else can go out and have a good time. He probably reads poetry to the mewling infants, too, and by the time their parents are back has the entire crew reciting, the Iliad in Greek. Damn the man. Damn his inhuman kindness.
What are the rest of us to do with this damnable exponent of charity, a winner of the Nobel Prize and God knows what else, going round giving damnable examples like this? What reason can a humble hack give to nice Prudence and Primrose Entwhistle for not participating in the Kingstown Spring Quiz and Sale of Work when the Entwhistles are babbling on about how nice Mr Heaney was when he addressed the Annual Conference of the Primrose League?
Strong Feelings
It is true that he disappointed them somewhat when he failed to deliver an expected talk on The Need For More Dreadnoughts to Combat the Hun Menace, which the Entwhistles had been particularly looking forward to. They have strong feelings on this subject, having been on the Leinster when it was torpedoed. Primrose, at home on leave from the Front, rescued three drowning Jack Tars and, most important of all, the red ensign, while Prudence went swimming off with her hat bodkin, looking for the submarine; but, alas, it got away.
Ah well, these little disappointments in life. They were determined that the Kingstown and District Primrose League, whose primary purpose is the rebuilding of the Royal Navy, should not be disappointed in its ambition to have a poetry reading, dedicated to Bards of Our Empire.
As it happens, in addition to being members of the Primrose League, the Entwhistle sisters were both founder members of the Kingst'n & Dstrt Gaelic League. They soon abandoned their attempts to learn Erse, the language of the hibernian aboriginals, but essayed various forms of Verse Drama, producing between them their critically admired Stronghow and Eefagh ("a stirring work" - The Kingstown Royalist) and Dermott and Grawnia ("makes one proud of one's hibernian race" - The Queen's County Trumpeter).
They had been hoping that Mr Heaney would read much loved patriotic items from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and maybe Love Quartets from the Raj, Pale Hand I Loved Beside the Shalimah being fondly anticipated with a few excited aaahs from the Misses Boothwaite.
Great Privilege
The Nobel Laureate was announced by Prudence Entwhistle, bit is a great privilege to welcome the popular Londonderry poet Mr Jas Heaney, who will read some much loved poems, old and new, for our delight. Mr Heaney, ladies."
Apparently the initially polite applause was followed by some consternation that the poet vi shed to read from The Death of a Naturalist, prompting a walk out by the Misses Braithwaite, who declared that they had seen enough of that class of thing down by the Forty Foot, thank you very much. However, it was noticed Miss Hebblewhite moved up from the back to the front row, and sat there expectantly, breathing quite heavily.
Unperturbed, the cherubic elfin smile unmoveably on his "face, the Nobel poet laureate read at great length. Miss Hebblewhite's face, however, appeared to fall as she realised there was little or no nudity in these verse works; and her dismay was almost palpable when it became clear that the poet was going to remain clothed throughout the reading.
Afterwards, the Entwhistles read some Kipling aloud - strong, stirring stuff it was, too; Colonel Blood Blood recited Dan McGrew before The O'Sulivan Of That Ilk read his poem about the Wild Geese, The Sons of Erin neath the Fleur de Lys, which caused a few stifled sobs.
Promised Return
Mr Jas Heaney appeared a little put out when the company rose at the end of the evening, had a collection towards the building of the dreadnought HMS Kingstown - total sum raised to date, £98-2-6 1/2 - and sang God Save The Queen. During the anthem he pluckily blinked back a few tears of surprise and promised to come back the next year. Which he duly did.
The same fellow - I am told - gave a poetry reading at the annual conference at the statue in Ballinspittle of Opus Dei, Militant Tendency, the fellows who put pebbles in their shoes and nettles in their knickers. He seemed taken aback that these minor mortifications were expected of him, too, but he obliged, and read from Station Island, blinking vigorously. If he'd been unaware that he was to join them on their pilgrimage to Knock, on foot, he hid it very well, and he hobbled along gamely enough before being stopped and asked to judge a poetry competition, with 7,000 entries, in the Bard of Ballynakillala Festival, which he duly did. He was hobbling after the vanished ODMT crowd when he was waylaid at Crossmolina, where he gave an impromptu four-hour reading before tottering Knockwards again.
He was treated briefly for gangrene at Foxford, where the local GP, a Dr Krishnawallah, talked him into judging 3,000 poems in Hindi. When we last heard, he was judging the Young Free Presbyterians Anthems to Protestant Ulster Competition in Dolly's Brae. Damn, damn Seamus Heaney, and his damnable, damnable generosity. He'll be the ruin of us all, damn him.