The Last Post for the Fallen
In late autumn, General Serendipity O'Cork led the fourth goodwill military mission out of the town of Broken Harp in County Cork, and headed towards the township of Thirsty Shamrock in the nearest Corkless County. Accompanying him on the old and rickety cart was Nimby O'Blarney, the Mayor of Broken Harp, to lend a civil flavour to the expedition. It was Nimby's hope to taste a free drop or three of the barrel of black label Leprechaunia O'Guinness in the back of the cart. He actually didn't like beer but he'd heard the almost mythical accounts as to the wondrous taste of this black beer to end all beers - apparently, even the angels in Heaven had their tongues hanging out for this Vegemite-powered stuff. So it was that Nimby was curious to taste this most expensive beer on earth. It was his earnest hope that Josephine, the lady wife of Napoleon O'Corkless, would graciously spike the barrel of sacred fluid when this gift from Father Paddy O'Leprechaun was finally delivered.
Of course, the barrel of black label wasn't really a gift from the Church of the Blessed Cork but more of a goodwill bribe from the Leprechaunia O'Guinness brewery's majority shareholder, Father Paddy, to the principal minority shareholder, the lovely Josephine. Father Paddy wanted to add Approved by God to the brewery's labels, and he thought it prudent to smooth the way by obtaining Josephine's support for having this inspirational, divine endorsement printed boldly on the labels.
Also accompanying General Serendipity O'Cork and Mayor Nimby O'Blarney on the small and wonky cart was Jock McBrownie. Jock had somehow, years before, sailed dead drunk across the Irish Sea in the inflated inner tube of a golf buggy. When volunteering for the goodwill mission, Jock had asserted that his credentials as a brave adventurer entitled him to lend his brawny arm to the expedition, even though he was skinny. His real motive was not a free goblet of the black label brew. He despised the foul stuff. Only malted Scotch whiskey was worthy of a small highlander from the lowlands - or was that a low highlander from the uplands? He was never sure. But he was on the goodwill mission to make a good impression on Nimby O'Blarney's sister, the ravishing Widow Peg O'Blarney-Stone who sorely needed ravishing. The sight of Peg in her flimsy black dress always made his knobbly knees knock and hairy legs shake.
Jock's rival for Peg's affection wasn't going to be upstaged by this Scottish bagpipe strangler in a skirt. No, indeed! And Bulldog Beefeater also trumpeted his qualifications as an adventurer. This garden gnome who'd got drunk on pints of patriotic English ale had somehow floated in an inebriated haze in a weather balloon across the Irish Sea, long ago. And now he, too, sat in the back of the groaning cart. Whereas Jock sat balanced on the keg of black label, Bulldog was perched on the barrel full of corks that was also intended to alleviate the misery of the township of Thirsty Shamrock in the Corkless County.
So it was that General Serendipity O'Cork, Mayor Nimby O'Blarney and the two love-struck adventurers, Jock McBrownie and Bulldog Beefeater, sat huddled in the groaning cart that trundled across the bridge over the River Cork. A cold wind was blowing and the night was falling when they rolled off the bridge and thus onto the deprived soil of the Corkless Counties. It had taken much longer to get there than anticipated because Dobbin the Fourth, the elderly nag hauling the cart, was well past his use-by-date. The weight of the over laden cart hadn't helped matters. And there, on the impoverished banks of the River Cork, old Dobbin lay down and died.
Being resourceful, Jock McBrownie played the Last Post on his wheezing bagpipes while General O'Cork stood to attention and gave a final salute for this noble steed that had sacrificed all in the name of little people's big rights to Leprechaunia O'Guinness and corks in the Corkless Counties. The Mayor, Not In My Back Yard O'Blarney, made a moving speech. In doing so, he bestowed upon Dobbin the Fourth the Vegemite Gallantry Medal for this splendid charger's faithful services in the war against terror. For his part, Bulldog Beefeater said that it was unfortunate that the bloody nag had dropped dead, and what the bloody hell were they going to do now? Bulldog observed that it was getting damned dark and that the blasted barrel of black label firewater was far too heavy to carry anywhere. He tersely added that there also was a barrel of corks to boot. In short, that they were well and truly stuffed because there was no way that the four of them could pull the cart any farther, let alone up the steep hill looming ahead of them.
General Serendipity O'Cork decided that the only sound military tactic was to lighten the baggage in the interests of conducting a strategic withdrawal back to Broken Harp. There, to dragoon reinforcements in the shape of a sturdier steed and to requisition transportation in the form of a less rickety cart. With such military replenishments they would be well placed to make a victorious advance to poor deprived Thirsty Shamrock. To which the other three wholeheartedly agreed. As they did to General O'Cork's spiking of the barrel of black label booze. They also agreed with the General's observation that he was sure that Father Paddy of the Church of the Blessed Cork wouldn't mind contributing the barrel to maintain moral and thus help in the war effort. But if he did, they would pay the ultimate price of saying umpteen Hail Leprechauns on bended knees.
With that decided, they began their patriotic duty of drinking dry the barrel of sacred, black label Leprechaunia O'Guinness. Before they were entirely legless, they set fire to the barrel of corks on the grounds that such must not be allowed to fall into the hands of possible marauding, corkless enemies - and the fire also happened to be a cheery buffer against the cold on the banks of the River Cork. As it got colder and darker they set fire to the cart, after first having positioned the cart over the body of noble Dobbin the Fourth. It was unthinkable that the gallant steed might fall into enemy hands as a spoil of war. They unanimously decided that Dobbin would much prefer to be barbecued and eaten by hungry County Cork patriots. Of course, as they sat around the blazing bonfire, they could only manage a few horse steaks each. But it was the thought that counted. And the rest of Dobbin the Fourth was cremated with full military honours - Jock playing the Lost Fence Post this time on his bagpipes, having already wheezed out the Last Post.
The future historians of County Cork ungraciously termed this fourth goodwill mission as the Barbecue Before the Long March Home. However, the Historiated Hysteria of the Corkless Counties didn't as much as mention it - it was a dark secret kept by County Cork for years; and then it didn't matter all that much any more unless one wanted to pick a fight in a pub.
See also:
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 4
32 First Casualties of the Second Vegemite War
33 The Battle at The Slumped Leprechaun
34 The Ruined Blarney Stone35 The Victorious Vegemite War
36 The First Goodwill Expedition
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Comments: 14
Be sure to polish your leprechauns for next Wednesday - an early St. Paddy's day.
But Poor Father Paddy, will he ever get the label he so craves..."Approved by God" on his beer?
Have faith .... Father Paddy eventually gets what he wants.
'the inflated inner tube of a golf buggy'??? Is there a cultural stereotype you won't take the piss out of? that just cracked me up so much. great great fun Magi.
Loved this Magi, I'm going back to read your earlier stories. Such fun!
Blessed be
Wilka
Whenever the fancy takes you to be with the little folk, just pop over to one of the many tales.