Page 22

Daily Mail, Saturday, March 17, 2007

PADDYS GRAND
T LOOKS like just another day at
Bunratty Castle. A group of tourists file in to the Great Hall and
gather around to listen to the
red-haired tour guide. Loads of
Americans, a few British people, a
smattering of other Europeans a
French couple, for example, and a few
Germans.

And then theres Paddy, the only Irish tourist

in the group. Ah, youd think, if you were surveying the scene, there he is now, an elderly
man, having a nice day out to himself. And isnt

by Danielle
McGrane

it wonderful for him to be able to get out and

about around the country, making the most of
the free travel and enjoying himself to the full.
Maybe Bunratty, youd think to yourself, is a
favourite haunt of his it was all the rage, after
all, and never off the TV and the like, when he
was a man in his prime. Thats what you might
think alright.
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very, very wrong. For the closest that 76-yearold Patrick McCarthy has ever got to Bunratty
before was watching the RT quiz programme
Winning Streak.
So no, hes never been to Bunratty. In fact,
hes never been anywhere. At all. Ever.
Imagine never having left your home town or
city, never having seen green fields, or cattle or
sheep before. This was the reality for Patrick
McCarthy (who likes to be called Paddy) who
has lived all his life in Dublins docklands.
Until Thursday March 15, 2007, his entire
world was Dublin, a world that he had never
left in almost eight decades. The farthest hed
ever been was out along the shores of Dublin
Bay to Dn Laoghaire to the south
and north to Howth.
Now he has taken the plunge and
come on a tour to the West of Ireland.
And now, hours after we meet in the
early morning at Heuston Station in
Dublin, here he is at Bunratty Castle,
Co. Clare taking it all in and thrilled
with his new, expansive horizons.
I meet Paddy at 6.40am at Heuston
where we pick up our tickets for our
journey with Railtours Ireland. As I
walk through the doors I see him
straightaway and he comes towards
me, smiling.

E shake hands and his

excitement is palpable.
This is a beautiful train station, he tells me, looking
around the refurbished part
of Heuston. You havent seen anything yet, I tell him as we make our
way towards the train.
7am: On the train, Paddy sits in by
the window. As we pull out of the
station he turns all his attention to
the fields whizzing by. I never knew
that Ireland was so big, look at all
these fields, I love them, he says.
Each cow or sheep we pass grabs
his attention and he nudges me at
the sight of them Ive never seen
cows before, theyre smaller than I
expected.
Tom and Michelle Long, from
Washington DC, sit in front of us and
are delighted to meet Paddy. When I
saw him I thought he was the real
deal, a real Irishman, Tom tells me.
Yet this real Irishman hasnt even
seen Ireland.
Paddy doesnt tell me his reasons for
staying in Dublin, but as he stares out
the window with wide eyes he says:
My mother used to say it was terrible
that I hadnt been anywhere. She told
me to go out and enjoy myself. This
would make her happy, God love her.
He thinks about this for a few minutes and stares out of the window.
Soon we are passing through the
Curragh. Oh the Curragh, he says,
yes I can see all the stables.
Paddy is separated from his wife,
but they live very close to each other.
I was a heavy drinker at a time, Ill
admit that. And my marriage fell
apart, he says sadly. But he still calls
to see her a lot I miss living with
her, he admits.
Paddy worked delivering coal for 20
years. He can still recall the breeze
and the rain going down North Wall
to Spencer Dock, with only a coal
sack around his shoulders to keep
him dry.
He carried 10-stone bags, he supported a family of 14 children and,
yes, he drank too much.
Three of his children died in childhood, two not long after birth, and
one little boy was burned by an oil
heater when he was six.
Just three years ago his son, at 29,
died from drugs, Paddy tells me. It
broke my heart, he says. Hes buried
up in St Fintans graveyard in Sutton
and I try to get there every week. A
big trip for Paddy from his city centre
home.
Then his mood shifts again and he
perks up. This morning I heard my
mothers voice in my house, he tells
me. And do you know what she told
me? She told me to go out and enjoy
myself. I get depressed, you know,
and end up staying in my house all
day listening to my wireless.

8.45 am: Paddy and I cross the platform at Limerick Junction to catch
the next train there. I would love to
work on a farm, milking cows, Id love
that healthy life, Paddy says wistfully.
We take our seats facing the back of
the train and, as we pull out, Paddy
asks me innocently, Is this train going
backwards?
His gaze turns straight back out the
window. So, this is what Co. Limerick
looks like. Just beautiful, look at
those hedges, he says. And I do look
at the hedges, and it feels like I too
am seeing these hedges for the first
time. Paddys enthusiasm is infectious and I start pointing out every
animal just to see the look on his face.
I just cant figure out all this land,
he says pointing left and right. Id
love to live in the country.
But would you not be lonely? I ask
him, thinking of the tight-knit community where he lives in Dublin. Well,
Im not lonely today, he answers.
9am: We get on a coach for our tour of
Limerick and journey on to Bunratty
Castle. I got married in 1953 and I
havent even been to the pictures
since then, Paddy begins. I was
afraid of the films. As the lights were
turned off, I would run out.
Maybe its fear that has stopped
you leaving Dublin, I suggest. Yeah,
probably, he agrees.
Our guide Billy starts telling everyone on the bus about Angelas Ashes,
mentioning the fathers drinking
problems in the story and Paddy says,
I know all about that.
Then, when the guide mentions
the coalyards of Limerick as depicted
in the book, thats like me, Paddy
says nudging me, delighted to find
something more positive which he
relates to. It gets him thinking about
his past life.
It was hard work delivering tenstone bags of coal all around the
city, he says. I had a four-wheel cart
with a white mare and I worked out
of the yard at Spencer Dock. I would
go to the pub after work, but now I
only have two or three pints. Then
suddenly his attention is drawn out
the window again Oh, look, beautiful trees they look like Christmas
trees.
10am: Im tired from our early start
and my knees are aching from sitting
in the one position. Yet Paddy is
raring to go when the coach pulls into
Bunratty Castle. Im not tired at all,
he says as I rub my aching legs. Hes
first out, straight behind our guide
Billy as he brings us into a thatched
cottage at Bunratty. I never knew
they were so nice inside, Paddy says,
staring around at the large fireplace
and old wooden furniture. Oh, I
would love a cottage like this.
Two lambs are curled up together
outside and Paddy just cant resist.
I love animals, he says and gently
lowers his hand to their little heads.

MILING, he surveys the picturesque little country village

at Bunratty, the thatched
roofs, the chickens roaming
around, the stone walls. Just
beautiful, he repeats, over and over.
Walking towards the castle itself he
stops dead in his tracks and stares up
in awe. I saw this on the money
programme Winning Streak, Paddy
tells me. Bunratty Castle, he says to
himself as if he cant actually believe
that hes here.
Inside he climbs the steep stone
stairs with agility before entering the
large banqueting hall and listening
intently to the guide Anja.
Back outside Paddy looks at me.
I have never enjoyed myself as much
as I am today, he says. Never. I would
love a little farm, the hard work
wouldnt bother me. Did you ever
hear that saying, hard work never
killed anybody?
Before we leave Bunratty he heads
back for one last look at the castle,
and reluctantly I have to drag him
away in case we miss our bus.
Meanwhile, people have gotten wind