The Hideout on the Rock

THE HIDEOUT ON THE ROCK

 

By Mattie Lennon

(Air: The Oul Alarm Clock)

 

It happened up in Blessington,

In November sixty-nine.

Justice wasn’t evident

And the day was far from fine.

The Gardai got contrary

And they gave to me the knock

In their effort for to camouflage

The Hideout On The Rock.

 

I was told “We’re going to charge you

With the burning of a  rick”

By Nash and Tighe and Sullivan

And Paddy Browne, the prick.

If the facts had been before me

I’d have got an awful shock;

Had I known ’twas all a cover-up

For The Hideout On The Rock.

 

Then on a day in early Spring

(But Winter mists hung down)

A daring raid was carried out

In Rathdrum’s lonely town.

The Gardai combed the district

And kept vigil round the clock.

To ensure the culprits’ safe return

To the Hideout On The Rock.

 

The next landmark in the story

Is Dublin’s Arran Quay;

A zealous guard was there shot dead

On a sunny April day.

To search West-Wicklow homesteads

The Gardai soon did flock,

But somehow or other chanced to miss

The Hideout On The Rock.

 

When the boys from Dublin Castle came

They saw it was too late,

But still a mounted “sub-Machine”

Stood focused on the gate.

The ‘spied the dump of weapons

When they forced the master lock.

Maurice Sullivan needed brown corduroys

At The Hideout On The Rock.

 

The Blessington patrol-car

Brought out spades to delve the lands.

There was talk of hidden money

And of Gardai’s blistered hands.

Unless they thought some Leprechaun

Had left behind his crock,

They’d know no buried treasure lay

Around Or Near The Rock.

 

The action that those Gardai took

Might puzzle you or me

But their Sergeant came from Kerry

Where all murderers go free.

I hear they pushed him sideways

To a station in Coolock

To reward him for the part he played

In The Hiding On The Rock.

General Section

 

A Farewell for John B Keane

 

 

 

It is four ten a.m.

on the morning after your funeral

and a litany of birds

broadcast a requiem of grace notes

over the mourning town

as I try to negotiate

a straight line

between the Square and Charles Street.

 

Finally finding the right angle to the corner

I meet your pensive gaze

from a photograph in Landys’ window

and understand

why you once barred me

for not drinking,

while Mary,who held the keys

said softly

‘Don’t worry , you’ll be alright tomorrow’

 

Pauline Fayne .

(from ‘I’m Fine Really‘

Stonebridge Publications 2005

General Section

 

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