There is an advertising campaign on the telly at the moment for Kerrygold butter featuring strapping farmer types with Kerry-sounding accents, possibly graduates of RADA or the Abbey but pretty lifelike all the same. It reminds of when my old mate Joe McGarry was stopped in Camden High Street by an advertising executive a few years ago. This was when Joe was still a resident of Arlington House and was in the first flush of his recovery from years of hard drinking when every day was an adventure and the world seemed to hold so many possibilities. The ad person was looking for a farmer type for a breakfast cereal ad and thought that Joe fitted the bill nicely, which he did as he was one of the last old Camden farmers, most of them having died off in Arlington from BSE or swine flu (or alcoholism).

Joe was taken for some sort of an audition to a studio in Soho but heard nothing since. I guess they used his screen test to train a clean cut RADA (or Abbey) actor how to speak in a rural county Antrim accent for the job. But I am seriously thinking of putting Mossie forward for a Kerrygold ad after seeing him shaving during our trip to Durrus in West Cork this September. Mossie is a big, bluff, strapping farmer type who has the added benefit of being from Kerry and being a farmer (at least historically). Mossie has been in London for years, living in and around Kilburn where his big frame and swinging walk mark him out as one of the last of the kings of the High Road. Before he arrived in London he was in America working as a bricklayer off the cards and was eventually deported arriving at Dublin airport with nothing but the clothes he was standing up in. Without a penny in his pocket Mossie set out from Dublin in a south-westerly direction. After a couple of weeks tramping overland he landed at his mother’s house in Kerry his clothes in tatters and his shoes worn through.

We all managed to arrive safely in West Cork early in September but poor old Tom had to stay home having such severe incontinence that we had to stop the minibuses three times for him to use the toilet before we had even reached the M4 and twice before we had left Camden. The houses we were staying in at Durrus are in the middle of the village arranged in a circle with a seating area and a landscaped lawn. As usual there was a worker and three returning emigrants in each of the five houses. The only other in-use house in the holiday complex was occupied by a family hit hard by the recession who had to move out of their home when it was taken over by the bank. I guess we will be seeing a lot more of these situations as the crunch bites deeper. The houses were fine but it wasn’t home and how long could they afford to stay there? It really is a mess.

In John’s house there were three hard drinking Kilburn men. One was Declan who had been street homeless for a couple of years. He manages to stay with friends, including Mossie and at other times he lives in an abandoned garage with a bunch of homeless Polish people. Declan has always refused hostel accommodation and is hoping to be offered a flat one of these days. Like many of the men he has done the circuit of hostels in London and hated them, feeling more in prison than at home. Occasional referrals do come available for street homeless people and Declan could be lucky, but he would get housed much quicker through the hostel system. Declan had been rough sleeping so long he couldn’t sleep in the bed and at night he took his bed clothes onto the floor downstairs. Declan is a street drinker and always on the lookout for the next can.

Also in John’s house was Frank who we have known for a long time. He has been in and out of rehab over the years, has been assessed again and is waiting for a place on a programme. John has managed to help Frank to reduce his drinking so that he can make the journey, drinking a few cans of Guinness instead of whiskey and hardcore cider. Franks alcohol habit has cost him dear and although he dressed himself up smart for the trip he is so thin his suit looked like it was still on the hanger rattling around in a wardrobe. His face is sallow and morose, he is stooped over and unsteady on his feet. He looks like he has some serious illness and we are afraid that he will go into a seizure if he drinks too much or too little. It’s a bit of a high wire act but his first appointment with the alcohol project John has referred him to, is for the week after the holiday and he has a chance to start his recovery now and be ready to start his detox if we can keep close supervision of him between now and then. Mossie makes up the household and we could hear his big feet echoing around the house and see him sitting out on the step smoking big fat roll up fags throughout the week. One morning John called him for breakfast and went into the bathroom to find Mossie with the butt of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth shaving with Kerrygold butter! “Sure it softens the bristles nicely” he reckoned. What an image and a great slogan for Kerrygold.

We took Mossie back to Kerry on the Monday, driving up through Glengariff and Kenmare to Killarney where he was to catch the bus home. His mother is a in a care home and he was to visit her and stay with his brother for a few days and maybe do a bit of milking or bring the turf in. We had a very posh lunch at the old Great Southern Hotel which has been taken over by a hotel chain but is still full of charm and grandeur. We arranged ourselves tastefully on the comfy chairs and sofas in the foyer and ordered tea and sandwiches for ten of us. Mossie bolted down a handful of food and a mouthful of tea and dashed out into the street to catch his bus across the road. We sat and relaxed while the waitress brought fresh tea and sandwiches. It’s a good tip to pop into the grand hotels of Ireland for snacks rather than café’s or restaurants because we were well fed and tea’d for over an hour for around six euro’s a head. From Killarney we headed for Limerick via Castleisland and Newcastle West, arriving at Limerick station to meet Steve’s sister in the car park. She had driven down from Nenagh to meet him and would drop him back to Durrus at the end of the week.

We had a look around Limerick for a couple of hours and we were a little shocked at the general shabbiness of the city. Even Patrick Street, the main thoroughfare was decidedly run down. We looked into a record shop as we were getting a little fed up with our worn out selection of cd’s in the minibus and it was a depressing an experience. I can’t remember what was playing but Leonard Cohen singing the Velvet Underground’s greatest hits couldn’t have been more gloomy. The long faces of the two workers were drooping out of their hands onto the counter and the tired selection of death metal and Irish showband compilations were rattling around in half empty display cases. We couldn’t wait to get out of there. Luckily there is an excellent bookshop next door and we bought a few books and postcards in there. Later we went for a coffee and were given a big discount by the friendly waitress. Back at the van some of the lads had topped up with a few cans and we were in good spirits on the long drive home.

John got a call from Mossie later that evening to ask could he send him some money. John had £200 belonging to Mossie and had given him £140 before he set off for home. After he left us at the hotel he had changed his money and gambled away the lot in the bookies before catching the bus. Luckily he knew a butcher in town who gave him the bus fare or he would have had to walk. Not that that would have been any bother to Mossie. We had other trips out around the wonderful West Cork landscape exploring the many wild rugged peninsulas in this part of Ireland. We went out over the Healey Pass a couple of times, where the long winding famine road weaves its way up through the pass to a statue of Jesus on the cross and a stunning view down the other side to the kingdom of Kerry. A notice told us that for centuries dead bodies of Cork and Kerry people were handed over at the pass to be buried in their home county. We met an old farmer and his sheepdog up there, who was as thin as a rake and as old as the hills. He asked the lads were they married and enquired a little too deeply into everyone’s sex lives. Brendan said that he had been married four times and yer man danced a little jig and crowed delightedly asking for intimate details.

Things were quieter in Charlie’s house after Steve had gone to Nenagh. Steve keeps up a pretty constant monologue with whoever happens to be around and it can cover all subjects from football to what he ate in the caff the other day. This all happens pretty seamlessly so the odd nod and random comment keeps him happy. The other two residents are Peter and Mick. Peter is our constant companion who cleans our minibuses night and day so that there is never a speck of dirt inside or out. He also picks up any rubbish around the house and empties and washes half drank cups of tea while your back is turned. Mick is from Cork city and both he and Peter were in industrial schools for most of their childhoods. Luckily for Mick his family moved to London saving him from further torture at the hands of the Brothers. Charlie whizzes between all of the houses checking up on the lads and making sure everyone is fed and cared for.

Aonghus had Sean and Dominic, who are both in recovery from alcohol, staying with him. They had been long term street drinkers around Kilburn and are well known to the other drinkers in the party but are able to stay sober these days without feeling any temptation from the other lads drinking. The opposite is true, they are pretty well secure in their sobriety after years of abuse and the antics of the others mooching around for drink only reinforces their will to keep away from the old life. Still it’s difficult to find ways to occupy yourself when drink is not an option and the lads would come on all of our outings. Dominic complained that the scenery was nothing but ‘rocks’ but he never missed a trip. Sean was distant and quiet, reading most of the time, not even looking out of the window. By the end of the week however his depression had lifted and he was chatting and bantering away, the life and soul of the van. Kevin was the other member of the household and had not been home for 29 years. Somehow he never got round to it and he would be visiting his mother and brothers during the week. On the Sunday several of us went around to Aonghus’s house to watch the All-Ireland hurling final between Kilkenny and Tipperary. Towards the end of the game Kilkenny were awarded a dodgy penalty which led to a goal that wrecked Tipp’s chances. The howls of anguish from Aonghus, a proud Tipperary man could be heard in his home county.

The Monday after we arrived was a big day in the village as the charity shop opened for business at 11.00am and there was a queue forming from early on. Sean is an avid reader and spent the morning looking through the little library at the back of the shop. Charlie was still trying to upgrade our cd collection and managed to get a few country albums. James bought a cassette player, going for the flashier model, leaving the more compact and reliable Sony for Charlie to snap up. Both were only 5 euros but James needed to buy batteries for his and even then the machine chewed up the tapes. The ladies in the shop took the machine back but James was stuck with 10 euros worth of batteries. This was a lot of precious drinking money even in these rip-off Ireland times but it allowed us a chance to help James cut down and Charlie agreed to buy his batteries when we got back to London and not before. We all had great fun with the women running the charity shop and returned throughout the week to trawl through their piles clothes and mountains of books and ornaments.

James was staying in my house along with Des and Joe. Joe had been a big drinker around Kilburn for years but his health has seriously declined and he is unable to keep up the old life. He had reduced his drinking right down and whenever we were in the pub during the trip Joe would have a half glass of Guinness and sit contentedly with it for the whole evening. He was severely limited in his mobility but would often go off for long walks on his own and somehow would mysteriously manage to cover miles of roads and laneways. Joe was last in Cork back in the 70’s and he had certain objectives during the trip some of which were quite mysterious. Like Frank, Joe was very thin indeed after years of undernourishment and over-drinking. Franks appetite was coming back during the trip but he had to be encouraged to eat, whereas Joe would eat anything that was put in front of him. One evening we had been out all day and the Ireland v Cyprus football match was on the telly, rather than cooking a meal I put together a buffet with the food we had around the house filling two big serving platters with cold meat, boiled eggs, onions, tomatoes, cheese, pickles and potato salad. There was a load of food and James, Des and myself helped ourselves to a plateful, leaving more than half of it on the kitchen table and sat down to watch the disappointing but ultimately successful match in the living room. Joe came down from his room and went into the kitchen. After a minute he stuck his head round the door, ‘Is that plate there for me?’ There was one dinner plate left there on the table with the buffet. ‘Sure Joe, help yourself.’ About an hour later we looked in the kitchen and the two big serving plates were polished off and a half a loaf of bread. Joe was just wiping a few crumbs from his moustache, ‘That was grand lads.’

James and Declan were drinking buddies in London but were at each other like cat and dog most of the time, which is why they were in separate houses and travelled in separate minibuses. They were either the best of pals or deadly enemies, changing position several times a day like boys in the schoolyard. Years ago Declan had been a fisherman on trawlers from out of Baltimore and John took a group out one day around the Beara peninsula taking in the wonderful scenery and picturesque towns including Baltimore and Skibereen where he bought a fishing rod and reel plus some lures to fish for mackerel. The caretaker of the cottages lent us another fishing rod and that evening John took James and Declan out to try their luck. After 4 hours they came home with a few small mackerel which we cooked fresh out of the water. The competition was fierce of course and both the lads claimed the fish. It was much later when it was revealed that they had caught nothing and the fish were donated by other anglers who had taken pity on them. Of course then there were recriminations over who had lied about the catch and who was the most honourable. Like street drinkers everywhere the lads were always on the look out for a drink and could hustle the eyeballs out of your head if you weren’t used to the performance. And denial always plays a huge part in their lives. How else could you continue such a lifestyle, sleeping rough and dodging from one crisis to the next always looking for the next drink. James is from Derry and he and two brothers had left the troubles at home to come to London for a safer happier life. Now one brother was dead from drink and the other one was on the way, wandering into traffic on the Kilburn High Road. James thinks he is still far enough from that to consider himself a cut above his brother but it’s only a matter of time unless he gets out of the game. He puts off such thoughts with a wave of the hand and a shake of the head. ‘Sure he’s loopy, the brother.’

There are five pubs in Durrus, four are active and one is derelict. Some cater to the passing trade with meals and others have poker sessions and darts matches to keep the locals amused, others just serve drink and seem to be doing well on it. Durrus is a lively enough village for it’s size and there are several groups of single men and women around the place including the local post mistress and her mates who were good customers and spread their trade around all the pubs and are the life and soul of several. They were very curious about our gang and got a different story each time they quizzed us about who we were and where we were from. The lads scrub up well and although you can tell they’ve had a few knocks that only makes them look a bit more interesting and by the end of the week they were looking better than they had in years.

Brendan brought two men with him by air as they were too frail to make the journey overland. Jerry needed to visit his brother in Cork but they only had a few hours together the day we drove in as his brother’s wife wouldn’t have him in the house and he needed to visit while she was at work. On that day we had four people to drop off for family visits. We dropped off Kevin at Ovens on our way into Cork across the road from his mother’s house, we would be picking him up on our way to the ferry next Saturday morning. We left him looking nervously across at the house that he hadn’t seen in almost 30 years. Colm who had arrived with Brendan and Jerry was recovering from cancer treatment and was pretty frail but very excited about meeting his aunt. She was his only living relative and when we arrived at her house in Castelmartyr, way off in East Cork, she invited us all in for tea. We made our excuses as we still had a lot to do. Back in town we amazingly managed to find our way to Jerry’s brother’s house deep in a housing estate off the ring road. From there Aonghus found the housing estate where Mick’s family lived. I asked a cab driver for directions who took us to the house which was next door to his own house. Mick had left Cork when he was 10 year old and had a cockney accent which was starting to give way to a sing-song Cork accent now that he was back on home ground. Mick had made no contact with his family before we arrived and there was no answer at the door but he had a phone number and before long a cousin turned up and we left them hugging on the doorstep.

It was midday by the time we arrived in town and we went for lunch to The Long Valley pub which is famous for its excellent soups and sandwiches. The soup was nourishing and the sandwiches were door-stoppers. Aonghus had been to university in Cork and took us around town which was looking great in the afternoon sunshine. We visited the Crawford art gallery, did some shopping and wandered the lanes and alleyways before it was time to head back and pick up three of the four we had dropped off for visits. We had other days out to Gugan Bara where we lit candles in the little church on the lake and out to Mizen Head on the edge of the world where the lighthouse keepers lodged. Only a papier-mache man is there now forever eating his fry up and sleeping in his bed at the same time. Today’s light house keeper lives in Schull and comes out to change light bulbs now and then. We had a drink in the lovely little pub in the harbour at Castlehaven. We saw a Harley-Davidson rally and a vintage Ford rally with escorts and Capri’s looking like they had driven out of a time tunnel. We paid our respects to Michael Collins at Beal na mBlath and James wore his Celtic jersey for the occasion.

Bantry has a famous street market each Friday which takes up the whole of the huge open market area. It was recently upgraded with a large raised seating area with some nautical touches, a grand big anchor from a long lost ship and a sculpture of Brendan the Navigator. It looks very smart but some of the traders feel that it has destroyed the market which would have attracted hundreds more stall holders in the old days. Still, there is an amazing array of goods for sale from antiques to fruit and veg and we all came away with a few purchases. Aonghus used the opportunity to stock up on the Irish goods he missed in London, crisps, cheese, black puddings etc. I managed to find a treasure trove of obscure and cheap cd’s at last. Charlie found some quirky cooking implements and the lads had a few drinks with St. Brendan.

Very early on Saturday morning we left Durrus for London, managing to get lost on the way to Cork. We drove around for what seemed like hours in the dark tying to read road signs but managed to pick up Kevin at Ovens at exactly the time we had arranged. Kevin was full of news about the family he had been away from for so long and his mother was coming to London the following week to visit him. Jerry and Colm had already left with Brendan the night before. Waiting at the ferry landing to board John noticed Joe with a couple of half whiskey bottles in his hand. John was naturally alarmed, Joe had been sober the whole week what was he doing now? Was it the depression of leaving Ireland? Looking a little closer John saw that he was putting something into the bottles. Messages! Joe was putting notes he had written into two old whiskey bottles he had found lying around in Durrus and had got the idea to send a message out to the world from the ferry. Arriving in Wales Charlie got a call from Brendan. They had arrived back OK but the lads were feeling very emotional flying out of Cork and Brendan sounded a little sad himself. We winged it back to London managing to swerve past a very bad accident outside Slough by switching to the old A4. John was driving ahead of us and had witnessed the crash, which had left bodies on the road side and the car upside down. A couple of days later John went to collect Frank for his appointment for detox but he was collapsed on the floor of his flat having had a seizure. An ambulance took Frank to hospital where he was doing fine being looked after by Irish nurses at the Royal Free.