See Much Change?

One Friday evening in the early sixties the mother of all drinking sessions took place over in Joe Mays. Paddy Gaughran, a local short-haul seaman, had decided to throw in his lot with a vast ocean-going merchant vessel and his friends were gathered to bid him farewell. Henceforth Paddy would spend his life swanning up and down the Suez Canal or reclining in the more salubrious bars of Dar-es-salaam. He wouldn’t be seen in Fingal for at least a decade. A foible of fate, however, determined that his first commission, after he had signed on in Southampton, was to take a load of coal over to Skerries….. with the result that, on the Monday morning, he found himself walking back up the Harbour Road. Advancing to meet him, in full regalia, was the Harbourmaster of the time, John Joe Mansfield, a gently authoritarian figure, whose temperament inclined him to sarcasm and whose curt delivery was the ideal vehicle for its transmission. “See much change?” intoned John Joe.

What has this got to do with the Provincial Towns Cup? Nothing really except that Skerries exile from that competition has extended well beyond a week-end and that, yes, much change will be visible when the Goats run out to renew their acquaintance with provincial knock-out rugby in Gorey on the 25th of next month.

Over thirty years have elapsed since the famed four-in-a-row squad (of which Paddy Gaughran’s brother, Jim, was an integral member) catapulted Skerries into the upper echelons of Irish rugby and the game itself has evolved considerably in that period. As recently as the early seventies there was still something resolutely primitive about a Towns Cup match - it hadn’t yet outgrown its image as a form of cock-fighting which had somehow or other been decriminalised. But its great merit was the fact that it was largely unrehearsed. Anything could, and frequently did, happen. The meticulously prepared multi-phased menu that has percolated to all levels of the game today will leave substantially less to talk about.

The social surrounds of a Towns Cup match, too, are likely to have undergone a subtle metamorphosis over the last few decades. The legendary status accorded to the Towns Cup in Skerries is first and foremost, of course, a product of sterling on-the-field exploits. But it is strongly linked, also, to the picaresque adventures of an intrepid band of travelling supporters. The away match had all the trappings of an expedition, sometimes even of a crusade and if, unlike some Celtic fans who escorted their team to Lisbon in 1967 and are still there, all Skerries followers eventually returned to base, the question of when, or how, was never a matter for pre-match settlement. Drink-fuelled, finger-jabbing, spittle-flecked debate continued for many a crowded hour in the wake of the long whistle before repatriation became an issue. Spontaneity, again, was the leitmotive and the ad hoc nature of the arrangements provided men like Leo Flanagan, Joe Grimes, Christy Jenkinson and Jim Sherlock with an ideal setting for an expansion of their social talents. Where, amongst the present generation of followers are the likely heirs to these masters of disinhibition? Alas, the present generation is paying a heavy social price for its desire to move at high velocity from place to place. The vexed question of how many are in the one of “just the one” will, increasingly, have a literal dénouement unless the minister can extend the ambit of his Rural Transport Initiative to include travel to and from rugby matches.

The town of Skerries, likewise, has been remodelled both demographically and temperamentally. In the Belle Epoque a cup match against any of the ancestral foe would have had a seismic effect locally. Everbody knew about it. Our supposedly separated brethern in the Skerries Harps would supply not alone players but plausible names under which they could maintain their disguise. Nowadays Skerries rugby takes place in a relative lay-by. Sartorial inspecters loom in the doorways of the long-established licensed premises in the town and relentless pursuit of an individual life-style usurps the interest of a majority of its denizens.

So let us not delude ourselves that we will find the Towns Cup as we left it thirty years ago. An appropriate response to our involuntary re-integration would be to salute those who, over the years, have fashioned the great tradition of Skerries rugby and who, too often, are consigned to oblivion. The first halcyon period at the club, when the Towns Cup was annexed three times in the space of four years, might seem to belong to the late carboniferous period. In fact, two of the stalwarts of that era, Des Cashell and Tommy Jenkinson, are amongst our most fervent supporters today. Between now and kick-off time in Gorey we should make an earnest effort to recall the great names that have worn, initially, the royal blue with the Skerries Maltese Cross and, latterly, the old gold cerise and blue.

As for the present day wearers of Lord Holmpatrick’s riding colours their vision will be elsewhere than in the rear view mirror. But they can hardly fail to be aware of the tradition in which they operate. We consoled ourselves for our eviction from the All-Ireland League by positing the idea of a return to a way of life that we knew well. But that way of life ended when Paddy Carroll’s goat eloped with the taxidermist. In the Alcatraz of the Junior League which, with upwards of fifty inmates, brooks only a single annual escapee, the alpine target of an immediate return to national level may have to be set aside for the moment. But the objective of putting Skerries name on the Provincial Towns Cup for a twelfth time is a viable one and could provide the impetus for a revival at Rockalyoke.