Dawsie and Son

1975 was a long hot summer. Didn´t rain for over three and a half months. And that was the year that the Council decided to employ a contractor to lay a new water main in the town.Talk about bad timing! The old mains had been in existence for over three hundred years and leaked like a sieve. The work started in the early spring-time; by early July half the town was dug up and little progress was being made in laying the new main. The council´s fault of course. They opted for the cheapest quotation and the contractor drastically underestimated the cost of the project. And then – he went broke!Local residents had a nightmarish year, with little or no running water and each stiflingly hot day following by another. As manager of the largest Hotel in town I had my own problems. Because of the heat and rapid water evaporation the outdoor swimming pool had to be closed down. These were the days before air conditioned hotel bedrooms were the norm. To assuage the oppressive heat of the night hotel residents left their windows wide open and then found their sleep disturbed by the noise of late night traffic and high spirited teenagers making their noisy way homewards from a nearby Disco. That was bad enough but then frustrated residents turned on their bathroom taps each evening to no avail and then descended on the unfortunate receptionist downstairs to vent their spleen and demand that something should be done.  This wave of discontent of course eventually found its way to the General Manager. Me! Worse was to follow. Many residents left their taps turned on, in the hope that some water might eventually trickle through. It invariably did; usually in the middle of the night when the town foreman Dinny O´Brien, under immense pressure from desperate householders, would turn on the town mains supply for a few hours. The problem was that as those unwashed grumpy residents slept, many sinks overflowed, setting off the sensitive fire alarms of the ceilings below. So night after night, panic stricken guests were awakened by the fire alarm; poured down to the lobby for an emergency evacuation as per the instructions on their back of the bedroom doors and then lined up to complain bitterly to the night porters and ….yes, the General Manager who was the person really at fault!  We came up with a temporary solution to the Hotel water shortage and engaged a creamery lorry from the nearby town of Ballybrack to arrive each evening after dark with a tanker full of water and surreptitiously top up the Hotel tanks and the swimming pool. Doing this during daylight hours would probably have resulted in a lynching party of town residents arriving on our door-step so it had to be a covert operation.The Council came up with their own solution to help alleviate the problem of leaks and water shortages. The ‘quick fix’ arrived in the persons of Dawses and Son. Dawsie as he became affectionately known was a water-diviner from Blackpool on the north side of Cork City. He spoke in a broad musical Cork city accent, never pronouncing his th´s, and had the defining characteristics of a true Corkonian; a certain cuteness and quick of wit. He was also an expert at detecting leaks. His appearance was unusual for a man of his years. He was usually unshaven and wore shoulder length grey hair, invariably uncombed,. The uneven yellowing teeth and brown stained fingers gave lie to his addiction to the sixty odd Woodbines he smoked daily. His long lean frame was clothed in a grey striped suit which had seen better days and before long town residents became accustomed to the familiar sight of Dawsie, followed by the hulking figure of his son- who acted as his assistant – wandering the back streets of the town - he with a large trumpet like instrument clamped firmly to his ear as they went in search of leaks. On one particular occasion the council requested Dawsie to call on Mrs Murphy who lived in Higher O´Donnell Street at the back end of the town. This elderly lady was complaining bitterly of a major water leak in the connection outside her door and wasn’t receiving any water whatsoever, day or night. Dawsie and son duly arrived on her doorstep and within seconds confirmed that there was indeed a major leak. However he also pointed out that the leak was under the street, between her house and the town main so the cost of repairing the leak would have to be borne by her. ‘Aw come on Dawsie’ she sez, ‘ I´m only a poor ould woman and couldn´t afford to pay for it’. The repair would have entailed the digging up and subsequent reinstatement of the street. Dawsie, who by this time was losing patience with the continuous litany of complaints which he had to take on board daily reacted strongly.'Mam’ he sez ‘what do you think I am, like, a miracle worker or wha’? ‘The old lady was lost for words, but only for a minute. ‘Eerah, go away boy and get yourself a haircut’ she yelled and then turning on the doorstep she pointed back at a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus which graced her living room wall. ‘Take a good look at him, boy’ she yelled ‘he had long hair as well, and he was able to work miracles!’ For the first time in his life, Dawsie found himself completely out-witted; game, set and match!  The town water system was eventually upgraded the following year and Dawsie and son were seen no more until the town sewer system packed up. But that´s a story for another day....                    The End.