The Tale of the Goatskin Rug

The tale of the Goat-skin Rug

‘You’re waiting for your breakfast, sir, and now what will you take,
Fish! Is it fish by the salt sea water?
All gone up to Dublin, sir, ‘fore you´re awake?
Kidneys and toast and tea.’

(from the song Mick´s Hotel, by Percy French)

Mick´s Hotel stands on the roadside just outside the sleepy seaside village of Ballybracken. It´s the last building you´ll pass on the little brown road that winds over the hills to the nearest town of Chapeltown, some 25 miles away. The old building has some dozen bedrooms on two upper floors only two of which have bathrooms ‘en suite’. The ground floor is laid out in an open plan style. Inside the front porch is a small lobby area; to one side is a dining room and cosy wood-panelled bar and straight ahead is a reception desk . On the left hand side is a lounge area with a roaring log fire and in front of the fire is an enormous goatskin rug…. or used to be, and herein hangs the tale (excuse the pun!).

Puck Fair is an annual festival of 'The Travelling People' held in the north Kerry town of Kilorglin. Travellers from all over the country, and some of their distant cousins from England, converge on the town for three days of celebration including traditional music, storytelling and the renewal of old friendships – and sometimes enmities.
The pubs do a roaring trade and travelling people being travelling people, outbreaks of fisticuffs – and worse – are a regular feature of the weeklong festival.

The highlight of the week is the crowning of King Puck. After much deliberation the judges make their choice from several dozen prize goats which arrive in Hiace-vans, trailers and sometimes in the backs of the cars of their proud owners. The victorious King Puck is duly crowned by the current Miss Ireland, pushed into a cage festooned with ribbons and hoisted aloft for all to see and acclaim while the proud winning owner receives a large cheque, the proceeds of which are usually spent over the bar counters of Kilorglin before the week is out.

Micks prize Goat - ’McGinty’ - won the title three years running - a record never equalled either before or since. Hardly surprising as he was a magnificent specimen of “goathood”. He stood some ten hands high, with two enormous horns and a beautiful silky brown, black and white coat and long curly beard which Larry the Hotel porter brushed every morning. McGinty was kept in a small field, just behind the Hotel, and lived a contented life munching sweet grass, nettles and leaves and basking in the admiration of the many people who came to view the famous prizewinning goat. However, goats don´t live forever and one day, despite the best efforts of Patrick, Ballybracken´s veterinary surgeon, old McGinty, who was by then over twenty-five years old, expired.

McGinty had always been very good for business so Mick at first thought he might have him stuffed and put on display in the Hotel lobby. However, large goats and small Hotels don´t always go well together so as a compromise Mick took McGinty´s remains to a taxidermist , over the hills in Chapeltown and returned the following day with a magnificent goatskin rug, complete with horns. He placed it in prime position in front of the log fire in the lounge area and on the nearby wall displayed the three framed 1st Prize certificates plus a large photograph of McGinty himself wearing his crown. Mick´s American guests in particular were only too pleased to be photographed standing on the famous rug and to purchase framed copies of the photograph before leaving the Hotel.

One winter´s evening Mick´s Hotel was the venue for a very special event. Father Ned was celebrating the 30th anniversary of his priesthood and Mick decided to lay on a special dinner to mark the occasion. The guest list of some 150 people included the Bishop of the Diocese who had travelled from Chapeltown, some local politicians, the current Mayor of Ballybracken -Jack the butcher with his chain of office - and several other distinguished personages from the community. While most of the guests gathered in the bar prior to the dinner, the VIPs stood in a circle in the lounge in front of the open fire sipping sherry while admiring the famous rug as Mick regaled them with stories of McGinty´s achievements.

Suddenly the front door burst open and in at a canter came Martin the Miler. Martin lived alone in a little cottage some seven or eight miles up the Chapeltown road. He had at one time entered, and came third in the annual Dublin Marathon race, no mean feat for somebody who wasn ´t quite the full shilling and from that day on was known locally as ‘Martin the Miler’. Every weekday morning Martin trotted into Ballybracken to do the shopping and every evening trotted back in again to have a pint or two of Guinness in Mick´s Hotel bar.

“ Off you go Martin” called Mick from his vantage point in the lounge. “Can´t serve you. Private party tonight. Come back tomorrow evening”. At that Martin turned tail and scuttled back out through the door. The gong had just sounded for dinner when the door flew open once again, and in charged the Miler. He headed straight for the Goatskin rug and to the horror of the assembled VIP´s, dropped his trousers and did his business in full view of the entire party. “That´ll teach ya Mick. Never forget about de locals! “ he called back over his shoulder as he scarpered off into the night.

If you ever visit Ballybracken and happen to visit Mick´s Hotel, don´t make any reference to rugs, goats or marathon runners……….
THE END