On a journey to write and compost many things can happen on the way
The Poet From Port To Port
It was just after December 1988 and winter was setting in . The crossing over the Irish Sea from Fishguard was a nightmare .There were waves like mini mountains tossing the small ferry about like a piece of driftwood. I threw up all I had from my empty belly and more .
The morning was nice to see as the ferry landed in Rosslare harbour . It was good to place my feet on Irish soil It was good to feel and hear the heart beat in my chest as I thought that I had left it half way across the Irish sea. Rosslare was just as I imagined it to be There was no sign of life anywhere except for a little donkey tied to a tree outside the youth hostel I pulled the few notes that remained in my wallet and booked into the youth hostel for a few nights .
As I looked out through my bedroom window I watched the Sea link ferry turn around in Rosslare harbour and head on out across the Irish sea to Wales The youth hostel stood at the top and highest point of the hill looking out to sea . I was happy to be in Ireland and for three days I lost myself around the sleepy port of Rosslare .
I mapped out a buskers map of Ireland and set off to take mu music to the streets .I walked and worked my way from County Wexford to Waterford , home of the world famous glass crystal manufacturing industry . I never stayed long in Waterford as I was offered a free bus trip to Cork by a friendly backpacker from Canada called Dave He was returning to his home in Canada and he gave me a book of bus passes he no longer had any use for Now I had a ticket to travel the length abd breadth of the Emerald Isle . A stroke of good fortune and a buskers blessing indeed .
So I left the Bolton house guest house in Waterford and went walking along the quay with my six string towards the on the far side of town , across the bridge . Beside the bus depot was also the train station at Waterford . As I made my way along the Quay I looked at the two cathedrals t6hat stood defiantly against the early morning rain .
One was catholic and the other was protestant , structures of granite , similar in appearance yet unlike in many ways , religiously speaking .
I sat in the bar at the bus depot and had a drop of the hard stuff while I was waiting for the bus to come in .By the time the bus came in I was half drunk . The bus left as the clock in the tower broke up a clan of rebel pigeons from their sleep on the tower’s edge .
The bus driver was in no great hurry to get out of Waterford . For a second it looked as if he was stopping for a pint .
Well finally I watched as the sea gulls glid over the sky and finally the road out of Waterford was an easy journey to Cork City . As we motored along I delivered a portion of the blues to the passengers on the bus that was crawling its way to Cork on the supposedly express . Surely I thought there must be life there somewhere in Cork maybe a handful of street pigeons and maybe even someone out there who would appreciate what I was trying to do because I had made my mind up . I had set my mind and heart on Cork to answer the songwriters prayer and dream . Living and struggling and trying to survive .
It was a good morning says I to the warden when I got to Cork .
“Good morning is it ?” Came the reply of the warden and I looked at him .
“Are you having trouble with the rats?” Said I with grin . He looked at the few cars that were parked in the wrong place and writing tickets for them .
“It’s a good job you’ve got there warden “ Says I.
“Well I’ve been doing it long enough.”
“So what are you doing these days apart from putting tickets on cars , Do you like music ?” says I and he smiled .
“Well actually , I’m renovating my house” He answered and then he swung a blow with his left fist almost grazing my cheek in the process .
“ I’ll leave you to it. “ Says I and snapped grabbed my Yamaha under my arm .
“ I’ll be seeing you another day “ Says he .
“I’ll let you know when that will be and I’ll make sure I won’t be coming around “
Then I went on my way as the snow lay in my path and on the street it had turned to slush and the morning traffic was building up already on the Western road and I passed by Jurys Hotel , so I doubled back with the thought maybe I could get a job in there .Si I went in and told them I could do some porters work or I could even become someone to make the beds or a person who could do odd jobs , a janitor’s job or any kind of work that would be going . So I filled out this formal application form to be a jack of all trades of whatever would be going and I handed it to the manager . Then from there I came out of the hotel and made my way down Oliver Plunkett Street and wen into De Lacy house for a drink and while I was there I asked the manager if he wanted to hire a musician to play in his establishment ,
She looked at me and said
“Well I think ot over . Come and see me a bit later on in the year maybe during the summer holiday time .“
Maybe I though to myself , If I’m still alive by then .
The daytime hours oassed by , like the spare change in my pocket that was disappearing and love had left me like an orphan in the city and every corner I came to I could feel the tingle in my toes and heard the jingle in my head . I spent some time busking and I wrote a song called small change.
Zoom goes the space craft far up in the blue, I promise you soon babe I’ll fly back to you , I’m taking pennies from my pocket and ready’s from my shoe , yeah small change means I love you .
Love is spending time but small change for me.
Small change I can’t give no more . I’m on my way home .Blues baby , that’s small change straight out of my shoe .
Jingles in my feet , tingles in my toes . Got no time , I guess that’s the way it goes when you’ve got the blues goes , Its called small change and it’s always the same .
No alterations , small change . That’s my middle name .
It was the night just after new years and not a house could I find for shelter . My pockets were empty and my feet had blisters upon blisters and pushed my way through the snow and the multitude of last minute shoppers in Great Patrick street and if I had fallen under their feet sometimes I wondered if they would have had the decency to pick me up or would I just get crushed in the stampede . If were not for my trusty six string Yamaha acoustic maybe who knows I’d still be sitting in the valley of darkness but I bravely fought of the foe and stood up like a hunter on heat like a musician with a beat in his heart and I weaved in and out of the doorways stopping here and there for a song or two . Eventually I made a stand in Winthrop Street at the doorway of the Swiss Gem jewellery store where I started to busk my heart out for the price of a feed or a bed . Two busking hours later I realised that I was facing an impossible task so I decided to give in to the madness of the new year .It was hopeless going on any longer . People were rushing around blind in a bid to get something in to the house for the new year . Some items for the loved ones , for the family .
My throat was hoarse , my fingers were numb , my feel were frozen and my busking box had an empty look on it . The golden 20p coin in my hand I looked at as it stared back as if mocking me in contempt , I let it fall but bend down and picked it up and put it into my pocket and sighed with the thought at least I’m 20p better off and I did bring my music to the people so I’ve come off a little bit better and I’ll come back again tonight and tomorrow night if I have to .I’ll come back if all the streets are empty and the shops are shut and the people aren’t there, if I have to .Maybe then who knows , it will be a better time and I’ll be in a better frame of mind with a bit of that good old time Irish Christian spirit burning inside my heart .
I walked around the town with the blisters on my feet hoping that maybe I would bump into some generous millionaire out on a walk or perhaps a music lover who would pay to hear a song of mine .
I walked for hours and hours and my blisters felt like were rivets in the soles of both my feet and each step I took was agony but I kept on singing over and over the melodies in my head and I kept thinking of new lyrics for my unfinished material , Thoughts poured through my head like flour ina sive into my memory banks where they were stored up for later on .
The soft twilight glow surrounded me in its embrace as I passed by the Garda station by the far banks of the Lee . I shuffled my way through the streets very slowly and painfully as the strap of my six string cut through my shoulders .
I just stopped for near the bridge for a while and watched the antics of the young lovers partying and the others going out drinking round the city centre that was alive and buzzing with revellers frolicking and acoholicking on and on as if it would never end . I shuffled my way across the bridge at Mac Curtain Street and made my way to busk the corners of Cork city centre .
The only thought I had in my mind was if I only could get enough for some bread or some hot potato chips to satisfy the hunger and do you know what , it began with Small Change . I played small change as people came and they listened and it seemed that small change was a hit .
I was on my way , I had won their hearts over with Small Change .
My toes began to tap instead of jingle and tingle and my pockets were now jingling and jangling away Small change and paper I could feel it , I could hear it and all around the River lee the sound of Small Change echoed , Lined in my the pockets of Levi jeans now was paper notes, guess what , that’s just the way the blues goes .
I went and bought a hamburger and some hot chips and I ate for the first time there on the pavement . The first food I had in days .
End Of Part 1 - Chapter 7
People passed me by on the street and they wished me all the best and I exchanged another greeting , “Happy new year, all the best to you too. ” even though my feelings were low and somewhat shattered .
I now had my bearing around Cork and the people and places . It seemed like a nice place to be .
Now all I needed to do was to get the head down somewhere without fear . I was fighting off the sleep as I stood there in the street . I had a bridge in my head among some melodies and in my heart was a beat with music running through like a locomotive on marble floors but there was no place for it to go .
There I stood and sung as I watched people passing me by . A song began to
drift into my soul and I embraced it and memorised the first inspirations on the fret board on my guitar and within about thirty minutes I shuffled my way along Mac Curtain street . I heard the herald of chimes ringing out something o’clock and the hard times fell down around me , wringing out my strands of strength and squeezing out the grace that God had given me .
I shuffled along down by the bam bam bars of Cork and when I reached Washington Street I was surprised to see a fellow shuffler about thirty yards ahead of me and he was shuffling even slower that I was , As I got closer t to where he was , I thought to myself well things aren’t that bad , I shuffled away until I was neck and neck with my companion shuffler . It was then I noticed that he was very drunk .
Feeling the pains of hunger, tearing me gut from inside out, I continued and within twenty minutes I was twenty yards ahead of my nearest shuffler .
I gained confidence and strength that day .
One of the brightest biggest headaches that I ever had as a busker was with a drunk. For all drunks are the same ,fools in a lost paradise and bottles of time to kill . Disaster one day, I ,remember as I was heading up the Western Road , carrying my guitar under my arm when three fools with a half a bottle of vodka called me over.
”Give us a song . Go on “ They slobbered .
“All right I’ll give you a song” Said I not to be the person to turn any audience away . I went over and sat down behind them at the bus shelter . I was absolutely starving but I opened up with a version of Danny Boy . They all sang along out of key and harmony . Then they passed over a bottle of vodka a roll up of tobacco and I had a puff and it blew my lungs apart .
One of them sniggered , ““That’s twenty times that one’s been around “
He was joined by a fourth man who arrived with three brown paper bags inside a plastic carry bag . He sat down with us and he handed a bottle of gin and a bottle of sherry and another bottle of vodka to the band of cutthroats who in turn handed me a bottle . I looked at the wind and the wine-os and I had a fear about this but with an openness I took a swig of their brew and the lights all went out . I never felt a thing let me tell you until I woke up three hours later
I had been unconscious for a couple of hours in a bus shelter there in the falling show and as I opened my eyes the wine-os were gone and so was my onlu means of survival , my six string guitar . Ah the bastards . They had taken my guitar .
Now I was without support of any kind . I had no other means of staying alive . I I was penniless, broken hearted and black eyed to boot .
I made my way back to the town and stood there in Winthrop Street outside the Blarney Silver And Gold Company singing unaccompanied for hours and hours .
I had managed to pull in a few punters and had just enough for a bed in the International Youth Hostel on the Western Road . The snow was all over the place and the little parlour houses with their firesides all aglow , pretty lights from the trees still in the windows , kind of real cosy like . There was mistletoe on ceilings and friendly feelings in most of the places I could see in the homes that were attended by families .
I had not had and food for 27 days now and I was down to six stone .
I sat in the front parlour of the youth hostel The manager approached me and asked me for my Youth Hostel Membership Card and I produced it .Then he asked me where my luggage was and I answered ,
“It was stolen from me at the bus shelter down by the roadside by four wine-os”
He asked me to leave ,
I said , “I have enough money to buy a bed and it is your duty to see that I have one”
He shook his head and refused to check me in . I couldn’t believe what was happening . Very calmly I said
“I’ve nowhere else to go and I’m entitled to a bed ‘“
He replied “ I want you out of here now “.
I refused and said .
“I’m a member of the International Youth Hostel Association and I’m not leaving until you check me in .“
He looked very nervous and angry when he said .
“I’m the boss of this place now and I’m asking you to leave . Right I’ll decide who gets a bed round here not you . It’s my hostel.”
I was at the brink of a physical collapse and could not put up a fight if I tried but I remained firm and I refused to leave . He said .
“If you’re not out of here in a couple of minutes I’m calling the Gards to come and turf you out “
Well that was enough for me . I said ,
“Listen to me . You go ahead and phone the Garda “
He left the room with a sense of pride . Three minutes later these big burly black sheep in wolves clothing entered the room and said ,
“:Righto boyo out you go now “
I said , “No Gard , I’m not going. I’m entitled to a bed in this youth hostel and I’m not moving “
“You been told now . You’re a trouble maker “ Said the biggest Gard .
I said ‘I’ve been here in Cork now for well over a month . I’ve gone without food , I’ve gone without shelter . I’ve never once in all this time broken the law . I’ve not been in any trouble once I haven’t shop lifted even though I wanted to . I never broken into any homes or shops . I haven’t been drunk . I haven’t been disorderly . I haven’t robbed any banks or anyone or anybody . I’m just one solitary soul and have not upset anyone or anything in Cork . All I do is busk around your city , my city and , this city .That’s all Gard .
The Gard lurking in the shadows raised his voice in a very threatening tone and replied .
“The man who runs this hostel doesn’t want you here and we’ve been told to remove you “
I looked him in the eyes ,
“I’m not moving “ and I sat down on the sofa .There was a heated discussion in the room . A fellow Australian back packer entered the room at this point . He had been listening to the entire drama from the kitchen He never knew me from Adam but spoke up for me .
“He’s right you know , you can’t throw him out . He’s a member of the youth hostel . The association , he’s got every right to have a bed . I’m willing to par the three pounds fifty or whatever the fee is “
And I said
“I’ve got the money , I have the three pound fifty for a bunk . All I really want is to have a good sleep I mean it’s not much to ask . Just cast your mind , it can’t be that hard to do , to be kind for once .”
So the Gards looked at me and they said ,
“Well we would like to think that there’s a little bit of goodwill but we have to do our job and at this point , I’m threatening to arrest you if you don’t leave the hostel and you’ll be put up in a cell for a couple of weeks until the court . If that’s what you’d like .
I continued ,
:I’ve got every right to be here . You’re in the wrong “
The Australian spoke up again .
“As a member of the IYH Ithis man has to be provided with a bed .”
But his attempt to rescue me was hopeless
I stood up and said
“I’ve been all over the world and I’ve stayed in youth hostels from Sydney to . London and in all my entire experiences as a traveller and as an ambassador not once have I had trouble getting put up in a youth hostel . I don’t know what this problem is Gard but as far as I’m concerned I represent all backpackers here and Im not doing a bad job “
I was running out of breath
I continued ,
‘Let me inform you , I am a writer and you may as well know that for there will be a mention of this incident in one of my books “
They giggled and grinned and said comfortably
‘” .So you’re going to write about us then ?”
I saw my opportunity
“I’d like to ask you both for your names and your number “
The biggest Gard was taken back by my demand and responded ,
“Mc Cartney “
While the other one who had the nerve to call himself an upholder of the law ,
“My number mister is very confidential “
So very cool I walked over and looked up and down his uniform and said
“Well well its 151 is it then ?” Jotting it down on a scrap of paper .Then he panicked and said
“O’Sullivan “
I said ‘”Thank you Gard . I hope you both realise that I’m a visitor and a stranger to Cork and I have no place to go but the gutter and you’d probably arrest me if I was out there lying in it . Isn’t that so Gard “
They pushed me out the door and said
“Enjoy your stay in our country .
I stood and watched then get into their Ford Seirra and off they went up the Western road .
I stood there alone a long way from home without a friend to call my own There was no place to get shelter . It was a few hours to go before the morning light would come. I walked around the town that night , keeping moving , to stay warm .
I took a seat in the centre of town and thought about the year ahead and hoped things would get a bit easier and spoke to a group of lads coming through on the corner .
I was surprised to hear a couple of the singing so I joined in .
They let me play the guitar they were carrying and I told them about the 4 wine-os that took my guitar .
They advised me to give the story to the local newspaper which I thought was a
good idea .
took my guitar .
They asked me was I was a fox , an IRA man on the run , a trouble make .
I told them I was a musician and they asked me to place the, a couple of my songs
So I sang a few of my songs and then I sang one they know .
“I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”
As I sang they all joined in and then they started to fill my pockets with change.
After we said goodbye I counted out almost twenty five pounds . I made my way to Wellington place as the shops were just opening and bought myself a breakfast and later on that day I went to the newspaper office and spoke to the editor and told him the story about the four wineos stealing my guitar .
He said to me he saw one of them a short time ago sitting in a doorway with my guitar trying to busk for money . He said he couldn’t play it he was just using it like a drum . I thanked him and went looking for those boyos .
I managed to find one and got mu guitar back .
End Of Chapter 7
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Reviewed by Ronald Hull
7/6/2025
Because of how large the image is, the story is off the page and I had to copy it and paste it onto another page so that I could read it.
And what a tragedy it was for you to come back to your mother country and be greeted like that. I guess when you're on the streets as much as you were, trouble will eventually befall you. It's in the odds.
And to go without eating for so long and being unable to sleep in the streets is difficult for me to read let on live. Although you left abruptly, you gave a hint that you would get your sixth string guitar back… thank heaven.
The Poet From Port To Port
