TRAVELLING IN IRELAND.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 171, 21 July 1928, Page 1 (Supplement)

TRAVELLING IN IRELAND.

HUMOURS OF SLOW TRAINS. A DONKEY ON THE LINE. (By F.M.M.) A recent journalistic visitor to Ireland has been saying many nice things about Dublin, which town he has seen for the first time, and evidently its Bohemianism appeals to him tremendously. He even goes so far as to say that one of the chief charms about the Irish is their unpunctuality. He complains that with British people time is money, which belief engenders a practical and stodgy outlook on life, and he implies that it is much more delightful not to worry about time, or money, or work, but just be happy anyhow. It is a pleasant philosophy for a chance visitor, but does not get one any "forrader." One wonders didhis only train leave the station white the Customs were dawdling over his luggage, or has he ever been stuck up all night at a country junction, because, as the one official tells us, "Ye're train's a bit behint, sorr, and there was 110 holdin' the express beyant the half hour I kep her back for ye." One hears much against train travelling on country lines in Southern Ireland, and very little can be said in its favour. Still, it is really not unendurable if tafken in the right spirit. One needs, first of all, unlimited patience—perhaps resignation is a more fitting word—then some knowledge of the language, which is not harder to understand than most dialects; and lastly, a saving sense of humour is indispensable. Armed with these necessary attributes, one can overlook the cattle-pen carriage, blindless, cushionless, crowded and dirty. The train crawls along, stopping at bare little stations, where officials exchange rough pleasantries, or adjourn for liquid refreshment. Here we may put off Mother Machree in her century-old black hooded cloak; there we perhaps pick up Father O'Shea, or maybe a few grizzled "boys" attending a pig fair. Almost have we reached our destination, when with a sudden jerk our train pulls up, accompanied by loud whistling and shouts. "Och, shure," says the guard, "it just be a little ass standin' atween the lines. The boys is tryin' to shoo him off, wid the^ noise they do be makin. I'm thinkin' 'twill take more nor that to shift him, for he do be a mortial terror for gettin' forninst the ingin. I do be tellin' Micky Doolin as owns the baste, to be kapin' the craythnr in, but he'll not be mindin' me at all, at all. The boys bp cloddin' him wid lumps of coal now, but tlion German coal's that soft, lie maybe think.' it's just the flies." As we watched, the engine men climbed down, one en tight the "wee ass" by its ears, the other ' twisted its tail, and hauled the intruder - off the lines on to the road. "Late is it, ye're honour's sayin'? Sure, the station'll • niver run away, an' —glory be! Hi, there, Tim Rooney, get on till her, and make her lep. I'm fearin' him at the signal will bo wearyin' an' off till his tay." As a matter of fact we were held up in an express train one day, finding the t signal dead against us. Violent and repeated whistling brought no relief, so our guard went to the nearly "box" to reconnoitre. He found the gentleman in f charge enjoying a comfortable snooze on • two chairs, and quite indignant when J roused and reprimanded. "Where's the 1 harm, annyway ? Shure, ye'ed niver pass < the danger signal till I let ye by!" £