AS I WAS SAYING...
The Galway Arts Festival has ended. It is a marvellous festival. But I got the distinct impression that the crowds were down on recent years. The streets didn't seem to be as full, or the shops and pubs as busy. The festival lacked a focal point this year, a central spectacular show against which all others are measured and judged. The Footsbarn Theatre group provided the 'Spectacular' in years gone by. But, more frequently in recent years, the Macnas Parade was the yardstick. I understand that Macnas decided against holding a parade this year. It was a great pity. But then Macnas are called upon by many groups and cities. Drawing rabbits out of hats can be both tedious and very taxing. After a certain time, all the white rabbits will appear to be the same! The unpredictable weather may have been another factor in keeping the numbers down. But then very few of our continental friends come to Ireland in search of glorious sunshine! Regardless of the numbers, however, the festival provided a great feast of entertainment all over the city, both formal and informal. There appeared to be an increase this year in the 'informal' entertainment available. This was provided in the main by 'professional' street people. Some of it was really excellent; more of it was truly awful stuff provided by chancers. (The man pinging the cardboard mandolin on High Street must surely take the Oscar for the Greatest Chancer of the Festival!)
Our very own Augustinian Playactors' Guild made their own contribution to the Arts Festival! It was done in the best tradition of amateur drama: 'For the love of it rather than for the price of it'. This was our third successive year on stage. It was also, I think, our most successful effort. Once more, Gerry and Bernadette displayed marvellous ingenuity, vision and dedication. But more important still was the amount of people drawn into the production. Many of you will have seen the spectacular sets during the week. Gerry -with the help of Mairéad - did the designs. Four lovely young women did the exquisite paintings. (Thanks Eileen, Máirín, Feena and Ella).
The production drew together over thirty people in all. It demanded a lot of time and effort from the cast. It also demanded a fair degree of courage and commitment. I thank them for their generosity. It is not easy to stand up on a stage and make an 'eejit' out of yourself. But to do it three nights in succession smacks of carelessness! Seriously though, it would have been far easier for those people to say 'No' than to say 'Yes'. Despite the tedious rehearsals, it was an immensely enjoyable experience from the point of view of those involved. If our audiences happened to enjoy themselves, then that is an additional bonus.
So now for Race Week! If you are a visitor, you are very welcome. If you have the money and the energy, I have no doubt that you will enjoy yourself thoroughly. If you are an ordinary punter, I wish you great luck. May you return to your own tribe laden down with Galway loot. However, if you are a Bookmaker, I hope you had your full quota of luck at Ballinrobe, and that your week in Galway will be miserable. But I won't be putting too much money on that one! Good luck everyone!
-Dick Lyng.
THE GALWAY RACES
(The following article was printed three years ago on the Sunday AFTER the Galway Races. It is reprinted here as a salutary lesson, so that foresight might replace hindsight!)
Well, the week gone by carried more than its share of hard-luck stories. But I did learn a few things that I will bear very clearly in my brain for next year. I will never again listen to anyone who pretends to know anything about horses! Their advice is fatal, ruinous. Instead I will comb Ballybrit for some old lady with a hat-pin, her racing page turned backwards, and she pricking industriously. Now there you will find a more promising source of wisdom and winners than your supposed 'punters friends'.Another regular feature I acquired a very serious aversion to was the Race Card. Those glossy property pages, with their purple prose, are tablets of clear truth, fresh from the mountain-top, when compared with the bloody Race Card. Each runner is tagged on the card with a supposedly helpful piece of information. This is intended to soothe the nerves of the unfortunate punter as he approaches the betting stall in a state of indecisive confusion. For example, we are told that a nag called Native Beau is "of interesting progeny. Bred to be useful. Watch betting for pointers." Or, of Lys Treasure, we are informed "A little improvement on previous form would not go amiss!" As events transpired, such cosy optimism was not at all warranted! Because I have it on fairly reliable authority that the two nags in question are but another bad race away from cat-food!
And now for the 'one that got away'. On Monday night I had the misfortune to encounter a parishioner just before the fourth race. By this time I was grasping at straws. He informed me he was placing his confidence in a nag called 'Message Recu'. When I enquired as to the source of this confidence, he told me he 'owned a bit of him'. Foolishly, I respected that confidence, honoured it with a healthy bet, and retired with himself and his cronies to a watering-hole in a high state of anticipation. But our hopes sank much faster than the beverage we were drinking! The animal never showed the same level of interest as we did. A 25-1 outsider called Gamekeeper romped home. Then, as we watched the presentation, I recognised a very familiar face indeed: my next-door neighbour, one Johnny Langton, from Kilkenny was being presented with a cup or a saucer or some object in recognition of something. When I asked my flawed advisor what he was doing on the podium, I was informed that he was the winning owner! My God! My neighbours' horse had won the Handicap and I didn't even know he was running. Even if he had had a three-legged pig running in the race I would have backed him, had I but known! When I learned that the Tote paid out 66-1 on him my mood disimproved considerably!! My tipster turned philosopher immediately: "Sure it's all part of the fun!" That's fine, but one man's fun is another man's funeral. I should have taken the words of the Psalmist more seriously:
Some trust in chariots and horses,But then, the great thing about the Galway Races is that there's always next year. You never lose really. The money is just on loan to the bookies. Dream on!
But we in the name of the Lord.
THE WEEK AHEAD
- Nothing happens in the Augustinian -or in Galway for that matter - this week. The Galway Race meeting brings everything (including some of the horses!) to a standstill. However, from our point of view, the break is a welcome one indeed. It has been a hectic few weeks here. Getting our play together absorbed a lot of time and energy. Not only did lines require learning, but sets required building. The recent General Election ensured that the Gobán Saor had sufficient panels for the construction of any number of monasteries. It was a most welcome and unexpected side-effect. Thanks to Eamon Ó Cuiv's office for donating them to us. (He mustn't be expecting another election for a long, long time!). He is probably right!
- So, back to the Races! Down through the ages, men have made fools of themselves because of horses, and indeed horses have returned the complement. So infatuated was the Roman Emperor, Caligula, with his horse that he appointed him a Senator. And did not the Inca people's unfamiliarity with the horse led to the collapse of the most sophisticated civilisation in human history? Horses continue to make fools of us. The fact that up to £20 million will be laid in bets at Ballybrit this week strongly supports this viewpoint. Like the Incas too, the Ballybrit hoards are conquered by a mere handful of outsiders, shouting strange sounds: the ubiquitous bookies. They are the latter-day Conquistadors. After a brief, merciless raid, they make their way back to their own country, laden down with their plunder. Nothing has changed. Love them or fear them, the horses still make fools of us all. And it is all so damn enjoyable!!
AT THE GALWAY RACES
There where the course is,
Delight makes all of the one mind,
The riders upon the galloping horses,
The crowd that closes in behind:
We, too, had good attendance once,
Hearers and hearteners of the work;
Aye, horsemen for companions,
Before the merchant and the clerk
Breathed on the world with timid breath.
Sing on: somewhere at some new moon.
We'll learn that sleeping is not death,
Hearing the whole earth change its tune,
Its flesh being wild, and it again
Crying aloud as the racecourse is,
And we find hearteners among men
That ride upon horses.
-W. B. Yeats.
MEMORABLE QUOTES
- *"Mark my words, when a society has to resort to the lavatory for its humour, the writing is on the wall." -Ken Dodd.
- "Golf is the infallible test. The man who can go into a patch of rough ground, with the knowledge that only God is watching him, and play his ball where it lies, is the man who will serve you faithfully and well." -P. G. Wodehouse.
- "Parents are sometimes a bit of a disappointment to their children. They don't fulfil the promise of their early years." -Don Marquis.
- "I'm the girl who lost her reputation and never missed it.." -Mae West.
- "A man in love is incomplete until he has married. Then he's finished." -Zsa Zsa Gabor.
- "Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to." -Mark Twain.
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