Hedges cut our view of everything but oncoming armies of antique reapers, threshers, tractors and mowers. No bucolic scenery either - no rolling fields, no thatched cottages, no quaint old farmhouses.
#Shillelagh for sale driver
The hedges are much higher, seldom trimmed, in fact, and in place of lorries the roads are full of lumbering old farm machinery that Cyrus McCormick might have turned out in his heyday - wheels wobbling, iron tentacles reaching out menacingly to grapple with tiny Japanese cars, driver in cockpit preoccupied with warding off faithful dog playfully lunging for his jugular. The amusing thing about driving in Ireland is that you enter another world when you turn off the “highways” and take to the back roads. Staring out the window at a lorry as long as a freight train that was wearing the paint thin on her side of the car, my wife said resignedly, “You must be out of your mind.” So, off we went. What's another 40 or 50 miles on those excruciating roads when you have already driven a thousand and are in a state bordering on shellshock. No more than a tiny dot, mind you, but it had tube fate. Distraction was not on the map, but lo and behold, Shillelagh was. I found myself humming it while barreling down the road from Dublin to Cork on a soft Irish day, tapping out an Irish jig on the gas pedal and driving my wife to distraction. The other reason, I suppose, is that I grew up in a neighborhood where the song that was second only to “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” on the Irish Hit Parade at parties and bars in the small hours was “The Same Old Shillelagh Me Father Brought From Ireland.”Ī haunting refrain, that. This was one reason why I wanted to buy a shillelagh in Shillelagh - to have something to show for my ordeal. In my case, the answer is that I was not quite in my right mind at the time, nor do I believe anyone else would be who had driven, as I did, a thousand miles across Ireland in a tiny Japanese car with right‐hand drive, gearshift on the floor, traffic on the wrong side of the road and overgrown hedgerows obscuring the view of onrushing lorries bigger than Sherman tanks. Now one might rightly ask why would anyone in his right mind want to buy a shillelagh in Shillelagh? Or anywhere else, for that matter. And having just succeeded in purchasing a shillelagh in Shillelagh, I am here to attest that it most certainly can be done, albeit with difficulty.
Patrick's Day coming, this might be as appropriate a time as any to discuss such a weighty matter - a topic with clout, as one might say in today's parlance. But how about a shillelagh in Shillelagh? Practically every traveler worth his salt knows it is difficult to buy a Panama hat in Panama, a canary in the Canary Islands or a turkey in Turkey.
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