He was witnessing a crime early one Sunday morning and knew his conscience would trouble him for the day, if he did not report it. Taking his phone from his pocket he dialled An Garda Síochána (Irish name for the Police).
“Good Morning and how can I help you?” Came the reply in a Kerry accent thicker than whipped cream.
“There’s a bunch of Chinese fellas feckin… I mean stealing the ducks from the Grand Canal. Said the caller.
“Where are you?” asked the Garda.
“I’m standing on Portobello bridge.”
“And, what is your name?” He enquired.
“Yeah. Right!” and the phone line was cut!
Brendan decided to continue on his way, and as he reached his car, his mobile began to chirp.
“Are you the guy who rang about the ducks?”
“Is… Is your name really Brendan Behan?”
I was watching the ducks and leaning on the rail at Hazelhatch, outside Celbridge, Co Kildare, when I heard this story. The sun was shining and all was well with my world.
My new found friends, Buddy, a photogropher on his way to complete an assignment, and Brendan Behan, of the tale above both had the charm of the Blarney stone and made for easy chat. I could have listened all day, but my aim was to capture a few pictures to share with you .
I asked Brendan if I could use the story for my blog and he said certainly. I pushed a little more and asked if I could have have a photograph. He agreed and Buddy obliged.
Since I developed the hypersensitivity to sunshine and need to hide under a hat, I am the Miss Marple lookalike above with Brendan Behan.
Thank you lads, I enjoyed my time with you.
I do have more photos and another tale to tell so I will return again to the Grand Canal
** Why did the The Garda hang up? Well, there had been another Brendan Behan (1923 – 1964) and he was an Irish poet, short story writer, novelist, and playwright who wrote in both Irish and English.