_The Ballybun Binnacle_ has ceased publication--I hope temporarily,
for I have had to fall back on _The Times_. The latter is the better
paper for wrapping things in, and they seem to use a good kind of ink
which does not come off on the butter, but it's a bit weak on its
advertising side. It was O'Mullins across the road who pointed this
out to me first. He had, he says, an advertisement a whole week in
_The Times_ for a total abstainer to make himself otherwise useful and
to mend his stable door; but no apparent notice was taken of it. The
same advertisement had not been a couple of hours in _The Binnacle_
before three tinkers tried to steal his horse.
I have heard people speak well of the editorials in our chief London
rival, but they are not thought much of in Ballybun; they haven't the
flavour. Our paper used to be strongly political, but the increase in
the number of subscribers did not pay for the libel actions, and so of
late we have been cultivating an open mind and advertisements. It is
true that even so it was impossible for Casey, our editor, to steer
wholly clear of vexed political questions, but his latest manner was
admirably statesmanlike. He would summarise the opposing views of our
eight or nine parties and then state boldly that he agreed with most
of them, and as for the rest he would not shrink to declare, in the
face of the world if necessary, that they were full of an intellectual
Zeitgeist, unfortunately only too sporadic. He would then sum up by
drawing attention to the bargain sale of white goods at the Ballybun
Emporium. Everybody liked this, and the Ballybun Bon Marché would send
in its advertisement for our next week's issue.
_The Binnacle_ has ceased publication, of course, before. When the
editor took his summer holiday or went to a friend's wedding in the
country he would often leave the bringing of it out to his staff. The
latter used normally to edit the sporting and fashionable columns and
was called Flannagan, but had only one eye and was somewhat eccentric.
Flannagan couldn't be bothered sometimes and sometimes he would go
fishing. Still, although the paper would not come out just when we
expected, Flannagan might relent and bring it out two or three days
later, and at all events he always told us the news whenever he met us
in the street.
Thus we could not strictly say that we had no local newspaper. But
now, I fear, the case is altered, and _The Binnacle_ has been killed
solely by its own popularity.
It doesn't do for an editor to be too popular. People used to drop in
on Casey at all hours of the day and lend a hand and smoke his tobacco
and try to borrow money. His sanctum became the fashionable lounge
of the Ballybun _élite_. A great gap was caused in the front of the
paper amongst the best paying advertisements by Kelly's trying to
clean his pipe with part of the linotype machine. Casey noticed
this, and further attributed the matter to the Censor, whom he
attacked vigorously in a leading article for trying to throttle the
safety-valve of trade by inoculating the thin end of the wedge; he
will do this again, he added, at his own peril. He also told Kelly the
same.
As our respected Member of Parliament is hanging tenaciously on to
life, and we could not very well invite him to create a vacancy, we
were at a loss how to mark our esteem for our popular editor in a
practical manner. Casey himself suggested a testimonial. His friends,
however, said that nothing sordid should ever enter into the feelings
with which they regarded him, and decided finally on electing him to
the second highest office a layman in our part can hope to hold. He
was elected Judge--"unanimously," as he put it, "by 29 to 3"--and the
race meeting came off last week. We hate to hold it in war-time, but
the breed of horses and bookies must be kept up. Even the bed-ridden
took a day off and trooped to it.
Picture the feelings of the crowd when Casey merged the judge into
the editor and kept declaring race after race a dead heat. They rose
at him as one man and clamoured for souvenirs. What was left of Casey
shook the dust of Ballybun off his feet, while our impulsive patriots
were smashing his office furniture.
This only proves what I have often maintained, that popularity always
makes a man unpopular in the long run. Meanwhile _The Ballybun
Binnacle_ has ceased to appear, but I see from _The Times_ there has
been a movement in Berlin in favour of letting bygones be bygones.
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