'There are two branches of the Synges in the County Wicklow,' he
said, and then he went on to tell me fragments of folk-lore
connected with my forefathers. How a lady used to ride through
Roundwood 'on a curious beast' to visit an uncle of hers in
Roundwood Park, and how she married one of the Synges and got her
weight in gold--eight stone of gold--as her dowry stories that
referred to events which took place more than a hundred years ago.
When he had finished I told him how much I wondered at his knowledge
of the country.
'There's not a family I don't know,' he said, 'from Baltinglass to
the sea, and what they've done, and who they've married. You don't
know me yet, but if you were a while in this place talking to
myself, it's more pleasure and gratitude you'd have from my company
than you'd have maybe from many a gentleman you'd meet riding or
driving a car.'
By this time we had reached a wayside public-house, where he was
evidently going with his can, so, as I did not wish to part with him
so soon, I asked him to come in and take something with me. When we
went into the little bar-room, which was beautifully clean, I asked
him what he would have. He turned to the publican:
'Have you any good whisky at the present time?' he said.
'Not now, nor at any time,' said the publican, 'we only keep bad;
but isn't it all the same for the likes of you that wouldn't know
the difference?'
After prolonged barging he got a glass of whisky, took off his hat
before he tasted it, to say a prayer for my future, and then sat
down with it on a bench in the corner.
I was served in turn, and we began to talk about horses and racing,
as there had been races in Arklow a day or two before. I alluded to
some races I had seen in France, and immediately the publican's
wife, a young woman who had just come in, spoke of a visit she had
made to the Grand Prix a few years before.
'Then you have been in France?' I asked her.
'For eleven years,' she replied.
'Alors vous parlez Francais, Madame?'
'Mais oui, Monsieur,' she answered with pure intonation.
We had a little talk in French, and then the old man got his can
filled with porter--the evening drink for a party of reapers who
were working on the hill--bought a pennyworth of sweets, and went
back down the road.
'That's the greatest old rogue in the village,' said the publican,
as soon as he was out of hearing; 'he's always making up to all who
pass through the place, and trying what he can get out of them. The
other day a party told me to give him a bottle of XXX porter he was
after asking for. I just gave him the dregs of an old barrel we had
finished, and there he was, sucking in his lips, and saying it was
the finest drink ever he tasted, and that it was rising to his head
already, though he'd hardly a drop of it swallowed. Faith, in the
end I had to laugh to hear the talk he was making.'
A little later I wished them good evening and started again on my
walk, as I had two mountains to cross.