Beech Tree News Network

On July 10th, in Galway, Ireland, we found ourselves at the Hughes Pub.  Garey, our children Natalie and Nikki, our granddaughter Sabria, Thomas (Nikki’s husband) and I were there.  It was a small bar with a local feel and only one table big enough to seat all six of us.  At the end of that one table sat an Irish guy, holding a pen and newspaper, turned to the racing section, watching horse races on the TV near the bar.  I asked if we could join him.  “Have a seat,” he said, with that delightful Irish accent I still miss hearing.

He was Patrick O’Reilly, a man who grew up in Galway and never moved away.  I introduced our group, and when I told him that most of us were from Kentucky, his eyes lit up.  “The Darby,” he said.  (That’s what the Irish call the Kentucky Derby.)  “If you live in Kentucky, you either own a horse or know somebody who does,” I said.

While I continued to talk to Pat, as he insisted on being called, Garey walked up to the bar.  “Our 

surname is Hughes, and my husband there is asking what do the Hughes of this Hughes establishment drink,” I said.  “It will be Guiness,” Pat said knowingly—that’s what he was drinking.  Garey returned to the table with a dark brew of Guiness.

I asked Pat about his family.  On his phone, he pulled up pictures of his three daughters and one son.  We passed around the phone.  They all live in Galway.  They always have.  They all own their own homes. They don’t own cars.  They don’t have to.  They walk to where they need to go or take a taxi if it’s too far for a walk.  Their entire lives are in Galway, and they are happy with the arrangement.

Pat pulled up a video of his ten-year-old granddaughter dancing the Irish Step Dance, the dance made famous by the River Dance group a few years ago.  His granddaughter danced like a professional.

“Does she have a private teacher?” I asked.

“No,” Pat said, “she learned it in school like the rest of us did.”

“Wait a minute,” I said.  “You can do that?”

“Yeah, me, my children, my grandchildren, we all learned it in school,” he said.

“I feel cheated,” I complained.  “Most of our extra curriculars involve sports.”  He laughed.  (Later that afternoon, I saw a college-age guy spontaneously break into dance as we passed a fiddle player, and I turned to Garey and said, “They all really can do that!”)

Pat and I continued to talk about the differences and similarities between our two countries.  In some areas of Ireland, the landscape is almost identical to Kentucky.  The cities and towns we visited seem much cleaner, even the small off-the-beaten-path places.  I’m envious of their low health care and property insurance costs.  I think I would miss the wide expanses of land we have in this country, if I lived there, and I would definitely miss our road systems.  I think the cows laid out theirs.

Pat told me about visiting New York City a few years ago.  He has two aunts that live there.  He saw all the famous landmarks, the big hotels, Broadway and the Statue of Liberty.  “I meant to visit Ellis Island, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it,” he said.

I told him I understood.  A couple of days before, we toured The Great Famine Museum in Cashel.  During what we refer to as the potato famine, many half-starved and dying Irish immigrants landed at Ellis Island, hoping for a better life.  Many didn’t survive the journey, arriving on what were called Coffin Ships.  Several of their stories are recorded there.  I don’t know that I could bring myself to visit Ellis Island either.

Before we said goodbye to Hughes Pub, Thomas bought a fresh Guiness for Patrick O’Reilly and offered up a toast to the locals.

I know that the scope of a person’s life can’t be summed up in a forty-five-minute conversation in a pub in Ireland, but understanding and connections can be made between people.  Sometimes, all it takes is just asking a person if you can take a seat next to them.