DUBLIN DUCHESS: 'Lagan Love' by Peter Murphy

DUBLIN DUCHESS: 'Lagan Love' by Peter Murphy: Lagan Love is a Dublin story. Based around the city in the bars, coffee shops, streets and houses, it is a story of disappointment in love, ...

And the winner is . . . Abdollah Dehnashi. Congratulations to Abdollah.
And for everybody else, stay tuned, we will be running another Lagan Love Collection give-away soon. So please stay in touch and thank you to everyone who took part.

Like a lovesick lenanshee, she hath my heart in thrall;

Win a handcrafted Lenanshee by Imago Corvi (retail value $275.00) inspired by the book “Lagan Love” by Peter Murphy when you send us a proof of purchase.

CONTEST RULES AND INFORMATION

1. One Entry per purchase of “Lagan Love” by Peter Murphy
2. Proof of purchase (ebook or paper copy) must be sent to 
LaganLove@hotmail.com before March 16, 2013 at 11:59 pm EST.

3. Draw will be held on March 17th, 2013 using Random.Org
4. Winning Entry will be notified within 24 hours via email
5. Prize is non-transferrable.
6. Visit www.facebook.com/laganlove for more information

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Sunday morning football in the park.

I haven't bloged in a while. Been busy working on the next two books.
Don't believe me - well, here's a little piece inspired by the days we played football up in the park. Enjoy.
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‘Where are you shower from?’ their opponents asked in a disinterested way.

‘Rathfarnham.’

‘Fucking mountain men.’

‘No bad language, please,’ the referee scolded them as he checked his watch one more time and got ready to blow his whistle. From the kick-off they all knew what to do, except Danny who wandered back and forth along the half-way line. If he went further into his own half, Anto would berate him. ‘Stay up there for when we get the break. Get ready for the long ball.’

‘C’mon Danny,’ Fr. Reilly called from the sideline. ‘Keep at it. You’re doing great.’

Danny was encouraged by that and ran back and forth with renewed enthusiasm while the other team stopped even pretending to cover him.

‘That’s great,’ Fr. Reilly reassured him. ‘You’re doing a great job getting open. C’mon lads, Danny is open, let’s start getting the ball to him.’ 

His teammates carried on regardless.

‘Move away Boyle,’ Anto shouted as he approached with the ball. ‘Move away and take the cover with ya.’

Danny had no idea what he was talking about and stood where he was as Anto wove around him. But the opponent didn’t, clattering right through Danny as he tried to get to the ball. He fell to the muddy wet ground and looked like he might cry but the ref helped him up as he awarded a free-kick to the outrage of the other team. ‘C’mon, ref, that’s obstruction.’

‘Obstruction? Are you having me on? He was doing nothing of the sort. He was just minding his own business. Free kick, and that’s enough lip out of you or I’ll book ya.’ He admonished with his finger as his other hand tapped his shirt pocket where his black note book could be seen, along with the stubby yellow pencil.

‘Good man, Boyle. You’re playing a blinder,’ Anto muttered as he set the ball and drove it into the other team’s end of the field, far away from Danny. Normally they only played him on defense, against the weaker teams, and the ball never came near him. ‘It’s because they know they aren’t going to beat you,’ Anto had once told him and Danny was almost convinced.

The ball sloshed back and forth in the mud and Anto and his teammates forgot about Danny for a while but, at Fr. Reilly’s insistence, they did include him in the back-slapping when they finally scored.

‘Who’re the mountain men now, ye bollockses?’ they jeered the other team and even Danny joined in.

‘What are you looking at, ya fucking queer?’ one of them challenged him when he strayed too far from the huddle.

‘Language!’ the referee reminded them as he took out his note book to record the scorer. ‘I couldn’t see who got it so I’m going to put down your number,’ he winked at Danny and blew his whistle to restart play. He never strayed from the center circle and told Danny to stay with him so that he wouldn’t get run over again.

‘Is he marking the fucking ref now?’ Someone muttered when the game was paused while Fr. Reilly tried to dislodge the ball from an over-hanging tree.

‘Leave him alone, for fuck’s sake,’ Anto warned. He didn’t like the way they all picked on Danny.

‘Why? Is he your boyfriend now?’

‘Fuck you. Say that again and I’ll bleedin’ burst ya.’ Anto sneered. They were all very brave when it came to picking on Boyle but none of them would dare stand up to him.

‘Language!’ The ref reminded them absentmindedly as he watched Fr. Reilly throw sticks at the lodged ball.

The rain stopped as the second half started and the sun struggled with the low clouds but the field was slick and the tackles were flying. The opponents weren’t used to losing and were taking it badly. One of them even elbowed Danny as he ran past – a stinging blow to the back of his head when the ref wasn’t looking. He was far too busy blowing on his whistle with increasing fury. The game was getting rowdy.

‘It’s just a game, gentlemen,’ he reminded them all but only Danny seemed to agree. The others, teammates and opponents alike, were at war and it was only a matter of time until someone got hurt.

The referee nearly blew the pea out his whistle while looking outraged. One of the Saints was rolling around in the mud clutching his shin where the angry red rake of studs was emerging through the mud. Fr. Reilly was called to examine the wound while the referee wrote the offender’s name in his notebook. ‘I’ll have my eye on you now,’ he advised the lurking offender and snapped his notebook shut.

‘We’re going to have to play short,’ Fr. Reilly coached after he got his maimed player under the tree. ‘Anthony! Get them organised.’

On cue, Anto called them into a huddle. ‘These fuckers are going to try to rattle us all so don’t take any of their shite. There’s not long left.’

‘And what should I do?’ Danny asked, wanting to help any way he could.

‘Just keep doing what you’re doing. Stay high and wait for the long ball.’

He did for a while but in the last few minutes Danny couldn’t take it anymore. His team were getting ready to defend a corner and he had to go back. He had to get involved.

‘What the fuck are you doing back here?’ Anto asked.

‘I’m better as a defender.’

‘Okay, go cover number seven and don’t fuckin’ lose him. Don’t let him get a free header.’ They were under mounting pressure – playing a man short, and all.

When the corner was taken, it floated over them all towards the far post where number seven waited with the goal at his mercy. Danny had to make the play. He had to get to the ball so he closed his eyes and jumped.

It was like he was hit by a wet sack of sand and he collapsed to the ground in total silence.

‘Ah Jesus! The fuckin’ spastic put it in his own net,’ the other team jeered as they brushed past but one stopped to pat him on the back, even as he lay face down in the mud.

‘Is he hurt?’ the referee asked from the center circle.

‘He’d better be,’ the Keeper muttered as he nudged Danny with his toe. ‘Get up ya little bollocks, will ya?’

But Danny decided it was better to lie there as if he was hurt and the ref agreed, blowing his whistle to end the game.

Do not give in to the Dark Side.

 

Remember when Luke Skywalker stood before Darth and the Emperor?

He stopped fighting back and his father, moved by long dormant compassion, turned on the Emperor and Evil was defeated and furry creatures frolicked in the forests even as old Darth died.

Aslan, among others, did the same thing. Only Aslan was big on fighting and killing enemies but, as a lion, I assumed he was representing the Anima of our gods rather than the Id. Notwithstanding, the basic premise remains that when you are confronted by Evil, you should submit lest your righteous rage and anger turn you over to the dark side; that you cannot fight Evil without becoming Evil.

Think about it. After 9/11, America in a righteous rage, struck out against its enemies and thousands of innocents died. Evil won because a new cycle of Hate began and Hatred and Fear became National agendas leading us away from Peace and Reconciliation. We become the breeding grounds for another one of those epidemics of total insanity that litter our paths through history.

And no matter how often we try to justify it with rallies of ‘God’s on Side,’ or ‘Gott mit uns,’ it is always a total rejection of the basic principle of the Faiths we have professed since the Old Ways. But even then we shared a common longing that could only be sated by something greater than us to guide our way. A Force, or Deity, that demanded total fidelity and a rigid adherence to Principles.

And since the emergence of the monotheistic gods, we are expected to place our Trust in them and not give in to devils – internal and external. And to have faith in their mercy and wisdom.

And while there is some disagreement in the details, most of our Sacred Principles suggest that when we give in to Fear, our devils win.

Some suggest that when we honour our gods we are rewarded and when we displease them . . .  ya better watch out! Whether your god is stern or not, Hell beckons the untrue. Not surprisingly, many of us profess to be god fearing. Fear is a primeval motivator and is one of our assets as well as one of our greatest weaknesses. Fear is anti-faith. Fear delivers us to Evil. Grand stuff for Sundays, maybe, but what else makes sense anymore?

Too many of us, reasonable and well-meaning people for the most part, have become conditioned to fear and not without reason. Yet the stories of Luke, Christ, and Aslan, and others, all agree that the truly great did not use their power and were willing to succumb to Death rather than fight because to defeat Evil we must resist it and all its temptations; wealth, power, and all that makes us feared – or respected in the world.

There are those among us who spread fear for a multitude of reasons, some good some bad, and we have to learn to reject them and all gospels of hate. And we must do it soon because we are at the great crossroads the Mayans warned us of and because we cannot allow fear to spread and steal the last of our innocence.

Yes, some of us might still die at the hands of Evil but if we believe in a grander purpose – our sacrifice will be noble and righteous just like Principle suggests.

And this is not just a matter for Christians. Muslims and Jews, among others, have very strict commands from their gods: Thou Shalt not Kill, and all that.

In these shared Principles we were also warned against revenge – that it was the property of the gods, alone.

So what better time to reject Fear and Hate than now with the Holiday Season upon us – and the end of the Ancient Calendar?

Peace, Love and Joy are far better things than the madness of Strife, Hate and Fear and we have the free-will to make that choice.

It would be a wonderful holiday gift to the whole world and a beautiful legacy of those who have recently departed.

Trust in your god and believe in a better future.

I have no hesitation in standing behind gun control because I grew up in a time when a part of the country I lived in tore itself apart – ‘Christians’ blowing the arses off ‘Christians.’ Along with grief and misery, there was another legacy. Guns, once the tool needed to free us from Imperialism, gained a form of acceptance and are now a regular part of the underworld of my beloved hometown.

Some would say that it is of no matter; that it’s just drug dealers killing drug dealers but I cannot accept that. Children of the Republic the gun helped us to achieve are now murdering each other with little regard. The legacy of the gun is a shadow we cannot be free of. Once guns come into play, they are very hard to get rid of.

This is also true of America where it is widely believed that the infallible Founding Fathers meant for Americans to bear arms. But are we expected to believe that these men would want the reality that is gun violence? The ‘Right’ to ‘Bear Arms’ probably had more to do with a citizen’s right to defend themselves against the oppression of their rulers. That this ‘Right’ could be the rationale for the types of slaughter we experience, over and over, is a total distortion. And for those who use fear as an argument for guns, I would point to spiritual principles.

Many of our gods and idols preached non-violence. Christ, in particular, went as far as allowing himself to be killed rather than resist. Yes! Jesus Christ made a point of this and made it very clear that fear was an insult to Faith. In this we had martyrs who gladly allowed themselves to be killed as a token of their Love and Faith. From that we can only assume that true followers would reject violence – and fear.

Fear is a great motivation. In fear we can find reason to fight each other and to hate, and dehumanise, and to kill. To spread fear is to reject everything Christ, and others,  stood for – without exception!

The American belief in the security of guns might be the seed planted by those who make and sell guns. That’s right. Fear is a marketing tool and we are asked to believe that ‘guns don’t kill people – that people kill people.’ If there is any logic in that then it is obvious that people should not have easy access to guns. And while hunters, etc., argue for their right, I would concede a little but refuse to believe that semi-automatics are ever required. I once hunted and never encountered any form of animal life that could fire back. Except for my fellow human beings.

Others point to the need for security but a quick look at statistics shows that lax control goes hand in glove with higher gun fatalities.  Likewise, those States that rely on guns for security spend more time in War than Peace. We are flawed enough to find ways of killing each other and that is the tragedy of our condition. Knowing this it only seems reasonable to limit our access to weapons.

Do not give into fear. Trust in your god and believe in a better future. It’s the least we deserve.

The Story behind Lagan Love

 

 

There are a great many enduring images of Ireland; breath-taking scenery freshly misted by gentle rains, lichen-stained Celtic Crosses in the ruins of medieval monasteries, fading Georgian splendor from the days when Dublin was a jewel of the Empire and a green and lush country of pious and happy folks just waiting to be friendly. But it was very different growing up there.

I often reflected on this, sitting in Grogan’s of South William Street where the seeds of Lagan Love were sown. Grogan’s, aka ‘The Castle Lounge,’ had inherited a literary tradition from McDaid’s – the preferred local for many of the great Irish writers of the 1950’s.

The flight of the faithful:

It was in 1972 that Grogans became a favored meeting place for cutting-edge Irish writers of the time. Renowned barman Paddy O’Brian, formerly of McDaids pub, began working in Grogans bringing with him regular customers of McDaids including the likes of poet Patrick Kavanagh, Flann O’Brien, J.P. Donleavy, Liam O’Flaherty. Thus cementing Grogans popularity amongst the citys’ artistic avant-garde . . . http://www.groganspub.ie/?page_id=7

I wandered in a year or two later to meet with my great friends, Joe McPeak, Jimmy Neil and Shuggie Murray, all refugees from Glasgow, and Emmanuel Greenan who had fled the troubles in Belfast for the relative peace of Dublin.

We liked to sit in the little nook near the door and in time were dubbed ‘Scot’s Corner’ by Paddy O’Brian, himself.

Our conversation was always varied, influenced by the great literariness of the place and interspersed with Jimmy’s acerbic tirades against Fascism and Capitalism; Shuggie’s unquenchable humour, Joe’s ancient mysticism and the occasional nod from Emmanuel who was taciturn.

We talked about all that troubled the world but we had reassurance – it had all been done before. History was our great source of comfort as the world seemed to spin out of control. But the history in Grogan’s was very different from that which the Irish Tourist Board would have you believe. There were no leaping leprechauns around – they were barred from the premises - and those who clung to pious subservience kept their impositions to themselves.

No! The smoke filled air of Grogan’s was pristine.

There my young and confused self could glimpse another reality – the one that artists speak of – the truth behind the veil! We were the descendants of the Celts – those proud and noble tribes that defied even the Romans who had to build a wall to limit their expansion and to keep us out. At least that’s what they did when they encountered the Scots – they didn’t even dare set foot in Ireland!

But we had suffered too. Years of harassment by the Vikings and then the Normans had left us beaten but unbowed. It was as clear as the little red glow at the bottom of a good pint. But we had turned all of that suffering into Art – music that would make a stone cry and gentle poetry of defiance against the numbing consumerism the world was scurrying towards.

I would capture all of that and put it in a book! I would leave a record of the lives and times of the great ordinary people who knew far more than the wise. I would – right after I had another few pints!

Lagan Love did not see the light of day for another forty years but like good wine, it had to settle and mature.