A quacking tale

There once was a young man who lived in a small town by the side of a river. He was an enigmatic chap, quite the dandy and he was renowned for his sartorial elegance as much as his hare-lip and his peculiar odour.

Most of all though people knew him because of his hat. No matter what outfit he put on of a morning he always had the same tattered fedora perched atop his head. He wasn’t a tall fellow but for some reason his hat made him easily visible in a crowd. Not that the small town had much in the way of crowds, apart from the one day a year when the annual mallard timetrials took place.

They came from far and wide with their beaked contenders and the birds would have to follow a course downstream to get to the finish line. The winner of the event would be treated like a king for the duration of the year and should anyone manage to defend their crown, well, near legendary status would be bestowed upon them as it had never happened before.

The young man, despite his outward flashiness, was somewhat troubled on personal level. He knew, due to his face, that he would never be a catch for the prettiest girls in the village and even if he won the race with his duck he’d be hard pressed to find a bride. Still, he took the event seriously, spending hour after hour training with Lloyd, who had wonderful plumage and a kick in the final stages of the race that put him in mind of a young Eamonn Coghlan.

So soon the big day came. All the contenders were there. Milky O’Shea’s ‘Cannonball’, Moralising Mick and ‘AJ’, Daithi Ryan with last year’s winner ‘Aidsy’ and the only woman to enter, Gobnait Branigan and her bird ‘Flappy’. The young man was nervous but confident that day. He put on a linen suit with a black shirt and with his trusty hat on his head he set off.

He spoke to Lloyd, who he carried in an old sports bag, along the way.

‘It’s just you and me, old pal. We can do this. Even if I’m always to be a lonely bachelor winning this race would give me some sense of pride, let me tell you’.

‘Quack’, said Lloyd.

‘Just keep focussed on the race now. Try not to dive under the water and stick your arse in the air, there’ll be plenty of time for that afterwards’.

‘Quack’, said Lloyd.

So they made there way to the start and the mind-games between the owners of the birds had begun in earnest. There was all kinds of talk about how one duck was going to beat another, how one owner had no right to even enter the competition because they once made a statement without having the full facts at hand, while Gobnait staunchly refused to be intimidated by the men and farted loudly at them whenever they came near her.

The young man stayed out of the way and tried to remain calm. He knew Llloyd had every chance of winning. He touched the brim of his lucky hat, the hat which had such sentimental value for him, the hat without which he felt naked. ‘Once I have my hat and my duck, I’m ok’, he thought.

The race marshall was Godfrey Reilly, son of the biggest landowners in those parts, whose teeth stuck out like the love child of Ken Dodd and Janet Street-Porter. Nobody could really understand a word he said but when he shot the cap pistol into the air everyone knew the race was underway.

It was a truly titanic battle with AJ and Aidsy out in front to begin with while Gobnait’s frantic yelling at Flappy as they chased the birds along the bank of the river scared the poor thing so much it spent all its energy racing into a 20 yard lead before falling back exhausted. The young man followed as Lloyd swam along in last place. He remained quiet, thinking encouraging thoughts only his mind as he knew he had a deep connection with his racer.

Cannonball, much to Milky’s disgust, found himself more interested in something below the surface of the water which had his owner crying out ‘Orange sauce, orange sauce, you feckless little prick’, but Cannonball paid no attention. It was now between Aidsy, AJ and Lloyd and soon Moralising Mick was cursing his luck as his duck swam into some reeds and decided he’d take a nap.

Lloyd was a good 5 yards behind Aidsy and Daithi Ryan was already thinking of the ovation he’d get as he would become the first man in the history of the race to win it in consecutive years. Would they build a statue for him? Name a street after him? And by Jesus he’d have the pick of the damsels despite being a toothless forty-two year old. But Daithi hadn’t considered Lloyd’s finishing speed and as the finish line approached the young man called out ‘lollipop’, the code word he’d developed to tell his duck to kick on.

He ran as hard as he could down the river bank, barely noticing as his hat blew off his head, so engrossed was he in the race. Lloyd, paddling with all might, his little duck feet going ninety to the dozen under the water, sped past Aidsy and he won it by a beak at the line.

‘Hurrah!’, said the young man.

‘Bollix anyway’, said Daithi Ryan.

‘Quack’, said Lloyd.

The young man ran into the water, scooped up his champion bird and lapped up the congratulations of all those who had witnessed the finest race since 1976 when it had been neck and neck between the twin brothers, Rory and Malachy Hughes, until Rory’s bird ‘Cary Grant’ just sneaked it.

It was only a few minutes later though that the young man realised his head was bare. His hat was gone. Leaving Lloyd in the care of Mary Dwan, daughter of the local publican, he ran back up the river bank to see if he could find it. He looked in bushes, trees, copses and shrubs but there was no sign of it. As he got more and more frantic he met old Jim Neary who ran a book on the race each year and had tidied up with Lloyd’s victory.

‘I suppose you’re looking for your hat’, he said.

‘Oh yes’, said the young man, ‘I sure am. Have you seen it?’

‘That I have’, said Jim. ‘I saw it come off your head and go into the water’.

‘Oh no’, said the young man. ‘Do you know where it is now?’

‘Aye’, said Jim, ’somewhere down duck racey river’.

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This entry was posted on Friday, July 18th, 2008 at 9:25 amand is filed under Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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