"Good-avnin' tay ye, gentlemen. Ye'll pardon me interruptin' yer conversation like, but I couldn't help hearin' ye talk o' barter an' I thought maybe ye'd like to hear--

"A dhrink is it sir? Shure now an' I don't mind havin' wan--aye, a bottle like yersel' sir, thank ye kindly.

"As I was sayin', barter is a queer kind o' thing. Ther's them as tell ye that it's right in theery, an' all wrong in practice. I don't set meself up till disagree wi' them or wi' any man; but it's kinda hard tay think o' a man splittin' the differ atween a moilye cow an' a bag o' meal, a blade for the reaper, a two-month calf, a kitchen table an' a pair o' galouses.

"But wisha, here I'm divargin, an' I wanted tay tell ye o' my own experience. 'Twas the time I was 'prenticed wi' a printer--Aye, I'm a farmer now, be the mark. It's wonderful the number o' things a man will turn his han' to afore he settles down--I was 'prenticed on an uncle that kep' a wee printin' office in a wee town in the West o' Ireland--Ye'r very good health, gentlemen.--An' the newspaper we printed of'en enough came out by naethin' but blin' luck, and offner still by the mercy o' Providence.

"Ye'll pardon me sir, but did ye ivir see when ye were on holiday at the seaside, postcards for sale wi' some songs printed on the back o' them? Ye could get a card wi' "The Oul' Orange Flute", or "The Irish Jauntin' Car". 'Twas ourselves that used tay print them an' in the summer there was always the grand sale on them same postcards--me uncle used tay call them "earthquakes". An' if there was wan crowd liked them more than anywan else, it was the tinkers. They c'd make a sprasy--thruppence sir--on every half-dozen--

"Thank-ye sir. 'Twill be the same again. It's fair dhry to-day.

"Well, sir, wan day 'twas meself was in the office, an' in comes a tinker-man, an' the head av him barely lippin' the counter; an' on his back he had a collection o' tins, porringers, milk cans, two buckets, an' a box-iron, an' in his han' a solderin' iron.

"Sez he to me, coaxin' like--'The blessin' o' the saints on ye, an' its the brave day".

"Sez I--'The same to yersel', and what might ye be wantin' "--an' me han' reachi' fer the till at the same time.

" 'T'is not yer money I want', sez he, 'but could ye show an honest man some o' yer postcards?' "

"I tuk them down an' the tinker-man had a look at them, an' then sez he--"I suppose ye couldn't let me have them on tick. I've no money."

"Sez I ti meself--'Danny, me bhoy, the divil can run away wi' Mick Flanagan's goat but yer not goin' tay be responsible for this'--an' wi' that I called me uncle.

"Himself listened tay the tale o' the tinker-man an' sed--'I canna gie ye the cards wi'out ye bringin' the money.'

"But the wee man was coaxin', an' at last to show me uncle he was in earnest he throws the pile o' tins at his feet an' sez he--"Mister Rogers, ye can keep them 'til I come back wi' the money."

"Me uncle agreed to the bargain an' the wee man got the cards.

"From that day forward nivir the hilt or hair did I ivir see o' the wee man. The tins were lying in a pile upstairs in wan o' the file rooms gatherin' dust. We begun tay look on them as our own, an' we used wan or two to keep ink in.

"Anyway, we forgot about the wee man, 'til wan day at the end o' the summer a wee tinker woman puts her head over the counter and sez--"I've come for me man's tins."

"I tuk wan look at her an' toul' her to wait til I got me uncle.

"Himself comes in from the machine room and sez kin' o' polite--'Ye've brought the money, av coorse.'

"Well, ye want tay see the face thon wee woman put on her an' sez she, 'Indeed, an' what has money tay do wi' it? He left them tins in here tay be kept for him an' I've come tay get them.'

"Me uncle's a wee man too an' very thran an' he didn't like the tone o' her voice. Divil the tin or the look at a tin would he give her until she had paid for the cards.

"There were hot words after that an' the wee woman screamed fit to bring the place down. Then she went off threatenin' all the wrath and vengeance of iviry saint in the tinkers' calendar.

"We were still congratulatin' oursels on havin' got rid o' the woman, when a man about six foot high puts his head roun' the door an' gulders--'Are you the man that's keepin' Pat the Chicken's tins?'

"Me uncle had a lock-up bar in his hans an' he waved that an' the man ran for dear life.

"Things har sort o' settled down again about two hours afterwards, when something possesse me tay look up the street, an' blissid God if there wasn't a horde--a horde, gentlemen--o' tinkers an' them makin' straight for the office.

"There was the Crumleys, an' the Evans, an' the Rabbs; an' there was a man we called King James, an' he wi' the whole Royal Family wi' him, the Queen Mother hersel, and the princesses, an' Josie, the heir tay the throne, an' the whole lot yellin' mile murdher. An' there was Pat the Haythen's tribe, an' the tinkers o' Corlough--divil the such a gatherin' o' the clans was ivir seen before or since.

"They came wi' childer in their arms, and houlin' roun' the women's skirts, wi' their traps an' carts an' donkeys an' dogs an' hens; an' the whole lot camps down straight afore the office door, an' there wasn't a neighbour's window that wasn't up an' the heads creenin' out.

"They were settled in formation whin I came tay me senses an' started prayin' all the prayers I knew, at the same time lookin' up and down the street for a policeman, or a detachment would've been better, but there wasn't so much as a uniform in sight. They nivir are when ye want them.

"Me uncle was wi' me whin the big fella that was in in the mornin' came swaggerin' in an' the wee woman yappin' at his heels.

"The two o' them, sir, made a bee line for me uncle an' started jabberin' inta his face. Me uncle started jabberin' back, and meself standin' like the relics of last Patrick's Day spaychless.

"Thing were gettin' to a desperate pitch when a polisman, a country gossoon av a lad, fights his way inta the shop and demands tay know what's goin' on. What wi' half a hundred tinkers an' me uncle tryin' to tell him as many different stories, the poor lad got fair moidered.

"The tinker-man pointed at me uncle an' started to call him all the thievin' names in the dictionary, an' I saw the temper risin' in the boss, but afore I could say a word he hit that tinker a scelp in the face that would have rattled Slieve Donard.

"Things started tay happen in real earnest then. Before me uncle would be kilt--he was a wee man ye c'd blow off yer han'--I stepped between himself an' the tinker. The big fella drew wan on me an' I duked, an' his fist split the partition behin' me head. I managed tay clock him then an' he sprawled on the floor.

"It was only at that minit that I saw the poor young polisman lyin' on his back, his helmet under the counter, an' the tinker woman sittin' on his chest an' the han's of her clawin' at his eyes.

"I jumped in tay help the polisman, at the same time shuttin' the door tay the office till wi' me foot. Then on top o' me comes the big tinker an' the four of us scrappin' like mad on the floor.

"Me uncle had disappeared but we weren't left long in doubt as to where he had got himself to, for out o' the street comes a screech that would've raised the hair on a banshee, beggin' yer pardon, if a banshee has got hair.

"The polisman an' meself struggled tay our feet an' looked out o' the window--just in time tay see the flat-iron givin' concussion tay a six-foot haythen, an' a bucket wrappin' itself roun' the head of a gligeen of a girl. There was me uncle at the top window rainin' down porringers, tins, buckets and the smoothin' iron, as the poet says, "like a gentle rain from heaven." There was nothin' gentle in the way he was doin' it.

"There was no time to read the Riot Act after that, an' after five minits o' pandemonium the office was wrecked. I was glad tay see the full force o' the barracks called out to settle the dispute, an' in addition the clergy of all creeds united to preserve peace.

"O' course we all ended up in court the next law day an' we got things smoothed over. But nivir since, gentlemen, have I had dealin's wae the tinkers--and ye may be sure I nivir take pledges or stoop tay barter---

"Ye'll pardon me sir, but did ye order this double whiskey for me? Ye did! Shure God love ye sir, divil the drop o' whiskey do I ivir drink. Now, don't bother yersel', I'll soon enough fix it up.

"Hey, barman, ye can take this whiskey back. I haven't touched a drop o' it an' its not watered. Bring me instead av it, two pints an' eightpence worth o' cut plug. That'll be the one an' eight, an' thank ye, sir."

The End

Note: Although couched as a tale of fiction, the events depicted actually occurred in the town of Ballyshannon. One of my brothers, Charlie or Barry, was the apprentice, and the "boss" was my uncle John McAdam.

In recent years tinkers in Ireland have undergone a change of name. They are now called "travellers". Instead of journeying by horse drawn caravans they use motor driven vehicles, and occasionally travel in convoys between recognised halting sites located on the sides of roads. Slowly they are being assimilated into urban communities. Despite being commonly lumped into the same category as gypsies, the travelling community in Ireland is a distinct indigenous people.

It was my pleasure to meet a genuine traditional gypsy horse dealer not many years ago in "The Celtic Cross" in Ottawa. He knew Ireland as well as the back of his hand, travelled regularly between the Mull of Kintail and Greencastle, and talked knowledgeably about the horses annually culled from the herd in the offshore banks in the States.

He held firmly to a theory that if he could get permission to take some ponies from Sable Island off the coast of Nova Scotia and interbreed them with animals on the mainland, their offspring would refresh and strenghthen the latter's genes. He was on his way back from a gypsy wedding in Ontario before going on to attend a gypsy coronation in either Hungary of Romania--I forget which.
John Ward