Skimpy Scrawlings

I was honoured recently to be the right hand man of Sean Francis Conroy at his nuptials and as such, it fell to me to ensure that his day went smoothly and without a hitch. This was, quite frankly, a vain hope and it didn’t take me long to stamp my mark on proceedings. As we milled around outside the church it suddenly hit me that the two giant button-holes that should have been adorning Sean and my good self were in fact adorning Sean’s kitchen table. Rachael kindly lent me her car keys and with a cool head I haired out the church, through the car-park where the car was handily placed and onto the streets of Hebburn. I then scampered ineffectually up and down the same patch of road for a while, in the vain hope that the car would miraculously spring up through a hole in the ground. Were it not for a passing saviour, (Thank you Sarah), I might still be there now.

All this was forgotten when the beautiful Kerry glided into the church on the arm of her father. Is there ever a happier sight? I could see the awe in Sean’s face as he gazed at the vision before him and it wasn’t lost on me either – Her auld man did look great in a suit. But it was Kerry who was the fairest blossom that day, the rest of us mere weeds starving in her shadow. I have to admit that my usual stoic, stony-faced demeanour crumbled as I saw Sean imperceptibly rest his hand onto the hand of his new wife as the service was drawing to a close.

One of my tasks was to ensure that a special gift (bought by Sean for Kerry) was transported to the reception hotel after the service. It was as we approached this hotel in our reet posh old Bentleys that I realised that the prezzie was safely holed up in Sean’s house. I slumped back in the seat, reflecting on the prescience of Kevin’s telegram as it nestled in my pocket.

“Best Wishes to you Sean and Kerry on your special day. Hope Sainty doesn’t mess it up”.

Happily the day was perfect. A real humdinger of a wedding, choc-full of great people. As the night drew to a riotous close, I reflected on it all and was filled with a massive feeling of warmth, partly due to the fact that one of my oldest friends had honoured me by making me his best man and partly due to the fact that he’d bought me an i-pod nano for doing it.

In return, I give this…

Yes Sean he is my pal of old,
A man you cannot measure,
And now his story must be told,
So listen at your leisure.

Brought together by our Mams,
I wish you could have seen us,
But as we gurgled in our prams,
A barrier lay between us.

It loomed above and stood so tall,
A presence so entrenched,
It wasn’t quite the Berlin Wall,
More the Bamburgh Fence.

But Sean he had two evil twins,
Yes each one was a bugger,
They armed us both with lolly-sticks,
To dig for Dougal’s sugar.

And so a bond in stone was hewn,
Through rain and hail and thunder,
From the foggy banks of Castle New,
To the merry Land of Sunder.

Through most our lives we were good lads,
And rarely played with fire,
But Mr. Conroy saved my back,
In a fight with a black Maria.

Yet man can’t live on bread alone,
Or even syrup and marge,
And when Sean first saw Kerry Maine,
She filled him with a charge.

And so it came their marriage day,
In October, on day seven,
Upon an angel we did gaze,
Near Martha’s Vineyard, Hebburn.

Yes Sean he is my pal of old,
A man you cannot measure,
And now the story has been told,
He has his Dougal’s treasure.

See you both soon, Conroys. X