Today March 17, is St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. Many male children born on this day have Patrick as their Christian name. One of those, living in the village that I call home in the north of County Donegal, will mark his 87th birthday today on 17 March 2018.
He is not known as Patrick at all, but as Paddy. Not only Paddy, but for many, many years of my life, he was ‘Young’ Paddy as his father was also Paddy, or ‘Old’ Paddy. ‘Old’ Paddy – or to be more accurate ‘Ould’ Paddy in the Donegal pronunciation – died not long before Christmas in 1967 and I am not sure when ‘Young’ Paddy became known as simply ‘Paddy’ Vaughan.
Paddy was well known for his ‘tall tales’, many of which were totally outrageous, some of which were totally unbelievable and all of which were hilariously funny. He had a most astonishing imagination. He took no prisoners and spared no one when it came to the ‘main characters’ in these wild imaginings.
Vaughans were our next door neighbours in Carrigart, and in the way of it in small villages, Paddy was almost a member of our family. He often came with us on Sundays to visit our father’s extended network of aunts and cousins in Fanad. With his trademark cap and ever present pipe, he would drive Pat Gallagher’s big Dodge into which we would pile to go to Fanad, or for an annual trip to the funfair and the Helter Skelter at Portrush. When our aunt came to Ireland for the first time in 18 years in the 1950s, Paddy drove us all the way from Carrigart to meet her in Athlone. Quite a trip back then.
Our father thought the world of Paddy and they seem to have spent a lot of their time laughing and enjoying each others company. For years Paddy took to the street when the wind got high. Strong wind was a feature of life in north Donegal as gales were common especially in winter. Paddy would don his crash helmet and leave the house at the first sound of strong wind. He was fearful of the chimney being blown off the house so felt it was safer to be outside. It was a wonder that he was never struck by flying slates!
Paddy always thought outside the box. Our brother Noel and his buddies, Andrew Speer and John Boylan, got lost when they were tiny wee boys of three or four. They had been missing a few hours when word came that they were sighted crossing the lee and headed for the sandy hills. The search moved there with everyone spread out calling their names. I can still see Paddy Vaughan way to my left on his big bicycle. Nobody would think of riding a bicycle on grass,through the impossible terrain of sand dunes and rabbit holes, but Paddy did. And he found the three little strays on the Rosapenna golf links, about to make their way to the shore at Tramore. There’s no doubt that the outcome could have been much worse but Paddy was the hero of the hour.
In September last I spent some time with Paddy. He is a fountain of knowledge and has the most amazing capacity for remembering details and people and events. I was absolutely gobsmacked when he said that he was there in the same room when our grandfather became ill. He said that our grandfather, J.D. Gallagher, was sitting next to the fire when he suddenly got sick. A short time later he would be dead, having contracted typhoid fever. Paddy said that two brothers from Carrick died of typhoid at about the same time. Paddy would have been a teenager then but would have known our grandfather quite well as he taught him at school. J.D. spent a lot of time in Vaughan’s house too as he collected stories from Paddy’s grandmother, as can be seen here.
Paddy is now enjoying life as one of the village elders and his memory is legendary. We wish him the happiest of birthdays, with many more to come and the good health to enjoy them.