Memories Of The Death Of Den Looney Poem by Francis Duggan

'Twas mid summer 1958 the smell of hay crop rotting
And in cut up pasture hungry cow from grass to grass tuft trotting
And Irish farmer in financial woe his herd facing starvation
And all in all a tragic year for Europe's poorest Nation.

We were crowering hay on rare mild day like pet day in December
Near 6 p.m. or thereabouts as well I might remember
The sky was darkening all the while and pregnant rain clouds
growing
And signs of rain were in the air and winds of rain were blowing.

Then someone passing told sad news Den Looney has departed
And we lost all desire for work at news we felt downhearted
We headed home for supper bite hay pikes upon our shoulder
And reached the house in gloomy mood as winds of change blew colder.

Later that night in living room the old men reminiscing
Den Looney gone from Claraghatlea and him they would be missing
The arguments in Looneys house the heated verbal battle
From politics to Gaelic Games to price of sheep and cattle.

And Den Looney sitting on wheelchair like chairman the meeting chairing
And he arguing his point of view his own views freely airing
And his wife Peg trying to calm him down and with him earnest pleading
But he engrossed in verbal war to her paid little heeding.

Den Looney's cottage in those days Claraghatlea's favourite
place of meeting
With the top debaters for miles around with each other competing
Con the Master and Dan Sullivan whose arguments were clever
My childhood days in Claraghatlea will live in me forever

Con the Yank and Finbar O and Johnny and Teddy Hickey
And Den Looney's son was always there how can one forget Mickey
Patsy and Denny the Master, Neilly and John Duggan and Pat
Their brother
And Jack Sullivan and Matty Owen oft in the get together.

And Pad the Master oft times there and he told many stories
Of those he knew in schoolgoing days old Millstreet and her glories
And in Den Looney's cottage in Claraghatlea none made to feel a stranger
And to lose out on a good night's sleep perhaps the only danger

The arguments in Looney's house the good clean fun and laughter
And still the memory linger on some forty four years after
The death of wheelchair man with dark moustache born with the gift of giving
And one mile west of Millstreet Town Den Looney's ghost still living.