I know Tommy Tiernan gets into trouble sometimes for inappropriate yarns or jokes he tells. He can straddle a fine line. I’ve never seen him live but I enjoy his Saturday evening RTÉ 1 television show. He comes across as a sensitive person, who never wants to offend any of his guests. Of course, he’s always on for a laugh but there is a serious side to him too.
’m often struck how in the midst of some sadness or other we find an opportunity to laugh.
Some weeks ago a man I know suffered a stroke. He can be extremely funny and has no trouble telling me what he thinks of me. He is a bachelor who lives on his own.
But for the postwoman, who arrived on the scene within minutes, it is highly likely that the man would either have died or been incapacitated for the rest of his life. Five weeks later he is still in hospital and making a good recovery.
Last week I visited him. I went straight to his ward to be told there was no visiting. After the ward clerk made a phone call and some charm from me I managed to gain access to my friend. I think he was glad to see me, at least that was the impression he gave me. He filled me in on what had happened. He was aware how lucky he was that the postwoman turned up just at the right time.
Within minutes we were joking and laughing. I explained that I had travelled a good distance to see him. Well, it wasn’t quite the truth as I was heading to that part of the world anyway.
He asked me to show him how to find names and numbers on his phone. I eventually mastered it and showed him how it worked. The first name and number that popped up was that of the postwoman who discovered him after he had fallen as a result of his stroke.
I phoned the number. She immediately thought I was the owner of the phone, but I could hear the disappointment in her voice when she realised she was not talking to the owner of the phone. I handed the phone to the patient in the bed and so began their conversation. I could see his face light up. He was delighted to talk to her. I thought or presumed they’d talk for a few minutes and then we could get back chatting. Nothing of the sort happens. The conversation continues.
Time is moving on and I had to be somewhere else within 30 minutes. I try explaining that to the man in the bed. He is having none of it and continues his conversation with the postwoman. Eventually I tell him I have to go. At that, he looks up at me and waves me off, indeed, sends me off with an expletive.
I say goodbye and off I go. I know as soon as he comes out of hospital we’ll both give each other an earful of it. He’s a great character.
I’ve been thinking about my visit, our chats over the years. Aren’t they the moments we remember, that stand out. I’m back thinking of The Banshees of Inisherin. So many of those incidental moments, the throw away comment, the laughs, surely they help make up the fabric of our lives. And what a good story it is for the wonderful work our postal workers do.
