Rathlin Rip - making waves and ripping yarns

Patsy McCash and Friends

2011-03-31T23:23:00.000+01:00

I used to contribute to the BBC NI’s Talkback messageboard where I had the unusual experience of having fictional yarns wiped en masse; some judicious quotes from “Wind in the Willows” met a similar fate.

Our wonderful array of place names featured in my make-believe cast of characters, incidents and locations. There was Port Moon Trust; a couple of politicians: the liberal Ben Gore and the conservative Croyer Hill; local newspapers: the Tonduff Times and Ballintoy Bugle; the rhythym and blues singer: Big Tom from Turfahun; and the bodice-ripping “Pleasures of Plaiskin” – available in a plain wrapper in “Burning Passions” – a religious bookshop at the front with a massage parlour at the rear. The barber in “A Clip Behind the Ear” often regaled his customers with tales of the exploits of the local squire, Patsy McCash of Cashlaun Castle.

I wonder what Patsy has been saying about the activities of his old friends up at Stormont, Ben Gore and Croyer Hill ....

Elf and Safety

2010-03-05T10:52:00.005Z

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The Good Ship Calibar

2009-08-09T11:13:00.000+01:00

The Good Ship Calibar

Ballymoney Court, 1933 - Man who annoyed by saying "Aye, aye"

2009-07-30T19:17:00.001+01:00

Man who annoyed by saying "Aye,aye"

Keep clear, Wylie Blue

2009-04-06T12:00:00.003+01:00

The summer time was coming and the trees were sweetly blooming. Twas time for the Captain to launch the Nancy for her summer cruises round the Islands of Carnmoon. She was a fine old craft with a top speed of three knots per hour.

The Captain and his mate, Wylie Blue, chugged off in the direction of the Isle of Arabwee. The sun was rising in the west and the temperature gauge was rising in the cabin. Water had been drained from the engine in the autumn but the dozy crew had forgotten. The Captain presumed there was a fault with the gauge.

"Wylie," roared the Captain, "Would you give that gauge a tap with the hammer."

Tapping had no effect. Eventually it dawned on them that not only was there no water in the radiator, there was no water on the boat.

Wylie had a brainwave, not a very large brainwave: he volunteered the contents of his bladder. Unfortunately, the header tank was rather difficult to reach and part of the spray alighted on the hot manifold and immediately turned to steam. The yelps from the slightly scalded Wylie coincided with the ringing of the safety alarm.

"Wylie," roared the Captain for a second time, "Would you disconnect that alarm. We don't want the Coastguards coming and sticking their noses in where they're not wanted."

It was time for plan B. The Captain unloosed the small inflatable and set off for a small nearby island with two fire buckets, the only suitable containers aboard the Nancy. Wylie was left at the helm with instructions to circle slowly until the Captain returned. Apparently switching off the engines would have led to too rapid cooling.

Wylie was far from happy with his lot. There he was, circling a fifty year old boat in a rock strewn sea when he remembered that he had missed his sea survival drill. He could thole no longer. He phoned a friend in the harbour office and asked if one man could launch a life-raft by himself and exactly when you should pull the rope.

The Captain arrived back with fresh water for the Nancy's engine but the story had got out. Soon everyone on the Islands of Carnmoon and in the whole of Ireland had heard the sad sorry tale of the incompetent Captain and the slightly scalded member of the crew, Wylie Blue.