Proud-pied April: A pint of plain

Remember G.K. Chesterton’s famous dictum about the Irish? “The great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad; for all their wars are merry and all their songs are sad.” Well, we know that’s not entirely true, but since we’ve had a very stark poem from Ireland already this month, let’s turn to something on the light side.

Actually, the subject matter of “The Workman’s Friend” is stereotypically “Oirish”—the kind of thing you find hauled out on Saint Patrick’s Day or populating 1950s sitcoms. Brian O’Nolan wrote novels, plays, essays and poetry, much of it under the pen name Flann O’Brien. He also wrote satirical columns in The Irish Times as Myles na gCopaleen. The latter was taken from a stereotypically charming Irish rogue character in a Dion Boucicault play.

Actually, his fluid use of pseudonyms has made doing detailed analysis of his work quite the challenge. We don’t actually know what all he wrote, under whose names and in which capacity. Still—here’s one that’s been verified.

“The Workman’s Friend”

When things go wrong and will not come right,

Though you do the best you can,

When life looks black as the hour of night –

A pint of plain is your only man.

When money's tight and hard to get

And your horse has also ran,

When all you have is a heap of debt –

A pint of plain is your only man.

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,

And your face is pale and wan,

When doctors say you need a change,

A pint of plain is your only man.

When food is scarce and your larder bare

And no rashers grease your pan,

When hunger grows as your meals are rare –

A pint of plain is your only man.

In time of trouble and lousey strife,

You have still got a darlint plan

You still can turn to a brighter life –

A pint of plain is your only man.

This kind of thing is somewhat less charming when you realize that O’Nolan was an alcoholic. But that’s O’Nolan-O’Brien-na gCopaleen for you.

A native Irish speaker, he nonetheless took the piss out of language Nazis, as witnessed in this little offering:

Said a Sassenach back in Dun Laoghaire

“I pay homage to nationalist thaoghaire.

But whenever I drobh

I found signposts that strobh

To make touring in Ireland so draoghaire.”

Well, having had to manage those same signposts myself, I concur.