THE FAIR IN DROMORE My father was anxious to make me a farmer, He gave me some money to go to the Fair, To learn to buy and to make a good bargain, And be a good judge of the stock that was there. I rose up next morning - the day was just dawning, I made a quick sandwich with butter and jam. The brown egg I took from the shelf on the dresser, To hurry the breakfast I fried on the pan. No time to be lost I just cleared up the table, I looked at the clock as I made for the door, The cash in my pocket I left good and early To try out my luck at the Fair of Dromore. My footsteps were swift as the hare on the mountain, As onward I sped through the cool morning air. The long winding roadway I soon left behind me, And landed in time for the start of the Fair. The buyers were there from the northern counties. The farmers were there with their stock on the Green, And the publicans' tents for the beer and refreshments High up on the hillside were easily seen. The calves in their crates were well covered for shelter, The sheep and the lambs were all gathered around, And the bloodstock came in from the plains of Tireragh With long sweeping tails that were trailing the ground. The traders and dealers took up their positions. The bellman was there his announcements to make. The priest to attend those who fell by the wayside And Vincent de Paul his collection to take. The tinker was there with his cans on his shoulders. The fisherman's wife was content at her stall. The man with the ice-cream was selling his spices And tickets were sold for a dance in the hall. The man with the delph sold his cups and his saucers. The man with the ballads was selling his straw. While the man with the dice and the big wheel of fortune Was making his money in spite of the Law. The man with the rifle and bell was surrounded With sharpshooters waiting and watching the score. Three shots for a penny and well worth the money. If you think you can shoot, you should go to Dromore. As bargains were made and the drinking continued The loud noise of commerce increasingly grew And the stalwart policemen alert and officious Looked out for offenders but found very few. The smell of the roast in the coffee house cooking Attracted a crowd through the wide open door, But the butterfly caps of the white-coated angels That served at the table attracted far more. Dromore is well known for the Fair and the ladies With sweet smiling faces that ever pass by And many a man who might still be a loner Was swept off his feet by the wink of an eye. But one man's good luck is another's misfortune, The facts as we find them we cannot ignore. And the lady I met as I walked through the Fairgreen Left me to regret that I went to Dromore. She stepped from the crowd, laid her hand on my shoulder, As soft as a butterfly floating on air. Her voice was so gently, her manner so simple, Politely she asked what I thought of the fair. And that's how we started a long conversation. She told me her life story, and I told her mine And to walk through the Fair with a dashing young lady Was something I wanted a very long time. She told me her father was Lord of a Manor With lands stretching out over Salsbury Plane And now in retirement, he came back to Ireland For peace and contentment to paint was his game. Her mother was mostly away on location But what destination she wouldn't disclose. A family would thrive in the car she was driving She wore costly jewels and elegant clothes. She told me that she was their one only daughter. She never considered the wealth she might own But would marry the man that she found to her liking On a small bit of land where lived all alone. The fun of the Fair she enjoyed to perfection, But now it was late and she must get back home. She asked me to come with her just for protection, She was so much afraid walking back on her own. Of course I agreed and I walked on beside her. She knew the direction and soon we were there And I laughed as I thought how I'd tell to my father That wonderful bargain I got at the Fair. We were standing in front of an old fashioned cottage And I knew that we could not be far from the sea. I was tired and cold and I silently wondered Would she now take me in for a hot cup of tea. She pulled on a chain and a light came on inside, A fine looking man quickly opened the door And the speed that I made as I hit for the mountains Was never recorded on two feet or four. I got such a fright that the objects around me Seemed out of proportion and ghostly and bare and even the man in the moon walked on crutches His feet must be sore he might be at a Fair. How I managed back home I can never remember. My father was seated just in from the door And I thought of the man on the Almanack's Cover In every respect he was just like old Moore. But I was the one that was making predictions. The stick in his hand I seen swiftly to fall On the back of my head and of course I then fainted. But no, he sat there and just smiled through it all. For many days later, I tried to unravel The mystery surrounding the man in the chair. And then I remembered, he knew all about it. He was young once again and he went to the Fair. -- Patrick James ROCHFORD, from "Close To The Foothills, a journey of Prose and Poetry through the Ox Mountains," (1991). Note, the range of mountains extending from Ballisodare, Co. Sligo to Foxford in Co. Mayo is referred to as the Ox Mountain Range. Mr. Rochford is very familiar with this area and his fine book includes much history about the region.