Willie Daly the Matchmaker
One day, while driving Nanny out to a little town to do some background research on the family history, I decided to do a bit of detective work on a matchmaking festival I had heard about on the road. The history of matchmaking in Ireland dates back many years and most certainly came in handy when farmers felt the need to marry their daughters off in exchange for a prize winning donkey.
Anyway, I went to the local visitors centre in Lisdoonvarna, where the festival is held. Situated in a very stinky fish smoking house, the centre seemed to know more about smoked herring than the town's happenings. Still, they gave me one lead. "Go up the road to the second bridge, turn right at O'Reily's Hotel, three streets down turn left at the Bank of Ireland ATM, and on your right is the old Lisdoonvarna Hotel. Maeve at the counter will tell you all about the matchmaking."
So off I ventured, managing to get lost once or twice untill quite accidently, I found the old hotel and an even older Maeve leaning against the counter deep in conversation with the postman (who I suspect holds a flame for old Maeve). I waited patiently for their conversation to end, and realised some ten minutes later that I could be waiting a while. I boldly stepped up to the counter and cleared my throat. "Maureen from the smokehouse said that you know about matchmaking." The beginnings of a smile crept over Maeve's old face, but then she shook her head and said, "I might know a bit, but it's not my place to say. You'll have to ask Willie Daly."
The postman leaned in, "He's the matchmaker, he is. His father was the one to fix up Maeve and Tom."
"And it was a match made in hell!" cackled old Maeve. "But you tell Willie that my first great-grandchild arrived last thursday. An eight pound baby boy. He has a pub in the next town. You´ll find him there to be sure."
"Cool," I said. "So what's the name of his pub?"
Both Maeve and the postie looked at me as if I had sprouted another head. I self conciously rubbed my neck to make sure I hadn't.
"The name's Willie Daly's Pub," Maeve informed me very slowly. "On the main street, next to the turf accountant." (A turf accountant is a fancy Irish name for a gambling bookie).
So off I went once more, over to the next town- home to Willie Daly and his fine watering hole. Now I never got to speak to Willie Daly, but I spoke to his nephew Niall, who was running the bar while Willie was out of town. "It's an art, you see, this matchmaking business. A lot of folk think it's all bollocks, but there's something more to it than that. Willie, he has the knack."
"The knack?" I said.
"Aye, the knack. The gift."
"Aha."
"The gift of looking at someone and then looking at someone else, and then saying they be good or they be crap."
"Wow," I said deadpan. "That's really incredible."
"To be sure. Can I get you a drink."
I left Niall with my email address for Willie to contact me if he had time. I made my way back to the library where Nanny was conducting her research, and asked her if she had a successful day.
"Ooh, well I managed to find out a bit about the Daly ancestors."
Can you imagine my surprise to find out I could be related to a long line of Irish matchmakers! It certainly is a small world.
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