TIPPERARY REFLECTION: The blow in will never be one of us

One of the most pathetic of rural institutions is that enigmatic personage of a poltroon known euphemistically as a “blow-in”.

I have spent the greater portion of my life attempting to define and rationalise the character of both the “blow-in” and the people with whom he associates, the Ould Stock.

Firstly, the “blow–in” is a citizen of no mean city and, presumably, of no good one either. Indeed, in retrospect, he is perhaps a tale of two cities.

One in which he was born and the other in which he is now a dark stranger come to live among the natives.

He is an eternal wanderer, a socially acceptable rambler, and his heart is restless. For he will never receive acceptance in his adopted abode in the manner of the native.

Now why the ‘blow-in’ should be such a slighted dignitary, I do not know. But slighted he is.

And I have known a wretch to devote some forty years of his time and talents to a parish only to hear at his graveside: “Arra, he was a ‘blow-in’, the craythur, but sure we will not hold that against the poor divil now.”

By the same token, I have heard a convicted blaggard righteously defended on the grounds that he was surely led astray by the ‘blow-ins’ of the parish, who should never have been allowed to set foot on native soil in the first place.

I have since learned that all good and virtue and graciousness is in the natives and that every evil is inherent in the heart of a “blow-in.”

There is no middle course, and he who would attempt to establish such a compromise is in dire danger of being found hanged in the haggard or worse still of being sent to Coventry like the 'blow-in' himself.

It is indeed a serious matter, and little, if anything, is being done to remedy the situation.

He could come into his new parish to teach, farm, or just to inhabit a humble cottage, and if a teacher, he might be selected Secretary of the Parish Hall Renovation Committee or PRO of the Dramatic Society. He may as well try to sow barley on cement.

The “blow-in” will seldom, if ever, play hurling for the parish. The parish would never have it said that they could not win by the sole efforts of the ash-wielders from the parish alone.

No, faith, they would sooner be beaten into the ground by the neighbouring parish and be able to hold up their heads to declare:

“We (natives and ould stock) did it OUR way. Then they proceed to kick the head off the goalie for letting in 18 goals in front of the bleddy ‘blow-in’ who once upon a time played inter–county for another county.

Alas and alack, but in the country, we set too much store on and attach too much importance to the vague notion of “knowing your place”.

I think it may be a harkening back to the time when Diarmuid Mac Murrough went over to England and brought back a brigade of ‘blow-ins’ who are still with us. Indeed any of us could be a descendant of that brigade. But only the mighty-minded will believe the latter idea.

Yet, not all “blow-ins” were treated with dishonour and disregard. Indeed, you might say that the greatest “blow-in” of all for whom the Gaels have the greatest reverence was the rustic Welshman who is our National Saint –St Patrick. And it is a matter of history that not a few of our most honoured and hallowed citizens in high places were born very far indeed from Dingle Bay and Malin Head.

In this controversial matter, the discussion of which is detrimental to people with blood pressure problems, blood is thicker than water.

There are long horns on the cattle overseas but what about the ones from the parish next door? The world is a cantankerously peculiar place. But we have to live in it –somewhere.

All the world is a stage, but the ‘blow-in’ is never the hero. Always he is the anti-hero who must invariably come to no good end. The partner of mine who is a “blow-in” (runner-in, they say up there) in our parish from Dalkey, says sagely:

“Honour and fame from no condition rise. Act well your part: there all the honour lies.”

Fair enough...But what happens when the “blow-in” starts to run the parish? And starts acting as if he owned the place? And acts like a lord of the manor?

Dearie me…the disease is contagious.

A native is an unnatural thing!