TIPPERARY STORIES: The newspaper man of Thurles

After some 40 years in journalism, I have to admit the most heart warming character of the industry of my acquaintance, and very much a central figure in my childhood life, was Paddy The Paper, as I affectionately called him.

And whom I was proud and delighted to know long before I went to Thurles CBS to continue my education begun in joyously observing in childhood the wonderful, gentle people who passed through the street where I lived.

Paddy Hickey, whom I as a youngster knew with affection and admiration as Paddy the Paper, was a widely esteemed newspaperman who, back in the late fifties and early sixties, daily in the pages of the Irish Independent in the morning or the Evening Herald that night, brought to my home in Fianna Road, Thurles, the news , views and photographs of the day from all over the world.

Like some wonderful magician.

Like a true newspaperman, little bespectacled Paddy Hickey, wearing a peaked cap cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth, and carrying with care and respect, a large bundle of newspapers under his arm in all kinds of weather, hail or sleet or snow.

Unfailingly he brought the news to our doorsteps in the cosy intimate homes where we lived far away from the happenings in places we so eagerly read about and which were pictured in his newspapers.

Paddy was objective, as every newspaperman should be and offered no comment on the stories he carried around with him.

He was a professional who carried out his task with pride and precision (he never passed a door without making sure somebody was there to receive the paper.

If not, he would return later). But, so eager were we for the news, we were pretty much waiting around for him always.

Particularly those of us who enjoyed racing and were eager for racing results in the Evening Herald, which would come down on the Dublin train.

Paddy was a model of quietude and kindness and offered no comments on the news of the day, except quietly and with reverence he’d remark on some poor creature, who had died earlier, that day or the night before, or who was not long for the world this long time, poor, craythur.

In our town in those days of the Fifties and early Sixties the newspapers were magic to us kids as we cut out photographs of our hurling heroes, John and Jimmy Doyle, and the girls cut out pictures of movie idols, Clarke Gable and Robert Mitchum.

And we all pasted them onto our school exercise books and never worried about the price which we would pay later at home or at school! Ouch.

We had great fun trying to do the crosswords, and we enjoyed the hilarious funnies and read the GAA pages with great interest and enthusiasm so we could pretend we knew all these hurling heroes of our childhood.

I have memories of my old friend, the late great author/ journalist, Raymond Smith, who introduced me to the famous Room 65 or newsroom of the Irish Independent.

He and Paddy, the Paper were largely instrumental in bringing me into a career about which I have no quibble or complaint, no more than Paddy The Paper a largely unsung hero of old and warm hearted Thurles and of a gloriously innocent era gone forever into folklore but which deserves never to be forgotten.

Raymond Smith, as he carried his manual typewriter under his arm past my house on his way to the Tipperary Star office, and Paddy Hickey with the news of the globe under his arm, were in their own unique ways two great gentlemen and newspaper professionals about whom it could be said -they have served their day.

May the great God of the universe be good to them both.

Who have been so good to me. And thanks for the memories, gentlemen.

Television and the Internet and you tube were non-existent, and apart from the radio with its wet and dry batteries we had to rely almost entirely for our news on the newspapers of the day.

At seven years of age, I was a huge fan of Curly Wee and Gussie Goose and RiP Kirby in the Irish Independent and Mutt and Jeff in the Evening Herald.

I even studied the advertisements, particularly at Christmas when all manner of goodies I knew I could never have tantalised my young and fertile imagination.

To this day, I believe there is far more fun in looking forward to someday having what you want than actually having it.

And what’s seldom is wonderful, which is probably just as well in the times in which we live!

Funny, but though we kids at Scoil Albhe Primary School were reluctant to learn history and geography we quite enthusiastically embraced history in the newspapers, and I can still picture the tanks crossing over the bridges of Budapest during the 1956 Hungarian Uprising.

And I vividly recall the photographs of the Munich Air Crash and tales of the Busby Babes of Manchester United.

It was a snowy and cold night in Thurles as my brothers and I listened attentively to Radio Eireann that night.

I am still a Man U fan!