Leitrim Publican Reflects on 64 Years Behind the Bar

After 64 years behind the bar at Fitzpatrick’s Pub in Mohill, Val Fitzpatrick poured his final pint last December. Since arriving in Mohill in 1960, Val has witnessed the town and the pub business transform dramatically.

“When I arrived in this town, there were 25 bars, and every one of them was doing a bit of business,” Val recalls. “Mohill was a lively spot back then, with fairs held every month—a cattle fair and a pig fair. The cattle were on the fair green, and the pigs out on the street,” he says, painting a picture of a bustling town with horses and carts.

“In those days, people came into town to drink, not to eat,” Val continues. “Today, it’s the opposite—they eat a lot when they come to town and drink very little.”

Val remembers when Mohill was the place to be. “Mohill was a popular town, bigger than Carrick-on-Shannon. Carrick was a dead town at that time, but Mohill was absolutely booming.” A major blow to the town was the closure of Quinn’s hardware store. “You could buy anything in Quinn’s,” Val says. “It was the biggest hardware store in the West of Ireland, and it brought a lot of people into the town.”

“Today, the public house business has been killed by bureaucracy,” Val says bluntly. “Back when I opened up in 1960, there was no VAT. It came in later as a turnover tax at 2.5%. Now it’s 23%. And the letters—letters every day from the taxman, the license man, bills piling on top of bills. The ESB bill in town now is enormous. I had only an ordinary pub here, not a big hotel or anything, and I was paying over a thousand euros every two months. And if you had a band, even two lads ripping out a fiddle, you need an IMRO license.

The smoking ban and COVID-19 also dealt blows to the pub trade. “COVID was no help at all,” he says. “And the smoking ban, well, I know people never returned after that came in. But I’d be in favour of the ban myself—I often couldn’t see the door with the smoke.”

Val also reflects on the impact of emigration. “Many a bachelor stayed behind to look after his mother when everyone else had left or died,” he explains. “Those old bachelors used to come into town for a bottle of stout, maybe ten, twice a week. But as they died off, fewer and fewer people were coming into town.”

The catchment area for Mohill stretched from places like Cornageeha, Dromad, and Drumlish down to Keshcarrigan. “Publicans depended on them coming in,” Val says. “But over time, as more people started getting caught for drink driving, fewer risked the trip into town. They started going to small, isolated country pubs instead,” he says. “And those pubs are doing a roaring trade. When the guards set up a checkpoint, word spreads quickly, and everyone becomes cautious,” Val explains. “It’s almost impossible to get caught if you take the old boreen back roads.”

The rise of drinking at home, especially since COVID, is another change Val has noticed. “The government talks about cutting down on drinking, but then they allow cheap drinks in supermarkets while it’s expensive in the pubs. So what happens? People drink at home. You’ve got lads sitting in their armchairs with cans around their feet, and that’s what the youngsters see, and they go the same way. It’s not good.”

Val is also concerned about the safety of his customers. “A publican has a responsibility to take a man’s keys if he’s had too much, but you can’t do that if he’s drinking at home or in an apartment. They go out unsupervised, and that’s where accidents happen.”

“If you were standing outside that supermarket at Christmas, you’d see trolley after trolley of drinks being carted away. Back when I started, all that drink was bought in the pub. And you know, despite having fewer cars back then, there were a lot fewer accidents. People might argue there are more cars now, but the telegraph poles and ditches have always been there.”

Val’s final thoughts on the future of town pubs are tinged with melancholy. “I never saw much trouble. I don’t think there’s any need to clamp down so harshly and keep people locked up at home in the house, with the cow lowing in the window over the ditch at them.”

Despite the challenges, Val speaks with warmth about his years in the pub. “I miss the craic, the laughing, the jokes with good customers and friends. There were great times and nice people—decent people. I miss that.”