The night Cork showband legend Joe Mac landed me in bother with the law!

We have featured before now readers’ memories of the time when every pub was firmly closed on Good Friday, and a pint couldn’t be had for love nor money.

Correspondents have revealed dodges like trekking out to the suburbs, where the black stuff might be handed out a back window, or even gatecrashing a visiting Welsh rugby tour in the city’s Victoria Hotel.

We were enchanted, therefore, to receive this truly wonderful story from Tom Cronin, whose family owned the Park Hotel on the Lower Road, opposite the railway station, back in the 1950s.

“I stumbled on your piece on the Green Door this morning, and read it with great delight, as it brought back many lovely memories of growing up in Cork,” said Tom.

“I pottering around your garden on Summerhill many years ago with my classmate (your brother Tommy) in pursuit of his pet tortoise!” he tells me!

(Important note from said brother Tommy: “Yes, the tortoise was called Terry.”)

Tom Cronin continues: “We are living in happy retirement in Spain since we sold our hotel - the Blue Haven, Kinsale - many years ago. I am sending you an episode from my childhood that I thought you might enjoy.

I was barely 12 years old when I had my first run in with ‘The Law’. It happened on the evening of a Good Friday, one of the two days in the year when licensed premises were obliged to remain closed (the other being Christmas Day).

“Some publicans flouted the law by accommodating some of their more regular customers for a couple of hours during the morning, by allowing the back door access to the premises in question. My mother, Rose Cronin, who was a very law-abiding person, never did.

“It has never ceased to amaze me over my many years in the catering business how some people can develop a desperate thirst on such occasions and will apply the most ingenious methods. Something to do with eating forbidden fruit I daresay.

“On the Good Friday in question - 1955 or thereabouts - I was ensconced with my three younger sisters, Rosemary, Angela and Patricia, in the drawing room of our small family hotel, the Park View on the Lower Glanmire Road.

“It had been a bitterly cold and wet day and we were gathered cosily around a crackling coal fire. Those were the pre-television days and board games such as Monopoly were in full swing.

“My mother, who was suffering the after-effects of a bout of flu, had decided to retire early that night. ‘I’ll take a hot water bottle and a lemon drink and some aspirin,’ she said, ‘and whatever you do, don’t open the front door to anybody’.

“Our board game was well advanced when we heard the familiar jangle of the front door bell,” recalls Tom. “The drawing room overlooked the Lower Road.

“Peering down from the first floor window, I could just make out the familiar figure of Joe Mac huddled in the shelter of our doorway. 

"We saw a lot of Joe in those days as The Dixies were the resident band in the Arcadia Ballroom which aded the hotel.

“Joe was regarded as a first class drummer and also a bit of a character by the many fans who flocked to the ballroom each weekend.

“He was ing a small figure wearing an old mackintosh coat and a cloth cap, who turned out to be his father, a bit the worse for wear. ‘Is Denis there?’ came the shout from Joe Mac on the doorstep.

"Now, let me explain here that Denis was my older brother, who was very much the man of the house in place of my father and grandfather, both of whom had died some years earlier.

“Even though he was still attending school, Denis helped our mother run the public bar on busy nights and over weekends. That was something I was allowed to do too as I grew older and when Denis was away at boarding school.

“However before I reached that stage, my job was to take up position inside the front door of the hotel, which was closed each evening at 10pm. 

During the two hours that followed, the ‘Bona Fide’ Law came into play whereby would-be customers who had over-nighted at least three miles away from the premises on the previous night were permitted access to licensed premises.

“The knock at the front door would be followed by my asking ‘who’s there?’, to be answered by ‘Traveller’. In many cases, the ‘traveller’ would often be somebody well known to us as a regular customer but in those cases a blind eye was of course turned.

“The ‘Bona Fide’ hours were invariably the busiest two hours of the day!”

Back to the story...

Tom continues: “That night in question, Denis is up in St Mary’s at the Altar Boys, so I responded to Joe Mac: ‘They’re practising for Easter Sunday.’

“‘Come down a minute so, Tom,’ came the reply. ‘I have a small problem and need to talk to you’.

“I could hear my mother coughing as I crept along the landing past her bedroom. We had been warned not to open the front door to anyone, but, never one to resist a challenge, and also because I was curious as to the nature of Joe’s problem, I descended to the ground floor and opened the front door a fraction.

“‘It’s me Dad,’ said Joe. ‘He’s not feeling too well. A drop of whiskey will steady him up.’

“‘I’d be killed Joe,’ sez I. ‘My mother’s gone to bed and left me in charge. She’d murder me if I left anybody in.’

“‘Ah sure we don’t want to come it at all,’ said Joe. ‘Just wrap us up a naggin of Paddy to take away and we’ll leave you in peace. I won’t pay you till tomorrow so it wouldn’t be like you’re breaking the law.’

Not being an expert on the Licensing Laws, I couldn’t see too much harm in that.

Tom continued to recount the events of that night around 1955.

“I said, ‘Stand in for a minute so, Joe, till I get the keys, but don’t make a sound. I don’t want to wake my mother.’

“Once I had the bar lights on, I could see from his appearance that Joe’s father didn’t need anything to steady him up. ‘Just find a paper bag and we’ll be out of here in a flash,’ says Joe.

“‘Joe,’ said I doubtfully, ‘I don’t think your dad needs any whiskey.’ ‘Ok boy,’ sez Joe, ‘but I’ll take a naggin of Paddy anyway in case he needs it during the night, and you might as well give me a few bottles of stout as well and two bottles of Club Orange for the kids.’

“Just as I was putting all this into a brown paper bag, the sound of thunderous knocking came at the front door. I had completely forgotten that the blinds on the bar window were open and we were perfectly visible to anybody out in the street.

“Then came the dreaded announcement from outside. ‘Guards on duty. Open the door.’

“I propelled the two men clutching the paper bag down the back corridor and left them in the back kitchen. By the time I got back to the front door, the two guards were furious. 

They had apparently followed my two hearties all the way down from the city on their quest for a drop of the hard stuff, and unfortunately we were the only premises to open for them. We were caught red-handed!

“‘Where are they?’ one large guard shouted, casting the beam of a large flashlight in all directions. I led them through a myriad of corridors to the back kitchen, but there was no sign of our drummer or his dad. The guards even searched the coal shed out in the back yard without sight or sign of the two visitors.

“Eventually, having searched several rooms, we arrived at the door of the drawing room on the first floor. An amazing sight was revealed as the two guards burst into the room, followed fearfully by me.

“There, in front of a blazing fire, was our drummer helping my three sisters with their homework. Joe had a penchant for wearing rather colourful sweaters and this evening was no different. He had discarded his overcoat and sported a jazzy sweater with the legend Dixielanders emblazoned on his chest. His old dad was snoring his head off in a nearby armchair. A scene of truly domestic bliss.

“The bliss didn’t last too long. ‘Where’s the drink?’ shouted one of the guards in a very threatening tone as he stood over Joe. ‘What drink?’ answered Joe, looking the picture of perfect innocence.

Well, after an extensive search, the naggin of whiskey and the six bottles of stout were located inside the piano, as were the two bottles of Club Orange. The game was up.

“Names and addresses were duly noted down in the summons book and the guards eventually took their leave, marching the two culprits ahead of them. ‘You’ll be hearing from us,’ one of the guards called back as I ushered them into the street.

“My mother had been awakened by all the commotion and I had to go in and confess all to her. She got terribly upset at the prospect of being prosecuted, the shame it would bring on the family, etc. and entreated me to go after the guards and beg for forgiveness.

“I eventually caught up with them on the steps of MacCurtain Street Garda Station but all the entreaties in the world couldn’t get them to change their mind and scrap the summonses.

“Some weeks later, my mother and I appeared in court and we received our first and only conviction for contravening the Licensing Laws. I that mum had us both dressed up for the occasion. I think the judge must have been in good humour that morning, or maybe he recognised the trivial nature of the offence. We received a fine of one shilling, but fortunately no endorsement on the precious licence.

“Our Mum was very relieved, apart from being ‘mortified’ from the shame of having to appear in court.

“Joe and his Dad were fined a pound each - I think mainly as they failed to turn up for the court appearance!

“Anyway, a nice cup of coffee and a plate of chocolate eclairs and some lemon meringue pie in our Aunty Betty’s Willow Pattern cafe in Pembroke Street worked wonders, and we both headed home for the Park View in much better form than we had left it some hours earlier.”

Well, isn’t that a great tale?

Of course we couldn’t leave it there, and immediately ed Joe Mac himself, still as lively as ever and appearing every Sunday night at Canty’s bar in Winthrop Street. He was delighted to hear the story.

“Ah, I that night well,” said Joe. “Doesn’t Brian Cronin always say he got a criminal record because of me and my dad! But being as it was Good Friday, you couldn’t get a drink anywhere those days. 

And if one thing was guaranteed to give you a fierce thirst, it was that Good Friday rule.

“Well, we went down the Lower Road, myself and my dad. We tried Moynihans pub, and then Handlebar’s, but no joy there. Then we went on to the Park Hotel and saw this tiny chink of light through the curtains so we hammered on the door. It took a bit of time, but one of the kids opened the door at last, and after a bit of persuasion we were in.

“But hardly were we inside, talking to the kids, when there was a fierce loud banging on the door and it was the gardaí! Hadn’t they been hiding over in the railway station, keeping an eye on all the pubs?

“Well, when Brian went out to answer the door, my dad thought pretty fast. ‘Quick now,’ he said to the girls, ‘get out your schoolbooks and we’ll let on we’re helping you with your homework.’

“They did that quick enough, and when the gardaí came in, it all looked very innocent. But it did us no good! They searched, and found the evidence, and we were all booked. I don’t know has Brian ever forgiven me!”

I think it’s safe to say he has, Joe!

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