Prodigal has his back shed full to the gills of
the finest timber, acquired at a very competitive cost price. They say you can
always have enough firewood but you can never have too much. As caretaker to
Newcastle Forest I have access to 800 acres of trees but my recent history with
my boss has been less than harmonious so I had to get a little devious. Not
like me but anything is better than perishing at the hob or even worse paying
for winter warmth.
My boss is one Pat Brady, a curious man. He has
a slight, gaunt appearance which reminds me of a human sized elf. But then
again he is a native of Elphin in County Roscommon whose history is populated
equally by clergymen, saints and fairies including Queen Maebh who was a very
loose woman having a clatter of husbands and several sires on the side. Maebh
had seven sons and gave them all the same name, Maine. The word still exists in
the area but with a different spelling.
Pat is one of the head honchos in Coillte, the
State Forestry Enterprise. Very clever on the ground, his loyalty is divided
equally between his own interests and those of the company. Those who know him
a lot better than I do, tell me that his friendship is always conditional on
reading from his manual and he doesn’t appear to have a large fan club. Then
again, neither have I. If Mr Brady has a weak spot it’s perhaps his reluctance
to develop correspondence on any issue and this explains his longevity with the
company and his gradual elevation to a senior position. If you write it down
subsequent denial can be tricky.
In a previous encounter Pat and yours truly
crossed swords over a deposit of timber which was left on site after drainage
works by the Office of Public Works. I always had some latitude on the issue of
what could be classified as non-commercial timber. That latitude amounted to
gathering up this stuff to prevent an unsuspecting girl guide from tripping
over it and cutting her shin. Pat thought I was doing too well from this
windfall and convinced a third party to purchase this little logjam.
After this episode relations cooled a bit and
have been on a semi cordial but suspicious footing ever since. Until now. The
nice men from the Board of Works left another cache of timber on the far side
of the Inny River which I have been minding for some time now. Ash and sycamore
and plenty of it. How to collar same without getting Pats hackles up. The way
to do it is to put a proposition to the man in which he can see some advantage
for himself. The philosophy is always the same; appeal to either his vanity or
his greed. In his case the latter is the stronger. I suggested in a monthly
report that the afore mentioned timber was now ready for removal as it had
seasoned sufficiently and the access roads, which are mainly dirt track, had
dried out sufficiently to recover the timber without unnecessary damage to the
roadways. I indicated, of course that I would accommodate his plans for the
timber in whatever way I could. Bingo. He called me back and suggested that
there was plenty of timber there for both of us. I avowed my unending gratitude
at this benevolent gesture.
Pat, as indicated, collected his timber and left
enough for me to keep those unkind winter breezes at bay. I shall be forever
grateful!
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