A campfire. Singing and dancing. Pecker, wearing a hat is seated, drinking and enjoying himself. A red-haired girl, throws herself down beside Pecker. Soon they are laughing and cuddling..
PD: What’s your name?
MARY: Me name’s Mary. What’s yours?
PD: Arra, you can call me anything, so long as it’s not too early in the morning.
MARY: I like your hat. Where did you get it?
PD: Well, I’ll tell you now; I was buskin’ over in Dingle a few days ago and this fella said to me ‘I’ll give you two euros if you play a good tune for me’, so I said ‘give me four and I’ll play a better one’. I did, and he was so happy he said ‘play me another one now and I’ll give you me hat’. I did, and now I’m wearing it. ‘That’s a good hat now, look after it’, he said, ‘I paid 140 dollars for that hat in Australia’
MARY: Are you goin’ to wear it to Puck Fair?
PD: Begod I am. They might crown me King of The Fair tomorrow with that hat on me head. (the girl laughs, and Pecker says in an aside) I think I’m alright here.
MARY: Will you give me a dance at the fair?
PD: I surely will. I’ll even give you two for good measure. (he drags her to her feet) We’ll have a practice one now.
They dance close together for a moment. Suddenly there is a roar and a man jumps between them and shoves them apart.
MAN: That’s my wife, stranger. What do you say to that?
PD: A careless man and his wife are soon parted, that’s what I say. She needs controlling, man.
MAN: Well, if she does itself, I’m the one to do it.
He drags the girl away and shoves her to one side, then kicks out at Pecker and knocks him to the ground. Then he takes off his shirt and stands in the pose of a fighter, his bare fists raised. Someone shouts ‘clear a space’ as Pecker rises and takes off his shirt. He, too, raises his fists. They circle each other for a while, throwing punches and missing. Then Pecker connects with a wild swing to the head. His opponent goes down, pole-axed. He lays there not moving; someone comes up and tests for a pulse at the side of his neck.
MAN: There’s no pulse. I think he’s dead.
Pandemonium on the site for a few minutes. Screams and shouting. Then a police whistle is heard. A Guard Sergeant marches on and drags Pecker off.
Lights dim, then we see Pecker singing PORTLAOISE GAOL (c Pecker Dunne)
PD: For thirty years I’ve been a tinker, I’ve tramped the mountain and the glen I’ve courted girls in every county, and I’ve fought the very best of men I drank an awful lot of porter, I slept in sunshine, snow and gale But the life I loved was taken from me, when I spent two years in Portlaoise gaol.
Portlaoise gaol it was tamed the tiger – try, me boys, to get bail T’was many a heart was stopped inside – inside the walls of Portlaoise gaol.
I joined a camp outside Kilorglin, the night before they crowned the king There was song and dance and plenty porter, with our wagons formed around the ring Then a foxy lass sat down beside me, bedad says I, I’m alright here But her husband rose and leapt between us, and knocked me down with a kick in the ear I hit him hard below the navel,, he hit the ground with a might wail His neck was broke, he died in seconds, and I spent Puck Fair in Portlaoise gaol.
Portlaoise gaol it was tamed the tiger – try, me boys, to get bail T’was many a heart was stopped inside – inside the walls of Portlaoise gaol.
End of scene
The campsite. A man, a local farmer comes into view, in a temper.
MAN: Hey, ya pikey bastard, did you steal that bit of lead off the roof of my cowhouse the other day?
PD: I’ve been passing this way the last twenty years and the devil a bit of lead I ever saw on that roof. A few galvanised sheets, and they fallin down with the rust, but no lead.
MAN: I’ll call the Guards. I’ll get you moved on.
PD: They won’t find any lead here.
MAN: Well, if it wasn’t you it was them friends of your in that transit van.
PD: They weren’t friends of mine, whoever they were.
MAN: Well they were over from Rathkeale way then. That town is full of pikeys and knackers. They sold my wife a roll of carpet and when she unrolled it there was a big square missing in the middle.
PD: More fool her then. Is that what this is about? Someone sold your wife dodgy bit of carpet and you blame me for it. How do you know they were travellers? Maybe they were townies.
MAN: They were pikeys. Just like you.
PD: That’s not a very nice word. We’re travelling people, not pikeys.
MAN: Well you’re all tarred with the same brush, aren’t you? Steal anything that’s not nailed down, you lot would.
PD: Even invisible lead. How would it be if I called you a sod-buster or a cockie, or something else derogatory.
MAN: Look, why don’t up sticks and just head off. You know you’re not wanted around here.
PD: It’s still a free country – I think
. He sings a few verses from THE TRAVELLING PEOPLE ( (c) Ewan McColl)
PD: I’m a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and bye ways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered
Well we knew the woods and all the resting places
The small birds sang when winter time was over
Then we’d pack our load and be on the road
They were good old times for the rover
In the open ground where a man could linger
Stay a week or two for time was not your master
Then away you’d jog with your horse and dog
Nice and easy no need to go faster
And sometimes you’d meet up with other travellers
Hear the news or else swop family information
At the country fairs we’d be meeting there
All the people of the travelling nation
I’ve made willow creels and the heather besoms
And I’ve even done some begging and some hawkin’
And I’ve lain there spent rapped up in my tent
And I’ve listened to the old folks talking
All you freeborn men of the travelling people
Every tinker rolling stone and gypsy rover
Winds of change are blowing old ways are going
Your travelling days will soon be over
I’m a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and bye ways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered
My Writing Life 