Tommy Tiernan

The King of the Road

Iknew a man one time who used to climb mountains in the dark, his aim being to reach the top by sunrise. He used to do it, he said, for the people that couldn’t. You know, for people on the broad of their backs in hospital in Dublin who would dream of climbing a hill in the west — he did it for them.

I was driving around Leitrim once, out of Manorhamilton and on me way to Kiltyclogher — the glamour of it — and I saw this guy hitching by the side of the road. He looked like a farmer, a clean-cut bachelor from out the road, so I swung in and opened the door for him. He looked tidy enough, and was holding a white plastic bag. “Where are you going?” I asked. “The Ballinamore cross,” he said. “C’mon in so.” We got chatting about this and that and he kept repeating the phrase, “It takes all types of creatures to make a world, doesn’t it?” I agreed with him. He spoke gently. We came to the cross, and I said I could go further with him if he wanted, and he said, “OK, OK. Maybe you could take me into Ballinamore and I’ll get out there”.

He was vague when I asked him where he was off to. Maybe Belturbet. Right. Maybe. “Is that where you live?” I said. “No. No.” “Where are you from?” “Claudy” “Where’s that?” “Oh, Derry.” “Is that where you live?” “No. No.” “Where do you live?” “I don’t live anywhere, I suppose.” And, over the next few miles, I was enchanted.

“I lived in houses once upon a time, but houses don’t suit everybody, do they? Some people is just not for settling. I worked in America and I got back. I spent 25 years hitching the 32 counties, and now I go by bus or do a bit of hitching. I might stay in a hostel in Belturbet tonight, and then I might go to Enniskillen tomorrow. There’s a bus at 11. And then I might go to Belfast, and then I might go to Dublin. I meet the loveliest people. Some fellas would be homeless because of the drink and they’re so nice, but the drink just got the better of them, isn’t that right? And I seen a lot of them die, the loveliest of people. It takes all types o’ people to make a world, doesn’t it? I don’t drink myself, I like pubs. Pubs is different now. No one will talk to you. People sit in their own end of the bar, and there are lots of young people, and they don’t like to be talking to you. I used to like to sing a song, but nowadays ye’d get thrown out for singing, wouldn’t ya? I never had much time for the women. Ah, I seen people at home and the faces on them. I seen what it done to them, you know, being married. Some people is just not for settling. He asked me what I did. “And there’ll be lots of people there tonight, will there? Very good, very good. And do you tell jokes?” “Kinda,” I said. “Stories.” “Oh yes.” We pulled into Ballinamore. “What’s your name?” I said. “My name is John.” I shook his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

He looked out the window and then half at me.“Maybe you’ll tell them a story about me tonight, about John.” And he started laughing at the thought if it.“The King of the Road. Tell ’em you met the King of the Road!” And then he was gone. Isn’t there hope for the country with people like that in it? He should be an option for young fellas doing the Leaving Cert. A wild option, for sure. No guidance teacher ever said to a child: “Would you not consider just hitching? You know, I’m not sure the maths is suiting ya.”

What struck me most about him was his cleanliness. Not just his physical cleanliness, but the cleanliness of everything he was and talked about. Fresh-air clean, flower clean; man as he is meant to be clean. He wasn’t dirtied by debt or his intentions toward others. He was both going with the flow and against the grain at the same time. He was so easy and humble.

It’s a priesthood of sorts, isn’t it? A holy man with all the burden of holiness taken off him, just riding the rail, breathing the air. I tried it myself once. I was 16 and didn’t want to go back to school.

“What’ll you do?” my father asked.

“I’ll just walk around chatting and being nice to people,” I said.

He gave it a beat and then played his masterstroke: “OK.”

I chickened out, like part of him hoped I would. The dream of it never left me though. So John, King of the Road, wherever you may be, you’re hardly reading this, but I just wanted to say something to you on behalf of all of us who would love to but can’t...

Thanks.