Mickie Daly's Diary
01.04.2008
When I identify myself as a Columban priest in parishes, almost all people who come to speak to me after Mass comment on Mickie Daly's Diary. How much they loved Mickie. Here is a short extract from Mickie Daly's Diary.
Fr G. Walker, Editor 2008
1st May 1953
Wensday
I got a chance to prove to the boys I can ride. A man rode up to school just as I was going in the gate. He had to look over some work being done in the Kinder. The workmen generally come in cars or trucks; but strange to say, this man rode a horse. It was a very hansom looking horse and very gentil-looking.
"Let me hold him, Mister - please," I said.
"Do you like horses, sonny?" he said.
"Yes," I answered.
"So do I," the man said with a nice smile.
"My uncle has horses. This is a fine looking horse,"
I said.
"Yes," the man agreed, "The Duke is a good looker. He's very gentle. Well, take the rains. He's very quiet. I'll be back in a couple of minits."
The man went away and there I stood making friends with The Duke and shooing the kinders up to their own gate. Along comes Croftie and then Dacey and a few others sawntered up.
"Ride to school today, Daly," grinned Croftie.
"Bute horse" someone else said.
"Old moke," said Dacey. "Quiet as a sheep. I wouldn't be seen on it."
"You wouldn't and you won't," said I. "You don't know how to mount a horse, Dacey. If you did manidge to skrambil up you'd probably fall over the other side."
"Let's see how you can ride," sneared Tomiss.
"The man didn't say I culd get up," I said.
Dacey grinned in a tantillizing manner. Then he larfed mockingly. "You are afrade to get on the quiet old moke."
"I'd like to get up but I'd have to get the owner's permishin," I said as quietly as I could, but I was seathing with anger.
"You're afrade to get up," jeared Dacey.
Just then the man came back. "Thanks, son" he said and then to my sirprize and delite he added, "Would you like to have a little trot up the street and rownd the block?
In a flash I was on The Duke's back. "Oh thank you,"
I said, "this is good-o." The boys gave a cheer (I bet Dacey's voice wasn't in it.) and away we went. The Duke had a lovely ackshin. It was like sitting in a rocking chair. I rode rownd the block and back to the gate. Now I won't say positively that Dacey did it on purrpuss (but I think a good bit) but just as we pulled up, Dacey drew his hangkerchif out of his pokit and flapped it - pretending it was a flag. It fritened The Duke. No wunder - the hangkerchif was close to his hed. Away we went. Forchinately I was holding the rains and I did not fall off. The Duke soon got over his frite and we turned and came back. The horse's owner had given Dacey a wurd of advice about being carefull not to friten horses - even quiet ones.
Dacey should have had more sence (that's if he flapped the hangkerchif on purrpuss. I'd better not rash judj him. Maybe he did not.) I thort I saw two or three of the Sisters near the hall windo. If one happened to be Sister Pawl I would have got into trubble, I suppose.
The boys prazed my handling of The Duke. Not Dacey as you mite gess. Dacey said, "The Duke is a wodden horse." Jellissy! The green-eyed monstir.
My mother looked alarmed when I told her the story of my ride. "Michael," she said, "a stranj horse! You should not have got up. It's different at your uncle's with the boys to watch you."
"Yes Mum," I said. My father and I eckschanged
a look of understanding. Ladies are nervis. We said no more about The Duke.
Editors Note: The mis-spelt words are from Mickie Daly's own hand.
Read Kath Boyles ''The Life and Times of Mickie Daly''
Or
