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he saw where he might hire a bicycle, so he did. Before long he was out into thecountryside and making for the Wicklow Hills.After a day of wild and desolate views with streams and waterfalls and fieldsscattered with granite stones, Esson cycled into a sizeable village. Here he soon founda pub where he might stay the night.The season at the Abbey began the following night. Nothing would be lost inhis search for heroes and strong women, the kind whose passions clashed in thoseplays Yeats had made, and Synge and Lady Gregory."Well now," said the pUblican, after he had shown Esson his room, "It's goingto be a raw evening. What can I get you?"Esson wasn't much of a drinker but he was well aware that if anything boundtogether England, Ireland and Australia it wasn't law or language or the king. Itwas liquor and he ordered a whiskey.It was the first of several that night. Throughout the evening he had longdiscussions with many a hero and at least one angry man but never so much asonce did he find one woman to talk to - and in this, Ireland was very like Australia.After some time Esson noticed that the pUblican seemed to have retired and leftthe care of the bar to his twelve year old son and the boy's slightly elder sister. Thetwo of them kept the liquor flowing right up to closing time and after. What theexact time was Esson could not have told other than by the caesura in the generalconversation and a momentary obeisance to the clock on the wall. Then into thecrowded room stumbled a gangling man, either simple or drunk; Esson thought both."Well, look who's here," said the publican's kid. "It's Paddy Joe. What's it to bePaddy Joe?"Paddy Joe searched the room for an answer and found none in the number .ofpeople looking at him now with good natured amusement or genial contempt."I want a whiskey," said Paddy Joe."A whiskey is it Paddy Joe? And what is it you're going to pay me with? Hasyour inheritance come at last?"The bar roared."I have the money," said Paddy Joe, managing to get the words out."I've no doubt you have Paddy Joe. And if you're not a wise man for wantingto spend it, I'd be a fool for not seeing it first."Again the room was delighted. Someone's wild laughter had turned to a cough.Another was stamping his foot on the floor. Paddy Joe held up one hand to quietenthe bar and plunged the other into his trouser pocket. Then he could not get it out.No amount of tugging or tearing would release the hand trapped in the pocket. Thekid drummed his fingers on the bar with a simulated impatience and then, withperfect timing, turned to the house and said:"I do hate the sight of a man taken in drink."Pandemonium!"Whisht!" shouted his sister by the door, "MacNamara's coming.""Who?" asked Esson."The police, that's who," said the kid. "Everyone in the back room and not a peepout of you.""But I'm a resident," protested Esson. "I'm here for the night.""Do as you're told," said the kid, "and be quick about it."The girl was scampering around the room sweeping up the glasses.In seconds the entire company had drawn Esson on the tide into the back room.They all stood in the dark, scarcely breathing. In the bar the kid opened the doorto the wet November night."Good evening sergeant," said the kid. "Won't you come in?""I will indeed," said the policeman.WESTERLY, No.2, JUNE, 1989 43