Sean and ‘Himself’

By Glenn

Sean OReilly is a wee Irishman who loves just three thingssleeping, two Irish ?ngers of liquid refreshment, and telling tales about the adventures of Sean and Himself, an eight-inch-tall leprechaun with an infectious grin and amicable nature that hide his cunning and crafty side. After Sean captures Himself, he soon realizes he just needs one thing to make his life completethe pot of gold the tiny leprechaun possesses.

Like Sean, Himself loves to natter over times that were, are, and have yet to be, but of all the wee folk, Himself is the most industrious as he toils making fairy shoes. The gold he receives is stored in a large crocka vessel that every mortal is after, including Sean. For centuries, mankind has coveted the gold, and each time, Himself has bested the mortal men. Known for his sneaky ways and vivid imagination, Himself is not about to give up easily and will ?ght tooth and nail to keep his treasure.

As Sean and Himself embark on one unforgettable journey after another, a friendship between two adversaries comes alive, bringing each more joy than they ever could have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462016938

Glenn

Glenn is a Canadian who has written poetry since the eighth grade. Now a widower, he had the honour of marrying two of the finest women on earth. Before settling on railroading as a lifelong career, he had many different occupations. He currently lives in Ontario, Canada.

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Contents

The First Meeting

The Pink-Striped Rocks

The Badger

She That Must Be Obeyed

The Black Stallion

Save The Kitten

Removing The Badger

Believe In The Wee Folk

The Noaug

Caught In A Web

In A Dream

The Cattle Boat To Canada

The Irish North–South Problem

The Irish Potato Famine

The Hunting Dog And ‘Himself’

Floating Gold

Irish Wolfhound And ‘Himself’

Beware Of What You Wish

In Search Of ‘Himself’

How I Met ‘Himself’

Golden Windows

The Irish Giant

An Unusual Rainbow

The Currach

The Dragon Of Wales

A Pot Of Gold

Saving ‘Himself’ From A Cat

Is Santa Irish?

Fish, Fish, And More Fish

The Norse Trolls

The Gold Coin Mystery

A Question Needs An Answer

The Return Of The Noaug

A Moon Tale

Gold At Rainbow’s End

Thunder

The Unicorn

Council Road

The Stone Fences

The Winds

A Find

Old Sean Says, I Won!

The Meadow

Lover’s Moon

I Am Old

Introduction

Let me introduce you to Sean O’Reilly. He is a wee Irishman about five feet six inches tall (on tiptoe). He is a lovable, easygoing bit of humanity. Nothing is too much trouble for him unless it involves work. Sean constantly works harder at avoiding work than if he were to just roll up his sleeves and have at it. Of course, one must always remember that he has his image to live up to. He sports a slightly reddened nose bestowed upon him by his love of a poteen or any other alcoholic beverage. When his Irish temper is aroused, which seldom happens, he is better than several men.

There are three things that Sean loves: sleeping, a wee drop, and telling tales about the adventure of Sean and ‘Himself’, the leprechaun. In the local pub, Sean will relate these tales in exchange for whatever happens to be passing over the bar or is being sipped by his mates. It must be pointed out that the definition of a wee drop is an Irish two fingers. To show what an Irish two fingers is (and how it differs from other two fingers), one places the tip of the little finger at the bottom of the tallest glass available and stretches the index finger as far up the glass as possible. The glass is then filled to that point. When one of these, or any portion of one of these, is placed in front of Sean, the tales of ‘Himself’ flow as freely as the fluid in the glass.

All gather around when Sean starts the telling. It makes it easier on your purse if all join in and supply that which lubricates the vocal cords of Sean. Now, ‘Himself’ is not to be confused with anyone but an eight-inch-high leprechaun. Sean would never speak the name of ‘Himself’, even if he knew it, out of love and respect. He constantly warns all to be sure and tip their hat while mentioning anything about ‘Himself’. Over many years Sean and ‘Himself’ have become as one. No one in the village speaks of one without due notice given to the other. ‘Himself’ is not someone Sean dreamed up. Oh no. His grandfather (Grandpa, as Sean called him) told many a story of ‘Himself’ and others any time the young lad came around for a visit.

The formative years of Sean as a youth were filled with these wondrous tales and adventures. Wide-eyed and hanging on every word would best describe the impact on Sean of the stories spun by Grandpa. Tell me more, Sean would say after the finish of an exciting episode. Another time, Grandpa would say. The youth of Sean passed away as he grew into manhood, carrying with him the delightful stories spun by his grandfather. With his acquired ability to see and speak to the wee folk, and most of all to ‘Himself’, the stories of Sean grew to vast numbers. So often, in later years, did Sean tell these stories that he did truly believe them to be true.

In later years, Sean married a lovely woman. He called her, with great affection, She That Must Be Obeyed. Try as she would to make him over, nothing could change his ways. This confrontation of love made Sean feel secure and needed. Often when out of earshot of She That Must Be Obeyed did Sean confess to ‘Himself’. Such a lovely woman that ever God put breath into. She is my sun by day and my moon and stars by night. Her raven-coloured locks belie her fierce temper when I run afoul of her wishes. A better woman none could find. I would be lost without the likes of her.

As for ‘Himself’, well ‘Himself’ is a leprechaun eight inches high with a red beard and hair. He wears a green jacket with tux-like tails, green trousers, black shoes, and gold buckles. His infectious grin and amicable nature hide his cunning and crafty side. ‘Himself’ is quick and agile, which belies the fact that he is several centuries old.

Like Sean, ‘Himself’ loves to natter over times that were, are, and are yet to be. To ease the dryness of his throat, nothing pleases ‘Himself’ more than a bit of Irish Mist (the drinking kind) or any other beverage of a like nature. Of all the wee folk, ‘Himself’ is the most industrious—making shoes for them-uns, the other wee folk. The gold he receives is stored away in a large crock. It is this crock that all mortals, including Sean, are after.

And so it is that Sean and ‘Himself’ try to best one another. Sean has many times caught ‘Himself’, usually to be outwitted before he lays hands on the leprechaun’s gold. When one is in trouble, the other will come to his aid. By the by, there was one time ‘Himself’ almost had enough good deeds to his credit that he could have returned to heaven from whence he came—but that is another story you will learn about later as you read on.

The First Meeting

The moonbeams fell softly on the earth. A gentle, quiet calm lay upon the trees and streams. Close by, deep in the arms of Morpheus, was Sean. The grass was a lovely, soft bed. The gentle breeze through the trees sang a familiar, ancient lullaby.

By a large maple, a glow grew until it became a brilliant light, changing the immediate surrounding area into the brightest of days. Within the glow a soft tapping was heard. The young man, who had been overpowered by too much poteen, roused from his induced sleep. His eyes widened in disbelief. He recalled the many tales his grandpa told to him as a young lad. Sean heard the tapping, but the light was so brilliant he could not see the source of the noise. Sean sat listening in silence, frozen in place, while his brain raced. Be calm, man, and think, he said mentally, in a mind altered by several drinks too many. He minded the time his grandfather used to spin tales of pooka, the wee folk, and of ‘Himself’. Grandpa had often said, When God threw the devil and his followers out of heaven, there were those whose sins brought them to the surface of the earth—halfway, as it were, between heaven and hell. Being neither good nor bad, they had to live among mere mortals. Here they were locked until they acquired enough good deeds to lift the weight of sin from their feet, allowing them to float back up to heaven. To strengthen the comings and goings, Grandpa would continue, Often as the winds whisper through the pines, if you listen with great care, you can hear the farewell song of those leaving for heaven. In order to accomplish these good deeds and be able to return, they were given certain powers over mortals who lived on the earth—sometimes even wishes that could be transferred to mortals under given conditions.

That’s it! he cried without even saying the words. The memory of Grandpa’s voice filled in the instructions: Catch the leprechaun. Hold on to it no matter what happens. Get his gold. Spit on it so that it will not disappear. As a young lad, Sean had absorbed these tales just as a sponge soaks up water, and now he remembered what his grandfather had instructed should he ever have the good fortune to come across a leprechaun. He remembered!

Squinting, he crept closer to the source of the light. He saw a little fellow about three-quarters of a foot high. His back was turned to Sean as he busied himself with the task of making fairy shoes. Sean recalled that, of all of the wee folk, leprechauns were the only ones that did any kind of physical labour. The fairies preferred dancing and having a good time, wearing out their shoes with the constant dancing.

Sean inched forward to be within reach of the leprechaun. With a very firm grip about the waist, Sean held the leprechaun in his hand. What a squeal ‘Himself’ gave! The first words out of Sean’s mouth were, I’ve got you. I will have your pot of gold for your release.

Crying with great big tears, ‘Himself’ begged for his release. Would you but take pity on such a poor old creature as I am? questioned ‘Himself’, his voice all a-quiver. There are many hereabouts that depend on me for their shoes. If you were to take all of my gold, how would I purchase supplies?

Sean would have none of it. A right good act, replied Sean. You well know what I’m after, so quit the nonsense and hand it over.

A fountain of tears unceasingly flowed as ‘Himself’ continued his pity-poor-me ploy. Could we but bargain and at least let me keep one half? sniffed ‘Himself’ as he wiped up tears on his sleeve.

Your gold for your release? It is plain as that, was Sean’s response.

Pleading would not work, ’twas plain to see. The leprechaun changed into a hideous creature, snarling and biting in every direction. Long sharp teeth were displayed as the creature curled back its lips with eyes that offered violence should anyone cross it. A tongue flicked out, trying to reach and lick the face of Sean, as if it wanted to taste him before it bit into him. Sean held fast. ‘Himself’ tried more changes in forms—fearsome, pleasant, and winsome—which would make the mind reel. Sean continued his firm grip. Give over, said Sean. You’ll have no release unless I receive your gold.

Finally and in desperation, ‘Himself’ returned to the little person he truly was and offered Sean a jug of poteen. To prove it no trick, ‘Himself’ took a long pull out of the magical jug, smacked his lips, and described such a delicious drink no mortal poteen-loving man could ever possibly refuse.

Would you not take just one sip? offered ‘Himself’. It is not friendly to refuse the kind offer that I give, he reasoned.

Now Sean would never think of insulting anyone by refusing a wee drop in friendship or for any other reason that you could think of.

I’ll accept your kind offer, but I want no tricks. Taking the jug in his free hand and with one eye still on ‘Himself’, Sean took a sip. And a better drink of poteen was never made by man, said Sean.

Drink! The likes of this may never pass your lips again, said ‘Himself’. He placed the jug upon his shoulder, and his lips caressed the mouth of the jug. The fluid splashed forth as Sean eyed the jug in anticipation of the marvellous taste.

Water! Sean thought at first he was poisoned, for since he was a babe, water had not passed his lips. His eyes turned toward ‘Himself’, still in Sean’s firm grip. The blackheart had changed into an inoffensive stick. Sean forgot for an instant the whiles of the leprechaun. Disgustedly Sean spit out the evil taste of the water and cursed the wind for the dastardly trick played upon him. He cast the stick into the bush and called, ’Twas a terrible thing to do to such a kindly soul such as I.

The bush into which Sean had thrown the stick moved, and ‘Himself’ laughed saying, For all of these many years mankind has coveted my gold, and each time I have bested all of you mortal men! Perhaps we will meet again someday.

All was silent. Sean mumbled and headed home on legs that struggled to keep him erect.

The Pink-Striped Rocks

Days later, Sean O’Reilly was carrying home his usual full load of poteen. The road was a footpath none too wide for him. He staggered from side to side, using the whole width of it. In these conditions, it always took Sean many more miles to get home than if he could just walk straight. Singing an old Irish song as the sun slid beyond the horizon, he let the whole world within earshot know what a grand and glorious day had just passed. I say singing, but those who heard it would say that his singing would put the wailing of the banshee to shame. Nevertheless, in bliss and harmony with both Sean and O’Reilly, he was headed home.

Sean O’Reilly’s habit of carrying on a two-sided conversation was well known. Between songs, he carried on an argument from both sides. Actually, one side of the argument was carried on by Sean, while the other half was upheld by O’Reilly, his other self. One of the beauties of arguing with yourself, according to Sean, is that no matter which side wins, you end up on the winning side. Never you mind about the other side! That side of the argument does not matter, Sean would argue.

Do you suppose we will ever meet up with ‘Himself’ again? questioned Sean.

I am of a mind that says we will, responded O’Reilly.

And just what makes you believe you have a mind? queried Sean.

It’s better than the one you have. I would not have thrown ‘Himself’ away, stick or not, O’Reilly dug.

Just what do you mean? Woo-hoo! In the midst of a most important point, his feet began to flutter and he landed in the gutter.

Gathering his wits about him and ignoring his other half, he noticed from his low vantage point a rustle in the shrubs close by. Sure ’tis a fine rabbit to make a fine meal, and on top of that She That Must Be Obeyed will think kindly of me, he thought.

Crawling quietly to the bush, he lunged at the movement’s source. He felt something within his grasp. Out it came. Sean’s eyes never were as wide, for lo and behold, it was none other than ‘Himself’ he had in his clutches. Now I’ve got you! This time I’ll have your gold and not be tricked out of it.

The leprechaun, all choked up, relayed to Sean how hurt he was that Sean should mistrust him.

Hold your blarney! I will have none of it. I will have your pot of gold! stated Sean in a very firm manner. To speak so made Sean feel very good and proud.

‘Himself’ changed into a most fearsome dragon. Flame shot out of its mouth that was so hot one could have toasted marshmallows. Thick clouds of choking smoke followed. Sean held on. Other creatures did ‘Himself’ try, yet Sean held on! Finally, a menacing snake appeared, its large poisonous fangs all prepared to strike Sean. Saint Patrick chased the snakes out of Ireland many a good year ago, so behave yourself and hand over the pot of gold. I fear you not, said Sean.

Seeing naught but capture, ‘Himself’ gave in. Could you but leave me one coin of my gold? You being a fair man and all, ‘Himself’ asked of Sean in a most heartrending voice.

"Now I’ll have none of that. Do you take me for a fool? Should I leave you one coin, all will join it regardless of