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Having received a request from the organising committee for the re-union of Kingsland N.S. past pupils for an article to be included in its commemorative publication, I decided that a story recalling some of the exploits and later life of the late Barney Spellman might be a worthwhile contribution to such a Publication. 

Though I can't recall with certainty my first meeting with or recognition of Barney Spellman, I am fairly sure that it was on an occasion when he came to have dinner with us. (My mother had cooked a kid goat in her inimitable way and Barney, as he was affectionately known locally, liked to feast on unconventional meat, especially goat). 

As a child I recall on that occasion being fearful of him at first. His rather loud, strong voice emanating from his huge frame and broad craggy countenance had in the past and would in the future intimidate much less vulnerable souls. The great blackthorn stick which he carried as a walking aid did nothing to help my confidence either. Assured by mother that "there was nothing to be afraid of and that poor Barney needed it because the rheumatism had crippled his legs", I became mor e at ease. My fear of Barney was ill-founded, and I soon overcame it as I began to realise that he was quite friendly towards children who had manners.

From then on there was something about Barney that drew me to admire and empathise with him more and more. Once I was old enough to make the journey to Barney's about three quarters of a mile across the fields, I used to visit him almost daily and carry out chores for him, such as counting cattle, herding sheep, rounding up and milking goats, and above all stocking up timber and turf for the fire. Barney always liked a good fire. He claimed it helped his rheumatism along with the goat’s milk. The heat of the fire and the agility of the goat transferred through her milk he claimed, could only be beneficial to his ailment. This was quite unorthodox medical theory but then Barney was not given to being conventional. 

The great love of Barney's life was horses and from an early age right to the end he was involved with them and the horse fraternity in general. Through his wheeling and dealing in horses he met those whom he most valued as his friends; the late Bill Hanifin (of the travelling community), Peter Moran, and Fr. Mullaney. 

Like so many of his generation and indeed the generations before and after, his emigration became his lot in life, and he worked for many years in the United States. 

However, the collapse of the Stock Exchange on Wall Street in October 1929 heralded the Great Depression of the 1930's and the American dream of continuing prosperity ended for many including Barney. 

Having endured unemployment, hunger and life in flea ridden dosshouses, he decided to return home to Ireland. An aside to this homecoming gives us an insight into his native cunning on the one hand and his loyalty to his friend on the other.

Having booked his passage home, Barney decided to treat himself to a fine fur coat and so as to completely disguise the penury of his financial condition he purchased another similar coat for his friend Bill Hanifin. Barney was into using the royal "We" especially when describing a situation in which he put one over on the opposition. 

On his return home Barney soon established himself as the dominant figure in the homestead at Tournagee. His sister Katie departed to live in Boyle and Ned, his brother looked after the farm chores, while Barney occupied himself attending fairs all over Connacht dealing mainly in horses and carousing with his friends in the settled and travelling community. 

It was agreed that he was a good judge and handler of horses. He knew how to buy them and sell them profitably. Barney brought a lot of drama, excitement and entertainment into the art of buying and selling his horses, in particular. His imposing presence and dress were an attraction in themselves. High brown shiny boots and corduroy trousers, flashy shirt and tie under a Jacket and heavy grey or green frock overcoat or of course the fur coat paid for "by the mile". All this on his big broad-shouldered frame topped off by a brown J. R. Ewing style hat, made him stand out among his would-be peers for Barney had none on the horse fair. His broad, poker like face added to the attraction and menace of his presence and could be used to intimidate friend and foe alike if the needs of the deal demanded it. Come to think of it, Barney's character was not unlike J. R. Ewing and the horse-fairs were his oil wells. Here the comparison ends for Barney's humble abode at Tournagee was no match for Southfork.

Barney had the knack of buying or selling a horse down to a fine art. His loud, flamboyant style peppered with language that was not too polite at times, attracted the crowd and Barney revelled before such an audience as he wore down a seller or psychologically intimidated a buyer into his way of thinking on a deal. 

My most vivid recollection of Barney in action is from a horse fair in Boyle. It used to take place around the corner of where Rockingham Arms stood. Barney was buying a fine chestnut horse from a local farmer, and there was a big gap between the price being sought and what Barney was prepared to pay. Barney proceeded to examine the horse in detail and find faults where there were none. Then the horse was walked and trotted up and down outside the Royal Hotel before proceeding to the shambles for a trial under a horse-cart. Up until this the horse had done well but when under the cart for some reason which only Barney knew of; the horse shied and reared up. The owner could not explain this out of character behaviour, but Barney played on it for what seemed to be hours before getting his way and buying the animal at a bargain price. Looking back now it seems that Barney was able if given a reasonable length of time to mentally wear down a seller to take those few pounds less or a buyer to give a few pounds more to escape from what for them had become an ordeal. These men who only occasionally bought or sold a horse were no match for a hardened dealer like Barney and while he obviously enjoyed the crowd that his loud intimidating style of dealing attracted or at least found it useful to him in helping to break the opposition, they found the experience nerve wracking to the point where many of them caved in under the pressure. 

Meanwhile the house and farm at Tournagee were in decline; neglected by Barney, with Ned being unable to cope on his own. With the passing of Ned to his well-earned eternal reward matters did not improve. The constant round of fairs, wettings, perishing, all began to take their toll on Barney, who was well into his sixties by this time. His once great frame was now becoming increasingly bent and he could only shuffle along slowly aided by his great blackthorn walking stick which he used as a crutch and called "The Pole". By now the rheumatism had taken almost all the power out of his legs from the hips down and he had to abandon his lifestyle of the constant round of the fairs and horse dealing. Like Barney, the farm, horses and ponies reign of importance was slowly coming to an end; falling like so many other traditions to progress with the passing of time. The tractor was replacing the horse on the farm and the motor car was quickly replacing the horse drawn sidecars, traps and gigs on the roads of Ireland. Only among Barney's travelling friends did the horse manage for a time to put up a rear-guard action against advancing technology, only to succumb in the end and become almost entirely redundant as a beast of burden on the roads and farms of Ireland. 

It was around this time that I got directly involved in visiting him regularly and helping him. Up until ten my brother Thomas and Danny Campbell had been his right-hand men but when the rampant emigration of the fifties took them to England, I stepped into the breach and became more or less his "Man Friday". I did not live up to their standards at first and was told as much. However, beggars can't be choosers and he learned to put up with me and we got on well together after a while. 

By now Barney had to use modern farming parlance - diversified his farming enterprise. The horses were gone, all but one whom he called Napoleon. Never was such a fine name was wasted on such a middling horse, but he served Barney's purpose of pulling him around in the gig whenever the need arose. His first new livestock enterprise involved cattle breeding, so he bought a bundle of heifers and a bull and let them off. Between drownings in the bog-holes over in the bog and casualties owing to a bad winter this enterprise proved unprofitable and Barney decided to sell off what was left to cut his losses. 

I used to provoke him sometimes just to hear him using his foul invective against his pet hates, and he had a few. Barney was what we would call a lapsed Catholic nowadays. He did not like the institutional church or the pomp and ceremony that went with it. He questioned this in an age when such questioning was neither fashionable nor tolerated.

Barney wanted to settle his account with The Man Above all in one go, at the end. His horseman friend, Fr. Mullaney was to be called in at the last but not until then.

In the meantime, no prayers or intercession would move him to resume formal religious practice. As time went by Barney tried his hand with sheep and pigs but had no more success than he had with the cattle. He also got some breeding geese, but the fox attacked and killed or maimed some of them. Barney, disgusted with his luck, decided he was more entitled to eat the geese than the fox was, so I was instructed to kill what remained of them. My mother cleaned and cooked them for him and ·so he bested the fox, but his fowl enterprise ended. 

In the end he was down to his goats. They supplied him with milk. It was one of my main chores to round them up and milk them each evening.

On Fridays he would harness Napoleon, trace him to the gig and drive out to Kingsland Post Office to draw his pension. Then he would have a few drinks in Harrington's, do his shopping in Mahon's and come home again. This often coincided with the children coming home from school and Barney would load up the gig with everyone on our road, for a jaunt home. He. might buy some Bulls eyes to treat us and everyone would be delighted as we rolled along towards Tournagee, except Napoleon of course who struggled at times when he hit potholes and the overloaded gig was proving difficult to pull. Like his master, he had seen better days and the ravages of time has taken its toll on both.

He was uneasy with modern gadgets and much of the new technology was alien to him. A radio in the later years helped to break the monotony of his isolated existence. He did not understand how it worked and sometimes answered back when what was broadcast was not to his liking. He would switch it on, or off using his pole and demanded that it play Irish music on a regular basis, jigs, reels and hornpipes were his favourites.

His first radio crackled a lot and did not respond to his urging so losing his cool with it one day he proceeded to smash it with the Pole and burnt it. I remember enquiring about it and Barney described its demise as follows: "We could get no rights out of her, she was crackling and scraping and would play no right music for us, so we put her on air. We smashed her with the Pole and put her in the fire and gave her air up the chimney".

All along Barney would be visited from time to time by his old friend, Bill Hanifin and when they were camped at Tournagee Crossroads, Barney would struggle out to join them for a chat and reminiscences occasionally. It came as little surprise then when,unable to cope on his own anymore, Barney left one day with the Hanafins who looked after him for his last few years.

On September 27th, 1963, the end of a long, colourful and sometimes harsh life came. Barney "as he always said he would" settled his account with The Man Above and fortified by the Sacraments departed this world.

His friends laid him to rest in Killaraght Cemetery where today a simple headstone marks the spot erected by his old friends, Bill Hanifin and Peter Moran. His friends in life did not desert him in death.

John Connolly, B.A.H.D.E. 
Past Pupil, Kingsland N.S.

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