The Jolly Tinker

The melodeon player at The Cliffs of Moher. Photo by David Lansing.

What would you expect at the Cliffs of Moher except the wind to be blowing and the rolling green hills covered in mist? And it’s bloody cold out. Even in three layers of clothes and a rain jacket, I’m near to freezin’ my arse off. But gawd it’s beautiful. At least what I can see of it as I walk along the wet path leading from the visitor centre to the first viewing platform above Goat Island.

Not many out this afternoon, not in this weather. Still, if you’re going to come all this way, you’re going to want to have a look and a walk, aren’t you?

Along the side of the path is a man in tan Irish cap and thick jacket playing a very old melodeon, one of those small button accordions you see in almost every pub. The man has several days of growth on his chin and although he’s wearing glasses, seems to be mostly blind, not catching our approach until we’re almost in front of him.

Look at that box, says Mr. Lynch, nodding towards the much-worn one-row melodeon. Must have been around during The Famine.

It’s not that old but it has seen better days. The metal trim is rusty (probably from being played so much outdoors in weather like this) and the bellows are cracked and frayed. Still, it’s got that classic rich Hohner sound. The man stops playing for a moment as we get close. There’s a tin cup at his feet and I toss in a couple of euros. You know some Máirtín O’Connor? I ask him.

Máirtín O’Connor?

Aye.

Without saying another word he pushes and pulls the bellows of the melodeon tapping out a simple tune that’s as sad as anything you’d ever want to hear.

That was lovely, I tell him when he’s finished. He gives me a half smile but doesn’t say anything. What was the name of that tune? I ask him.

That tune?

Aye.

Some call it The Timpan but mostly it’s called The Jolly Tinker.

Did you hear that? I say to Mr. Lynch. What? The name of that tune he just played. What was it? The Jolly Tinker! I wish that gal from The Irish Times was here. What would she think of that? Do you suppose she’d upbraid our fine friend here for playing a traditional Irish song called The Jolly Tinker? Do you think she’d tell him he had to call it The Jolly Traveler? No, sir. No indeed. It’s a song about a jolly Tinker, not a jolly Traveler. There you go now. Let’s give this fine man another couple of euros. Have you got any change? Don’t be cheap now. Give him the five. I’ll pay you back later.

Can you play that tune again for us as we walk towards the cliffs? I ask him. And he’s happy to oblige. The tune floating in the cold wind as I dance and skip towards the cliffs whistling along to The Jolly Tinker.