19 September 2026
2015
R. Linda:
Did I ever tell you about me unexpected train ride to Galway?
We all know the "Ah, sure, 'tis yourself" acquaintance. You know the one you barely know but who will trap you in a 45-minute conversation about people you might mutually know, but really don't.
Well, the one I sort of know spotted me from across a train platform and was using exaggerated, silent hand gestures and facial contortions to signal he'd like to meet up. To everyone waiting to buy a train ticket, I'm sure he looked like he was making threatening gang signs or having a medical emergency.
I tried me best not to get cornered by this guy, but as he had his ticket, he finally caught me. "What in God's name are you doing behind that wheelie bin?" I thought fast and said I was looking for a dropped Euro.
I knew I was in a spot of bother the exact second I spotted Mick "The Bore" Murphy hovering by the Dublin ticket barriers. Mick was the kind of man who could talk on any subject without saying much, and I would rather walk barefoot over broken glass than spend the next forty minutes hearing about Mick's cousin's cousin who had a bad turn after eating a dodgy sausage roll.
I panicked, yes I did! I pulled me flat cap down over me eyes, executed a sharp about-turn, and sprinted blindly onto the nearest train.
Clack-clack. The automated doors chimed and shut.
A robotic voice echoed through the carriage: "Welcome aboard the Irish Rail Express service to Galway. Next stop, Athlone."
"Aw, you're codding me," I muttered to me stunned self. Me stomach was doing a somersault; I had no fecking ticket! Me Leap Card was un-scanned, and I was currently hurling toward the opposite side of the country.
"Tickets, please. All tickets and valid passes," a booming voice rang out.
Down the aisle strode a fiercely strict Irish Rail inspector. I squirmed. I dove into the nearest seat, grabbed a leftover newspaper from the table, and held it wide open in front of me face.
The inspector stopped right at me row. He stared at the paper as I looked over it at him. "Right, pal. I know times be tough, but are ye reading that Irish Independent upside down for a wager, or are ye just taking the absolute mick?"
I dropped the paper, sweating profusely. "Lo sent, señor," I blurted out, attempting a wildly unconvincing Spanish accent. "No habla…the trains."
"Cut the act, sunshine," the inspector sighed, pulling out an electronic machine. "You've boarded an intercity express with no ticket. That's a hundred-euro fixed penalty notice, plus the fare. Name and address?
My brain short-circuited. "Me name is…Paddy…Paddy."
"Paddy Paddy," the inspector repeated, deadpan. "Right. Stand up, please, Paddy Paddy. Let's see some ID, or I'm calling the Gardai to meet us at the next platform."
I stood up, a nervous wreck, patting me pockets, and noticed a teddy bear I'd had under my arm drop to the floor. I had to think for a moment about where it came from as I picked it up. Then I remembered that when I ran for the train, I had picked it up before I slipped on it and mindlessly had tucked it under me arm, where it had been since I got on the train.
The entire carriage went dead silent. An elderly woman two rows back clutched her rosary beads. The inspector took a cautious step backwards, eyeing the teddy bear suspiciously. "Right. What's the toy, Paddy Paddy?"
Before I could explain, the carriage door hissed open at the front. A booming voice shattered the tension.
"GABRIEL! Is that yourself?! What in Saint Brigid's name are you doing on the way to Galway? And why do you have a teddy bear?"
It was Mick. He was on his way to Galway in the carriage ahead of me and now had tracked me down. He must have seen me stand up and all this with the ticket inspector...
"Jayus, Mary, an' Joseph," I whispered.
The train screeched to a halt. Athlone Station.
The moment the doors clicked unlocked, I didn't think—I just ran. I dove under the inspector's arm and sprinted onto the Athlone platform.
"Hey! Stop right there!" The inspector shouted, bursting out of the carriage, signalling to two station guards.
I looked for cover. Seeing an Irish Rail hi-vis vest draped over a luggage trolley, I threw it on, grabbed a stray mop from a bucket, and began aggressively mopping the dry concrete platform to blend in.
In me blind panic, I accidentally mopped right over the polished boots of a local Garda who was peacefully drinking a coffee on the platform.
The Garda slowly looked down at his boots, then at me, wearing a stolen vest, holding a mop, and still fiercely clutching the teddy bear under me arm.
"Right, sir," the Garda said, setting his coffee down. "Step away from the mop. We're going to have a little chat in the station master's office."
Ten minutes later, I was sweating under the fluorescent lights of the back office. The teddy bear sat on the desk between me and the law.
"So," the Garda said, folding his arms. "You hijacked an express, gave a fake name, assaulted me footwear, and you're carrying a stuffed animal like a hostage. Care to tell me what you're playing at?"
Before I could confess to the utter horror of Mick's small talk, the door flew open. The Station Master ran in, holding a phone.
"Hold on, Officer!" The Station Master panted, looking at me with a sudden reverence. "We just got a call from Heuston Station in Dublin. They've been looking for that exact bear all morning!"
I blinked. They have? I thought to meself. Uh-oh.
"It belongs to the Government Minister's daughter!"
I thought to meself: Could this get any worse?
"She dropped it on the platform, and the child was having absolute conniptions. The CCTV shows this man heroically rescuing it from the tracks right before the Galway train pulled out!"
The Garda's suspicion instantly melted into pure Irish admiration. "Well…Holy Mother. A civic duty! Forgive me. I should have known a decent skin wouldn't be mopping dry concrete without a noble cause."
Then he looked perplexed, and I was sure he was wondering why I was mopping the floor.
Before he could voice his concern, the ticket inspector, terrified of a political headache, tore up the fine on the spot. "Tell you what, Paddy Paddy, as a thank you from Irish Rail, we're putting you in the First Class carriage all the way back to Dublin. Free tea and a full Irish breakfast on the house."
The Garda was perplexed as to why I was being addressed as Paddy Paddy and was about to say something, but I opened me cakehole before he did.
"Ah, sure look," I said, playing the modest hero while me heart rate finally slowed down. "It was nothing, just me doing me bit." And I smiled wide.
They escorted me back out to the platform like a visiting dignitary. But just as I stepped onto the return train, a familiar, terrifying roar echoed from the station exit.
"GABRIEL! THERE YA ARE! THE COPPERS TOLD ME YA WERE A HERO!"
Mick Murphy bounded down the platform, a grin stretching from ear to ear. "Sure, since Irish Rail be paying, I'll hop into First Class with ya! We can talk all about me cousin Tommy's knee replacement on the way back. They had to use three different types of stitches! It'll take me at least two hours to explain the kneecap!"
I looked at the train. I looked at Mick.
Without a single word, I dropped the teddy bear into Mick's arms, turned on me heel, and sprinted out of the station entrance into the pouring Athlone rain—happily choosing a seventy-mile walk home in total, beautiful silence.
Gabe
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