Padraig Mc Nally, a bachelor, living on his small farm in
Cross, Co Mayo, had never harmed or threatened another man or woman in his life
before he was 60 years old. He did not abuse another person verbally, and the
livestock that he had were never exposed to ill treatment. All he had was his
animals, a few acres of lush grass to feed them and a house full of memories
that went with it. His honesty and shyness was apparent only to others and
though living alone it did not make him lonely. He did not ask for much and was
easy to like. That calm world that held no surprises, and where they were not
invited, came crashing down around him when two men without invitation came to
pay him a visit on October the 14th 2004, which was a Thursday. One
of them would not see Friday.
Men like these two had come before. What they saw was a
vulnerable man, a simple man, an easy touch. Word got around. What they did not
see, that beneath Padraig Mc Nally’s well worn clothes was a body that was strong
from honest labour ruled by a mind that was pushed to the edge. He was not
going to take it anymore. These men before and these men now had not seen
either the shotgun that he had inside the house.
That day, 18 year old Tom Ward was standing in front of him,
while his father, John ‘Frog’
Ward, a former street fighter and permanent thug, and permanently
in between jobs, was already around the back of the house to see what he could
steal. When Padraig realized what
was going on, he advised young Tom that the other fellow would not be coming
back out. He then went to get his shotgun in the house and walked out the back
door. He levelled it at the father and fired. He then beat him with a stick
before going to reload the shotgun and finished, the belatedly wiser
‘Frog’ with another
volley or two. Then the deadweight left was lifted and thrown over a wall. The son, though very obese,
had found his legs quickly after the sound of the first shot, and had already
broken all his own previous records for running as his eggplant body now ran for
its very life.
The courts found Padraig Mc Nally guilty of
manslaughter, retried him on appeal and he eventually walked free. He is not
alone anymore with thousands of letters of good will since and a documentary maker recently got to meet him in his own home. Looking for something deeper in his
character to make good TV, he asked him who is the real Padraig Mc Nally? He
replied: “I’m just a man standing in two shoes.”
When I met him fleetingly in my
village last month and as I shook his hand warmly he asked me my name. I replied: “Does it matter Padraig,
sure I’m just a man standing in two shoes too” before the next well-wisher came along right behind me. With that simple wisdom, may we
all be happy.
Barry Clifford
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