Today’s post is inspired by my trip last week to Ireland for a family wedding. The photo shows my two brothers and one of my nephews playing Irish music in an Irish pub on our first night! The cheek of it – but the landlord was more than happy and said his takings were up – and they are skilled musicians. Sebastian, the fiddle player, has been playing Irish music for fifty years!

When I was writing Storms Gather Between Us I had a couple of chapters set in Dublin, where my main character, Will Kidd, meets the O’Connor family where the sons all worked on the docks. There’s a Dublin tradition among dockyard workers of calling each other by nicknames and I used it in the book. Naturally, poor Will had no say in being dubbed Willy the Kid. Others were Cocky Corm, Pockets, Knees O’C and Chins Gilligan. I’d forgotten about this until just now. Here’s what jogged my memory.

In the bar in the picture above I got into conversation with two of the locals. By then I was forgetting more than I remembered as it was a very rowdy musical evening with much imbibing! The following day I found a receipt in my pocket on which I had scribbled the lady’s email address and the words “The Button Men, Dublin docks”. I have absolutely no idea why!

So, I have summoned Mrs Google who revealed this little film from the Dublin port authority which explains about the role of buttons on the docks and how possession of a special button was essential to getting work.

That led me down the YouTube rabbit hole to another video – this time about the nicknames used by Dublin dockers in the old days – and I remembered how I’d used this in my book, four years ago.

Here it is:

Meanwhile the 253 emails that are awaiting me after my Irish wedding weekend remain untouched!! Google is a terrible and wonderful thing! Anyway, my thanks to Ann the delightful lady I met in Cunningham’s bar for introducing me to the button men and inspiring this post.

Here’s an extract from Storms Gather Between Us, when Will gets his nickname:

When they reached the public house, Liam shouldered open the door and ushered Will inside. The place was packed. From the look of the clientele they were mostly other dockers. Big muscly men. Will was swept towards the bar by the O’Connors who did a round of introductions – they appeared to know everyone. He discovered that there was a Dublin dockland tradition to give each docker a nickname. He was given no choice in his own, as Dermot introduced him as ‘Willy the Kid’. Will groaned inwardly – he had often been called Billy The Kid when on the Transatlantic ships and had thought he’d escaped it by returning to Europe. At least they hadn’t called him ‘Matilda’ as one of the other dockers suggested, picking up on his Aussie accent. Cormac was known by his co-workers as ‘Cocky Corm’. Seamus as ‘Pockets’ and Liam as ‘Knees O’C’.

After a round of Guinness, Seamus clapped a hand on Will’s shoulder. ‘So you’re a single man, Willy? Not even a girlfriend then?’ Will saw the men look at each other.

‘No time, lads. As your mother said, the sea doesn’t appeal to many women.’ Will didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken. ‘And it looks like you’re all single men yourselves.’

None of the brothers replied. Will speculated to himself that marriage plans no doubt required the approval of Mrs O’Connor – who was probably unwilling to forgo their weekly wage packets.

‘It’s my round,’ he said, breaking the silence, deciding that once he’d discharged this obligation he’d head back to the ship. The O’Connor boys were pleasant enough fellows but he wasn’t comfortable at the exchange of glances between them as though he were the only one not in on a joke.

‘Mammy told us to tell youse, you can sleep at our place tonight. No charge. Her guest. She’d like you and our Bridget to get better acquainted.’

So that was it. His fears were grounded. ‘Thanks, lads,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be going back to my ship after this one. I have to be up at the crack.’

‘What’s the name of your ship? The speaker was a man who’d identified himself earlier as Chins Gilligan.

When Will told him, the man laughed. ‘Me and Topper here are loading that ship. Do it every week. You’re not needed back till morning.’ He laughed. ‘Plenty of time for some more craic.’

Will was now decidedly uneasy. The prospect of spending a night in the O’Connors home was as appealing as walking the plank. By now he was certain there was a plot afoot to marry him off to Bridget. They were clearly crazy. While he was sure Miss O’Connor was a charming and not unattractive lass, he was hardly about to start courting her on the basis of a ten-minute acquaintance. Will had no intention of courting anyone. Hadn’t he resisted the call of matrimony for all eleven years he’d been at sea?

Leaving his almost full pint on the bar he went off to the Gents and was about to slip out of the side door of the pub and head back to the Arklow when he felt a hand grab his shoulders. It was Liam.

Will’s face must have reflected the panic he felt, but Liam burst into peals of laughter. ‘Trying to do a runner were you? Did you think we were about to kidnap you and marry you off to our Bridget?’

Seamus and Dermot were falling about, holding their stomachs.

Liam said, ‘Sure and you thought we were. You did!’ He hauled him back to the centre of the bar where everyone was in tears of laughter.

‘The face on you, Willy, lad! Blind panic. Did you think you were about to have a shotgun wedding?’

Will could feel the blood rushing to his face as the realisation that he had been the object of a prank dawned on him. Relief overwhelmed him and he too began to laugh.

One of the men handed him a fresh pint. ‘Don’t youse worry, Willy. It’s a standing joke. Every man who crosses the threshold is a potential son-in-law as far as Mary O’Connor’s concerned.’

‘And there’s many of us would be more than happy to marry Bridget. But the lass will have none of us.’

Dermot winked at Will. ‘She’s her heart set on marrying Jesus. Wants to be a nun, a bride of Christ, but the Mammy’s dead against it. She’s been praying up a storm that some man will come along and change her mind. But we know our Bridget. Her mind’s made up. Soon as she’s had her twenty-first birthday she’ll be hammering on the convent door.’

While relieved that he wasn’t about to be kidnapped and forced into marriage by a crazy Irish family, Will couldn’t help agreeing that it was an awful shame that a young woman like Bridget should embrace the religious life.