The Mystical Lady of Hemnessy's Corner

‘Twas Christmas Eve for the guys from An Post
who’d returned from their rounds to the store,
full of chocolate and cake and the Christmas drinks
they were served at many a door.

John, too, stumbled out of his van; on all fours
he crawled to the office, but when
he was told he forgot a delivery,
he had to crawl back to the van.

He climbed in and headed for Ballintogher
where even the wind makes no sound,
where there’s only dark woods and no living soul
for dozens of miles around.

The woods of Ballintogher
are treacherous and deep,
and no one dares examine
the secrets they may keep.

He turned at a corner, a song on his lips,
looking forward to biscuits and tea,
when a magical force changed the course of the van
and wrapped it around a tree.

The Gards soon arrived, and, testing his breath,
grew as pale as the wintery sky:
‘Dear God, you’re as drunk as a sailor’, they screamed,
‘you may kiss your licence goodbye!’

‘I swear that I had not a drop while I drove,
but after the accident
a lady appeared from among the trees
and approached me, a glass in her hand.

‘She was stately and young, with flowing red hair,
and she wore a transparent gown,
and she helped me up, and she told me: “You need
a brandy to calm yourself down.”

‘I emptied the glass in one go, and she filled
it up once more, combed her hair
and vanished into the woods again,
like she was never there!’

The woods of Ballintogher
are treacherous and deep,
and no one dares examine
the secrets they may keep.

Since then drivers stop there on Christmas Eve,
and they wait, as the sun slowly sinks,
for the Mystical Lady of Hennessy’s Corner
to bring them their Christmas drinks.