Neddy the Donkey

Daddy bought me a donkey from a neighbour for my 10th birthday – he spent £20 on it and got £1 back for luck. That £1 wasn’t very lucky. Daddy fenced off the bottom of the hagart and Neddy, as I called him, who was only a foal, fed and grazed there, was fattened on nuts, and grew quite quickly to be difficult to handle. Much to Daddy’s delight, the donkey, being but a foal, was not broken in. All those Wild West movies had gone to Daddy’s head –he thought he was John Wayne and could break the donkey in himself – with me as his main piece of training equipment.

The first thing Daddy thought we should teach Neddy was chase. He would take down the field, after Neddy, shouting back over his shoulder what corners we were to block. Myself and my brother would have the job of stopping Neddy, but being quite small ourselves, we found having a wild donkey running towards us quite frightening, so Neddy would flip from being chased by Daddy to chasing us.

The fun really started when Daddy decided to get him used to a weight on his back. At first this was a blanket. The donkey would buck, bite and try to tear it off against the hedges. He'd leap and he'd run, he'd twist and he'd shake himself. This was such good sport that Daddy went looking for a better weight - isn't that what John Wayne would have done? There'd have been no pussy footing or taking it easy. So a second weight was sought - me. I would be caught and foisted over the donkey's back, I'd wanted a donkey, hadn't I? My arms and legs would hang like redundant stirrups against each of his flanks. And then there would be a scene that would make a bucking bronco appear tame. His rump would be slapped and off we'd go, he'd try to knock me against the hedgerows, decapitate me on the lower branches of the apple trees, rear his legs to see if that would shake me off. I'm sure the sound of my squealing did nothing to calm him down.

Neddy was a great ass. He was full of energy and would run around the field, his bucket caught by the handle in his mouth. He was never fully broken-in despite Daddy using the best training equipment available. A neighbour broke their wrist trying to ride him, my brother sprained his and I had teeth marks on my upper arm for years, scarred from where he bit me.

In the end, he was given to a farmer who was looking for a donkey and we would visit him when we'd go for walks.  Daddy had to hang up the bit and bridle, but he didn't throw them away. Maybe he thought there was a chance they could still come in useful sometime and he might still be named the great Tipperary Donkey trainer with Donkey Derby rosettes bedecking the walls. We all have our dreams.

It was being teased by a friend the other day for my pronunciation of the word Donkey that brought all this to mind. I pronounce it to rhyme with monkey – Dunk –ee. I found the song Delaney’s Donkey on You tube and was delighted to find that the pronounciation on this is the same. So it's not just Tipperary people that say it that way. I loved this song as a child – especially after my own experiences with Neddy the donkey. I think you might enjoy it too.  

Now Delaney had a donkey that everyone admired, tempo'rily lazy

and permanently tired

A leg at ev'ry corner balancing his head, and a tail to let you

know which end he wanted to be fed
Riley slyly said "We've underrated it, why not train it?" then he took a rag
They rubbed it, scrubbed it, they oiled and embrocated it, got it to the post an
d when the starter dropped his flag

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it, shushing it
Hogan, Logan and ev'ryone in town lined up attacking it and shoving it and smacking it
They might as well have tried to push the Town Hall down
The donkey was eyeing them, openly defying them
Winking, blinking and twisting out of place
Riley reversing it, ev'rybody cursing it
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile race

The muscles of the mighty never known to flinch, they couldn't budge the donkey

a quarter of an inch
Delaney lay exhausted, hanging round its throat with a grip just like a
Scotchman on a five pound note
Starter, Carter, he lined up with the rest of 'em. When it saw them, it was willing then
It raced up, braced up, ready for the best of 'em. They started off to cheer it
but it changed its mind again


There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing it
Hogan, Logan and Mary Ann Macgraw, she started poking it, grabbing it and choking it
It kicked her in the bustle and it laughed "Hee - Haw!"
The whigs, the conservatives, radical superlatives
Libr'rals and tories, they hurried to the place
Stood there in unity, helping the community
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile race


The crowd began to cheer it. Then Rafferty, the judge he came to assist them,
but still it wouldn't budge
The jockey who was riding, little John MacGee, was so thoroughly disgusted that
he went to have his tea
Hagan, Fagan was students of psychology, swore they'd shift it with some dynamite
They bought it, brought it, then without apology the donkey gave a sneeze
and blew the darn stuff out of sight

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing it
Hogan, Logan and all the bally crew, P'lice, and auxil'ary, the Garrison Artillery
The Second Enniskillen's and the Life Guards too
They seized it and harried it, they picked it up and carried it
Cheered it, steered it to the winning place
Then the Bookies drew aside, they all commited suicide
Well, the day Delaney's donkey won the halfmile race