The Night That Dan Ryan Got Locked in the Pub

This is based on an actual event that occurred in April 2009 at the venerable O’Malley’s on the Square in the non-tourist destination of Rathdowney, County Laois, Ireland. I stumbled on this wonderful place and pub while researching Irish hammer dulcimer players back in 1977 and go back as frequently as I’m able. It’s a grand session and friends-and-family reunion. The names of the musicians are real. The name of the protagonist has been changed to protect the guilty.

John: vocal, fiddle, banjo, hammer dulcimer, guitar
Bryn Davies: bass

The night that Dan Ryan got locked in the pub
It started out just after noon
Down at O’Malley’s they’re having a session
And Dan, he was mad for the tunes

Joe Berry from Templemore came with his pipes
And that Yank with his fiddle and bow
Every few years
He’s visiting here
Since the night he showed up in the snow

Ellen O’Malley drove in from Dublin
Old Andy Dowling’s there too
There’s singing and laughter
The crack it was mighty
So he might sing an old song or two

Old Donnie is gone now so John minds the bar
And they still draw the best pint in Laois
As the session roared on
With the tunes and the songs
He’d had six or seven, at least

‘Twas a glorious sight at O’Malley’s that night
But old Dan was soon feeling the booze
He knew up the stair
Was an empty bed there
So he went up to take a short snooze

“Time, boys!” cried O’Malley right at half 11
And the crowd soon was stumbling for home
When John finished the chores
And locked up the doors
No one knew Dan was left there alone

At 5 in the morning he woke with a start
And as he descended the stair
Feeling like hell
He could suddenly tell
That na’ry a person was there

He looked at the glasses washed up in the sink
The bottles lined up in a row
For a moment it seemed
He was living a dream
“Perhaps I’ll have one ‘fore I go”

So he poured him a Powers into a pint jar
Saying, “Slainte! Now there’s a fine double!”
But then from his seat
As he looked to the street
He knew that his fortune was trouble

He first tried the front door, then went to the back
And found that he could not get out
Not a window would open, the cellar was locked
And that’s when he started to shout

Then he thought, “Hell, it’s Sunday, they’re all off at Mass
“No one will be here ‘til noon.”
So he poured out a Bulmer’s to lighten his palette
And said, “I’ll just have me a tune.”

So he sang “Lisdoonvarna” and “Molly Malone”
And poured out a pint, then another
He toasted O’Malley, he toasted the Yank
And the dear, sainted soul of his mother

And that’s how they found him, collapsed at the bar
Surrounded by glasses turned over
The poor drunken fool
Half-sleep in his drool
Still mumbling the old “Irish Rover”

The night that Dan Ryan got locked in the pub
‘Tis legend all over the town
And O’Malley, it’s said
Will still check the bed
Each night ‘fore he shuts the place down.

The night that Dan Ryan got locked in the pub
He suffered such great mental scars
It’s been more than a year
From what I can hear
And he’s still steering clear of the bars

June 18, 2012
Smoke Rise, GA
©2012 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)