THE VERY SPECIAL CENTENARIAN of CRONIN'S SHEEBEEN
before we can get to the story, we need to understand the setting. even though the clues are in the title, we should probably begin with some definitions. so here goes…
according to wikipedia:
A shebeen (Irish: síbín) was originally an illicit bar or club where excisable (taxable) alcoholic beverages were sold without a licence... The word derives from the Irish síbín, meaning 'illicit whiskey'.
as for the pronunciation of sheebeen- well it depends on whom you ask and what their native tongue or region of ireland — as long as you put the accent on the BEAN part of the word you can get away with mumbling she or shay in front of it — and the american accent will get you a pass as we botch everything anyway.
cronin is the last name of the fella who owns this irish pub in the heart of the clew bay quay (pronounced ‘key’ just in case you didn’t know) where the whiskey they sell is quite legit. i have it on good authority from a long time local resident who knows him, that cronin is a good chap and a visionary, marketing the treasures of westport and vicinity long before it became the hot spot it is today. so “good man, good man” to him as this bit of ireland has indeed become a destination hot spot to tour and to set down roots. (hint hint - if ever we do emigrate to eire you could most likely find us around this side of the isle)
and why are we so enchanted with this country? well, our night out at Cronin’s Sheebeen is a perfect example. beyond the good food, libations and cheery company is the fact that there was a huge celebration going on simultaneously in their rear room affectionately titled the “Au Semora” (still researching the meaning of that one) — what matters more is that it was a large room that held a large number of people — all gathered to celebrate the 100th birthday of their family matriarch, who, as reported to us by our waitress, is fit as a fiddle with exception of a bit of hard hearing. according to our source, she sauntered in herself and is quite spry, with all her wits about her, and “you wouldn’t know she was a hundred.” as if THAT isn’t story enough — our waitress went on to tell us that this lovely lady had been born in this very building 100 years ago to the day. SAY WHAT? well, 100 years ago the pub was three cottages — she was born in the room right beside where we were seated.
that was enough to spark my curiosity — i wanted to see her and quite possibly meet her. as much as i am fond of making an entrance, i have also been known to stealthily sneak my way into a space and mingle with the crowd, especially if i’m going in with my camera. not even an option on this night. for starters, everyone was dressed to the nines, so my casual attire stood out. more to the point it was a standing room only crowd so there wasn’t any available negative space in which to maneuver. i know this to be fact because i tried to catch a glimpse 5 different times before declaring her a unicorn. one must simply believe she exists based on the clues around her rather than to see her clearly in person. i know she is real because when they sang happy birthday i bolted to the doorway in time to (sortof) see her stand up while everyone serenaded. also i did manage to get a blurry sighting out of one of the many attempts to capture her in pixels throughout the song.
meanwhile, my imagination runs wild on who she is and what her life has been. what’s her name? has she lived here her whole life? what was it like for her living through so many transformations? the political posturing in ireland alone would make for a novel — but also what about the evolution of feminism? there were so many younger women at her party… just how many generations are there in her lineage? three would be normal…but i am guessing there are four and possibly five generations she calls her own — THAT is a more interesting tale to me. more relevant might be, how has she managed to maintain her health? i could go on and on. for certain i’ve added her in all her anonymity to my list of inspirational irish women i keep meeting throughout my journey. (fodder for other sorts of stories, all that.)
eventually i settled on the realization that in 1919 one can only assume that if there was any public drinking in any of these three cottages, it would have been certain to have been a sheebeen. now 100 years later, she and who knows how many generations of family and friends, were all dolled up — and legally liquored up — to celebrate the occasion of her coming into this world under the same roof where she made her entrance. because her house is now officially a public house, we too, were able to vicariously join in on this amazing celebration, how fantastic is that? i believe they call it “good craic!”
