Patty was an Anchor regular, one of the personalities of Bantry.
Patty was built like a brick shithouse, a short bald stocky Irishman with limped stubby legs and a terrific potbelly. He spoke in a heavy West Cork accent, which was hard for me to understand. I found myself wondering whether or not we spoke the same language. Actually, I rather enjoyed listening to him, it was a treat to hear him joke and swear while us gringos hade no idea what the hell he's muttering about.
Patty was the caretaker of the house I lived in, watching over it for the American owner. He was everyone's uncle, caretaker, paternal figure, workman. He had no real occupation, he wandered from pub to pub, from job to job, just being Patty.
Everyone knew him, and had some story to tell about him.
His brother was the leader of the United Nations forces in Cypress.
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