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Written by Joe Doran
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Friday, 28 March 2008 |
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Then
one quiet day when I was about ten, I made my way into a public bar in Kilkeel because
I thought no one was there.

But
half-way down the long counter I saw a man sitting on a high stool. He looked like a fisherman for he had a
peaked cap, blue jersey and bell-bottomed trousers. His beard and moustache were very black. He did not know that I was there and I
watched him looking at the huge glass of black liquid in front of him.
He
picked up a pepper duster and gave it a few shakes on the creamy foam on top of
the drink. He tapped the side of the
glass and then lifted it to his lips. I
thought he would never stop swallowing! When he finally put the drink down again the creamy top had lowered well
down the glass. I clearly saw the lacy
white frill on his moustache. Then he
projected his lower lip and removed it.
The
publican’s wife came in then and I asked for the errand I had been sent on, a
fill of a can of buttermilk. She filled
it up and put the twopence in the pocket of her white apron.
Then
she enquired about my mother and great-grandfather and I left.
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