Ireland Travel Blog Part 3 - An Event To Remember At Casey’s

Casey’s

The midlands of Ireland, like everywhere on this island, are steeped in rich history. Every small village dotting the landscape contains more than its share of fascinating stories.

Yet it’s often in these quieter places where one encounters the subtlest of reveals — and it’s perhaps that very subtlety which makes them all the more poignant and compelling.

Casey’s Public House, located in the town of Newtown Forbes (population 900) is one such place. For years, it has been both hardware store and local gathering spot — its bar tucked into the far wall, just past the power tools and hand sanitizer. But, before stepping inside, what first catches the eye is a broad wooden gate to the right of the building bearing a massive Guinness sign.

An Interesting Past

Guinness, it turns out, used to be delivered in large vats to be bottled and labelled. This was once common practice, and it continued well into the mid-1900s when the company centralized the process. Casey’s lays claim to being one of the last of the midland pubs to continue bottling — something it did well into the 1960s.

This was the first of many unexpected discoveries on a Sunday evening that happened to be my final book reading in the area. The event had been put together by T. and S. — one last show before catching the train to Limerick the following day.

Preparations

Once inside Casey’s and greeted warmly, I began sizing up the space around the bar. It wasn’t overly large but could seat a dozen or so comfortably. Tonight would be an intimate affair, but so be it.

I recall one particular reading event years back at a bookstore in Wakefield where I performed for three people, one of whom turned out to be the head of a local historical society. I was subsequently introduced to more new readers than I could have ever hoped. So you just never know.

What would play out this time? No matter. I reminded myself to go with the flow, focus on the words, and not on what I couldn’t control.

Of course, the nerves were never far behind.

The Back Room Surprise

I was still gauging the best corner in which to perform when T. came over to where I was standing.

“Not here,” he said. “We’re in the back room.”

Back room?

He led me to what looked like a storeroom door. When he pushed it open, I stepped into an entirely different world: a spacious lounge with red velvet couches and chairs, an elegantly appointed bar, all of which seemed to have been lifted straight from another century.

It was a reveal as profound as it was unexpected. A sudden shift from store to pub, from the mundane to the surreal.

Words and Music Intertwined

T. and I busied ourselves with the set up. The speaker was tested and working. My short checklist: books, posters, iPad with my readings, pen for signings …. all quickly completed, leaving a little too much time for pre-performance jitters.

This was helped along by three men sitting at the bar, chatting loudly amongst themselves. And not here for me, I recall thinking to myself. I checked my watch. There was less than ten minutes to go.

“Don’t worry,” T. assured me. “People always arrive late.”

He was right. Within minutes, the first seats were being taken up. By the time we began, just a few minutes behind schedule, the room was more than half full.

The readings flowed smoothly, interspersed with Irish traditional tunes that T. accompanied. The men at the bar carried on with their conversation, but a nudge of the speaker volume causes them to fade just enough into the background. Before long, I was closing with my final passage.

A Session to Remember

T. had put the word out there would be some traditional music after the readings, and many in the audience had brought instruments along: flutes, banjos, guitars, accordions. Chairs were pulled in closer, and the session began.

It soon became clear that many in attendance were more than just casual musicians; these were professionals who played everything from bluegrass to jazz to Irish traditional. T. and S., for their part, kept things moving seamlessly, stepping in on those rare occasions when momentum needed a nudge.

The hours that followed were filled with tunes, stories, and laughter. I wasn’t just a guest in the circle — I was part of it.

The night reminded me of a scene from Midnight in Paris, when Gil, the main character, finds himself in a 1920s bar among his heroes. What makes the moment so poignant isn’t simply the company, but that he’s welcomed as one of them. That was exactly how this night felt.

Closing Time

All evenings must end and, as Sunday slipped into Monday, the owner gave a few subtle flicks of the lights. It was time. Reluctant goodbyes followed what had been an evening for the ages.

The owner, smiling, bought a copy of my book, telling us it had been one of his best Sundays for business in a long while. And, in an ironic twist, one of the three men who had been chatting at the bar bought a copy as well.

But that’s the midlands for you: unexpected reveals, often hidden in plain sight.