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A Nightingale in full voice. Photo: Courtesy of Michael Sporn animation.

Not many people now will remember a man who lived in the town of Fermoy and who was well-known as a practical joker, Billy was his name, he lived near the river, he has now gone to his eternal rest, perhaps this story will bring back memories of him.

One day Billy told a friend of his that a Nightingale was singing near his home not too far from The Promenade, he warned the friend not to tell anyone, knowing full well that the first thing the friend would do was exactly that. Billy also let it slip that the Nightingale did not begin his recital until after midnight; this was way back in 1939 during one of the hottest summers ever recorded.

Thanks to the friend the news spread like wild-fire through the town, and that night a throng gathered near the Promenade, as they waited patiently they saw thousands of noisy crows make their way up river to roost in the woods. Then, as dusk began to cast its mantle over the sleeping town, and the last light began to fade from the June sky, the bats came out, flittering after insects.

Midnight, the magic hour came, and the town clock chimed out the hour, the crowd waited in tense anticipation for the free concert, but there was only silence, the deep silence of a Midsummer night. It was into the early hours of the morning before the crowd realised that they had been once again taken in by Billy, who by now was probably tucked up in bed, happy with his latest scam.

As the throng broke up there were dire threats about what would happen to Billy the next time they met, but he was canny enough to lie low for the next few days, when he did re-emerge he was his usual happy-go-luck self, but he did have that knowing smile that said; Well lads, I caught ye again, Billy was such an engaging character that nobody could fall out with him for very long. That incident is now part of old Fermoy lore and has now gone into legend, and, like all legends, little bits have been added on down through the years.

It is very easy now to look back into that innocent past and say, sure we all knew that we do not have Nightingales in Ireland and possibly never had. At the same time, one of my most treasured books, The Illustrated Manual of British Birds, written by Howard Saunders in 1899 states that a Nightingale was shot near the Old Head of Kinsale and that it is preserved in what was then Queens University in Cork, now Cork University.

In spite of their name, Nightingales do sing by day, but their virtuoso performances are best heard in the stillness of a warm summer evening, to those who have heard it, it is something never to be forgotten. Its song consists of a variety of notes sung in rapid succession and then building up rapidly into a towering crescendo The Nightingale has inspired many poets and writers, one of the best known of all poems is Ode To a Nightingale by William Wordsworth.

It is strange to think that one of the most beautiful stories about a Nightingale was written by none other then Oscar Wilde, this was his story, written for children, The Nightingale and the Rose. Our little story this week was of a more innocent time, but it prompts me to ask; Where have all the practical jokers gone?

My thanks to Fermoy man, Jim Roche now in England for the beautiful bird book, it is something I will treasure, thanks also to the Howard family from Gurrane for the newspaper and for the kind words.

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