From the archives: No room for belly dancer in Mayo pub's kitchen!

By Tom Gillespie

WHEN Sergeant James McLoone heard music coming from a tiny thatched village pub at 11 o’clock at night he looked in and found three couples dancing on the kitchen floor and 40 people watching them.

And that was how Ireland’s smallest ballroom came to be closed.

For dancing was only allowed to 10.30 p.m. in the kitchen, which measured 18 feet by 12 feet, and only 20 people should have been there while dancing was in progress.

The Connaught Telegraph reported on March 30, 1967, that publican John Tom Clarke (pictured below) of Manulla, Castlebar, was fined £5 at Balla District Court for permitting dancing in the kitchen after the permitted time on January 6, 1967, and had the dance licence revoked.

Mr. Patrick McEllin, defending solicitor, told District Justice Hugh McGahon: “An avalanche of people descended on the village of Manulla, which has a population of 29, that night.

“They were not the jet set but were older and more conservative. Many of them were returning to England the next day.”

Mr. McEllin continued: “It was the last farewell to Christmas and with so many people in the small kitchen I don’t think there would be room for a belly dancer there.”

Sergt. McLoone said he saw 40 people there and three couples were dancing in a small passage through the crowd.

Mr. McEllin: Mr. Clarke and his wife were in the adjoining bar serving drinks and he had given instructions to have the dancing stopped at 10.30.

Justice McGahon: “It is a bad case. The licence was only in existence for a very short time and it had not been operated properly.

A stay was granted in the event of an appeal.

Staying in Manulla, the Connaught carried a story on January 11, 1968, with the heading ‘Scooping the pool’, concerning Manulla native P.J. Hennelly and a staff member of the Connaught.

It read: Patrick J. Hennelly was one of the chief organisers of a raffle to help raise funds for the village church in Keelogues, near Castlebar.

So there was loud applause when 15-year-old school girl Angela Jones drew Patrick’s name as first prize-winner.

And roars of approval when it was announced that P.J. had also won the promoter’s prize - for selling the winning ticket.

But there were puzzled looks among the audience in the parish clubroom when the second prize went to one of his work mates of The Connaught Telegraph, Mr. Joe Redmond.

An embarrassed silence when a quick glance showed P.J. had also sold the ticket, which meant another promotor's prize for him.

There were only two prizes left to be won - and 650 names in the hat.

So curate Fr. Michael Goaley, who was supervising the draw, declared they would change the ticket drawer - in an effort to change P.J.’s luck.

Fifteen-year-old schoolboy Robert Hennelly was called from the body of the hall to draw the last two prizes.

There was intense concentration as Robert carefully pulled out the ticket.

And stunned disbelief when it was announced that the holder was another work mate of P.J.’s, Mr. Dick Gillespie.

Now there was a hush as the seller's lists were scrutinised. And consternation when it was confirmed that the promoter’s prize had gone to P.J. Hennelly, who said afterwards: “I sold only 20 tickets, and with 650 names in the hat I never thought I would scoop the pool like that.

“I just couldn’t believe it - and neither could the audience.”

Fr. Goaley said: “The chances against one person selling all the winning tickets must have been a million to one. I have never heard of it happening anywhere before.”

The following month - February 8 - another heading caught my eye in the Connaught - ‘Lager man to the rescue’.

Pierce Mellett said goodnight to his friends and turned to get into his car - only to find it had disappeared.

There was a grey Cortina left in its place - but not the grey Cortina he had parked there some time earlier.

Mr. Mellett ran to the nearest house and asked householder Mr. Harry Holding, a 28-year-old Harp Lager representative, to ring the police.

Before putting through the call Mr. Holding went outside to have a look at the car left behind by the ‘thief’. And he recognised it was belonging to local insurance broker Mr. Bernard Kiernan.

So he decided to ring Mr. Kiernan first.

Mr. Kiernan told the Connaught: “I was just sitting down to tea after visiting a customer at Patrician Park when Mr. Holding rang asking if I had been in the park that evening.

“When I said I had he asked me how I had returned home. I drove home, of course,” I told him. “Well, your car is still here in Patrician Park,” he said.

“I went immediately to examine the car outside my door. It was a grey Cortina just like mine. But the number read PIZ576 instead of PIZ555.

“I was flabbergasted, for I had not noticed anything when I was driving home. And my car key fitted the ignition of Mr. Mellett’s car perfectly.

“But it was raining heavily when I left Patrician Park and in the darkness I never noticed I had the wrong car.”

Mr. Mellett, an agricultural instructor, who lives at Balla, said: “I noticed immediately that the car was not mine. For it had a radio aerial which my car had not got.

“It was certainly strange that Mr. Kiernan’s ignition key fitted both cars perfectly.”