Only in Mayo, a love of home, a love of people, a love of story

by Fr. Tom Grufferty

Ladies and gentlemen, there are many beautiful counties in Ireland.

But there is only one County Mayo.

Mayo is the kind of place where you can leave home in glorious sunshine, drive five miles, meet rain, hailstones and fog, and arrive home to discover that the washing is perfectly dry.

That's Mayo weather.

We don't have four seasons in Mayo. We have about four seasons every twenty minutes.

And if you ask a Mayo man what the weather will be like tomorrow, he'll look towards Croagh Patrick and say: “Hard to know.”

Which is Mayo's most reliable weather forecast. You know that if there is a cloud on Croagh Partick it is raining but if it is clear it is going to rain.

Then we have directions. Never ask a Mayo man for directions unless you have plenty of petrol and no appointments for the rest of the day. You stop the car and ask: “Excuse me, is this the road to Swinford?”

“Well,” he'll say, “I wouldn't start from here.”

Then he'll think. “Go straight ahead until you come to the place where Murphy's shop used to be.”

“Is Murphy's shop still there?”

“Oh no. It closed in 1987.”

“Is there a sign?”

“No.”

“How will I know it?”

“You can't miss it.”

Then comes the most dangerous sentence in County Mayo: “Sure, I'll show you a shortcut."

A Mayo shortcut is a wonderful thing. You leave the main road, travel through three townlands, cross a bridge, pass seventeen sheep, reverse twice to let tractors through, and forty-five minutes later you arrive two miles behind where you started.

And then there's Castlebar.

Castlebar is the capital of Mayo. We know this because people from Castlebar keep reminding us.

People from Westport don't mind. They know they have Croagh Patrick, Clew Bay and one of the prettiest towns in Ireland.

People from Ballina don't mind either. They have the Moy.

And people from Swinford certainly don't mind. They have real Mayotte’s and they're just delighted. And then we have Knock.

Knock is one of the few places in the world where you can meet someone you haven't seen for thirty years, and they'll say: “God, you haven't changed a bit, if you keep getting younger you will lose the old age pension."

This is one of the lesser-known miracles of Knock.

You might have lost your hair, gained two stone, developed a limp and be walking with a stick, but in Knock: “You haven't changed a bit!”

And there's always someone who knows exactly who you are.

“Are you one of the Gruffertys?”

“Yes.”

“I knew your father.”

“Did you?”

“And your grandfather.”

“Really?”

“And I think I knew your great-grandfather.”

At this point you realise the person you're talking to must be at least 140 years old.

Another miracle!

Mayo also has a remarkable number of priests. In some places you can shout “Father Tom! and half the street turns around.

There are five priests called Tom in Knock. That is a clergy team but also a theological and pastoral emergency.

The bishop rings: “Can I speak to Father Tom?” “Certainly, Bishop. Which one?”

“Father Tom.”

“Yes, but which Father Tom?”

“The Mayo one.”

That has not narrowed down only slightly because three are from Mayo.

And then there is the great Mayo institution: the funeral.

A Mayo funeral is never merely a funeral. It is a reunion, a genealogy conference, a weather forecast and a parish census all rolled into one.

You meet a man outside the church.

He says: “You don't know me.”

You agree.

“But your mother's cousin married my father's sister's neighbour.”

And immediately you say: “Of course! I know exactly who you are.”

You haven't the faintest idea.

And finally, there is Mayo football.

Being a Mayo supporter is not a hobby. It is a spiritual discipline. It teaches faith. It teaches hope. It teaches patience. And above all it has taught suffering.

Every year someone says: “This is our year.” Said with enthusiasm and conviction for 75 years.

Hope springs eternal. Hopes and dreams have been achieved in 2026.

“Who's taking him to Knock first?” asked an enthusiastic young supporter from Curryane.

“I always knew he'd come back.”

Wherever you hear a helicopter the Sam Maguire is on his way.

The greatest thing about Mayo people is we can laugh at ourselves.

We can argue about football. We can complain about the weather. We can spend twenty minutes giving directions to somewhere that's only five minutes away.

But underneath it all there is something very special: a love of home, a love of people, a love of story and a sense that wherever Mayo people gather, nobody remains a stranger for very long.

So, here's to Mayo —to Knock and Croagh Patrick, to Castlebar, Westport, Furnace which is the hottest place on the planet, Ballina, Swinford, Claremorris, Achill and Balla, Crossmolina and Belmullet, not forgetting the famous characters in Mid-West Radio, including the famous Tommy, to our saints and sinners, our priests and farmers, our storytellers and all our footballers, our people far away and those at home, those in our schools with a glorious future.

May the road rise to meet us.

May the rain occasionally stop.

May we never lose our sense of humour.

And may Sam Maguire stay in Mayo for the next 75 years.

(Fr. Tom Grufferty is a resident of Knock, Co. Mayo).