Being inspired by Dan Dare
Ye are in for a bit of a surprise, and probably a shock, because I am delving deeply into my private life today, and it is not easy stuff to either write or read.
But the truth always rules supreme in this space, no matter how difficult it is to release it. And believe me, it is difficult indeed.
I would never have revealed this material here — or anywhere else for that matter — were it not for the fact I was presented the other day with an intriguingly different and very revealing book, written by an informed author by the name of Christopher Oldstone-Moore.
It shocked me to the core, to such an extent I have to confess to you all that I have been the unchallenged King of Ulster since April of 1962.
Furthermore, using all the powers conferred upon me by my title, I sent one offender to Death Row the following November, refused him any parole or pardon subsequently, and executed him on November 16 of that year.
In mitigation, I swear that the offender concerned was an ugly and evil scoundrel, bearing the gangland-type name of The Mekon, with many crimes on his record. The world is better off without him, and that is the pure truth.
The learned book which unlocked my deepest secrets, you see, is titled Of Beards And Men and, in a nutshell, its 300 pages attempt to unravel the reasons why beards have come and gone into and out of fashion down the centuries.
There is much of it which is too deep for my feeble enough intellect, but one simple story, for example, tells how an 11-year old girl called Grace Bedell wrote a letter to Abraham Lincoln in 1860 when he was considering running for President.
She told him he had a thin hungry face that would look better bearded, that “the ladies like whiskers” and would encourage their husbands to vote for him. He grew the beard, won the White House, and, the following year, on his inauguration tour, called at young Grace’s home, and said to her , “Look at my whiskers. I have been growing them for you!”
Glance now at the (distinguished) image of MacConnell above, and note that I am bearded and always have been since 1962, because of the evil bloody Mekon.
What happened was when I was a teenager with a fashionable flat-top crew haircut, I was content enough with the face The Lord gave me, even though the nose was too long, and too big for the chin below.
That would not have mattered at all, except that the most popular comic in our town that time featured the science fictional adventures of a brave spaceman called Dan Dare. And Dan Dare’s most dangerous enemy was The Mekon.
He had a crew cut, a big nose, a small chin and some smartass in the school nicknamed me The Mekon, and the name, as nicknames do, adhered strongly. It even followed me down to Roscommon, when I left home to go and work there for the local newspaper. I was The Mekon.
Fortunately, I joined the local drama society.
In one production, I was cast as the King of Ulster, because of my Northern accent, and it was suggested I might like to grow a beard to fit the role.
Beards were nearly taboo yokes back then, but I grew one. It was coal black, and saved me a fortune in razor blades. More than that, almost by magic, the nickname disappeared almost overnight. When the show was over, I happily retained the beard.
Down the years, I have often been happy to somehow hide behind it in stressful social situations, as we bearded gentry can.
Also, when it silvered with the years, it was pleasant from about this time of year onwards to hear toddlers calling you Santa Claus. A lot better than The Mekon, for sure.
So, you see, in a real sense I am still the King of Ulster, I executed the evil one, and I am grateful for the wisdom of Christopher Oldstone-Moore.
The pure truth.
