The day I met The Two Johnnies

The Two Johnnies displayed ultimate bravery in Cahir town. Picture: Ruth Medjber

People often question the truthfulness, or otherwise, of the tales I regurgitate here on this page.

“You’re a bit like Ripley’s Believe It or Not!” a fellow shouted to me at a cattle mart only the other day.

“What do you mean?” I snorted back.

“You’re full of lies and half-truths,” he continued. “I don’t know whether to laugh at you, or cry for you.”

And I suppose there was some truth in what he said. I have thought a lot about it since.

Anyhow, today in an effort to enhance, or indeed rescue, my reputation, I will tell a truthful tale.

And I will stick to the truth, as best I can. Only occasionally veering off into fantasy if I feel the story demands a little spicing up.

My story begins on a wet and miserable afternoon, as I sat here in the kitchen listening to the wireless.

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With the dinner gone down the hatch, I was fit for nothing else.

Indeed, ‘twas a day only fit for the high stool or the long acre.

But having neither the money for one or the fatigue for the other, I chose a seat by the fire.

A cat had got there before me and had begrudgingly made room for me on his perch.

I hate cats normally, but, on this occasion, I had taken my place without too much complaining.

I suppose cats have their place too.

Anyhow as I sat there with my thoughts on nothing in particular, who should I hear over the radio only Johnny and the next thing who should I hear only the other Johnny.

The Two Johnnies on the radio. Well, I had to laugh.

“I can’t believe my ears,” I said to the cat for it was true — I couldn’t believe my ears.

I explained to the cat that the duo had come a long way since I met them in Cahir many years ago.

The cat didn’t seem to care too much about my reminiscing. But that’s cats for you. 

And it’s one of the reasons why I hate them so much.

Anyhow, ignoring the cat’s opinion, I will now tell you the story.

Many years ago, while at Cahir Mart, I purchased a cheap cow with the greatest pair of horns that I had ever seen.

She was one of those rare breeds where horns are permitted, dare I say, even encouraged.

Everything was above board and I loaded her into my trailer without too much fuss or confusion.

She was a mighty cow, mighty cheap, and her horns were a sight to behold.

Deciding I should head for home I left the mart behind and was heading down the main street of Cahir only to spot the cow with the horns in front of me.

She should, of course, have been behind me in the trailer but using her horns as some class of an unlocking implement, had somehow managed to open the tailboard and was now free.

‘T’was an extraordinary act of dexterity on the part of a cow. And whatever else, you’d have to give her credit for that.

Anyhow she was now roaming free on the streets of Cahir and could easily have killed half the town, only for the bravery of two Cahir natives. Namely Johnny, and his pal, Johnny.

The Two Johnnies, spotting inevitable calamity in their hometown, leaped into action.

One grabbed onto one horn the other onto the other. I then grabbed hold of her tail with all of my might.

Now this was back in the days before fame had grabbed hold of them. Indeed, before it had grabbed hold of all three of us!

She was a wild one. The town of Cahir could have been wiped off the map with her antics, but the duo held on. It was like the film Gladiator, only with a cow.

With the street cleared of women and children, the cow was steered back onboard my ship, with a Johnny on each horn and me bringing up the rear.

Believe it or not, we managed to load her once again and after securing the trailer like something headed for Guantanamo Bay, I thanked the boys.

I told them they were heroes of the highest calibre. And that the president should anoint them in some fashion.

“You might write about this adventure someday,” a greatly relieved bystander remarked, once the dust had settled.”

“I might,” says I, “but who would ever believe me?”