Denis Lehane: Murty the pilot saves Christmas... thanks to me

Murty landed his plane safely somewhere over the Himalayas on Christmas Eve using all the survival skills he learned from me here on this West Cork farm

This is the same Murty who worked with me here on the farm during covid, when all planes were grounded.

Murty made the headlines over Christmas.

The short-haul pilot who once worked with me here on the farm during covid was involved in a mid-air incident.

Or to be more accurate, was responsible for an airline crash.

Yerra, in the grander scheme of things, it was a lot of fuss about nothing. Nobody was hurt.

The whole thing, if truth be told, was blown out of all proportion.

If you recall, Murty worked with me here on the farm during covid, when all planes were grounded, and all our mouths were sealed tighter than the cover on a drum of tractor grease.

And Murty enjoyed his time here too, trying to keep old gates from falling down and pulling ragwort.

He never complained, even when my cattle went berserk, and he never refused a pint either, when a hard day's work was done.

He was a great fellow, and I wished him well when he returned to the air.

Anyhow, on Christmas Eve, while flying over the Himalayas or someplace, his plane dropped her nose the way a hungry sow might drop her snout into a bucket of freshly made slop.

"We're going down fast!" Murty cried into the tannoy, preparing all 28 people on board for the rocky landing they would soon be forced to endure.

T'was like a movie only without any movie stars.

Anyhow, with light fading and engines failing, down she went faster than an old cow with grass tetany.

Clipping off a few rocks as they hurtled towards the ground, all on board were fully sure the end was nigh.

All, that is, except for Murty.

Murty was well used to calamity, having worked for a year with me here on the farm.

Murty refused to give in, he pulled on all the unresponsive levers like the devil himself. Having steered many a stricken tractor out of a bog hole, he knew the tricks of the trade.

His time on this farm had served him well.

With unbelievable techniques that had never been witnessed before, he managed to land the plane on a secluded beach.

All passengers on board survived the unplanned touchdown, with no more than a few scratches or a broken bone to show for the detour.

"Three cheers for Murty!" one greatly relieved passenger shouted out as they rattled to a halt.

Little did they realise at the time that while Murty did indeed save the day, it was all his fault too.

Earlier in the day, before taking off, Murty had by mistake filled the plane with diesel, instead of petrol.

Yerra, it was something he did often. He was a bit absent-minded in that regard.

He'd put water in your diesel, he'd put poitín in your tea. The man was clueless when it came to liquid.

Anyhow, nobody was hurt badly and that's the main thing

After the crash, everybody thought they would be now eaten alive by wild boars, as hundreds of them descended upon the banjaxed aircraft.

They were in the middle of nowhere you see. But Murty, well used to being in the middle of nowhere, from his time spent with me here on the farm, had no fear.

He had a boar captured and sizzling on a makeshift grill in no time.

Murty had it all sorted out.

Murty never had a fear of pigs, only a tremendous appetite for them.

Anyhow a rescue helicopter was soon arriving all thanks to Murty who had signalled their location by setting fire to some nearby furze. Again, a trick picked up with me here.

And to make a long story short, seeing as how their old plane was fit for nothing else, they pushed it into the sea.

Nobody was too bothered, for planes can be easily replaced.

The main thing was that all had survived the escapade thanks to the quick actions of Murty, a first-rate pilot who had learned all about survival skills from me here on this West Cork farm.