Lighten Up: Auld escorts for the Rose of Tralee

At this year's Rose of Tralee, if you spot any escort looking a little long in the tooth, or perhaps with no teeth at all, rest assured — they are the men recommended by our auld Lehane

My caller told me how hard it has been this year to find suitable escorts. 'Normally,' says he. 'We would have more escorts than The Rally of the Lakes, but not in 2026.'

I got a call the other night wondering if I might like to enter the Rose of Tralee.

Not as a contestant, mind, only as a chauffeur, or escort as they call them back in Kerry.

"In the name of God," says I. "Sure I'm far too old for that!"

But the man on the line, from the heart of the Kingdom, wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Your picture on the paper would suggest that you are a man in the prime of life."

I told him to never mind pictures, and that I'm far older in the flesh.

I then explained I'm known throughout the country as "auld Lehane.' "Sure, how could I be young, if people call me auld?" I asked.

"But do you know of anyone at all who would be willing to help out and become an escort?" He cried, sounding desperately concerned.

"Yerra," says I. "I might."

And with that, my caller told me how hard it has been this year to find suitable escorts.

"Normally," says he. "We would have more escorts than The Rally of the Lakes, but not in 2026.

Because of the fine weather, and with silage and grain going full belt, the help simply isn't there.

"We are badly stuck."

Now, I'm not rightly sure who my caller was, with regards to The Rose of Tralee.

He could be very high up, or he could be very low down.

All I do know is that he seemed to know his stuff. He sounded genuine.

"So, what do you need?" I asked, determined now to help.

"Well, firstly we need men in the prime of life, men like yourself," he explained. "Men who could squeeze into a suit."

"A suit!" I roared back, concerned with the price.

"Don't worry about the price," says he. "The suit can be rented."

"Anything else?" I asked, for I can be damn impatient at times.

"Well, yes," says he, getting rightly into his stride.

"An escort would have to be available to stay in Tralee for a couple of days."

"If they have cows to milk, not a chance," I declared. "Anything else?"

"Well, yes, a winning smile too would be desirable."

"So you are talking about teeth here?" I replied.

"Yes, teeth would be an advantage."

"How many teeth?" I asked.

"Oh, a full mouth would be preferable," says he.

"A full mouth!" Well, I had to laugh. "That's a big ask." I declared.

Anyhow, I then went on to ask about hair.

And was told hair is no longer important, for most men are bald and women don't seem to mind.

"Anything else?" I grunted.

"Well yes," my caller said. "An escort would need to be a gentleman.

"A fellow willing to open a door and so on."

"That would be no problem," I replied. 

Most men I know live with their mother. They would know all about opening doors and driving her to Mass.

"Excellent stuff," my caller said, sounding pleased.

"So you might know someone?"

"I might," says I.

"Yippee!" my caller roared down the line. Mr Lehane, you are a lifesaver."

And then he started crying with delight that the show could go on.

Yerra, I was delighted for the poor fool.

So now, at this year's Rose of Tralee, if you spot any escort looking a little long in the tooth, or perhaps with no teeth at all, rest assured they are the men recommended by auld Lehane... a man himself who would have made a great escort, if only he didn't have so many miles on the clock.