Tric Kearney: It's my life

Unless you live under a stone you will be familiar with the talk of the gardaí and questions about their maths? Well, I too have a question: Where were these less-than-diligent guards when I needed them?

I’m not a criminal but how many among us have got to a reasonable age in life without being caught doing something we were not supposed to?

I was 15 years old when I had my first meeting between myself and an on-duty garda, back in the good old days when teenagers owned bikes.

I’d spent the afternoon miles away, with no mobile phone and a mother at home who hadn’t missed me. Nor would she unless I arrived in seconds late for dinner.

Unfortunately, being 15 I didn’t care too much about time and as I owned a bike not noted for speed I knew I would be late. I put my ‘head with no helmet’ down and cycled as fast as I could towards home.

Approaching the nearest village, I had a choice, take the long way around or travel a short distance, the wrong way up a one-way street.

With the thought of being late for dinner foremost in my mind, I mounted the footpath and cycled against the tide. Nearing the halfway mark, I almost succumbed to a heart attack as I saw a garda car turn the corner and drive towards me.

Hoping it was on its way to a major crime I cycled on. Unfortunately, I was the criminal.

Blocking my path stood a giant of a guard who took no breath as he spouted the many road traffic regulations I was breaking.

I did my best to pay attention but Mr Garda had, what we Dubs would call, a ‘country’ accent, so I hadn’t a clue what he was saying. Finally, he stopped and I mumbled a less than apologetic, “Sorry Garda”, while looking at his enormous feet.

Judging by the rapid spread of a red rash over his neck and face, I deduced my answer had not pleased him. He shouted and roared some more before pointing down the road. I took my cue, rather relieved and cycled away.

All would have been wonderful if that were the end of the story, but as a 15-year-old I wasn’t the most compliant.

The moment my new friend drove out of sight, I turned my bike and once again cycled against the traffic.

Moments from freedom, you can guess who turned the corner?

Without thinking things through, I about turned, and cycled — coat-tails flying — in the right direction.

With lights flashing the squad car drew level and I was pulled over. My good friend, emerged, his red rash worsening as he parted me from my bike, dumping it with little care into the boot of the car.

I pleaded, apologised and promised to be the most law-abiding teenager ever. Perhaps my accent was a problem because without a word he drove away?

Dinner would be off the menu by the time I walked home. I spent the next while thinking up all manner of plausible excuses as to why I was late and where my bike had gone.

As I cursed my luck, a squad car pulled up alongside me. My friend was back. He pulled my bike from the boot as I promised faithfully to be the perfect citizen.

With a smile and a wink, he was gone.

I can’t recall the reception I received at home that day, but I do know that my friend taught me a valuable lesson... ‘Where possible stay on the right side of the road in life.’

I can’t tell you if I’ve always remembered it, but I’ve never forgotten my friend the guard.