|
 | |  | |
Pat Smyth, a civil servant with the National Assistance Board in West Tyrone from the 1930's to the 1950's, recalls his memories, experiences and the larger than life personalities he encountered on the way.
The 'buroo' office at Dublin Road in Omagh was almost deserted early one Monday forenoon in the 1950's when Barney Mullan burst in, roaring like a bull and waving a piece of white paper.
The box clerks behind the counter chuckled but kept their heads down. The sensational news that Barney had been turned down by the medical referee was all over the pubs in the town. Barney was an elderly ex-serviceman, veteran of two wars, and known to have boasted when he had been demobbed that he had no intention of working ever again.
The box clerks had been waiting for Barney to make his appearance, knowing he now had to sign on for work or his assistance money would be cut off. He marched back and forwards along the counter waving the Medical Referee's report, ridiculing the findings at the top of his voice and roaring at all and sundry.
None of the clerks took the slightest notice. Finally, he stopped before 'Fergie' - 'Jimmy Ferguson' he bellowed. 'You and I grew up together. We sojered (soldiered) together. Could you tell me what kind of light work, not entailing, stooping, bending or excessive standing, could I find in this country?'
Fergie looked up, paused, and finally quipped - 'Dammit Barney, I do not know, unless Paddy Starrs would give you a job sorting feathers!' As Starrs was a poultry exporter, the whole audience guffawed, except Barney. His blistering language is best left untold.
When the assistance scheme was first introduced a spate of medical certificates, featuring 'General disability', were submitted by long-term unemployed people down for statistical purposes, and mostly the alleged incapacity was not challenged.
Later, however, there was some tightening up and more candidates were sent to the Medical Referee. Barney Mullan had happened to be one of the chosen ones.
One civil servant told one of the local G.P's, a young fellow, that it was time he promoted his 'General disability' to Field Marshal, when the two were socialising at the golf club one night, and there was nearly being a fight.
Pat Smyth, 2001
| |  | |  |
To add a comment you must first login or join for free, up in the top left corner.
|
|
