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'Who is that man on the strand always coming and going in his boat?' some of my visitors would often inquire. I tell them that is my neighbour the indomitable David Donegan, seaman, local historian and all round expert in all things nautical; his boat the “Maeve” was a regular fixture in the harbour at the back of his house. David and I had the good fortune to live on the harbour with hardly half a cable separating our respective moorings. By design I use these nautical terms as I know he (David) would enjoy them; to him the floor was a deck, an opening a hatch; and I, always lived to the east of his quarters. His nautical parlance was well received by his acquaintances and it was always gleefully imparted to achieve maximum affect. One of my favourites is the well-judged riposte when his and a friend's ages (where there was a difference of nine months) were being compared: 'The keel was only laid for me when Noel was being launched'.
When David was 18 he sneaked off to cousins in Killybegs to go fishing but before long was sent home again on the instructions of his parents who wished him to finish his schooling. A few years later he got a berth locally and worked as a fisherman for a number of years before taking to the high seas on a coaster as an able-bodied seaman operating between Limerick and Liverpool. Following his stint rounding the south coast and traversing the Irish Sea, David became an officer of the Customs and Excise and worked in Cork. When he retired to Dingle nearly thirty years ago, with a wealth of experience under his belt, I got to know David.
David and his childhood friend Noel Brosnan have imparted many stories to me of their life growing up in Dingle and how the harbour played a huge part in their adventures: fishing for scallops on the south shore and picking periwinkles were popular activities; stabbing for ray from a punt with home-made harpoons was a hunt which not only whiled away the time but more importantly earned them much needed pocket money; the catch was sold to local entrepreneurs who had fish stalls along Strand Street. The Dingle Regatta was another significant event during David's youth where he and his cronies were eager participants in punt races and other competitive events where budding manly display was the order of the day.
David’s exuberant persona would have fitted easily into the pages of Melville’s ‘Moby Dick’. His respect for the sea was inviolable and he loved the harbour which was the cradle of his destiny. It is easy to understand how in the early nineties he was steadfast in his opposition to a plan to privatise a huge chunk of his erstwhile playground. He could always be relied on to take a cause onboard and give of his time and abundant energy for the benefit of the town. He was one of the main forces behind the setting up of the Dingle Boatman's Association which he chaired and which introduced much-needed regulation for the safe and orderly operation of the Dolphin ferries. The Quay Wren was a big interest for David through the years and when it was revived twenty years ago after a long absence he captained the proceedings with enthusiasm and kept the lines straight and regular with a precision demanded by his wielded sword. Once the summer months ended his thoughts were on St. Stephen’s Day; he remained a trustee of the Quay Wren for life.
In a time of easy and instant information where Google and Wikipedia are supposed to contain all relevant knowledge, it is comforting to know that there are repositories of stories and local knowledge which contain very individual and valuable snippets of local history; those stories which cannot be accessed by punching a keyboard. David was such a repository, his store of knowledge was encyclopaedic and ranged from the parochial to the wider world beyond; his nautical interests included the history of the local fishing fleet and expanded to the battleships of the two world wars. He was very giving of his trove of information and was always helpful and generous with his advice. He often knocked on my door holding sheafs of paper which detailed pertinent information on a recently discussed topic; he gave books, journals and such with the humourous proviso that there be no subletting of same.
During recent years David’s illness curbed his activities around boats - though he did not give in easily. He was missed from the strand at the back of the Cottages where he and I would often chat about boating and the sea – and the general state of the universe. When David passed away I got a message from a mutual friend which read: 'Our friend David is gone to Fiddler's Green'. It was apt.
'….I'm takin’ a trip mates.'
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.
