2nd March 2010

Eulogy for Joe O�Donnell

As delivered by Philip Evans at the funeral of Joe O'Donnell at St Michael's Parish Church, Lyme Regis, on Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010

JOSEPH PATRICK CHRISTOPHER O’DONNELL – now there’s a name to conjure with. I defy you to say it without a smile coming across your faces and the immediate recollection of happy times. Of smiles and laughter. Joseph O’Donnell – the very name lights up this church.

This is probably the eulogy no one really wanted to do. For one good reason. A few hundred words can never do justice to such a charismatic man, a man with such an appetite for life, someone revered and loved in equal measures… But here goes …

Joe’s family knew this day would come before its time. And whilst you cannot prepare for the loss, the huge loss, that he will undoubtedly leave, to just mourn Joe would demean what he was all about. To celebrate his life is much more appropriate – for much of Joe’s life was wall to wall celebration – one big party.

In his obituary last week I wrote, rather tritely, that he was “a legend in his own lunchtime”. An over-used cliché – but one which suited Joe down to the ground. I can think of no other word than “legendary” that will do him justice. Any by the way he got there way before lunch.

In the order of service this tribute is billed as “Memories of Joe”. Perhaps “Long nights at the Ship Inn” would be more appropriate. If everyone in this church were asked to recall their memories of Joe we would still be here on St Patrick’s Day. And as you know we have a party to go to.

You will all have your own fond recollections of a remarkable character… here are some of mine.

Like many of you here today, I spent far too long in the Ship Inn when I was a young man. Joe took over the Ship from the redoubtable Bill Edney. It was not the sort of pub you took your girlfriend or asked for a Campari and soda.

Joe and Dinah changed all that, though I’m not sure they stocked Campari. Pubs go through phases of popularity and the Ship was definitely the place to be seen. You should have smelt the place on the night just before Easter when all the hotel girls arrived. It positively wreaked of Old Spice and Brute aftershave.

The Ship was undoubtedly the forerunner to speed dating.

But I want to go back to the time Joe arrived in the town and before the O’Donnell family moved into the Ship. He was a slim, smart Army bandsman but more importantly to us – a stylish footballer. In those days we got no real football coaching out of school. There was no youth team set-up in Lyme.

But then Joe came along and took us for football training on the playing field. Adolation is not a sense I have experienced too often in my life. But that’s what it became. We idolized him.

So when we graduated from practicing our new found soccer skills and exchanged them for skittles and the delights of J.C. & R.H.Palmer, we were already in awe of him.

The Ship soon became the unofficial headquarters of Lyme Regis Football Club, before the Davey Fort had its own clubhouse. It’s where we drank after every game, celebrating every victory, drowning our sorrows over missed penalties and disappointing defeats. Joe was never less than supportive, always finding a positive from our performance, come win or lose.

His advice on football and life in general was often quoted over the Ship Inn bar – “Keep the ball low.”

The Ship was where we held our team talks before cup finals, the faint odour of beer permeating our sporting environment. I even recall Ian Gray getting arrested during one team talk, much to the astonishment and horror of manager David Cozens. But that’s another story.

When the Davey Fort got its own clubhouse, Joe remained the Seasiders’ number one supporter, though it must have cost him a pretty packet losing that late afternoon trade.

But we more than often ended up at the Ship where we would drink long into the night, singing all the old favourites and finishing with a resounding rendering of the School Song. Perhaps we might sing that later.

Jo was always first to fill the cup and he was doing so frequently on that famous occasion, with Dave and Mary Henson now running the Ship, when we were celebrating victory in the Dorset Junior Cup.

Skipper Stuart Rattenbury was charged with looking after the trophy, one of the most valuable in Dorset football. On the way home Stuee tripped over a tramp lying prostrate in the street (as you do), fell onto the cup which was severely dented – and woke up looking like the Elephant Man. Some face – some celebration!

The Ship was where all the stag nights ended up in the days before it became popular to shoot off to Prague for the weekend. Who needed cultural experiences when Joe O’Donnell was dispensing his bonhomie from behind the Ship bar? Culture? We had it is bucket loads.

They were riotous times and this is probably not the place to go into too much detail (especially Dave Hercock’s stag night!). Photos are still available.

Sometimes we might end up down at Buddles Bar where BJ and Joe would stage one of their mock fights, much to the astonishment of some of the visitors, especially when Brian Hayball came downstairs with an air rifle to call time. No film stunt scene was better choreographed than an O’Donnell v Rattenbury encounter.

But Joe had a greater role than dispensing booze and banter. It was to him we took all our problems, especially when it came to affairs of the heart. He was a good listener, a kind of Marje Proops of the licensed trade. Many a failed relationship was restored after a lecture on the O’Donnell philosophy of life.

Other times we would decamp to the Beachcomber restaurant where chef David Long, who went on to work so loyally for Joe and Dinah for so many years, both at the Ship and the Voly, would keep the place open for late-night steaks much longer than owner Stan Williams ever knew about.

You had to be on your wits at the Ship. Joe was the master of practical jokes. Many will remember that glass he kept on the top shelf of the bar containing a whisky but with a invisible top.

Often, when newcomers came into the Ship, he would ask if they wanted a free Scotch. And he would then throw the contents at them. They always recoiled but laughed their socks off when they realized the false top prevented a soaking.

But someone discovered there was just enough room on top of the glass to get a real double Scotch. And whilst Joe wasn’t looking they did just that. I can’t remember who did it - probably BJ. Sure enough, in came the next visitor and Joe did his party piece – astounded and shocked though that the visitor did actually get a soaking!

As we all know, Joe never just kissed the Blarney Stone – he actually sculpted it – and managed to talk and laugh his way out it. The visitor left in high spirits and became a regular no doubt.

Joe was in his prime when the licensed trade in Lyme was littered with big characters. Alfie Lamb followed by Charlie Sargent and Steve Phillips at the Standard, Jack Cawston at the Cobb, Brian and Julie Hayball at the Rock Point, Albert Raffo at the Cups, John Broderick at the Voly, Stuart Buckland at the Talbot, Ted Bignall, Joe’s great friend, at the Angel and the daddy of them all – Jack Vincent at the Pilot, followed by Billy and Caroline Wiscombe. Joe would visit them all from time to time.

Jack Vincent hated loud pop music and there was one infamous occasion when Joe ordered the biggest juke box he could find whilst Jack and Margaret were on holiday. Jack got his own back over the cashing of a ficticious cheque.

In those days bank managers were still part of the human race and you can see the letter that Peter Hunkin from Lloyds Bank wrote to Joe on the back of today’s service sheet.

Under the O’Donnell stewardship, the Ship became a tourist attraction in its own right. People came in strangers and walked out friends – and returned year after year to meet Joe and Dinah. The place should have had four star rating.

I remember going for a haircut one Saturday morning and was unfortunate to fall upon John Stamp in Coombe Street at around 11 o’clock.

“Fancy a quick one, Eagle.”

“Just one, John.”

I managed to crawl home at 5am on the Sunday - still needing a haircut. It was midnight before Joe persuaded me to take off my coat. I’m not sure how many times Joe led us in a chorus of “The Bridport Bus Won’t Go That Far”, pewter mugs swinging above his head, during that marathon session.

One final Ship Inn story. This was in the days when pubs weren’t open all day. We were enjoying a lock-in on Christmas Eve when Joe suggested that we took a tray of drinks over to Sally’s Hairdressers, opposite the Ship. So he wheeled me over on his sack trucks with a tray of sherry scooners for the ladies.

Sally’s was packed and we went round dispensing a bit of Christmas cheer and getting a kiss from all those having their hair down (that was the whole point). Sally pointed to the particular lady she was attending to. It was my mum. I didn’t dare go home until Christmas lunch and she dumped my Christmas dinner down on the table with such venom that all the roast potatoes rolled onto the floor. Thanks, Joe.

Joe, of course, had a life outside the Ship. He was a party animal at heart – in fact he was the all-time party animal.

There were few parties in town where Joe didn’t make an appearance, usually late at night after closing the Ship. He was always first on the guest list because you knew the party would go with a swing if Joe was there. And if he wasn’t on the guest list, he turned up anyway.

Joe’s popularity of course was not confined to the parish boundaries of Lyme Regis. He was welcomed and revered wherever he went. Justly proud of his Irish routes, Joe made many a trip to Donegal which became the stuff of legend.

Henley-in-Arden in Leicester also featured on his travelling itinerary many times, with equal notoriety, and I have fond if not scary memories when I took him to London for a football weekend.

We were about to enter the Blind Beggar pub in the East End, stamping ground for the Kray Brothers, fortunately still locked up. I thought we would be OK if Joe started with his nonsense as we had Richard Austin in tow. But Aussie looked a bit nervous which meant I was bricking it. We need not have worried. Within five minutes Joe had all the Cockneys in raptures. Hard men won over by the emerald tongue.

Joe was a keen supporter of the football club's regular visit to Creully in Normandy where he struck up a great friendship with Claude, a man with an equal appetite for life.

Travelling by ferry to France, Joe ruled supreme at the captain’s table and it was a rare honour to be invite to join him, Jock McLellan and some of the other seasoned travellers. He was definitely the leader of the pack.

But it wasn’t all football. As we all know, Joe was a great musician and we all remember with affection him playing "Auld Lang Syne" on the saxaphone on New Year’s Eve outside the Ship and later the Voly. I can see him now stood out front in white tuxedo, ever the suave band leader, with the Rowland Halliday Orchestra in the 1970s and of course he became the first band leader for the reformed Lyme Regis Town Band in the 1980s.

After the Ship Years, Joe’s popularity as a publican continued when the family took over the Volunteer in Broad Street where O’Donnell’s Bar became just as popular with locals and visitors alike.

Although Joe had taken more of a back seat in recent years, regular visitors to the town sought him out, always greeted by that huge smile. He rarely forgot a name, making them all feel welcome and important, another of Joe’s great social skills.

This is a difficult day for Dinah and Joe’s family, especially the grandchildren, of whom he was so proud. Their memories will be more precious than ours. But it’s important I think for them to know that to us he was much more than a publican, a raconteur, a man with a huge appetite for life.

In latter years Joe’s energy for a good time started to sap but he never lost that impish humour, or his kind and generous soul. And that will be my abiding memory of him. I bumped into him last summer when I was at my lowest through illness. Joe was more ill than I was. We met in Broad Street, “One day at a time, Pip. One day at a time.”

And then we chatted about the old days. That old sparkle returned to his eyes, Joe O’Donnell was back. He cheered me up, made me feel better, made me more determined. He had that rare ability to make you feel better about yourself and life in general. The glass was always half full.

And so the memories go on. You will all have your own and no doubt we will recall them all later today as we lift a glass to a man who touched so many lives, a man whose sheer exuberance was impossible to match, the man who was Joseph Patrick Christopher O’Donnell, gone from this parish but never, ever, to be forgotten.

As Joe would often say, in the vernacular of his beloved home land – “Good man yourself.”

PICTURE: Joseph Patrick Christopher O’Donnell

Return to news headlines