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The Master

The Tullylish Historical Society are very grateful to the late Albert Uprichard for his help with historical matters over the years and are immensely gateful for the donation of the ledger from the Springvale Bleachworks. This book will be an enormous help when undertaking family searches.

 

 

The following poem was written by a friend of his and was recited at his funeral on 31st May 2012 and kindly donated to our website by the author. Albert was buried in the Moyallon Quaker cemetery

The Master

So Albert's launched his 'Memoirs' -
that mean he's getting old?

past Master of the Iveagh Hunt
and the Noble Art, I'm told.

He speaks excellent 'Queen's English'
and comes from wealthy stock,

He sounds just like a lecturer
or perhaps the speaking clock!

McCrory says he ageless -
a man above reproach,

when Sullivan fought Corbett -
Pat said Albert was his coach.

All lies I can assure you,
from old prints its plain to see,

he wasn't in the corner -
he was the referee.


In Fethard, South Tipperary,
near the foot of Slieve na Mon,

there dwelt a kennel huntsman -
who overnight was gone.

He surfaced around Huntly,
far from his kith and kin,

The Master quickly signed him up -
his name was Johnny Flynn.


Once riding in a big event,
the Master led the Hunt,

he galloped towards the Huntsmen -
he's mounted back to front!

Someone blew the Bugle -
all responded to its sounds.

the little fox became confused
and ran behind the hounds.


Albert headed towards the sunset,
astride his trusty steed,

like the John Wayne of Down Hunting -
and everyone agreed

he'd be better on the prairie,
hunting buffalo in the bush

than chasing little foxes
just to claim their Brush.


The Master owned a famous hound -
whilst living all alone,

I often tried to contact him -
but the dog would lift the phone.

The hound was almost human,
and I thought it very nice

to see him dial a number,
just to hear his Master's voice.


Albert's into modern hunting -
the foxes now have gone,

he calls it 'Clean Boot' hunting
of trophies there are none.

He told me bloodhounds roam the earth
to catch a runing man,

as a trophy for his sideboard -
he'll scalp him if he can.


Bobby Dawson was the Butler
and a gardener of note -

he weeded all the vegatables
and helped Albert 'Skin the Goat'.

Bobby had a feathered friend -
a fowl called 'Chanticleer',

when it messed up Allbert's garden -
it was made to disappear.

Now I'm a friend of Master Albert -
of this I kid you not,

his gentlemanly conduct
and good manners mean a lot.

His marvellous sense of humour -
who wrote this, I'm sure you'll guess,

in this latest version - from us all -
good luck - God bless!

Jim (Shay) Noonan

 

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