On completion of my four-score years recently, I made a bargain with my brother-in-law in Madrid: in return for his buying me a Basque beret to celebrate the occasion, I would buy him whatever he most sought in Dublin, to mark his four-score next June, writes Deasun Breathnach.
What was my problem? Apparently, very few (or no) Irish shops sell this item today. "But why a beret?" you continue, perhaps. It is an addiction, going back to early schooldays, when a neighbour's children were so equipped - boys of Belgian origin, who spoke Flemish at home. The beret seemed an appropriate reaction to Ireland's weather, and it looked so smart.
However, it was not until I left for Madrid with another ex-soldier, Noel Conway, in the late 1940s of the last century, that I had a chance to develop the relationship. We were off to take a job in the short-lived Times of Spain.
The beret is worn widely in many parts of the European continent, perhaps everywhere. It keeps out cold and rain and, when the weather is kinder, is easy to store, preferably folded and in an inside pocket, lest it slip off in search of another client.
It is light and, in Spain, inexpensive. It lasts a long time - until, inevitably, one becomes careless, and it disappears, perhaps tired of one's company, alas. When worn properly, with a bit of a peak, it may even contribute to a jaunty air - a hint of Montmartre, or even of Ché.
For some mysterious reason the beret habit seems to alarm, dismay or even annoy some citizens. An old friend, now dead, Lord rest him, when I was thus attired one inclement day, warned: "You'll be locked up!"
But nobody had told me it was forbidden, I asserted. Or was it banned under Section 31? My friend did not reply, so we left it at that. There were no early morning calls, no detentions, not even a warning letter. Nobody asked to see my licence.
Maybe I had been saved from prosecution by the colour or shape? I don't know. I thought it better not to inquire further. Those were dangerous times when even a popular ballad might land you in trouble.
Fairly recently two dear friends referred to my favourite headgear as "that terrible hat." Hat? Hata? Sombrero? Chapeau? But terrible, inspiring terror? I took refuge in the dictionaries, first in the company of Henry Cecil Wyld: "Beret... French, béret, from Italian berretta...a flat, round, woolen cap fitting close to the skull, as worn by the Basque peasants."
On Wyld's advice I go farther, to see under biretta that that word has its origin in Low Latin birretum, "from birrus, 'cape of silk or wool', perhaps from Greek purrós, 'yellow, flame-coloured', from pur, 'fire' ..." Was that the reason for the alleged terror?
Wyld comments: "Cap of peculiar shape worn by Roman Catholic clergy... This headgear has recently been adopted also by some clergy of the Church of England..."
In Irish, the word is bairéad; and Ó Dónaill has three meanings: 1, Biretta; 2, Cap... bairéad píce, peaked cap; and a useful phrase for these violent times: Beidh bairéid ar iarraidh (there will be wigs on the green). He has a third meaning: Hut!
As Myles could have told you, Ó Duinnín is always well worth the search. He explains bairéad thus: "A hat, bonnet, cap, helmet, head-dress, a hunting cap; compare biretta..."
Before emigrating to Spain my only headgear had been, when in uniform, military; and, when on leave, as a fanatical cyclist, the sou'wester, for I was out in all weathers. But, for the past 50 or so years the beret (in Spanish, boina) has been a constant companion.
The reason for my request to the brother-in-law was the recent terrible loss of the only surviving beret of the household.
I admit to having become a bit careless about ensuring the safety of this precious, indispensable item, even to the extent of leaving it unattended on the front passenger seat of the family car, for handy reference.
Now, my wife tends to sit on that seat when on her way to friends and acquaintances down below, by the coast. On leaving the car one afternoon, my boina apparently adhered to the person of my wife, without my having noticed it; an unseemly transfer of affection.
Later, when I collected her for the evening meal, she told me what had seemed to have happened. Soon after my earlier exit she had seen a black beret on the pavement, near the kerb. She had turned away. Then she had thought it looked like my property and looked again. But, in the interval, it had made its escape.
What had happened? We don't know. Maybe somebody had picked it up and pocketed it. Or was it the wind was the robber?
If some kind reader has found it, and can bear to part with it, I will be glad to retake possession, and to care for it lovingly as an insurance against the next inevitable disaster.
If, again, there is some shop in Ireland which still stocks the beret, I will value the information and will invest against future tragedies, and will purchase one, preferably black (my skull measurement is 55 cm, from ear to ear and back again).
Incidentally, the present from Madrid is not of the Spanish Basque style. The brother-in-law apparently decided that the Castillian version would do just as well! The Basque beret grips the skull in a very determined way so as to maintain position against the harsh, violent winds blowing down from the Pyrenees. Anyone got one to spare? Gora Euscadi!