“There is a car causing an obstruction outside the hall everyone - the registration is 221 MO - yes, the Mayos again, causing trouble . . . 221 MO.”
We’re in the community centre in my hometown at the start of winter in north county Galway, eight kilometres from the Mayo border. The village is Milltown – but for people of a certain vintage, this will always be ‘Noel Tierney country’.
He was the Texaco/Caltex Footballer of the Year in 1964, at a time before the All Stars scheme began when this was the highest individual honour you could win in Gaelic football. He was 22 years old, an All-Ireland champion, and already in rarefied air. Noel Tierney would win two more All-Ireland medals with Galway in 1965 and 1966 and goes down in history as one of the greatest full-backs of all time.
He was our hero, he still is, and that is why we are all gathered with Noel and his family on a Sunday afternoon. He has had health struggles over the last number of years, struggles that would have felled plenty of people. But the doctors have told him again and again that the extraordinary physical strength he showed as a footballer in his heyday has helped him to stay alive, to stay healthy, to persevere.
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As well as his neighbours and fello club men and women, he is joined by many of his three-in-a-row team-mates. They are ushered to the top of the hall where seats are reserved for them, and while they walk among us they still give the impression of men apart. Straight-backed, well-dressed, broad-shouldered. These are men who for 60 years have worn the mantle of heroism lightly – Jimmy Duggan, Colie, Mick Garrett, the Keenans, Tom Sands, Tyrell and Sean Cleary, our own Tommy Brennan.
As the event begins, a hum from the back of the hall. Sixty years after Noel was named Footballer of the Year, another Galway man had won the same accolade not 48 hours before. And right on cue Paul Conroy walks in, to delighted, spontaneous applause. He walks to where Noel is seated, shakes his hand, deep in conversation for a couple of minutes.
The head of the organising committee, Michael Rhatigan, introduces a short film about Tierney, outlining his achievements. A hush falls over the room. Footage from British Pathé, from the RTÉ television broadcast of the 1966 final. Footage too from a local man, Frank Glynn, who walked into Croke Park with his Super 8 camera without a word said to him and shot gorgeous film footage of the ‘64 and ‘65 finals from his seat in the Hogan Stand. He captured Tierney at the very back of the parade, waving to someone in the crowd.
The crowd cheers involuntarily as Tierney rises into the air and comes out with the ball time and again, and all of a sudden we could be back in the 1960s in the old cinema in the village watching Pathé newsreels before the main feature.
Paul Conroy goes up on stage and talks to veteran broadcaster Jim Carney, who had done so much to organise the event. He talks about Milltown, about the three-in-a-row men, about his desire to try again to emulate their achievement with the Galway seniors. Applause again, sustained and heartfelt.
Noel’s old team-mate Bosco McDermott, 89 years old, stands up to make a short speech with no notes. He talks about how the three-in-a-row team wasn’t just made up of the individuals in the front row, it was also a county-wide endeavour. Whether by car, by train, or by bicycle, the Galway fans showed up.
“And we played for you,” he says.
Then he looks Noel in the eye, talks about what he says when people ask him what it was like to play beside Tierney.
“It was like staring at a night-sky full of stars. All I did was stand back and gaze as you went up into the sky to catch the ball. I have always admired you, and I love you.”
And with that he walks off the stage. Eighty nine years old.
Noel makes his way up on stage, not without difficulty. He speaks with Jim for a few minutes. He can’t get over the size of the crowd. He talks about the tragic loss of his son, Fergal, in a farming accident, how a day doesn’t go by when he doesn’t think about him. The place is packed, and we are sure now that we’ll never forget this day.
The captain of our last county title-winning team wants to say something. John Hehir talks about what it was like to be 10 years old in Milltown in 1964. He didn’t want to listen to the All-Ireland final on the radio, he thought he’d go down to the village and find a house with a TV. He thought he’d surely get into Mannions, who were related to him, but the house was packed. He couldn’t find a spot, so he went outside and knelt down on pebbles and looked in through the window where he could see half the screen.
The same words repeated, said out loud for all to hear – we love you, and you have always been our hero. The speakers are finished, the gifts are handed out and the event dissolves into happy chatter.
“Could all members of the three-in-a-row team please make their way up on stage for a photograph”
The voice comes again from the stage.
“There is another car now causing an obstruction. And it gets worse – it’s a RN reg lads – the Rossies are at it now as well . . . 131 RN.”
We would love to think that he was ours and ours alone, but of course the real immortals are shared with our neighbours, and with the game at large – transcending county boundaries, and persisting right through to Paul Conroy, echoing all the way down the decades.
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