FROM THE ARCHIVE MARCH 5TH, 1979: Paddy Downeyon how more than his native village and county mourned the passing of the man many reckon to be the greatest hurler ever

THE VILLAGE of Cloyne nor any other village in Ireland never saw such a throng as this before, not in living memory nor in time immemorial.

Thousands crowded the footpaths of the village and filled the graveyard; many climbed up on walls and tombstones to secure the best vantage points as their hero, for the last time came home.

The people moved around but talked only in whispers. Some wept.

This was Cloyne’s day of mourning – but more than Cloyne mourned for the passing of Christy Ring.

The king is dead, somebody said; now, surely, the king is dead.

And then the dead king came suddenly and sadly among his people.

Around the corner and down the main street of the village came Christy Ring in his coffin – the greatest hurler of all time was returning to be buried in the ground where, as a young boy with his brothers, Willie John and Pat Joe, he first learned and practised the skill which in time made him the wonder of the land.

VILLAGE PRIDE

Cloyne had always felt privileged and proud to count this great sportsman as one of their own; and now, in this hour of mourning the pride of the people of the village was enhanced. They mourned and yet at the same time celebrated the man who had made their village famous.

Nobody in the village, or in the whole of Cork or further afield had ever seen such a throng before – except at a Munster final or at the All-Ireland in Croke Park, when Ring himself was the attraction that brought the people flocking to see him play.

“I wonder was Parnell’s funeral bigger than this?” an old man asked of nobody in particular. But nobody could answer his question. Nor could anybody say if Collins’ was bigger, or Dev’s, or any other funeral ever seen in this country.

There is no way you can count people when they are strung out in thousands oyer a distance of more than 20 miles. Christy Ring’s mourners yesterday stretched from his home parish of Ballinlough to his home in the village of Cloyne.

When his remains were removed to Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Ballinlough on Saturday evening it was estimated that more than 25,000 people thronged the route. That throng was exceeded almost certainly by more than 10,000 at his funeral yesterday.

COMRADES GATHER

And among them were hurlers, old and young from every county in Ireland. All of his old comrades from Cork were there – the men of the four-in-a-row team of the 1940s; the men of the 1950s and 60s; the players of today and then his opponents who, as they demonstrated yesterday, were also his friends. They came from Tipperary, and Kilkenny, from Wexford, and Waterford; from Clare, Galway, and Dublin, and from other counties of lesser eminence on the hurling field.

From among them you could have picked the greatest hurling team of all time – with one place, wherever that might be, reserved for the man they had come to mourn and honour.

From Wexford came Bobby Rackard, the man who with his team-mate Nick O’Donnell, shouldered Ring off the field after Wexford had beaten Cork in the All-Ireland final of 1966. And with him there was Padge Kehoe, Mick O’Hanlon and others of their contemporaries.

From Tipperary came one of his most renowned opponents Tommy Doyle, Jim Devitt, Tony Reddin and Theo English; from Waterford Christy Moylan and Declan Good; from Limerick , Mick Mackey, who is often compared with Ring, Mick Herbert and Dermot Kelly; from Clare, the great comrade on the Munster Railway Cup team, Jimmy Smyth, and from Galway, Colm Corless.

The footballers came too. Mick O’Connell and Jim Brosnan, from Kerry; Frankie Byrne, from Meath, Kevin Beahan, from Louth. They were all openly paying their respects to the greatest of all (hurlers).

The day of mourning began in the church on the hill above the hurling field – now Páirc Uí Chaoimh – where he played so many of his great games. It is the same Church where he was married to Rita Taylor 17 years ago.

CHURCH THRONGED

The church was thronged and the people spilled out of the doors and on to the gravel paths and out the gate on to the street. It was a warm, sunny morning and the sun enriched the stained-glassed window with its warm blues and red above the altar. And on the south-side it glittered through the coloured panes of green and blue and mauve. Brightening up the grey heads of hurlers who were Ring’s contemporaries.

“Lord have Mercy on your servant, Christy”. We listened to the prayers but our minds wandered to Thurles and Limerick and Croke Park and all the other grounds where we had seen him an vibrant life, thrilling the thousands with his incomparable skills in so many games.

“May angels meet you in paradise”.

At the graveyard in Cloyne when we buried him emotion gripped the huge gathering. Fr John Ahern, the Bishop of Cloyne, could not conceal has grief as he read the graveside prayer.

And the Taoiseach, Jack Lynch, Ring’s old comrade on Glen Rovers, Cork, and Munster teams was also overcome with emotion as he delivered the oration.

The cortege took three hours on its journey from Cork city to Cloyne. And it was almost three hours more before the crowds in one village dispersed. Those who could not gain admittance to the graveyard waited about on the street until the main throng had gone and then went in to pay their respects at the great hurler’s grave.

People recalled his feats on the hurling field. Some memories were vivid but most were not for on this day of mourning recollections became confused. And as the stories were told and the great deeds recalled and Ring’s glorious years spun round in your head one couldn’t but recall, however inappropriate, the words which Yeats wrote of Maude Gonne – and then put them in paraphrase:

Your splendour can

but leave among us

Vague memories,

nothing but memories.