AGAINST THE ODDS:An overdue visit to his parents' grave in Glasnevin leaves our hero startled by a strange encounter in Dublin's famed necropolis

THEY CALLED themselves Carp and Coddle and they were a right pair of spoofers, felt Vinny Fitzpatrick.

“How does anyone buy into this hocus pocus?” he thought to himself.

Clearly plenty of folk did, as the Glasnevin gravediggers’ tour was jammers with a crowd of 50 or so, half of them kids, who were lapping up the spooky yarns and exchanging banter with their costumed guides.

It was Halloween, the last day of both October and autumn, and Vinny found himself back in Glasnevin Cemetery for the first time in ages. Having had a brush with The Grim Reaper, he felt it was only fitting that on his release from the ‘Bons’ after a blast of pneumonia he should pop in next door to Dublin’s necropolis and pay his respects to his late parents.

Finbarr Aloysius Fitzpatrick and his wife, Bridie Patricia Fitzpatrick (nee Gavigan) were interred in Glasnevin, having passed away in 1991 and 2001 respectively on the same day – September 12th which, by another extraordinary coincidence, was also the day they got married in 1947.

It had been a couple of years since Vinny, their only son, had stopped by his parents’ grave. Too long, Vinny knew. He recalled how his old man, who had a devilish black humour, used to joke about folk dying to get into Glasnevin Cemetery.

“Well, Da, ye did die to get in here,” he thought to himself as he made his way towards his parents’ grave which was close to the Republican Plot. Vinny knew his father, who’d attributed his strong Republican leanings to the fact he’d been born in the week of the Easter Rising, couldn’t have picked a more appropriate final resting place.

There he was, buried within the shadow of such revolutionary figures as Boland and Brugha, Childers and Collins, Devoy and De Valera. Vinny was almost at the Republican Plot when he ran into the gravediggers’ tour where Carp and Coddle were spinning their guff. Out of curiosity, he tagged along for a bit and actually found himself starting to enjoy their morbid tales.

‘Black Aggie’ was a scary one as Carp told how a jealous Dublin husband, having had a row with his wife, which led to her falling down the stairs to her death, was so broken-hearted that he commissioned an Italian to sculpt a work of marble in her honour. But when the masterpiece was finished and placed on Aggie’s grave in Glasnevin, it mysteriously turned hideous and unsightly overnight.

The design was restored to its original splendour, at some cost, but after just one night back in the cemetery, it became twisted and unattractive once more – ‘Black Aggie’ would not rest easy.

There were also macabre stories of grave-robbers, who earned £5 from unscrupulous surgeons for a fresh adult body but were paid with shillings for children because they were smaller – which Vinny found both distasteful and heart-rending. The walk and the talk continued deep into the centre of the cemetery where Coddle told a story about two grave-robbers who were hell -bent on thievery.

“A wealthy lady, of considerable years, had passed away and was buried with a large diamond ring on her finger. That same day, two body-snatchers opened the grave and tried to wrestle the ring off the old lady,” he explained in a sombre tone.

“Unable to do so and aware time was of the essence, one of the robbers chopped off the finger with an axe, wrapped it in a newspaper and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Just then, the Peelers – Gardaí you’d call them today – arrived and the two grave robbers legged it out of the cemetery gates and down a nearby road. They dashed around a corner, spied an open door, and ran though without even knocking.

Inside was a little old lady who, on being told they were escaping from an attacker, kindly offered them a cup of tea. When she brought in the tray, the robbers noticed she was missing the ring finger of her left-hand.

“One of the robbers mentioned this and asked, somewhat fearfully, what had happened to the missing finger.”

At this, the story-teller paused for effect. About him, the kids were held in thrall. He has them hooked, thought Vinny.

Coddle continued: “The old lady looked at the two men. ‘So you want to know what became of my finger eh?’ she said softly. ‘I’ll tell you what happened. You took it!’ she screamed.”

With that Coddle jumped towards the gang of kids, many of whom turned and ran towards their parents, yelling with fright. It was a fair yarn, admitted Vinny, but only the young or a gullible eejit would believe a word of it.

As he detached himself from the gravediggers’ tour, Vinny looked about him. He was off the beaten path of the Republican Plot and in a part of the cemetery he was unfamiliar with.

The sky was bruising now and he knew it would be nightfall soon. He’d best pay his respects quickly to his parents and then scoot home as the twins would be waiting for him to go trick or treating and he didn’t want to be late.

As Vinny skipped along the narrow paths between the graves, many of them topped by high crosses of stone, he wished he’d brought a map of the cemetery with him. He took a left turn, which he thought would take him back towards the entrance, only to find himself at a cul-de-sac close to the boundary with the Botanic Gardens.

“Jaypurs, I’m miles away now from where I’m supposed to be,” he said aloud.

The only other person in this remote corner of the cemetery was a stooped old woman, who was flitting from grave to grave, pausing briefly at each one, almost as if she was looking for someone or something.

“Excuse me,” said Vinny brightly. “I was wondering if you could show me the way back to the entrance. I seem to have taken a wrong turning.”

The crone was dressed in black, had snowy hair and a face like a wrinkled conker. “You lost son? Happens here all the time,” she said in a raspy high-pitched voice. “The way back is easy enough. You see that tall tree over there,” she said, gesturing towards a spreading chestnut. “When you come to it, turn right and walk along for a bit until the next crossroads, then go left. It’s straight up then to the gates.”

Vinny tried to take in the directions but his mind was paralysed. As the old lady had shown him the way out, Vinny’s eyes were drawn to her bloodied left-hand, which was missing the ring finger. “You ok?” cackled the hag. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

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