The fine art of sock puppetry has sadly fallen into neglect in recent years. I remember a time when one could scarcely walk ten yards through Eyre Square on a saturday without bumping into at least half a dozen sock puppeteers all plying their trade. Of course, this all took place
in the joyful carefree days before the Gaelic league decided to clamp down on sock puppetry on account of its being purportedly British in
origin. Harsh restrictions were placed on the sale of socks and other puppet-related paraphernelia, leading to what some old folk still refer
to as the 'Summer of Itchy Feet'. Much like buggery, however, sock puppetry's illicit status only served to heighten interest amongst the
general public.
The wake of the ban saw the proliferation of a number of puppet speakeasys where for just half a shilling one could go to see all the latest shows. These speakeasys were populated by all sorts of unsavoury characters, not least of whom was the criminal mastermind, 'Gangrene' O'Reilly. It was said of him that his heart was as cold as a sock that had been left on the highest parapet of Bunratty Castle for three days straight during December, and I must say that if you had ever gazed into his feral eyes as I once did you would not venture to disagree.
The seeds of O' Reilly's deeply felt emnity towards the Gaelic League had been sown years ago. He had contracted gangrene in both feet
during the notorious 'Summer of Itchy Feet'. It was whilst digging turf for eighteen hours a day during sub-zero weather conditions in an
effort to save enough money to emigrate to any country that wasn't Ireland that he contracted the terrible affliction. Doctors told him that
had the Gaelic League not confiscated his thermal socks during Operation Sock Hunt, his feet would have been spared. He was also tormented by
painful memories of his beloved socks being confiscated in front of his family, and the accompanying feeling of helplessness and despair.
His rise to the top of the illicit sock puppeteering trade was swift and brutal. Whenever he heard of a rival sock puppeteer attempting to gain a foothold in the dirty business, he would send his musclemen over to seize all the socks in their posession. After he had worn their socks on his gangrenous feet for a couple of days, he found they were generally quite reluctant to ask for them back. He was also an expert at intimidating shopkeepers into withholding the sale of socks to rival puppeteers. His ruthlessness, combined with a natural giftfor the showman's patter, ensured he would remain at the top for quite some time.
But even a man as ruthless as Gangrene O' Reilly could not remain at the top of as vicious business as sock puppetry for ever. It was nearing the end of a particularly profitable Friday evening and all the customers had shuffled off home after their cheap thrill, when in hobbled an old lady who introduced herself as Magdalene. She asked if she could see 'a show or two'. She had quite a deep voice, and there were many patches of hair sprinkled liberally about her face. But since this was quite a common feature amongst women from the west of Ireland, O' Reilly thought nothing of it. He let his greed get the better of him and said, 'Well, you know, we don't usually put on shows at this time, but since you asked so nicely...' He turned around to
put the filthy socks on his hands, and no sooner had he turned around than he saw that the 'old lady' had cast off 'her' frock to reveal the terrible visage of his arch nemesis, 'Bunion' O'Malley. He was holding a rather old-fashioned looking tommy gun that I would imagine was chosen as much for its quaint visual appearance as its power to maim and kill. 'You're gonna do your next show in Hell' yelled Bunion as he pulled the trigger, sending a lethal spray of ammunition in the direction of O'Reilly. O'Reilly had reached for his own gun, but the filthy socks that were still on his hands pre