The Sneaky Pint: Flowers

Posted on November 14, 2019 / by The Drunken Poet

Love. I mean we all love Guinness and in it’s own black and creamy way, Guinness loves us back. It’s a powerful love, but recently the Sneaky Pint learned of an even more impressive and compelling love. This tale of love takes us back to when The Drunken Poet was not The Drunken Poet. Definitely for the last 13 years it’s been The Drunken Poet and if you were at the birthday celebrations you should probably know that. Unless you were that guy. Yeah you know the one; I doubt he knew where he was, let alone the significance of the date. So let me tell you about when the Poet wasn’t the Poet, but was something else.

In the year 1800, a young Republican by the name of Sionnach O’Toole fell head over heels in love with a raven haired beauty called Niamh Guinness (the coincidences don’t stop there). It was love at first sight for Niamh as well. Six months after meeting, they were already talking of marriage. Neither of them had any doubts that this was the real thing. The birds sang in the trees, the bees buzzed and there seemed to be rainbows wherever they went. Their love was like a cocoon with just the two of them in it, that was of course until Sionnach was arrested for being a Republican and the cocoon was torn open and kicked into the gutter. Sionnach was sent on a transport ship to Australia,  where he was to spend the rest of his natural life. Niamh was devastated,  but after crying non stop for a couple of weeks and really being quite annoying to friends and family,  she decided that she’d save her money from selling flowers on Grafton Street and follow her beloved to Australia. Now this was no easy task as the margins for flower sellers in 1800 were pretty slim, but sure enough, by 1810 Niamh had saved enough to pay for her passage.

After arriving in Melbourne, where Sionnach was imprisoned, Niamh got work in a florists across the road from Victoria market (I told you the coincidences didn’t stop there) and yes, it was 65 Peel Street. Once a month Sionnach was allowed a visitor and though he’d been receiving Niamh’s letters to tell him she was coming,  he couldn’t believe his eyes when she walked through the door of the visiting room. Their love was as strong as ever and while they were unable to embrace, their tears and unwavering gazes spoke volumes. The cocoon was reformed and nothing could break it now, except for the end of visiting hours, which came all too soon. Niamh came every month. The months turned into years, the years turned into decades, the decades turned into whatever comes after decades, but before centuries. The young woman who came visiting the gaol once a month was replaced by a middle aged woman, who was replaced by an elderly woman.  Sionnach now used a walking stick to climb the stairs to the visiting room,  but still she took his breath away when she walked through the door and the cocoon was reformed.

By this stage Niamh owned the florists at 65 Peel Street and she lived in the back of the shop in a small flat. People came from miles around for Niamh’s flowers. Hers were always the freshest and she had a talent for arrangement. A young woman named Jane helped Niamh out in the shop. One day she came to work to find Niamh collapsed on the floor of the shop. Jane was able to rouse her and helped her back to bed. Niamh’s condition worsened and Jane sent for a Doctor. The prognosis wasn’t good and the Doctor advised that she not leave the bed under any circumstances.  This was very distressing for Niamh to hear, because it meant she couldn’t visit Sionnach and her visit was due at the end of the month. As the days passed, Niamh’s health deteriorated and she started to fear the worst. She summoned Jane and with her help arranged an elaborate bouquet of flowers.  With a shaky hand she wrote a note to go with it, “My love, I am dying and I must see you.” Jane delivered the flowers to the little old man with tears in his eyes. He went quietly back to his cell and stared at the note and the flowers. One red rose sat amongst a background of white carnations. It was an unusual arrangement and Sionnach knew Niamh could do a lot better. He hobbled over to the flowers and plucked out the rose. Tied to the stem was a nail file.

Sionnach was 75 years old by this stage and he’d  spent 50 years of that life in gaol. He’d seen many escape attempts and very few successes, but he’d learnt a lot from the failures. When midnight struck on the church clock that night, he made his move. Having been taught how to pick a lock by some of the best criminals in the land, it took him no time to break out of his cell. He knew the wardens always took a smoke break at this time and he had mostly clear passage through the gaol, picking his way through locks as he came to them. Finally he came to the front gate. His luck was in as the warden on duty was snoozing. With quivering fingers he picked the last lock, closed it softly behind him and hobbled down the road.

It’s not a long walk from Old Melbourne Gaol to 65 Peel Street,  but for Sionnach it felt like a marathon. His longing to see Niamh was extreme, his legs were old and his heart was pounding. He knocked on the door and Jane let him in, “She’s been sleeping the last couple of hours.” Sionnach opened the door to the bedroom to see his lovely Niamh lying peacefully on the bed, but as he approached he sensed something was wrong. He could feel no breath from her lips. Sionnach fell to his knees and wept as his heart broke.

*The Sneaky Pint will not confirm or deny the presence of a ghost at The Drunken Poet,  but most people have admired the amazing flower arrangements adorning the bar. Coincidence???